Lucian stood before the pool of silver residue; the remains of the Mimic Tear he had just defeated—his expression calm as he began to analyze all the information he had gathered from the battle.
The first and most striking trait of the Mimic Tears was, of course, their ability to imitate.
That was their greatest weapon—one that could turn any encounter into an even match, forcing parity between them and their opponents.
However, there were still flaws in their mimicry.
For example, they could not fully grasp every ability in an instant. And during battle, they seemed inclined toward using Night-type sorceries.
Moreover, when facing enemies whose attributes were overwhelmingly strong, the Mimic Tears might need to merge with each other to perfectly replicate that enemy's parameters.
That, Lucian thought, made sense.
If they could perfectly copy anyone without restriction, it would have been absurd. He could simply summon a swarm of Mimic Tears into the Erdtree's 'heart', have them all imitate the Elden Beast, and the world would soon be under his rule.
The Mimic Tears were, after all, artificial lifeforms—bound by the basic principle of energy conservation. They couldn't conjure power from nothing to fill their copied forms; fusion between companions was their only way to compensate for energy loss.
The two Mimic Tears he had just fought showed no signs of self-awareness.
Their power after imitation depended entirely on the fighting instinct of the forms they copied.
Whether this flaw was due to these two being imperfect prototypes, or if all Mimic Tears inherently shared such a defect, Lucian couldn't tell.
Either way, defeating them earned him an achievement—and more importantly, another use of Wind Spirit Moon Shadow.
He recalled his remaining count from the Festival of Combat against General Radahn—he'd had three uses left then.
Defeating Radahn had granted him a Fivefold Rune multiplier, but it cost him one use of the ability.
He had used another when fighting Astels, activating his Super Damage mode.
However, the battle with Radahn had rewarded him another charge, and defeating the Mimic Tears just now granted yet another.
The two Astels hadn't yielded any—apparently, the system only recognized "defeating named beings," such as the Stars of Darkness, as worthy of reward.
Strangely, a Mogh clone didn't require the same condition. Even the one lurking beneath the sewers qualified—Lucian still wasn't sure what logic governed that.
He made a note to always activate the Fivefold Rune buff whenever he faced strong foes in the future.
There was no helping it. The higher his level climbed, the more Runes he required for even a single upgrade.
And unlike the game world, where higher-level enemies dropped more Runes, here reality didn't scale for convenience.
Even a Demigod's drop rate was pitifully fixed.
To keep progressing, Lucian needed the Wind Spirit Moon Shadow multiplier—without it, reaching higher tiers of strength would be nearly impossible.
That fivefold Rune buff had originally been meant for Radahn alone. Even a solitary Demigod yielded an enormous sum.
But fortune had smiled—two Astels appeared soon after, an unexpected windfall.
The rewards had been immense: Radahn's 350,000 Runes, multiplied fivefold, totaled 1.75 million.
The two Astels combined had given around 230,000 Runes, yielding 1.15 million after the multiplier.
Godrick, the so-called 'Golden Lineage King', had dropped 150,000 Runes, slightly higher than a single Astel, though his royal bloodline probably inflated the amount.
Counting everything he'd accumulated so far, Lucian now possessed roughly Three million Runes.
That sounded like a fortune, but in truth, each level-up cost hundreds of thousands now.
He could only gain a handful of levels at best.
For the moment, Lucian decided not to allocate any points. He preferred to save the Runes until he had a clearer plan.
The Erdtree had also crafted a Remembrance of Battle for him this time.
He didn't crush it for Runes—he chose to preserve it.
After all, Radahn had been a powerful, legendary opponent. The memory of that battle was priceless, far more valuable than a mere hundred thousand Runes.
He could use the Remembrance to train, to test new techniques, and polish his skill.
Perhaps, once he learned Gravity Magic, he could even glean insight from Radahn's fighting style—steal a few of the general's secrets.
Lucian turned toward Blaidd, who had been staring into space, still lost in awe.
"Let's go," Lucian said simply.
The two stepped out of the Mimic Tear temple together.
Blaidd followed silently behind, eyes fixed on Lucian's back, his gaze filled with astonishment.
Throughout the battle, he had watched Lucian's every movement—his stance, his timing, his spellwork.
Though the Mimic Tears had matched him in power, Lucian had fought as though every attack, every feint was foreseen, his reactions fluid, precise, almost prophetic.
If the Festival of Combat against Radahn had been a mythic clash of gods, then this battle had been an art of perfection—a duel of pure skill, where victory was determined by the finest of margins.
Blaidd knew that if he had been forced to fight a Mimic Tear of himself, he could never have triumphed so effortlessly.
Lucian's strength filled him with deep admiration—and a hint of reverence.
