Roundtable Hold.
The All-Knowing Knight looked at D, who was lifting a barbell to train his upper body despite his crutch, and asked, "In such a hurry?"
"Of course. Only by acting quickly can I investigate the matter of Those Who Live in Death. The clues are close. Now that Fia has started to move, it means the followers of the Prince of Death can no longer restrain themselves."
"Deeproot Depths is very dangerous. It takes a long time just to find it."
"That's precisely why I must hurry. I'm even worried they might be planning to resurrect the Prince of Death, Godwyn—a twisted resurrection."
"It would be difficult, but The Lands Between has, after all, imported many other powers..." the All-Knowing Knight said meaningfully.
D had no fondness for this man who never spoke in full sentences. With a cold snort, he changed the subject: "Frieren intends to explore the Land of Shadow. How much do you know about it? Are all of you powerful figures interested in the hidden past?"
"I only know that the past of the Two Fingers lies there, right? Finger Reader Enia?"
Today, this old woman had rarely left her room and was surprisingly interested in their topic. Perhaps she had received some divine revelation.
That would be strange.
Could it be that the entities claiming to be agents of the Greater Will have secrets?
These beings have always been mysterious, keeping all factions on their guard. Ultimately, no one truly takes them seriously; it's merely a matter of apprehension, as their patron has never once manifested.
Especially since Frieren openly killed a Two Fingers and displayed its remains without any punishment, no one paid them much heed anymore.
But they must have some hidden power.
"Ofnir, you know a great deal, but it is not necessarily accurate. Of course, I know no more than you. One thing is certain: the great Fingers are concerned with the Finger Ruins in the Land of Shadow. The oldest, the very first of the great Fingers in The Lands Between may exist there."
"The one who created the Fingercreepers, perhaps it should be called..."
Her voice was hoarse, but the information she delivered was monumental.
However, the two men in masked helms showed no expression, seemingly waiting for further intelligence. Unfortunately, the Finger Reader Enia simply shook her head.
"Relay this message to Frieren. No matter what is hidden in the Land of Shadow, I believe the Soul Cinder King can quell it."
"Fine."
D replied instantly.
He didn't think Ofnir was the type to proactively share information. He would never speak unless asked, and might even conceal things. This leader of the Roundtable was inscrutable and could not be fully trusted.
"Actually, I too once received a revelation from the Two Fingers, which made me feel that everything today is a necessary part of the world's progression. Unfortunately, that was a long time ago."
"I beg to differ. What Frieren is doing, mending this catastrophe, is the correct path," D said coldly.
"It doesn't matter. Our disagreements are not yet so severe."
With that, the All-Knowing Knight turned and left. What this man's true thoughts were, only he himself knew.
The Mother of Fingers?
Volcano Manor, at the cliffside pass.
A large number of Man-Serpent soldiers, Fire Monks, Volcano Knights, and Recusants were pouring lava, using a series of channeling and diversion methods to spread the volcano's disaster towards the Liurnia region, doing everything in their power to prevent them from reaching the Altus Plateau.
The surroundings bubbled and gurgled from time to time, the heat extraordinary.
Putting aside the enmity between the two sides, the current situation was that the grand lift was blocked. This left the Southern Army with only one option for large-scale troop transport: the Ruin-Strewn Precipice mine.
Wouldn't that mean fighting the Volcano's forces right from the start? They couldn't face the dilemma of being attacked from both front and rear.
A preemptive strike was best.
Therefore, Rykard had ordered his forces to cause as much trouble as possible for the Southern Army, leading to the current scene. To prevent a potential full-scale assault from the enemy, even Bernahl was personally stationed to guard the pass, defending it to the death.
He stood at the cliff's edge, sword in both hands, gazing down below. With the senses of a Quasi-King level warrior, he had a clear view of everything.
Farron's Undead Legion and Liurnian Noble Soldiers were engaged in battle with the volcano's monsters.
The intensity was moderate, but it was enough to cause delays.
This had become the daily routine at the Ruin-Strewn Precipice, a microcosm of the battlefield in the chaotic Lands Between. Rather than saying the Volcano was containing them, wasn't it the Southern Army ensuring they couldn't advance south to harass them? A natural chokepoint had bogged down both forces, preventing any progress.
The more intense the fighting below, the more enthusiastic the Volcano soldiers above became, growing fond of tormenting the Liurnians from their high ground.
"Faster, we're running out of lava. Carve more channels!"
"Use boulders!"
"Wait until our specially bred Magma Wyrms arrive. Then they'll be in for it."
Although the leader of Volcano Manor belonged to the Carian Royal Family, it was unknown how much that madman even remembered, not to mention he didn't approve of Frieren's current leadership of the Magic Academy.
