Ultimately, the Tarnished chose to forgo the subterranean Ainsel River, opting instead to press forward. Ahead lay a significantly larger stronghold of Fire Monks. Although the camp was grander in scale, the overall strength of the individual soldiers remained mediocre. This suggested one of two things: either the quality of the Monks stationed here was intentionally low, or their collective ability was simply underwhelming. Given the sheer numbers, it was likely the former—a strategy of quantity over quality, designed to conduct a massive, carpet-style search to drown the "Fire Thief" in a sea of bodies.
"Fortunately, I'm a strong swimmer," the Tarnished muttered with a predatory grin as he charged into the camp. He expected a fierce resistance, but to his surprise, the Monks and acolytes threw down their weapons the moment they saw him.
"Don't hit us! We have no fighting strength left to offer!" the lead monk shouted, raising his hands high. His weapon clattered to the dirt.
"..." Aenophe, standing in the shadows, felt a twinge of embarrassment for them. "It seems your reputation has preceded you, My Lord."
Since they were cooperative, the Tarnished got straight to the point, asking about the thief, Adan. Though the Fire Monks were loath to divulge their secrets, the sheer pressure emanating from the man made them remarkably honest.
They didn't have an exact coordinate, but they had combed the entirety of eastern Liurnia. Only the west remained—specifically the high cliffs and the lands surrounding the Carian Manor. They hadn't ventured too far west yet, as the Cuckoo Knights and the remnants of the Carian forces made the area a volatile hornet's nest.
"The west, then," the Tarnished mused.
"Wait," one monk added, trying to be helpful. "We recently established a small scout camp on the high plateau near the entrance to western Liurnia, but we haven't heard back from them yet." He also warned the Tarnished that the cliffs were steep and that a massive study hall blocked the direct path, its doors sealed to all.
The Tarnished left the camp and activated a nearby Site of Grace. He sat by the flickering light, debating his next move: finish scouring the east or head straight for the thief? He had a premonition that this Adan possessed something truly remarkable.
Melina appeared promptly this time, but instead of speaking, she began scanning the surroundings, her gaze eventually locking onto the exact spot where Aenophe was hidden.
"..."
"...."
The two women stared at each other in a heavy silence. Aenophe was stunned. While her concealment wasn't on the level of Alecto or Tiche, it wasn't something a commoner—or even a skilled sorcerer—should be able to pierce with a single glance.
"You... you can see me?" Aenophe asked, her voice drifting from the void.
Melina nodded slowly.
"How? I revealed no openings," Aenophe pressed.
"I... do not know," Melina replied, shaking her head. For some reason, this kind of concealment felt familiar to her—so familiar that she could unweave the illusion as easily as breathing.
The silence that followed was the heaviest yet. Melina wondered why she had such an innate understanding of Black Knife techniques, while the Tarnished's expression beneath his helmet turned complex. As for Aenophe, a bold, terrifying thought began to take root: Is this spirit girl somehow connected to the Black Knives?
"Alright, that's enough," the Tarnished clapped his hands, breaking the tension. He formally introduced them to one another. "We're all on the same side. Try to get along."
Aenophe bowed her head in obedience, and Melina gave a silent nod. The meeting ended in that eerie, lingering atmosphere.
Using the Grace, the Tarnished briefly returned to the tunnels near Stormveil to check on the path and found traces of Nepheli Loux. It seemed she, too, had entered Liurnia. She can handle herself, he thought. I have my own business.
Near the church where he had first met Thops, he spotted two familiar figures: Edgar and Irina.
"So, the first stop of your journey is here?" the Tarnished called out.
"Lord Tarnished! Indeed, my daughter and I have just arrived," Edgar said, his face brightening.
"It has been too long, My Lord," Irina said with a gentle bow. She looked healthy, her face flushed with a faint, healthy pink. She remembered the warmth of the Tarnished's touch and his voice during her coma—a memory that seemed intertwined with a strange dream of a girl.
"Where are you headed, My Lord?" Edgar asked. The Tarnished pointed toward the western cliffs.
"Ah... we've been here a few days. Recently, a large group of men in crimson robes scaled the cliffs over there and set up a camp," Edgar noted, tracing their route with his hand.
"Then I must hurry." If the Monks were already there, he had to beat them to the prize.
However, the Tarnished wasn't the only one with an agenda. In the western camp, a monk wielding a flamberge etched with fire patterns—stronger and more robust than his peers—stared into the distance with eyes full of greed.
Adan... I should thank you for stealing from the Chief, the monk thought. Whatever Arghanthy covets must be the purest power of the Fire God. If I take it, I could become the new King. The Lands Between will bow to the Flame. He wasn't interested in the mission; he wanted to seize the treasure for himself and vanish, just as Adan had.
But Adan was no ordinary thief. Inside the Malefactor's Evergaol, a man in heavy, bulbous armor sat cross-legged, chuckling to himself. The world thought he was trapped, but he had entered the prison voluntarily. His faith in the Flame far exceeded that of the greedy monk or even Arghanthy.
"Hehehe... I, Adan, shall be the herald of the Flame! Not Arghanthy! I will spread this fire to every corner of the world!"
Adan had glimpsed Arghanthy's secret—the Chief's contact with the Fell God. Arghanthy wanted to hoard the power; Adan wanted to unleash it. Beneath his helm, Adan's eyes burned with a literal, crimson fire, and a faint, pulsating image of a giant's Single Eye was beginning to manifest on his chest.
As night fell, the greedy monk slipped away from his post to hunt Adan alone. He was busy fantasizing about his future glory when a cold, emotionless female voice whispered from the darkness behind him.
"Your delusions end here."
"Who!?" The monk spun around, swinging his sword, but hit only air. Suddenly, a sharp pain erupted in his abdomen.
"Show yourself! COWARD!" he roared, unleashing a burst of fire.
"Do not disturb my Master..." the voice replied. A sudden warmth began to trickle down his neck. The monk reached up, his fingers coming away soaked in hot, crimson blood. His throat was shredded; only the sound of air escaping his lungs remained.
Before he could even comprehend his failure, the monk collapsed, his ambition bleeding out into the dirt of Liurnia.