For the first time in a long while, Blaidd felt something akin to joy well up in his chest.
With someone like Lucian beside them, Lady Ranni's dream no longer seemed distant.
'Ah… Lady Ranni. With him here, your wish will surely come true.'
They crossed to the left side of the temple, stepping onto a vast three-tiered bridge.
Its columns grew thinner toward the top, their numbers increasing as they rose.
The lowest pillars stood immense and solid, rooted deep above the Ancestral Woods below.
The architecture reminded Lucian of the aqueducts of ancient Rome—massive stone bridges built to channel water into cities and bathhouses.
Perhaps this structure once served a similar purpose.
After all, the map did mark a Siofra River Aqueduct nearby; maybe this bridge had once been connected to it, transporting water through the Eternal City.
Now, greenery had reclaimed the bridge. Tender vines crept across the stones, and small deer leapt gracefully between them.
Civilization had fallen—and nature had quietly taken back its throne.
Lucian turned and looked back toward Nokron.
The Eternal City lay half-submerged beneath murky waters.
Though it sat on high ground, the collapsed rocks had trapped the flow, preventing drainage.
He reasoned that when the city was struck—perhaps by that meteorite's impact—the surrounding walls had cracked, letting underground water flood in.
He studied the terrain thoughtfully. Perhaps, in the future, he could shatter the rocks below, draining the water and excavating the ruins.
If not for the strange, lingering Mystical Influence over this land, it might even serve as a place fit for habitation someday.
When they reached the midpoint of the bridge, a path veered left—toward the Ancestral Woods and the route leading into the Night's Sacred Ground.
Lucian, however, didn't turn. Instead, he stopped by the edge of the bridge and looked to the right.
Far, far in the distance, faint light flickered—a distant glow marking the outline of colossal mountains.
From atop one of those darkened slopes stood a temple, dim and blurred by distance, yet its glow cut sharply through the false night sky.
It shone like a beacon—a guiding flame.
But Lucian knew better.
The stars here were false. The night was false. And that light, too, was false—leading only toward madness and ruin.
That was Mohgwyn Palace, the lair of Mogh, the Lord of Blood.
But now was not the time to seek him. Lucian would deal with that crimson monarch later.
He and Blaidd avoided the peaceful ancestral folk in the forest and quietly approached the cliff's edge.
From there, they could see, far across the chasm, the immense cathedral of the Night's Sacred Ground, its throne-like façade turned away from them.
The distance was immense—nearly a kilometer at least.
After all, it was a royal stronghold. If one could simply leap across the cliffs, that would have been a severe architectural flaw.
Blaidd scanned the perimeter, his sharp eyes tracing the edges where cliff and stone met—but he found no bridge, no lift, no path.
"The gap is too wide," he muttered, frustration creeping into his voice. "I don't see any way across."
"There used to be roads, or perhaps elevators connecting these places," he continued, frowning. "But they must have been destroyed during the calamity."
Lucian studied the distant structure, but no path revealed itself.
It seemed he had only one option left.
He still had three uses of Wind Spirit Moon Shadow. That was enough.
"It's fine," Lucian said calmly. "I'll handle it."
Blaidd turned to him, puzzled—only to see Lucian rise into the air, weightless, the winds swirling beneath him.
In the blink of an eye, Lucian soared across the chasm, carried by the roaring storm, landing near the colossal Temple on the opposite side.
Blaidd blinked in disbelief.
"Uh…" he mumbled. "Well, if General Radahn could fly… I suppose it's not strange that Lord Lucian can too…"
The Wind Spirit Moon Shadow had indeed erased all of Lucian's weight, letting him float effortlessly.
But then, a curious thought struck him.
If the ability nullified all load, did that mean he could carry anything into the air?
Could he… lift the world itself?
If it were any other ability, the thought would have been absurd. But this was Wind Spirit Moon Shadow…
Perhaps, someday, he could even toss the Erdtree into orbit.
He smirked. "A ridiculous idea," he told himself. "Save that for later."
Checking his remaining time, he saw [29 minutes] left on the buff—plenty.
Without following the "game's" progression, Lucian flew straight to the giant skeletal figure at the heart of the Night's Sacred Ground.
Standing before it, he felt its scale with his own eyes.
Its sheer size was terrifying—beyond any living creature in the Lands Between.
He wondered how it compared to the Fire Giant of the Mountaintops of the Giants—who was larger?
At the skeleton's feet lay a massive chair, the resting place of the Fingerslayer Blade.
The moment Lucian landed, silver liquid surged toward him from all sides of the great avenue.
He waved his hand, summoning a storm that instantly shredded half of them.
But some proved stubborn—resilient against casual destruction.
