Lucian crushed every last Golden Rune in his possession, their vast power flowing into his body in a torrent of shimmering light.
From the Roundtable, Melina descended gracefully and came to stand before him, extending her hand. No words were needed—Lucian took it with practiced ease.
"How many runes now?" he asked.
Melina's gaze sharpened as she felt the strength coursing through him. She had estimated it earlier, but the actual number far exceeded her expectations. "Counting what you had left over, you now possess two hundred sixty-three thousand runes. Enough to greatly increase your strength."
Lucian drew in a sharp breath. That was… a fortune. With this as his starting capital, he could raise his power swiftly—build momentum like a snowball rolling down a hill. From here on, life would only get easier.
Still, he thought carefully. This was no time for waste. He would soon be challenging a demigod, and he had no idea of their true strength beyond hearsay. And with a Great Rune in play, the foe would surely be stronger than any he had faced before.
Best to play it safe—pour everything into attributes that would directly bolster his combat ability. Faith, Intelligence, and Arcane would have to wait.
One by one, he told Melina which stats to raise. The runes burned away at a terrifying pace, transmuting into his own raw might. Before long, the flood slowed. Only eight thousand runes remained.
His strength now was fearsome. Vigor rose first, reaching thirty—a health pool worthy of a true warrior. Mind—his capacity for sorcery—rose by eight points, nearly doubling his Focus reserves. Endurance increased by two, Strength and Dexterity by three each.
In a single leap, his level shot to Fifty-four.
And that wasn't all. From constant cycles of draining and restoring his Focus, Mind had naturally increased by one. During his duel with Elyssa, wearing heavy armor and swinging two greatswords in imitation of her movements, his Endurance and Dexterity had each risen by one as well.
Counting earlier gains from training in Castle Morne, Lucian's natural attribute growth totaled five points—making his stats equal to those of a level Fifty-nine warrior.
And still his power climbed.
With Melina's aid, he bound himself to the Talisman Pouch. It felt as though the pouch had always been part of him, inseparable from his very flesh.
From his belongings, Luciani withdrew the Radagon's Scarseal—a mighty talisman that granted +3 to Vigor, Endurance, Strength, and Dexterity. With it equipped, his stats would be on par with a level seventy-one fighter.
He placed the Scarseal into one of the pouch's slots.The pouch closed around it like living flesh. No… it was more that the Scarseal demanded flesh from the pouch, parasitizing it.
He felt the change instantly. His body grew lighter, his movements quicker. But along with it came a strange, unsettling sensation—as if his body had been corrupted.
The Radagon's Scarseal's drawback had taken hold. Lucian remembered its price; increases damage taken by 10%. Now he understood how it manifested.
To test it, he willed the Scarseal out of the pouch. Instantly, the pouch severed its connection, ignoring the talisman's grasp. The surge of power left his body—but so too did the creeping corruption.
So the pouch shielded him from the Scarseal's direct link. Good. He had no desire to merge such god-touched relics directly into himself.
Truly, the Talisman Pouch was a marvel.
He reattached the Scarseal, accepting its parasitism. His stats now stood at; Vigor 33, Mind 19, Endurance 22, Strength 27, Dexterity 25. A potent quality build, with a large FP pool to fuel his storms.
In mere minutes, his power had surged. Confidence welled in his chest. Who could stand against this strength? Who could hope to resist?
Now, the path was clear. Once his repaired gear was ready, he would march on Stormveil Castle—and fell Godrick the Grafted.
Back in Castle Morne, Lucian decided to make good use of the two days before his equipment was ready. He sought out Anogo, the traveling merchant, who was busy selling wares in the courtyard. Lucian had a favor to ask.
Spotting him, Anogo called out, "Back again, great hero? Care to see my new stock? Might have something you need."
Lucian shook his head. "Not this time. I'm looking for someone."
Anogo's brows rose in surprise, but he nodded. Merchants like him traded in information as often as goods. "No problem, if I know of them. But… you understand."
He rubbed thumb against forefinger in the universal gesture for runes.
Luciani smiled faintly. "Don't worry. Just find him for me."
Anogo inclined his head. "All right then, describe him. Appearance, name—anything you know."
Lucian pictured the irritating yet strangely endearing scoundrel in his mind. "Bald head. Shiny, round, can't miss it. Clothes? Not sure—probably black. Works with a few lackeys near Limgrave. Bit of a part-time bandit, part-time merchant."
Anogo thought for only a moment before recognition sparked in his eyes. "I shouldn't really ask, but… are you after him for revenge?"
"No. I hear he has something I want to buy, that's all."
Anogo sighed in relief. "If I'm right, you're looking for Patches. I know him. If it's not blood you're after, that's good news. I'll take you to him tomorrow."
Curious, Lucian asked, "And if I were after his life? Would you hide him?"
Anogo fell silent for a beat, then let out a self-deprecating chuckle. "I'd write down his hideout for you… and then hold a moment of silence for him. That's the kind of people we wandering folk are."