Kalé, having witnessed the Tarnished slay the Tree Sentinel with his own eyes, found it difficult to believe. To his knowledge, no matter how illustrious a Tarnished's past might have been, the moment they were beckoned back to these fractured lands, they were all equal in their newfound frailty. But the man before him was clearly an anomaly.
Even if the Tree Sentinel was a mindless husk, defeating one was no small feat, let alone with such clinical efficiency. Kalé recalled a legend—a whisper that still circulated in the darker corners of the Lands Between.
The wild, unrestrained White Wolf; the unstoppable Bloody Wolf. Rumor had it that this legendary figure had joined the Erdtree's conquest in its earliest days. But after being exiled alongside the other Tarnished, his name had been scrubbed from history, buried under layers of gold and dust.
"How can it be... I heard rumors that the Bloody Wolf was in..." Kalé's mind was a whirlwind of confusion. Since the Tarnished were driven out, the inhabitants of the Lands Between had looked upon them with nothing but disdain. Many had conveniently forgotten that the first Elden Lord, Godfrey himself, was also a Tarnished.
This widespread contempt felt manufactured—as if someone had intentionally poisoned the world's memory. To what end, no one could say.
Clang! Clang!
The heavy sound of metal hitting the ground snapped Kalé out of his thoughts. The Tarnished had dumped the Tree Sentinel's golden plate armor at his feet.
"Will you buy this? Solid golden heavy plate."
"This... I want to buy it, but I'd never be able to sell it. Who could possibly fit into this mountain of brass?" Kalé joked. Most of a nomadic merchant's customers were Tarnished, largely because they were the only ones whose minds remained relatively intact.
"A waste of good metal." The Tarnished tapped the solid breastplate. Ordinary armor could be smelted and reforged, but the craftsmanship here was sublime. He doubted he could find a smith with the skill to rework such a piece. If he couldn't, it was just expensive scrap. But if he did... he had a rather bold idea in mind.
"Forget it. Do what you want with the armor. I should keep moving."
The Tarnished turned to leave, but Kalé called out to him, extending two sealed envelopes.
"What's this?"
"Two intelligence documents. Consider them a gift."
"Strange. A merchant playing philanthropist?"
"Heh, don't flatter yourself. I'm simply interested in you; you aren't like the other dregs. Besides, you're one of the few people left who can actually hold a conversation."
Kalé's eyes crinkled into crescents behind his mask, suggesting a smile. "Information like this doesn't fetch much coin. Better to give it to you and earn a favor than let it rot in my pack."
"That sounds more like the merchant I know. Fine, I'll take the favor." The Tarnished knew Kalé had his own motives, but he accepted the envelopes and opened the first one.
It was a report on the Flask of Wondrous Physick. This miraculous vessel could mix various Crystal Tears to produce diverse effects—a masterpiece of the Erdtree's own physick-priests. According to the document, one such flask remained at the Third Church of Marika.
"Oh? A Physick Flask? I remember those. Rare commodities." In his time, these were reserved for the Golden Lineage. A commoner wouldn't dare touch one. He had possessed one once, mainly due to his "solid" relationship with the Big Barbarian.
In a way, he considered himself half-kin to the Golden Lineage.
"Let's see the other one..." The second note was brief. It mentioned someone hiding within the Waypoint Ruins along the main road of Limgrave.
"What?" The Tarnished's lip twitched. "This counts as 'intelligence'? Is this person some kind of celebrity?"
"How should I know? I wasn't the one who found them. People are mad these days; they speak in riddles and rumors. Take it for what it's worth."
"I'll keep it in mind. If I'm passing through Limgrave, I'll take a look." Limgrave... He supposed that was the new name for this region. He remembered it as the Stormlands, the seat of Stormveil. It had been the last major territory he'd conquered during the Crusade.
Leaving Kalé behind, the Tarnished wandered Limgrave, guided by his ancient memories. With the light of Grace to lead him, he wasn't lost; he was treasure hunting. The Lands Between were vast, riddled with caves and secrets. If he was to reach the Erdtree, he needed to be stronger than he was in his prime. Rare artifacts were a necessity.
"Ah... night has fallen." He looked up. The golden clouds had donned the cloak of evening. "So there's still a cycle of day and night. Things aren't entirely broken, it seems."
He plucked a handful of berries from a nearby bush and tossed them into his mouth. A sharp, sour bitterness filled his throat.
"I take it back. Things are terrible. These taste far worse than they used to." He clicked his tongue in disappointment but didn't let them go to waste, finishing the rest.
The darkness didn't hinder his sight. Standing on a cliffside, he looked down at the ocean. The waves at night were beautiful... though the Land Octopuses nearby were an eyesore.
There sure are a lot of them... hm?
He felt a rustle in the grass behind him. Suddenly, a mountain goat charged out of the brush, heading straight for him.
"Huh?" The Tarnished stepped aside and delivered a sharp kick, sending the goat sailing off the cliff. Its bleat was cut short as it hit the ground far below. "Is everything in this world insane? Are the Tarnished really that unpopular, or has every living thing in the Lands Between simply lost its mind?"
It was pathetic. A founder of the dynasty reduced to being kicked at by livestock. "Is this your work, Marika? How cruel."
He began to climb down the cliff from a gentler slope, reaching the shore. As he approached the waterline, the sleeping Land Octopuses—large and small—woke instantly, waving their tentacles aggressively as they scrambled toward him.
