Beyond the jagged cliffs, the Tarnished spotted a series of rickety wooden scaffolding and staircases leading directly into the lower structures of the castle.
"Looks like the service entrance. Plenty of company, though." He looked down to see several soldiers clad in the same tattered red hoods he had encountered in Oleg's tomb. The sentries, ever-vigilant, quickly spotted his silhouette against the gray sky.
"Look, lads! Another Tarnished with a death wish! Take him down and offer him to Lord Godrick!" The Exile Soldiers snarled. Though they could still speak, their faces were contorted and their eyes gleamed with the mindless hunger of rabid beasts.
"Hah. I suppose being able to speak doesn't mean you aren't insane," the Tarnished remarked. He leaped from the heights, drawing his curved sword mid-air. As he landed, a surge of concentrated frost erupted from the blade, flash-freezing the soldiers' feet to the stone floor.
"What?! Impossible!" The soldiers hacked desperately at the ice, but it was reinforced by the golden resonance of his newly forged weapon. It wouldn't shatter for mere steel.
"Checkmate," he whispered. With a fluid flourish of his blade, the frozen soldiers were cleaved into glittering shards of ice and gore.
Runes flowed into him in a massive stream. "You've certainly 'harvested' quite a few people, haven't you?" He took the energy in, planning to have Melina help him integrate it later.
Suddenly, a creeping footstep sounded behind him, followed by a malicious snicker. "Hehe... your baubles are mine!" A pair of hands shoved hard against his back, intending to send him over the precipice.
But the Tarnished had sensed the approach long ago. He simply stepped aside. The attacker, carried by his own momentum and the slickness of the frozen floor, went sailing toward the edge.
"NO!! I don't want to die!" The man screamed, his fingers catching the edge of a wooden plank at the last second.
"You're quite enthusiastic, Gostoc. Followed me all this way just to say goodbye?" The Tarnished looked down at the gatekeeper with a mocking grin.
"No, no! You misunderstand! I—I just wanted to say hello, but the floor was so slippery! Please, save me!" Gostoc begged, his one arm trembling as he clung to life.
"Oh, is that so?" The Tarnished nodded and reached down, hauling Gostoc back up. He even took a moment to pat the dust off the man's filthy rags.
"Y-you... you're a good man for understanding!" Gostoc panted, a flicker of contempt returning to his eyes. What a fool.
"Quite the misunderstanding indeed," the Tarnished laughed.
"Ah... haha... yeah..." Gostoc tried to laugh along, but his body began to shake uncontrollably. He looked up, and his blood ran cold. The Tarnished wasn't smiling anymore.
"What are you—ACK!"
A heavy fist slammed into Gostoc's face, shattering his remaining teeth and sending him sprawling.
"I thought you'd be smarter," the Tarnished said coldly. "If you hadn't laid a hand on me, I might have let you live. But you're a greedy idiot." He had intentionally slowed his pace and revealed his techniques to see if the man would turn back. Gostoc had chosen his fate.
"I... I'm sorry! Please, I won't do it again!"
But the next blow was final. A heavy, empowered strike pierced straight through Gostoc's chest.
"No... why me again... I can't die... not before that beast Godrick..." Gostoc wheezed, his voice full of desperate spite. "It's all your fault, Godrick... you... you..."
The Tarnished watched him go in silence. "You had your chances. If you hunt the living, you must be prepared to join the dead." He turned and walked away, leaving Gostoc's unblinking eyes to stare at the storm.
Tyranny always breeds monsters, but once a man chooses to prey on the weak, pity becomes a luxury.
After clearing out a few more ambushes, the Tarnished entered the main tower. The interior was dim, a perfect place for a trap. He stayed low, his senses sharp.
"Die!" A large Exile Soldier lunged from the shadows with a battleaxe.
"Third-rate. Don't yell during a sneak attack," the Tarnished sighed, delivering a front kick that sent the soldier flying back into a stone pillar. The man's chest collapsed, and he died with a look of pure terror, unable to even let out a final gasp.