Just hearing that his homeland had become the territory of an outsider, one who had killed Radahn no less, sent him into a thunderous rage, wishing he could march on them immediately.
It was only thanks to the geographical barriers and the direct pressure from the Grace-Given King that Rykard hadn't mobilized.
"It's quite crowded here, isn't it?"
Patches remarked as he looked around at the chaotic machinery, giving Bernahl a warm wave.
"Are you heading south?"
"That's right. The full opening of the underground world is a great opportunity to make money. As a mercenary, how could I miss it? My little brothers are waiting to strike it rich. Want to come along?"
"No thanks, I have to stay here. The Royal Capital might be making a move."
"Indeed. Margit's shadow appeared during the war with the Mohgwyn Dynasty, and coincidentally, the Lord of Blood is also an Omen. Interesting."
They were both clever men; a single hint was enough.
There are no true coincidences in this world; there must be some unknown connection.
As more information about Mohg was revealed—for instance, his identity as a son of Marika being confirmed, the Blood Oath conspiracy that dismantled the allied kings of old, and his abduction of Miquella—although the conspirator was dead, studying his background could uncover a hidden thread running through the turmoil of The Lands Between.
And there were busybodies doing just that.
This investigation was no small matter. Careful consideration revealed Frieren's subtle attitude; she refused to speak of the connection between Mohg and Margit.
Could it be that she had made a gentleman's agreement to protect her opponent's reputation?
Bah.
It must be a matter of self-interest, such as not wanting the situation to descend into chaos, which would not align with her position as a restorer of order. Coincidentally, as the Southern Army gradually disbanded and returned to their garrisons, they brought new intelligence: Mohg had a brother who was also an Omen.
Patches glanced with great interest at the golden rooftops of the Royal Capital and murmured, "Things must be turbulent behind those high walls."
"After all, people will let their imaginations run wild."
"Imagination? Bernahl, don't you also think there's something wrong with the Grace-Given King's identity?"
"We can all figure it out, and there are plenty of other smart people. I estimate the Royal Capital will have to slow down its crusade against us. Their priority is to handle their own turmoil."
"So, I think the south will be peaceful for a while..."
With that, Patches waved and strode away, clearly intending to avoid the brewing storm in the Altus Plateau.
Gone.
Bernahl watched his retreating back for a long moment, then returned his focus to the battlefield. In any case, that man would surely find a way through the chokepoint.
Leyndell, the Golden Royal Capital.
A hint of tension now tinged the people wandering the streets; they would look at each other, frowning deeply.
Although years of decay had caused a considerable portion of the original inhabitants to exhibit Hollow-like characteristics, the foundation of the foremost city in The Lands Between was too deep, its lifeblood too strong. It still retained a large number of sane individuals.
Even some who appeared to be Hollow were, in fact, in much better shape than those in other remote regions, at least not going berserk.
This foundation ensured that all the city's residents could participate in its defense, constituting an effective population that supported the enduring stand of the Golden Dynasty's capital.
But on the other hand, it meant it retained a social structure.
And people can't help but gossip.
When whispers like "The Lord of Blood came from the Royal Capital," "The sewers have always hidden a vile presence," "To think an Omen contributed to the victory back then, it's unbearable," and "The Grace-Given King showed no reaction to Margit's deployment" appeared, they spread throughout the city.
The rumors were impossible to stop, and there was no standing to stop them.
The Night's Cavalry, who knew the truth, couldn't proactively suppress them, as that would be a self-admission of guilt.
The oblivious Leyndell Knights continued their patrols as usual. The threats from the Volcano and the Lakes were already overwhelming enough; they had no time to ponder the issues the common folk were discussing.
The Golden Heroes who held suspicions were wavering and had yet to make any other moves, but they gradually began to keep their distance from the throne.
It was hard to say.
All because the Grace-Given King was too mysterious.
Even the Ancient Dragon Knights, Tree Sentinels, and Valiant Gargoyles knew very little. Although they were crucial as the core elite and high-tier combat power, they received no definitive answers, which inevitably sowed doubt in their hearts.
Times had changed. In the past, everyone could completely ignore the issue of the Grace-Given King.
Now, Frieren held four Great Runes, was an Empyrean of the Law, and had a Golden Scion as her Maiden—one who looked the most like Marika.
Her legitimacy could not be more orthodox.
Looking at the other Shardbearers, they were far inferior, paling in comparison.
The so-called "debate of legitimacy" in The Lands Between was ultimately just a facade. Tearing away the splendid outer garment revealed just two words:
Revere the strong.
At first, everyone dismissed the Soul Cinder King as "nothing but a Demi-Human half-breed." Now, everyone had changed their tune to "the strongest Quasi-King." Even in the Golden Royal Capital, hearts were wavering, unsure of which choice to make.
In reality, deep down, they hoped the Grace-Given King would come forward and offer some response to reassure them.