Ignoring them, he looked toward where the goat had fallen. He had noticed earlier that given the goat's size and the cliff's height, it shouldn't have hit the bottom so quickly. It must have landed on a ledge. "Is there a cave?"
Sensing a large octopus closing in, he spun and kicked it over, driving his sword deep into its beak. Ink sprayed everywhere as the creature twitched and died. The other octopuses immediately began to retreat.
"Instinct is a hard thing to change." Against beasts, striking the leader was always the best deterrent.
With the octopuses at bay, he reached the spot where the goat had landed. Sure enough, there was a tunnel entrance. It wasn't an ancient cavern; he estimated it was only a few decades old, with clear signs of manual excavation. Not a mine—more like a den for cave-dwelling creatures. Nearby, a powerful updraft of spirit-wind spiraled upward.
"Let's see what's inside." He leaped up, gripping the rocky outcroppings to reach the entrance.
"Oh?" He caught the scent of living breath. It was a nest, just as he suspected.
As he was about to step inside, a brilliant golden symbol shimmered on the ground at his feet. It was a summon sign left by a Tarnished using a Furled Finger.
"Old Knight Istvan...?" The name was familiar. The Tarnished placed his palm over the symbol. It began to pulse with light, and moments later, a golden phantom materialized.
It was a man clad in scaled armor, wielding a massive curved sword.
"Oh... you are a Tarnished as well. It has been a long time. It is a pleasure to meet you, friend. You may call me Istvan." The man extended a hand warmly.
"I know you," the Tarnished replied. Seeing him in the flesh brought back memories. This man had been part of the Crusade. They hadn't been close, but he had heard Istvan was a capable warrior and a man of character.
"Could it be...? Were you a comrade from that era?" Istvan grew visibly excited. "This is... I never expected to meet a brother-in-arms from the old days." Most of the Tarnished he met were from the later waves—younger generations. To meet a contemporary was a rare gift.
"You've been in the Lands Between for a while, I assume. I only just returned." The Tarnished decided to keep talking. Although he usually wore a mask in the army and many didn't know his true face, the shared history was enough.
"Yes... I never thought I'd see the Ring shattered. I truly wonder what the Queen was thinking." Istvan sighed, looking pained by the state of the world. But he was powerless to change it—unless he became Elden Lord.
"By the way, friend, how should I address you?"
"Me? You know as well as I do that we are the dead brought back to life. Old names and old glories don't mean much now. Just call me 'Tarnished.' I haven't settled on a new name yet."
"I see..." Istvan nodded thoughtfully. It made sense. No matter how glorious your past, you were still exiled. Godfrey the King and the Wolf who stood beside him were no different.
"Why are you leaving signs here?" the Tarnished asked.
"The residents of this cave are a tribe of violent Demi-humans. They raid, they pillage, and they kill for sport. While there are no 'saints' left in this age, their presence only makes this broken world more chaotic. Many have fallen to them—even their own kind are not spared. More importantly, they've come up from the Weeping Peninsula."
"And what of it?"
"I was commissioned by the Castellan of Castle Morne to deal with the Demi-human threat."
"Castle Morne? Ah, that little fortress on the Peninsula. I'm surprised it's still standing after all this time."
"Indeed. The current Castellan is a man of duty, though perhaps too rigid. There is a massive rebellion of Misbegotten at Morne now, and some Demi-humans are stirring in the shadows. Yet the Castellan refuses to leave, swearing to live or die with the castle."
"A rare quality," the Tarnished said, clapping his hands in mock applause.
"To be honest, I think the Misbegotten rebellion is Morne's own fault. I remember how those nobles treated them." The Tarnished had little sympathy for the oppressors.
"True enough... I despise the arrogance of the nobility as much as anyone, but what the Misbegotten are doing now is no better. They've allied with Demi-humans and other forces to start a slaughter within the walls. It's a massacre. I understand their pain, but this cycle of blood... it's like a wheel that never stops turning."
Istvan looked despondent. It seemed the inhabitants of this land would never find peace—only war and corpses. Now, the returning Tarnished were being treated with the same disdain as the Misbegotten.
"I'm not trying to be a hero, nor do I want to be tangled in the webs of karma. I took this job because of the Demi-humans. A group of them moved into Limgrave to ambush travelers and raid the roads. I cannot abide those who profit from the misery of others. I only seek to stabilize things, if only a little. The rest... is in the hands of fate."
"I understand the situation. But why are you here? This is a long way from the Weeping Peninsula."
"My investigation led me here. One of the Demi-human chieftains from the Peninsula came to Limgrave and absorbed the local tribes. This cave is their stronghold."
"So there are two chieftains in there? No wonder you left a sign."
"Hahaha, I'm ashamed to admit it... I cannot face so many alone. The golden sign was a plea for help. If they are allowed to consolidate and return to Morne, the castle will truly fall. Having taken the commission, I cannot let that happen."
"Heh, you really are a 'good man,' aren't you?" The Tarnished slapped Istvan's shoulder.
"A good man... I don't think such a thing exists anymore. Even our Crusade—our entire era—was built upon the corpses of other races. But I suppose it was a necessary step."
A new age is always paved with blood. Even the Golden Crusade was just a way for people to secure a future for their own families.
"Don't overthink it. Focus on what's in front of you." The Tarnished gestured toward the cave.
"Right... I can't look bad in front of an old comrade!"
With a shared nod, the two men leaped down into the cavern. Sensing the intrusion, the Demi-humans within screeched and readied their weapons. The battle was joined.