The Black Knife was clearly a woman of few words—in that regard, she bore a striking resemblance to Melina.
"My Lord... why do you stare?" Aenophe tilted her head slightly, her voice a cold ripple in the dark.
"Forget it. An assassin with few words is only natural... Do you have a name?" the Tarnished asked.
"Aenophe... My Lord," she answered slowly.
"Oh, so you have names. I thought you'd all go by numbers or code names," the Tarnished remarked, somewhat surprised. In his memory, secret organizations usually stripped away such individualities.
"These are the names we held before we became Black Knives... Lady Alecto did not strip them from us."
"Alecto... your leader. How many of you are there in total?"
"Twenty-one..." Aenophe answered without hesitation.
"And how many survived after the assassination of Godwyn?"
"Twenty... no, perhaps nineteen," Aenophe said, her tone indifferent. As a professional killer, she couldn't allow the death of a comrade to cloud her judgment.
"Impressive. To maintain such a survival rate while being hunted by the full might of the Capital..." The Tarnished mused. He knew that while the Royal Capital's defenses might have waned since his departure, they were no decorative ornament. Not even the Great Ancient Dragon Gransax could breach Leyndell's heart. For the Black Knives to survive their counter-offensive was a testament to the meticulous planning of "that person."
"After that night, we scattered. It is said that Lady Tiche, the daughter of our leader, gave her life to protect her mother... Lady Alecto herself has since vanished. That is why I say nineteen, though I do not know if the others still draw breath."
"You Black Knives are allowed to have children? That's rare for your lot."
"No... Tiche was Lady Alecto's adopted daughter. We do not have the time to settle down and build families like the folk of the world. We exist for the sole purpose of slaying demigods. We are born for the silent kill."
"Adopted... that fits the script. Finding a war-orphan and raising them as a successor is common enough. But why are you all women?"
"It is our craft, My Lord. Only the female form can achieve the absolute lightness and flexibility required. A man's body, it seems, cannot reach that level of ghost-like fluidity."
"Show me."
"Understood." Aenophe stood. In a blur of motion, she moved like a poltergeist, striking a stone table from an impossible angle. CRACK.
"Ah... I see." With one look, the Tarnished understood. From the start of the movement to the impact, there was zero sound. By the time a target realized they were under attack, they would already be dead.
"You're strong," he noted. Strong... but indeed not strong enough to kill Godwyn in a fair fight. He looked at the mask in his hand. The material was smooth and completely opaque. This meant the Black Knives didn't rely on sight, allowing them to function with lethal efficiency in total darkness.
"Aenophe, what are your plans now?"
"Where you go, I follow. We Black Knives live only to serve your command."
"I'd like to give you freedom... but the interference of the Greater Will is something I have to guard against. Keeping you by my side is better than letting you lose control out there. If you lose it near me, I have the confidence to suppress you." The Tarnished gave a small smile.
"Yes... My Lord." The Black Knife bowed her head low. "From this day forth, I shall guard you from the shadows." With that, she merged into the darkness, becoming utterly invisible.
"Hmph... almost like sorcery. But then, the Numen of the Eternal City were said to be masters of concealment magic."
"Indeed, My Lord. Our equipment draws upon the power of the Nox..." Aenophe's voice drifted from the void, confirming his suspicion.
"One more thing. Since you can't say it out loud... giving me a clue about the Night of the Black Knives shouldn't be a problem, right?"
"It is no trouble..." Aenophe reached into her cloak and pulled out a terrifying, blue-glowing brand. It was etched with names, but they were in a script the Tarnished couldn't immediately decipher.
"My Lord... within this lies a portion of the truth of that night."
Taking the Black Knifeprint, the Tarnished nodded with satisfaction. Suddenly, a violent tremor shook the floor. BOOM. The sound of a long-sealed door being forced open echoed through the halls. The Tarnished knew that sound well—Rogier and Darian had found the lever.
The Shadows Reunited
"Darian, the door is open! Let's go, the Tarnished must be waiting!" Rogier urged.
"Aye... the Beast Eye is shaking like a leaf."
The two parties converged before the boss chamber. Aenophe remained hidden; Rogier and Darian were far from skilled enough to detect her presence.