Two of them rippled and reshaped into humanoid forms, one to his left, the other to his right.
They resembled the Nightfolk, their skin pale and gleaming like polished silver.
Both wore the distinctive robes of Nox.
One wielded a greatsword, his face lean and resolute, white wavy hair flowing as he moved—a figure that reminded Lucian of the Ruined King from another world.
The other bore no such striking features: a cropped head of hair, a tower shield and spear in hand, thrusting relentlessly.
And then there was another—a massive silver pool twisting and swelling until it took the form of a Troll, towering and grotesque.
Lucian reached into his spatial disc and drew the Sword of Night and Flame.
These Mimic Tears were clearly different from the ones before.
They did not transform into his likeness. If they had replicated his attributes, their combined assault would have been far deadlier.
It seemed their forms were fixed, unable to shift freely anymore.
Perhaps these were by-products—creations born along the path toward crafting the perfect Mimic Tear, or toward the Lord of Night.
Still, the ones they had copied were not weak. Among heroes, they would have been formidable indeed.
As for that mountain troll—it was roughly on par with the Carian Troll Knights.
The trolls, in truth, were a species whose strength was often underestimated. After all, given their sheer size and physical might, their true combat ability was by no means weak. In fact, when facing large armies, they could exert devastating power.
Once properly trained, their capabilities only grew stronger. A Carian Troll Knight, for instance, was already considered a formidable warrior in the Lands Between.
Without wasting time tangling with them, Lucian swept through the flames with a raging storm, clearing them out in just a few strikes.
When all enemies had fallen, Lucian extracted their cores.
The number of Silver Larval Tear he had collected increased by three more.
Then he turned toward the temple where the Nox treasure rested—the so-called "Chair Hall".
The heavy treasure chest opened easily, unobstructed.
Inside, Lucian found the Fingerslayer Blade and a Great Ghost Glovewort.
Since ancient times, great Gloveworts were used to comfort heroic spirits—
To offer flowers to the greatest of the dead, and to pray that those heroes might one day be reborn as legends.
He wondered, though—who had this Glovewort been meant for?
Was it a prayer for the hero who once wielded this blade… or for the one who had become this blade?
Lucian lifted the Fingerslayer Blade and ran his hand along its bloodstained edge.
The Fingerslayer Blade—a weapon born from corpses, the hidden treasure of the Eternal City, Nokron.
It was said to be a divine weapon, one capable of harming the Greater Will and its servants, the Two Fingers themselves.
In other words, this was another blade born from the divine body—a sword of the gods.
Lucian then took out the Shadow of the Stars Katana from his spatial disk, carefully comparing the two.
It was soon clear that the Shadow of the Stars Katana shared a deep connection with the Fingerslayer Blade—perhaps forged using the same technique.
Unfortunately, he still had no clue where he could unseal it.
After storing both the Fingerslayer Blade and the Shadow of the Stars Katana, Lucian began examining the structures within the Night's Sacred Ground of Nokron.
Following the standard path one would take in the game, one would pass through the buildings on the far side—likely the royal residence.
Lucian considered it for a moment. His time was limited. It would be better to head straight for the chamber where that "big brother" was kept.
So, from the Grace Point at the far end of the Night's Sacred Ground, Lucian began climbing upward, exploring in the reverse direction of the usual route.
Within one of the great halls, a massive Silver Sphere sat silently in place.
It was shaped like the black moon—a symbol of the Nox dynasty's faith.
But the metallic texture and markings across its surface, identical to those of the Silver Tears, betrayed its true nature—it too was born from a Tear.
The hall resembled a grand church, its sides lined with ornate benches. One could easily imagine that the nobles of Nokron once gathered here to worship.
Inside were two Night Maidens, who immediately launched an attack the moment they saw Lucian.
It seemed they, too, had long since lost their minds—no longer capable of reason.
Lucian had no choice but to strike them down.
As for the Silver sphere—once defeated, it melted back into a pool of silver liquid, leaving behind another Larval Tear.
Lucian floated up to the second floor and retrieved a Black Whetblade from a corpse.
After searching around, he came upon a sealed door. Inserting a Stonesword Key, he easily dispelled the seal and entered.
Inside, a Nox Swordstress awaited. After defeating her, Lucian eagerly opened the offering chest within the room.
But when he lifted the lid… there was nothing inside.
His smile froze. Silently, he closed the chest again.
"…Did I open it the wrong way?" he muttered.
Taking a deep breath, he reopened it—still empty.
He searched the inside carefully, only to find a fist-sized hole at the bottom.
When he lifted the chest, he saw that the hole went straight through.
The Mimic Tear that had been stored here—had escaped.
