The Tarnished stood atop one of Stormveil's battlements. Now that he had fully breached the interior, it was clear that the concentration of enemies was far higher than on the periphery. However, he didn't rush forward. Instead, he returned to the area near the lift and peered over the edge.
During his fight with the Banished Knight, he had sensed a familiar aura radiating from below—thick, primordial, and unmistakably resembling the energy of Siluria and the other Crucible Knights. If his hunch was correct, it was Incaro, the knight who had set out to hunt Godrick but had predictably vanished into the castle's labyrinthine geography.
The Tarnished didn't hesitate; he vaulted over the railing. He wasn't worried about getting stuck, as his memory told him there was another lift at the bottom. He was a living map of these lands; unless the very foundations of the world had shifted, he knew every shortcut and bolt-hole by heart.
Squish.
As he landed in the tall grass below, he felt something give way under his boot. He looked down. A gold-shelled beetle, which had been busily pushing a ball of refuse, was now a flattened smear on the ground.
"A Teardrop Scarab... bad luck," he muttered.
Teardrop Scarabs were a curiosity of the Erdtree era. Their history was long and tied to the Erdtree's obsession with purity. The Tree tolerated no filth, but since the denizens of the Lands Between were living beings who naturally produced "waste," the Erdtree had manifested these creatures to act as divine scavengers.
They were protected beings, higher in the social hierarchy than Misbegotten or Omens. When there was no filth to clear, they instinctively rolled balls of mud which, due to the golden power within the beetles, became imbued with the essence of Grace itself.
"Who goes there?" A sharp, commanding voice rang out. It wasn't loud, but it carried a weight that seemed to vibrate through the trees. The grass ahead shivered unnaturally.
"Still full of spirit, I see... you lost lamb," the Tarnished said, walking toward the voice.
"Who—wait..." A massive figure clad in bronze-hued armor emerged. He began to scan the Tarnished, his senses picking up the unmistakable scent of the Aspects of the Crucible.
"New armor, and you don't recognize me? So much for the bonds of brotherhood," the Tarnished joked.
"...White Wolf? Is that you?" Hearing that irritatingly casual tone, Incaro relaxed his guard.
"It's me. How did you end up down here? Weren't you supposed to be taking Godrick's head?"
"It really is you... so you met Siluria? Hah, I never thought I'd see you back in these lands." Incaro thrust his greatsword into the dirt and looked at his old comrade.
"I'm back for a few things. Fulfilling a promise, realizing a small dream," the Tarnished chuckled.
"A small dream? From a man like you?" Incaro snorted. This was the man who had treated Marika with the same irreverence he showed a village stray. His "small dreams" usually involved reshaping the world.
"Compared to helping you overcome your lack of direction, it's a very small dream," the Tarnished teased.
"..." Incaro's fist tightened.
"Alright, jokes aside. My target is Godrick too. We're family, after a fashion; it's only right that I be the one to put him down."
"As a knight of the King, I have a duty as well," Incaro insisted.
"Forget it. By the time you find his throne room, the Erdtree will have withered away," the Tarnished said, shrugging.
"I'm not that lost..." Incaro grumbled.
"If Ordovis didn't have a soul-link to you, you would have gotten lost in the Royal Bedchamber." Incaro was a god-tier navigator of nowhere. During the old wars, he was only kept on track because the Crucible Knight leader, Ordovis, shared a telepathic connection with him.
"The Leader's guidance is indeed peerless," Incaro admitted honestly.
"I don't have that skill, and I'm not playing babysitter."
"I could cleave Godrick in one swing! Take me with you!" Incaro barked, his aura surging and cracking the ground.
"Beat it. We're on a cliff. You can fly; I haven't learned that yet." The Tarnished kicked the flat of the knight's greatsword.
"Ah... a tactical oversight," Incaro muttered, suppressing his power.
The Tarnished sighed. It wasn't his style to abandon a comrade, but leading Incaro through a castle was a full-time job.
Suddenly, a golden vortex swirled in the air beside them.
"Siluria?"
"I couldn't leave this fool to his own devices," Siluria's voice echoed as she stepped out of the light. "I'll take him. I know enough of the Leader's arts to keep him tethered." She placed a hand on Incaro's chest, where a faint primordial mark flickered.