"What is that pitch-black thing inside?" Rogier squinted at a tall, gaunt figure wielding a strange curved blade, its eyes glowing with a ghostly white light.
"A Cemetery Shade?" Darian stepped in, sword raised. If it stood in his way, he'd cut it down. But the moment he entered, the shade shrieked and lunged with terrifying speed.
Clang! Darian blocked the blow but was knocked back several meters. The shade leapt into a frantic, chaotic dance of slashes. Suddenly, its curved sword extended—a trick blade. The spine of the sword snapped out, and the edge caught Darian, slamming him against the wall. He slumped to the ground, unconscious.
"That was pathetic... wait, he's out?" The Tarnished realized what was coming and backed away. He didn't want to be in the splash zone for the lunatic.
"AAARRGH! A tomb guardian infested by insects! Tragic! Let the light of the Erdtree redeem you!" Devin had taken control. He raised his sword high, his left hand glowing with a golden seal. He unleashed a heavy overhead strike that slammed the Cemetery Shade directly into the dirt.
"Looks like Devin is a bit stronger than Darian," the Tarnished mused. Rogier, however, had already lunged.
"I'll assist!"
"Stay back, you traitor who coddles the dead!" Devin shoved Rogier aside roughly.
"Devin, don't be a fool!" As the two bickered, the Cemetery Shade let out another shriek and bolted. Its trick blade whirled in a flurry. They were forced to cooperate just to stay alive.
Seeing that they were struggling—likely due to their exhaustion from the fight with Vyke—the Tarnished didn't stay on the sidelines any longer. He whispered softly, "Aeno, it's yours."
"...Yes." Despite her confusion at the nickname, Aenophe moved instantly. She appeared behind the Shade, drove her dagger through its chest in a silent execution, and vanished back to the Tarnished's side before the others could blink.
"Nice work," the Tarnished whispered.
"It was nothing..."
"Now!" Rogier seized the opening, thrusting his rapier through the Shade's head. A bizarre, crab-like insect with two massive, fuzzy antennae fell from the Shade's corpse, its legs twitching briefly before it died.
"Behold! The Law!" Devin shouted like a madman, sword raised high. Even Rogier looked at him with a hint of disgust.
"Ah... the Deathroot." Devin walked to the base of the foul, pulsating roots and pulled out a blackened sprout. The moment the Deathroot was uprooted, the entire catacomb groaned as the roots lost their anchor.
"Hahaha! One step closer to—GAK!" Devin's victory speech was cut short as the Tarnished knocked him out with a swift chop to the neck.
"I don't think I can handle this guy for long periods of time," the Tarnished muttered, hoisting the unconscious D over his shoulder. "Let's get out of here, Rogier."
"Wait, what about the clues? Did you find anything?" Rogier asked. The Tarnished promised to explain back at the Hold.
Upon returning to the Roundtable, the Tarnished handed the Black Knifeprint to Rogier. The sorcerer was ecstatic, explaining that he would need time to decipher the ritual traces. Darian, once he woke up, kept his word. He marked a spot on the Tarnished's map—north of the Third Church of Marika.
"Go there. I will introduce you to the Beast Clergyman, Gurranq," Darian said before departing to deliver the Deathroot himself.
Once alone, the Tarnished summoned Aenophe.
"Gurranq... that's the 'Black Dog,' isn't it?"
'Black Dog'—the Tarnished's personal nickname for Maliketh.
"It is... but with the theft of the Rune of Death and the passage of time, his mind has become... unstable. I cannot guarantee he will recognize you, My Lord," Aenophe warned.
"Makes sense. He is a Shadow, after all." A Shadow—the half-beast guardians given to Empyreans, meant to be both their blades and their executioners should they betray the Greater Will.
The Tarnished looked at his map. Liurnia was still vast and unexplored. He'd go to Gurranq, but he needed to be prepared. He had no desire to be chased across Caelid by a hungry, half-mad Maliketh again. He'd had enough of that for one lifetime.
As he climbed back up from the mountain's base and headed south, Aenophe followed silently in the shadows. Soon, the familiar, earth-shaking sound of stone legs reached his ears. Not one, but two Walkin
g Mausoleums were trekking across the misty flats of Liurnia.