Because the world of Dark Souls was so brutally constructed, survival alone was a struggle. As a result, it lacked almost all forms of entertainment—so much so that even savoring a piece of chocolate could be considered a luxury pastime.
Even later, after the Ashen One's grand overhaul of the world, everyone was locked in a desperate race against the ticking clock of its end. Each had their own missions, their own journeys, their own grim purposes. Until it was all over, no one truly had time to relax—let alone play.
But now...
"I summon my fist in attack position."
Under the bewildered gazes of the other Sorcerers, the self-proclaimed Fist King drove his fist straight into the opposing Sorcerer's face. A burst of magic erupted, and the unfortunate Sorcerer was sent flying backward, his health bar instantly dropping to zero.
But it wasn't the punch itself that stunned the onlookers. Sorcerers getting carried away during duels was nothing new—more than one had escalated to firing full-blown magic cannons before.
What shocked them was that despite the knockout punch, no "Rule Violation" alert had appeared.
In other words, that hit was completely legitimate.
As for why...
"I reviewed your rules carefully," Manus said calmly. "I found no clause preventing card creation during a duel."
"So, while we were dueling, I turned my fist into a card, slotted it into the duel disc, and played it—then delivered that strike."
It was an obvious case of rule-bending, but instead of outrage, the Sorcerers' eyes began to gleam with intrigue.
After all, mages were never known for being well-behaved. They lived to test boundaries, to twist logic into loopholes. Outsmarting the rules without breaking them wasn't a crime among Sorcerers—it was an art form, an accomplishment.
And since this match was just for fun, and the Fist King had been open about his method and reasoning, no one took offense.
Even the Sorcerer who had just been sent flying climbed back to his feet and immediately began analyzing the feasibility of the move.
"I don't think this qualifies as an exploit—it's more like a feature. It should be preserved..."
"But we can't let it be abused. If everyone starts printing cards mid-match, deck-building will lose its purpose..."
"Then how about limiting the number of prints per duel? That way we keep the element of surprise and creativity without wrecking the balance—and it might even improve card-crafting skills..."
The Sorcerers dove into an enthusiastic discussion.
Meanwhile, since Manus's condition was still unstable, Lloyd sent him back after two more rounds.
After seeing him off, Lloyd thought for a moment, then Fast Traveled back to the Land of Shadow.
Even after everything he'd done here—meeting countless people, fighting, and even abducting a certain Finger Mother—he still hadn't fully explored the region.
...
Jagged Peak, at the mountain's base.
"Ugh—oooh, oooh...!"
"Oooh! Ooooh! It hurts! It hurts so much!"
"My hands! My feet! The places that were ruined—!"
"Aaaagh! The pain—it's unbearable...!"
As he approached the flame-wreathed mountain, lightning crackling around its peaks, Lloyd heard the agonized wails long before he arrived.
When he drew near, he found an old man sprawled on the ground, his body shredded with deep wounds—barely clinging to life.
Then...
Lloyd walked over and, under the old man's confused gaze, drove his blade through his chest.
Moments later, the "Dragon Warrior" Eygon opened his eyes again—only to find himself staring at the man who had just killed him.
"You..."
"That was my method of healing," Lloyd said matter-of-factly.
Eygon froze, then slowly raised his hands, staring down at himself.
The ravaged flesh that had covered his body was gone—restored completely. He looked as if he'd just been newly forged.
After a brief conversation with the bewildered knight, Lloyd pieced together what had happened.
"Oh, so you failed your challenge against Bayle."
"And Bayle... is here, inside this mountain?"
Lloyd knew Bayle well—they'd fought more than a few times before.
And since the dragon was here again, he couldn't resist checking in.
So, while Eygon was still trying to process what had happened, Lloyd summoned Torrent and charged toward Jagged Peak.
He cut down a swarm of lesser foes along the way, witnessed a dragon-on-dragon battle, leapt through a few streams of soul wind, and finally clashed with an Ancient Dragon that spewed thunder across a vast pool.
Then, at the end of it all, a massive golden Fog Gate loomed before him.
Pushing it open, Lloyd entered—and from above, a dragon, mangled and limbless, plummeted from the sky, its broken body crashing into the arena's center.
Both wings were torn, limbs severed, and its entire body was covered in hideous wounds that had never healed. Not a single one of the dragon's signature bone spines remained intact.
It looked utterly pitiful.
Yet, no one could feel pity.
For even as it dragged its mangled body forward, not a flicker of pain or retreat could be seen in the dragon's crimson eyes. There was only pride, defiance, and a burning will to fight.
[Mad Dragon • Bayle]
Truly worthy of the title "Mad Dragon."
But...
"You don't seem like the Bayle I know."
Though the resemblance was uncanny, subtle details told Lloyd that this Bayle wasn't the same one he had met before.
