After Melina led Lucian back to the Site of Grace behind Castle Morne, he glanced at his achievement panel. As expected, a new entry was lit: [Roundtable Hold]—Arrived at Roundtable Hold.
His Wind Spirit Moon Shadow count had also been restored, bringing it back up to three uses.
Confirming the replenishment, Lucian wasted no time in heading straight for his room. He was utterly exhausted—mentally, more than physically.
Stepping away from the Grace had invigorated him, but the string of battles in recent days had left his nerves taut as bowstrings. He needed to get back to bed and sleep—otherwise, he feared he'd snap.
On his way back, Lucian recalled the things Nepheli had told him in the Roundtable Hold about the use of multiplayer items in this world.
They were similar to their functions in the game, but with notable differences.
The Tarnished's Furled Finger allowed one to leave cryptic messages in certain places that only Tarnished could see—a means of passing information.
The Small Golden Effigy required the use of the Furlcalling Finger Remedy to function. One could leave a sign in dangerous locations, and if someone nearby used the Remedy, they would be able to see it.
By touching the sign, the one who left it would be alerted.
However—unlike the game—the sign's owner would then have to find a Site of Grace, use it to travel to the Grace nearest the sign, and then run the rest of the way.
In short—calling for aid in an emergency was unreliable. Your rescuer might not make it in time—or might simply refuse, severing the connection with the Finger Severer.
It was, overall, not dependable.
Lucian abandoned the thought of rallying a crowd to fight a boss. Unless he could cultivate a group of Tarnished wholly loyal to his commands, the efficiency of gathering would be pitiful.
And if he did have such a band of followers, why bother with summons at all? He could just lead them himself.
After some thought, he realized the only practical use was for him to leave a sign, so that he could summon an NPC ally he wished to save.
Or, perhaps, to coordinate with others for joint exploration—he could scout ahead, then have them signal him by touching his sign when they arrived.
Still, the whole process was too troublesome. Better to simply use the Furled Finger as a messenger, leaving words and traces across the Lands Between.
Lucian soon reached his room, stripped off his armor, collapsed onto the bed, and fell asleep at once.
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When he awoke on the soft, expansive bed, his sleep had been dreamlike—calm and peaceful.
Opening his eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling, Lucian didn't rise immediately. Instead, he lingered, rolling lazily in the sheets. The plush bed evoked a faint echo of his previous life.
But he did not indulge for long. He had crossed into this world—dwelling on the past was meaningless.
Now, his only path was to grow stronger. Strong enough to become the greatest warrior of the Roundtable Hold. Strong enough to become Elden Lord.
But when he stepped outside his room, he realized… he had no idea where Edgar was.
He wandered into the courtyard. Half of the corpses strewn there earlier had already been cleared away.
Spotting Julius carrying one of the bodies, Lucian quickly called him over and had him lead the way to Edgar's chambers.
Lucian knocked, and Edgar's voice promptly replied, "Come in."
When he entered, Edgar was not in armor—but dressed in the fine robes of the upper nobility, a deep blue mantle draped over them. The attire of a lord—a symbol of rank.
Seeing Edgar bent over the table, writing and marking documents, Lucian hesitated. "This… might not be a good time. I'm disturbing you, aren't I?"
Edgar looked up in mild surprise, then stood quickly. "No, it's fine. I've already arranged the short-term tasks, and the rest will take far longer to complete. Speak freely."
The reconstruction of Castle Morne had left Edgar harried and overworked. With too few hands, he often had to take part in the labor himself, as though trying to split himself into two men. Even so, the place was far from its former state.
Given that, he might as well hear Lucian out. This man wasn't one to visit just for idle talk.
Lucian stated his request plainly; he wished to learn martial skills from Edgar.
Edgar's first thought was: Is he joking? From what he had seen, Lucian's combat prowess far surpassed his own.
Edgar certainly couldn't take on a hundred Misbegotten alone—let alone fight a Leonine Misbegotten for three hundred rounds.
"Hm… your strength exceeds mine. I fear my skills would be of little use in guiding you."
Lucian quickly explained, "My fighting has no real form—my fundamentals are poor. Only my battle instincts seem… oddly sharp."
"And I want to learn the Storm arts. I want to wield them as freely as you do."
Edgar found this strange. He had seen Lucian block an assassin's arrow with a wall of wind—control like that shouldn't be possible without mastery.
At that moment, the Ancient King's voice stirred in Lucian's mind, urging him to take out its ashes.
Lucian reached into his pouch and drew forth the Ashes of the Stormhawk King.
A thread of magic was drawn forth, and pure wind swept toward Edgar.
Reading the message borne on the wind, Edgar's eyes widened. He dropped to one knee and bowed deeply to the ashes.
"To think… I would be graced with the presence of the legendary Ancient King himself."
Rising, he looked at Lucian—but his gaze had completely changed.
"The Ancient King has explained everything to me. He cannot teach you directly, for he has no human form—only by using your magic can he release the storm. But he cannot guide you in how to summon it yourself.
"Thus, I shall teach you. I swear to give my utmost effort."
Lucian was taken aback. What had the Ancient King told him to prompt such a change in attitude—and to earn such formal honorifics?
"Can I ask… what exactly did he say?"
"Forgive me—the Ancient King bade me keep it secret."
Lucian could only stare. Ancient King, are you a child? So old, and still you play at mysteries.
Well—no matter. If he could learn, that was all that mattered. He was already imagining himself, dual greatswords in hand, cleaving the air with a thunderous whirlwind slash.
"When do we begin?"
Edgar stroked his beard in thought. "Give me ten minutes. I'll set today's tasks in order and change into my armor.
"Then, we'll train outside the castle."
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Lucian went ahead to the training ground beyond the walls—a vast expanse of grass, with a Site of Grace nearby. It would be easy to replenish magic here—a perfect place to train.
Before long, Edgar arrived clad in the armor of the Banished Knights, the breastplate still dented from when Singh had struck it with a mighty kick.
Seeing Lucian ready and waiting, Edgar assumed his stance.
"Let us begin."