"I'll leave Godrick to you. You don't need us for a wretch like him. Incaro and I have other brothers to find. Until we meet again."
"Wait—" Before the Tarnished could finish, the golden light flared and both knights vanished.
"Always in a hurry..." He shook his head and took the lift back up to the high ramparts.
Inside one of the castle's chapels, a man in a wide-brimmed traveler's hat sat in deep thought. He peered out of the window, hiding from the patrols. His eyes were dull, the light of Grace long gone—a trait that marked him as prey for Godrick's grafting hunters.
"Where is it...? This castle is larger than the maps suggest," the man whispered. He had entered the fortress despite the danger, searching for a specific, dark secret.
Suddenly, the sounds of battle erupted outside. Screams and explosions echoed through the stone halls. A window shattered as an Exile Soldier was hurled through it like a broken doll.
"D-damn... Tarnished...!" the soldier gasped, his body mangled beyond repair.
"Still talking trash at death's door? I can see where Godrick gets his personality from," a defiant voice rang out. A man in gleaming plate armor stepped through the door with an arrogant, effortless stride.
(Who is this...? Someone is actually storming the castle?) The man in the hat shrank into the shadows, trying to remain unseen.
The Tarnished finished off the soldier and then turned his gaze toward the corner. "That outfit..."
The man in the hat felt a cold sweat. He had just witnessed this stranger dismantle a veteran squad in seconds.
"We... meet for the first time, I believe. My name is Rogier," the man said, choosing a friendly approach to mask his fear.
"Call me 'Tarnished'. Seems I gave you a scare." The Tarnished extended a hand.
"Hahaha... a bit of an understatement." Rogier saw no malice in the man's eyes and took the hand. "As you can see, I am a sorcerer."
"I figured. Though a sorcerer this polite is a rare find."
"Is that so?" Rogier chuckled. "You seem incredibly strong. I was being hounded by those guards; I owe you my thanks for clearing the way."
"Coincidence. What brings a mage to this den of filth? You don't strike me as someone who's here by accident."
"There is something here... something very important to me. Even if it means being hunted..." Rogier's voice was firm.
"And you?" Rogier asked. "Are you here for the Great Rune? Can you see the Guidance of Grace?" There was a touch of envy in his voice. "I am a Tarnished like you, but I lost the sight of Grace long ago. I only have my original purpose left to guide me."
"Yes and no," the Tarnished replied. "I'm here for the Rune, but I have a few personal scores to settle with Godrick as well."
"I see..." Rogier nodded, not prying further.
The Tarnished looked at the rapier at Rogier's hip. He could sense the glint of magic within the steel. "A spellblade?"
"Haha, you caught me. I know a few sorcerous combat arts. If you're interested, I could teach you. We are fellow Tarnished; it's the least I can do."
"You're a good man, Rogier." Almost too good for this world, the Tarnished thought.
"The world is cold and full of malice... but I refuse to meet it with the same. Perhaps it's naive, but I want to leave a little kindness behind."
"I like that. Keep that spirit." The Tarnished clapped him on the shoulder.
"Actually," the Tarnished continued, "I've been looking for a way to use a sword as a catalyst for magic. Do you know how it's done?"
"It's not simple, but there are two ways. One: I can imbue your blade with mana, but that is temporary—it will run dry. Two: you can soak the weapon in Glintstone crystals over a long period so the metal 'learns' to conduct magic. Standard steel and a glintstone staff are fundamentally different."
He explained that a true catalyst either has its own reservoir of power or can naturally absorb the ambient glintstone energy in the air. Converting a regular sword into a permanent catalyst requires a massive amount of high-quality Glintstone, far more than what is needed to carve a staff.
"Sounds like a lot of work."
"Magic is a jealous mistress. And remember, the magic of this land isn't just Glintstone. There is the Full Moon, the Primeval Current... adapting to each is a lifelong journey. If you truly want to turn that blade into a catalyst, you'll eventually need to head to Liurnia."
"Liurnia, eh? Guess I have a destination after this."
"Magic is a long road, friend. But for now, let's focus on surviving the night."
•
That's for today, and if you think that was lacking, you can found more on my Patreon here—↓
patreon.com/EBBYRITH.
—feel free to visit it!↑