Bayle seemed puzzled by the comment but didn't dwell on it. With a thunderous roar, it lunged at Lloyd.
And then...
There was no "then."
Bayle was undeniably powerful—once having fought the Dragonlord in single combat and nearly slain him. Even now, his indomitable will had not diminished in the slightest.
But no matter how fierce his resolve, willpower alone could not replace what the body had lost.
Even when his health was half gone and he wreathed himself in flame and lightning to recreate his former body, an illusion was still an illusion. What was lost—the strength of his prime—was gone forever.
Though he remained powerful enough to stand against the Dragon Communion Altar, repelling countless waves of Dragon Warriors without ever fleeing or faltering, that power too had its limits.
And the opponent standing before him now... was stronger than Bayle had ever been, even at his peak.
After a fierce struggle, the once-proud head of the dragon finally sank low.
Though his heart still thundered and his will still burned, sheer determination could not stave off the truth of death.
[ENEMY FALLEN]
[Item Acquired: 'Heart of Bayle']
[Item Acquired: 'Placidusax's Head' ×2]
The Heart of Bayle was, unsurprisingly, the dragon heart torn from its chest.
As for the two heads of Placidusax—though Bayle had been twisted and broken, the Dragonlord had not escaped unscathed either. Those two heads had clamped onto Bayle's flesh, gnawing relentlessly until he tore them free. They'd continued to cling to his back ever since—right up to the moment of his death.
But that wasn't what caught Lloyd's attention.
"No third phase?"
He had half-expected that after this Bayle fell, the other Bayle might emerge to fight.
After all, what better vessel could there be for that thing to inhabit than this corpse, still brimming with flame and lightning?
Yet even after the dragon's body fully disintegrated, it did not rise again.
His confusion didn't last long, though, as the reason quickly revealed itself.
"I stopped it."
Golden flames flared into being as the four-headed Dragonlord appeared before Lloyd—through a projection window.
And then it saw.
Opposite it stood the small human, gripping one of its severed heads in each hand, with a blade hanging at his waist.
The Fingerslayer Blade.
Or rather, the Divine Form forged into a blade.
A familiar aura lingered faintly on it.
No one truly knew what the Fingerslayer Blade had originally been forged from—or which unfortunate god had been turned into it. Only the Nox smiths who made the weapon would have known that truth.
Now, perhaps because of its original nature, or due to the lingering influence of certain fragments, the blade in Lloyd's hand carried a trace of Placidusax's essence.
For a long while, the Dragonlord said nothing. He had come prepared, telling himself to remain calm no matter what happened—but when faced with the sight before him, his composure finally broke.
"Where did you get that blade?"
"From the Nox," Lloyd replied.
At the Dragonlord's question, Lloyd explained the weapon's origins and passed along Metyr's message as well.
Another heavy silence fell.
"Uh... you still there? Or did you lose connection?"
Watching Placidusax stare at him, frozen like a statue, Lloyd gave a little wave.
"Hey? Hey? Can you hear me? If you can, just say—"
"I can hear you."
Dragged back to reality by Lloyd's interruption, Placidusax asked for more details about the blade. He leaned in, studying the intricate patterns carved into its surface. After a long moment, he finally confirmed it—this blade had indeed been forged from the being he had long awaited.
But...
"He couldn't have been killed by the Nox."
Though Metyr had claimed the blade was forged after the Dragon God's death at the hands of the Nox, in truth, since she too had abandoned the Two Fingers when she left, she had no idea what became of the Dragon God afterward. Her theory was merely a guess—born from experience with Nox treachery and a heavy dose of bias.
Placidusax, however, knew better.
Though the dragons of the heavens and the Nox beneath the earth could hardly be called familiar—rarely having even seen each other—Placidusax, as the Dragonlord who ruled over time and space, knew more about them than most.
"They've always tried to study dragon lightning," he said. "But after all their research, the best they could create was that blue frost lightning. For a long time, it was a running joke among the hatchlings…"
"If they truly had the power to hunt Him, they should have been able to create true dragon lightning. And if He had been slain within the Lands Between, I would have sensed it..."
Then if the Dragon God wasn't killed by the Nox—how did He die?
Both Lloyd and Placidusax fell into silent thought.
Until Lloyd lifted his gaze toward the stars overhead.
Wait a second...
A god departs the Lands Between, this blade still carries the fate of the stars...
It was hard not to think of a certain blue-skinned oddball.
In fact, it even explained why Metyr's meteor strike had gone astray.
During her earlier complaints, Metyr had mentioned that midway through the meteor's descent toward the Sky City, she realized something was wrong and tried to stop it.
But the meteor's guidance system seemed to have malfunctioned—as if damaged long ago—triggering an automated defense mechanism that shut down her control entirely. The result: the Sky City's complete annihilation...