Lucian set the chest down, deep in thought.
In the game, the Mimic Tear existed as ashes—a spirit summon without consciousness. It couldn't possibly move on its own.
But perhaps… this could still be explained.
If this world's Mimic Tear followed the cut content version of the story—the scrapped lore—then it made sense.
In that version, the Mimic Tear possessed self-awareness and independent thought. It even had a gender, a name… and the ability to fear death.
If memory served, her name was Asimi.
If this was indeed the scrapped storyline, everything added up.
A self-aware Mimic like Asimi fleeing on her own wasn't surprising—in that cut lore, her first appearance was also in the surface world.
If that storyline held true here, then while it might be troublesome that she escaped, it wasn't necessarily bad news.
Because Lucian would much prefer a Tear with sentience over a mindless spirit.
After all, such awareness could unlock far greater potential.
Of course… he'd have to find her first.
If not, it would all be meaningless.
He recalled that in the scrapped content, the Mimic Tear's first known location was a ruined house somewhere in Limgrave, wasn't it?
'I'll check around Limgrave when I return,' he thought. 'Maybe I can find her.'
Lucian shook his head. With no Tear left here, there seemed to be nothing more to do.
"Lucian, your flight ability—it still has some time left, doesn't it?"
Melina's voice suddenly echoed by his ear.
"It's fine. I've got about twenty minutes left. Why?"
Melina paused, thinking. Then she spoke:
"How about checking behind the throne?"
"Do you remember back in Sellia Town? The Chair Hall there was identical to this one—and there was a hidden door behind it."
"Maybe there's something similar here."
Lucian blinked. "That… actually sounds possible."
He looked around. It wasn't like he'd lose much time checking—and he might discover something unexpected.
"You're right. Let's take a look."
Lucian left the cathedral and floated toward the back of the massive throne.
It was a thick stone wall—nothing appeared unusual at first glance.
He knocked against it firmly. If it were an illusory wall, it should have crumbled.
But nothing happened.
Thinking again, Lucian tried striking the front instead—and this time, the feedback felt slightly different.
He increased his force. A loose brick fell away, revealing a patch of wall with a different color beneath.
Lucian's eyes lit up. "Looks like we've got something."
Drawing the Ruins Greatsword, he struck repeatedly against the spot.
Soon, an entire section of the wall came loose, revealing a strange indentation.
It looked familiar.
Lucian rummaged through his spatial disk and pulled out the Mysterious Sealing Key he'd taken from the Cuckoo Knight.
Comparing the shape, it was a perfect match—and as he held it up, the key began to emit a faint black glow.
He pressed it into the slot. Instantly, it was pulled in and locked perfectly in place.
A low rumble echoed as a stone door slowly opened before him.
"See! I told you!" Melina said, her tone almost triumphant.
Truth be told, she had only been guessing—but she was delighted to have been right.
Lucian smiled slightly. "Yeah… thanks to you. Otherwise I would've missed this."
"Hehe. Come on, let's see what's inside."
Lucian nodded and stepped through the door.
A long staircase stretched downward into darkness—deep and seemingly endless.
Pitch-black all around, forcing Lucian to draw the Sword of Night and Flame and illuminate the path with starlight.
The deeper he went, the colder it became.
The stone steps beneath his feet began to shimmer faintly with a silvery sheen, as if coated in frost or mystery.
The air was thick—saturated with an overwhelming concentration of the arcane.
The temperature dropped rapidly. Before long, it was freezing—like descending into an ice cavern.
Even with his body constantly radiating heat, marked by the burn of the Sun, Lucian could feel the chill seep into his bones.
Perhaps it was even colder than the Consecrated Snowfield.
At the end of the staircase, a colossal black stone door awaited. Frost crept from its seams, thick and unmoving.
Lucian braced his hands against it and pushed.
The sound of cracking ice and grinding stone filled the air as the door slowly opened—revealing the scene beyond.
And what lay before him left even Lucian momentarily speechless.
It was a vast subterranean chamber—clearly not a natural cave like those beneath Sellia, but a constructed vault, its floor and walls built from solid brick.
Every surface was covered in heavy frost and ice—an enormous freezing vault.
Encased in the ice were countless lifeforms—some familiar, others utterly unknown.
This place seemed to be a preservation chamber, a vault for species long lost.
But what drew the eye most was the enormous Ancient Dragon resting at the center.
Unlike the others, its stone-like scales were not tinged with silver mystery—only thick layers of ice covered its body.
It was the first time Lucian had ever seen a mature ancient dragon up close.
He approached it carefully, staring into its frozen eyes through the icy barrier.
Then, suddenly—he saw the dragon's pupil twitch ever so slightly.
It was… still alive.