But there was no reaction at all, and rumors swirled:
"From what I see, the waters in the Royal Capital run too deep. It's not safe. We need to be careful. I heard the sewers are filled with Omens and even Frenzied Flame worshipers. Could there be danger?"
"Isn't it because the Grace-Given King released the Omens? I wouldn't dare fight alongside those creatures. It's simply a defilement."
"Is the Altus Plateau really still the best place in The Lands Between?"
"It's definitely the most prosperous. The South is just a bunch of country bumpkins, but they do seem to have it a lot more peaceful, don't they?"
Some went even further, concocting increasingly outrageous rumors, all of which challenged the authority of the Grace-Given King, to the point that even the throne room was aware of them. The Night's Cavalry loyal to Morgott could not stand by and proposed strict punishment.
However, they looked at the king on the main throne, who appeared utterly bored.
"What standing do I have to punish them? After all, they're not wrong. Let them be."
"My lord, allowing this to continue will only shake everyone's resolve. How will we organize the city's defense in the future? Morale is very important."
"At this point, there is no other way..."
Morgott stood up and gestured for his trusted subordinates to follow. They walked all the way to the Queen's Bedchamber, and as they did, he deliberately released a sliver of killing intent. Magic immediately swirled within the great hall.
"I hesitated before, thinking I could defeat him to get a message to His Majesty, but I could never make up my mind..."
"You are too indecisive."
Responding to Morgott was a brilliant golden duplicate.
Long-bearded and long-robed, with a sharp gaze, his entire body adorned in armor with a fur-trimmed cape, he was the picture of magnificence. When he raised the battle axe in his hand, the sound of insects ceased, the wind stopped, and the rain held; such was the presence of the First King.
Even as a mere afterimage of his power, it exerted a pressure that chilled one to the bone.
Especially since the people of the Royal Capital had some measure of Godfrey's strength, they felt even more reverence. He was still the strongest Elden Lord.
So His Majesty left a duplicate behind!
And in such an important location as Marika's bedchamber, it was clear the couple still shared a considerable understanding. Not as heartless and cruel as the outside world claimed; at the very least, there was some unknown plan at work.
This made the series of events—Radagon, the stripping of Grace, the exile of the First King, the shattering of the Elden Ring—all the more intriguing.
Could it be a domestic dispute?
"According to the plan, I am a one-way communication channel. I am to wait. Even if this duplicate is shattered, the message may not reach my true self immediately, and I may not necessarily set out to return. So, have you thought this through? Morgott, this could be a futile effort."
Despite his words, he still raised his battle axe, eager for a fight.
The nearby Night's Cavalry stood at the ready but found they couldn't even grip their weapons tightly. What terrifying might! He could probably flip a table and turn the entire Royal Capital upside down.
"Mohg is dead."
The sudden news made Godfrey stop for a moment. The surging aura from just now dissipated abruptly, replaced by a long sigh.
With a thud, he embedded his battle axe in the floor, then sat cross-legged and said:
"Tell me in detail what happened. Then, you must defeat me. I will then return to my true self with this memory."
"As you command, Your Majesty."
"Furthermore, call me Father from now on. You have done more than enough, and done it well. Morgott, no matter what, you are the Grace-Given King who defended the Royal Capital and turned the tide, even if the Golden Tree never bestowed its Grace upon you."
Hearing this, Morgott's expression was moved, his heart filled with a mix of emotions. In the end, he recounted everything, from beginning to end...
Father and son talked for a long time, and reminisced a great deal.
They were separated during the most glorious era of the Golden Order, yet now, as The Lands Between decayed to a critical point, they could finally sit down and talk properly. Truly, fate is a fickle thing.
Half a day later.
A tremendous roar erupted from the very top of the Golden Royal Capital. Rings of magic spread out, sweeping through the clouds. The sky cleared, and even the branches of the Golden Tree trembled.
The people looked up in alarm towards the heights of the palace, only to witness a familiar magical reaction. Even without seeing the person, they would never mistake that aura. Never. It was the power that belonged solely to Godfrey.
"Your Majesty, could it be that you still have power remaining?"
"The First King will surely return. This is a destined future!"
The People of the Golden Order cheered repeatedly, even bowing in reverence. At the same time, the tail of the Aspects of the Crucible streaked across the sky; the Crucible Knights guarding the Royal Capital were becoming active.
The two Crucible Knights from the Hero's Grave stepped out of the gate. They sensed the time was near, their hearts leaping with excitement.
Praise the First King.
Far across The Lands Between, all Crucible Knights felt the call. Some had not yet set out, only vaguely sensing it, but they all shared a single thought: they would soon fight alongside those familiar faces once more.
The last time decided how the Golden Dynasty began. This time will decide how it ends.
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