After hearing Lloyd's theory, Placidusax fell silent again, his gaze fixed on the Fingerslayer Blade before him.
"But that's still just speculation..."
"It's fine. I know the person involved. I'll just ask."
"The person involved?"
Placidusax froze, unable to immediately process what Lloyd meant by "the person involved."
But it didn't take long for him to find out.
A few seconds later, Lloyd summoned both Astel and the Snowfield-born creature beneath the Moonlight Altar. After a brief round of gestures and telepathic chatter, he turned to Placidusax and said with a straight face,
"They said that while they were out there, they encountered what seemed to be a divine being. Out of curiosity—or maybe for research—they accidentally triggered its defense system and got blasted for it."
Placidusax: "........."
Lloyd paused, then added helpfully,
"Oh, right. Before that god fell, they heard it mumbling something like, 'Placidusax is too boring,' 'I'll get him a couple of meteorites to play with next time,' and 'Maybe then he'll finally agree to come outside with me.' Stuff like that."
Hearing those all-too-familiar complaints, Placidusax was silent for a long moment before sighing deeply.
"...Yes. That must have been Him."
In the dragon tongue, the name Placidusax meant "The Dragon Whose Axis Is Tranquility." True to his name, his nature was calm—so calm, in fact, that the Dragon God often teased him for being a hopelessly lazy dragon.
The Dragon God, by contrast, had always been lively and endlessly curious about the world. So his departure hadn't surprised Placidusax in the least. Long ago, the Dragon God would often slip out of his body to explore, returning later to reattach his head and recount his travels—bringing back souvenirs and strange stories from beyond.
Having grown used to this routine, Placidusax hadn't thought much of it when he left again. He had simply returned to his temporal rift, waiting patiently for the Dragon God's next return and the stories that would follow.
But this time, he didn't return after a few years.
Instead, after an unknowable stretch of time, Placidusax met him again—this time, as a weapon.
Placidusax could not describe what he felt in that moment.
Especially knowing that he himself wasn't the true Placidusax—just as Bayle had been a remnant born from fractured time, so too was he a vessel of tranquility's essence, born in the wrong reality.
He was an anomaly, a being that endangered the original world—something that had to be erased. He had long accepted that, even prepared himself for self-destruction. The only reason he remained was to hold back another existence, to keep it from crossing into reality.
And now...
The true Placidusax should still be recovering within the rift between time and space.
"If you can, bring this blade to him—and tell him what happened.
Perhaps it would be kinder not to, since ignorance at least leaves him something to hope for.
But for a king, facing pain head-on is part of his duty."
With the Dragon God gone and his own body broken, the real Placidusax had been stagnant for far too long.
Without something to stir him, he might just fade away entirely.
"Alright. I'll find a time to visit him."
[Acquired Special Item: 'Dragonlord Smithing Stone']
[A rare Smithing Stone personally granted by the Dragonlord]
[Holds an incomprehensible power]
[Allows weapons at maximum enhancement to be strengthened further]
This Smithing Stone wasn't a consumable—it permanently unlocked a new enhancement tier.
Normal weapons could now be upgraded from +25 to +30, and Somber weapons up to +12.
"Appreciate it."
After inspecting his spoils, Lloyd closed the chat window. Placidusax would need time to process what he'd learned, so for now, Lloyd left him to it and returned to contemplation.
Standing amidst the silence, Lloyd looked down at the Heart of Bayle in his hand.
After a moment's thought, he teleported to the Dragonbarrow—intending to feed it to Greyoll.
But...
The instant he landed, the heart began to beat.
Not only the Heart of Bayle in his grasp, but all the shattered dragon hearts within Greyoll—the ones that pulsed with flame and lightning—began to thrum in unison.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The flame lightning crackled, its rhythm like a war drum. The vibrations sent every nearby dragon trembling, frozen in place. The sky above blazed crimson under the storm of lightning.
Then a colossal bolt of flame thunder split the heavens, striking the pulsing heart dead center.
At the same time, the fragmented hearts that Greyoll had once devoured burst forth from her body, merging into one with Bayle's heart.
Within the swirling crimson vortex, flame and flesh intertwined—spreading, reforming, reshaping.
Inside the Dragonbarrow, before Lloyd, as the world itself quaked and the lesser dragons shrieked in terror...
The massive Mad Dragon descended, its claws crushing the earth.
The crimson blaze in its eyes burned with battle lust so fierce that even the air began to smolder.
"That old relic is finally gone."
It bared its teeth at Lloyd in a grin.
Then it unfurled its wings—vast enough to blot out the sun—revealing its chest, where something writhed and glowed.
It was the essence of struggle itself—the opposite of tranquility.
"Now then... let's have a real fight."
"This time, I'm not holding back."
BOOM!