Lucian felt a measure of relief—thankfully, he had remembered to bring the Crystal Darts. With them, he could seize control of the Golem, and let it deal with the cannon fodder. But before that, the remaining Godrick Knights had to be cut down.
The last three knights rode at the head of their formation; two in front, one behind. Lucian spurred forward alone, charging headlong at the entire host. In moments, his blades met theirs in a storm of steel.
Even though the Godrick Knights gripped their greatswords with both hands, they could not withstand the overwhelming might of Lucian's single arm. Their blades trembled, bodies locked in place under his crushing power. Two knights barely held his swords at bay, while the third thrust his long spear from between them, aiming directly for Lucian's brow.
Naturally, Lucian would not let it land. His feet pressed hard against the stirrups, and he launched himself high from Torrent's back. Torrent dissolved into spectral form, vanishing into the spectral realm, awaiting its master's call.
Lucian judged the distance perfectly—the spear's edge grazed his thigh, missing him by a hair's breadth. The knight immediately shifted, his spear reversing from a thrust into an upward sweep, trying to catch Lucian midair.
But Lucian was faster. Using the very swords of his foes as a pivot, he twisted in the air, blades folding close as he rolled once in the golden light of the Erdtree. The edges glimmered with a lethal brilliance.
Twinblade Lion's Claw!
His blades came down hard, striking both knights upon their shoulders. Steel split; armor shattered. The two swords carved a great X into the knight's body, tearing through from shoulder to waist. By the time Lucian landed, the knight was already falling apart into four pieces.
The long spear never found its mark.
All of it happened in a flash. The two sword-wielding knights staggered back to their footing, only to turn and find their comrade already reduced to gore. They exchanged a single glance, then hurled themselves at Lucian, fearless unto death. Even if they were the last to stand, they would not abandon the gate.
"Oh? You're approaching me? Instead of running away?" Lucian murmured. "Then I shall honor you—with my full strength."
Steel clashed again and again. Their greatswords rang against his two blades, yet even in defense they faltered. Wounds opened across their bodies, each exchange dragging them closer to ruin.
Soon, one knight's head was sent flying by Lucian's strike. The other fell with Lucian's sword buried in his heart.
And so, the battle ended.
Five Godrick Knights had stood against him, yet not one had managed to so much as scratch his body. It was the difference of power—no amount of numbers could bridge that gulf.
Lucian's mind flickered back to the past. Once, facing even a single Godrick Knight had forced him into careful feints and gambits just to claim victory. Now, they were separated by a chasm as vast as heaven and earth.
He blew upon his whistle, and Torrent reappeared, spectral mane flowing. Mounting once more, Lucian gazed upon the battlefield.
The vanguard had already been blunted, Elyssa's advance had broken their momentum. Each swing of Zamor's Curved Sword claimed another soldier's life.
Lucian no longer spared the slaughter a glance. He spurred Torrent forward, two blades flashing as he cleaved through the ranks. Blood rained, bodies fell, and he carved a path straight through their formation.
Drenched in gore, he emerged on the other side without slowing, riding hard toward the looming Golem. The giant raised its colossal halberd high, ready to crush him.
But Lucian hurled his Crystal Darts. They struck deep into the construct's body, sending spasms through its frame. Then—the halberd still fell.
Only, its target was no longer Lucian. Instead, the weapon came crashing down upon the ranks of soldiers. Flesh and bone burst into pulp beneath its weight. When the halberd rose again, it dripped with blood and mangled limbs.
At last, the soldiers realized in horror, the Golem had been turned, bound to the enemy's will by some unknown sorcery.
Lucian called for Elyssa, and together they bypassed the chaos. The Golem, mighty as it was, would not stand forever against such swarms. But Lucian had no need for it to slaughter them all—merely to hold them, to clear the way.
Why waste strength on sweeping up stragglers?
He and Elyssa pressed on toward the cliffs, where the grand fortress of Stormveil loomed. Thunderheads churned above its towers, as if the skies themselves warned against the trespass of such audacity. Yet such warnings were in vain.
—
Godrick's Frailty
Godrick, Scion of the Golden Lineage—the most "legitimate" of all royal heirs within the Lands Between. Yet he had not inherited their strength, nor their majesty. His frame was meager, his spirit weak.
In the first defense of Leyndell, he commanded the city's forces against the coalition of rival lords. But he was no great commander. Blow after blow drove him back, and soon Leyndell was on the brink of collapse.
In desperation, Godrick fled. Taking with him certain treasures of the Golden Lineage, he disguised himself among the women of the city and escaped into hiding. Outside the walls, he rejoined the few soldiers still loyal to his bloodline, and together they fled to Limgrave.
Each day thereafter, Godrick lived in terror. He feared that once the coalition seized Leyndell, they would come for him as well. For when the Elden Ring shattered, he had been entrusted with one of its central fragments—yet now all seemed poised to crumble.
And then, news turned. From nowhere arose the The Grace Given Lord, leading forces that drove back the coalition. Soon after, the enemy lords fractured amongst themselves. Godefroy the Grafted was captured by the ancient Dragon Knight. Leyndell's banners surged forward, even pressing their counterattack to Mt. Gelmir.
Godrick could not comprehend it. None of it made sense. Not until the Grace Given Lord summoned him, revealing truths hidden from the world.
In reward, Godrick was granted the domain once held by Godefroy: Stormveil Castle. There, he unearthed Godefroy's legacy; the art of grafting.
Awakening from such memories, Godrick shook his head.His blood was thin, his wit dull. Even this craft—mere trifle to the demigods—strained him sorely.
Each graft, each limb taken, drove him to whisper reminders to himself of who he was.
Now, upon his throne, he pondered what part of the dragon to graft next. Just two days ago, his men had slain a dying young wyrm.
When Godrick beheld its corpse, he felt a deep pull—not only to its power, but to its sorrow. A descendant, yet feeble among its kind, scorned and pitiful. Much like himself.
But Godrick swore he would not share the dragon's fate. He would take its strength into himself, rising to heights never known.
One day, he vowed, he would march home at the head of his host, and reclaim his birthright beneath the Golden Boughs of the Erdtree.