"These soldiers are a disgrace." He felt a prickle of annoyance. They wore the same colors as the warriors of old, but they lacked the spirit. Not a single one of them had demonstrated the true power of the Storm.
As he explored the upper ramparts, he found a bundle of arrows stuck into a wooden barricade.
"This aura... St. Trina?" He felt a faint, drowsy sensation just by touching them. "These might be useful."
He reached a locked door. Instead of searching for a key, he raised his curved sword and shattered the mechanism with a single blow.
"Open sesame." He walked into the next wing, a series of precarious wooden walkways patrolled by more of Gostoc's lookalikes throwing firebombs. After dealing with them, he stepped out onto a high balcony.
"If I remember correctly, there should be a lift near here." Unless Godrick had remodeled the entire castle, he knew his way around.
...Is someone talking about me? A lonely Crucible Knight standing on a remote cliffside wondered, staring blankly at the fog.
At the top of the stairs, he encountered a Banished Knight wielding a halberd. The knight didn't hesitate; he summoned a whirlwind and charged.
"A Banished Knight... serving Godrick?" The Tarnished parried the heavy strike with ease. After his rest at the Hold, his mastery over his current strength had deepened significantly.
"A mercenary contract," the knight growled. "He provides the runes, we provide the heads. Starting with yours, Tarnished."
"Then come and take it." The Tarnished rolled back, and as the knight swung, he manifested a Dragon Claw, slamming the warrior into the wall.
"Dragon Communion... damn you!" The knight stomped the ground, leaping high and thrusting his halberd into the floor. A violent gale erupted, swirling into a localized hurricane that threatened to tear the room apart.
"Your strength is decent, but you've forgotten the true 'Wind' of a Banished Knight." The Tarnished stood perfectly still, raising his sword.
"Arrogance!" The knight unleashed three blades of pressurized wind.
"Watch closely. This is how you command the Storm." The Tarnished flicked his wrist, spinning his blade. To the knight's horror, the incoming gale didn't hit him—it began to coil around his blade like a tame serpent. As more wind gathered, the "gentle" breeze turned into a roaring vortex.
"What?! How?!"
"Heh. It seems I know your tricks better than you do." The Tarnished stepped forward and swung. The stolen storm, reinforced by his own power, surged outward, carrying a hail of debris and shattered stone.
The knight tried to block with his halberd, but the weapon snapped like a twig. The force of the gale blew him clean off the battlements and into the ravine below.
"NOOOOO!"
Down below, the wandering Crucible Knight watched a few pieces of silver armor fall past him. "The wind... has changed? Is there someone in this castle who still knows the old Storm?" He looked upward. "Interesting... but where is Godrick hiding?"
Inside the lift room, the Tarnished found the elevator was already at the top floor. "I really need to master those Aspect of the Crucible: Wings. Stairs are for suckers."
He found a Site of Grace in a side room. After activating it, he noticed Melina hadn't appeared immediately.
"Melina?"
"Were you looking for me?" She appeared, holding Aureliette. "I was thinking about the spirit..."
"What about her?"
"I can feel a lingering wish... it involves her family."
"Can you talk to her? Is it a spirit-to-spirit thing?"
"I believe so. She misses them dearly." Melina looked at the little jellyfish, who was tugging at her cloak.
"Any clues? I can keep an eye out while we're moving."
"None... she seems to have forgotten the 'who' and the 'where'. Only the feeling remains."
"Perhaps she'll remember in time." The Tarnished paused. "What did you think of Gostoc?"
"Pitiable... and hateful."
"Spoken like a maiden."
"Cruelty breeds malice," Melina said softly. "When evil spreads like a plague, it signals the end of an age. This castle... it feels polluted. Godrick cannot be allowed to remain."
"Agreed. I can feel it too. The blood, the filth, the madness... even the wind in this place tastes like rot."