"Please, be careful... the Minor Erdtree ahead has been consumed by the Scarlet Rot. A strange danger awaits you there." Melina looked toward the golden tree nearest to the Tarnished. Unlike typical Minor Erdtrees, this one had lost its luster, a deathly pallor visible even from a distance.
Melina, with her unique sensory abilities, saw something deeper: the Scarlet Rot had already burrowed into the tree's deepest roots. This entity could no longer truly be called an Erdtree.
"You mean the Erdtree Avatar?" The Tarnished narrowed his eyes, studying the distant tree. If the tree was infected, the Avatar born from it would surely be a vessel for the blight as well.
"Yes. You must remain vigilant. Caelid's dangers far exceed those of Limgrave or Liurnia." Melina spoke with a grave expression, and the Tarnished nodded in agreement. In the distance, he spotted a group of small, brownish dragons slumbering in a pool of stagnant, filthy water.
"Have you heard the legend of the Mother of Dragons? They say she is the matriarch of all flying dragons... and seemingly the first whose bloodline became flawed. Because her blood was impure, she gave birth to Wyverns—creatures worlds apart from the Ancient Dragons." Melina spoke in her characteristically calm tone.
"I've heard bits and pieces. Looks like she's here in Caelid."
"Indeed... and she is in the twilight of her life. Yet, she remains ancient. Even as a Wyvern, she is a colossal being that rivals the scale of the Ancient Dragons."
"A colossal Wyvern, eh? Still, she won't be bigger than Gransax," the Tarnished remarked dismissively.
"Gransax...? The great dragon that assaulted the Royal Capital?" Melina looked up, her curiosity piqued.
"Want to hear the story?" The Tarnished smiled. Melina nodded obediently; she always had a soft spot for the strange histories of the world. Since she was willing to listen, he didn't mind sharing.
"It happened during Godfrey's era of conquest... toward the latter stages of the War against the Giants. The Golden Army was preparing to conquer Limgrave—the land of storms. Just as the main force was arriving there, an Ancient Dragon launched a sudden, massive assault on the Royal Capital."
"Leading the charge was the 'Unrivaled Rock,' the colossal Ancient Dragon Gransax. His scales were impenetrable, and his size was beyond comprehension. With Godfrey away, the capital's walls were breached in an instant. However, Godwyn reacted swiftly, rallying the defenders to engage in a war against the dragons."
"But here is the strange part. Gransax exists in the capital today as a petrified monument. His death... it wasn't caused by Godwyn, nor the Golden Army. The cause remains unknown to this day. Aside from the dragon-gravel mined from his body later, he bore no wounds that should have been fatal."
"It was as if his life force simply vanished in an instant. Godwyn seemed to know the truth, but he chose to remain silent, and the matter became a taboo in the capital. As for the other Ancient Dragons, they reached a truce the moment Gransax fell. Their subsequent leader, Fortissax, became Godwyn's dearest friend. This war that began so suddenly ended just as abruptly."
"An unknown cause of death...?" Melina tilted her head, even more perplexed.
"I don't know either... and do you want to guess why Gransax attacked the capital? It wasn't to restore the age of dragons. The reason he struck Leyndell lay in Limgrave," the Tarnished said, playing the mystery.
"Limgrave...?"
"The Storm Lord of Limgrave was no mere mortal champion... nor a common human. He was a being that was half-man, half-dragon."
"Eh?" Melina's surprise was evident. Even she hadn't expected such a twist.
"Ancient Dragons can take human form; it wasn't rare in the old days. The Storm Lord was the offspring of an Ancient Dragon and a human. He was a unique existence—winged and approaching the form of a Wyvern, yet distinct from both Ancient and Flying Dragons."
"Could it be... that the First Lord's invasion of Limgrave enraged the Ancient Dragons?" Melina quickly deduced the possibility. A descendant left on the surface facing danger... it made sense for the elders of the bloodline to seek justice.
"The Storm Lord inherited the storms of his ancestors and a pale, impure yellow lightning. He had his own lineage as well... but regardless, that was Gransax's motive for the raid."
The Ancient Dragons were not fools. They wouldn't provoke the Erdtree without reason. In the early days, there was little conflict between the two powers; the dragons had retreated from the world for their own reasons. Only the touching of a "reverse scale"—a core grievance—could have drawn them into such a disastrous conflict.
"Hm? Melina, wait here a moment. I'm going to go fetch something."
"?" Melina watched in confusion as the Tarnished crept toward the sleeping small dragons, pulling a delicate crystal ball from his pouch.
(Is that... a purple mist?) Melina focused her gaze and noticed what had caught his eye: swirls of violet vapor that radiated a sense of profound peace and tranquility.
(St. Trina...) Melina immediately thought of the girl who had entrusted Torrent to her in a dream.
"This should be enough... I wonder where Rico went." Ever since parting ways with the Greatfever monk, he hadn't seen him.
Returning to the Site of Grace, they chatted a while longer. Melina was certainly more talkative than before, a change the Tarnished genuinely enjoyed. But time was pressing. Melina eventually urged him to move on, and they parted ways as the Tarnished descended toward the foot of the blighted Minor Erdtree.
The terrain was narrow, reeking of rot and the stench of stagnant death. It was a foulness that rivaled the aura of the undead. As he observed the withered tree, a glob of thick, rancid mucus narrowly missed his head.
"Don't throw trash around," the Tarnished grumbled, stepping back to face the massive creature that had just landed. It was an Erdtree Avatar, but one hideously transformed by the Scarlet Rot.
"Well... it seems just about anything can kick the Erdtree while it's down these days." Thinking of the Erdtree's recent luck—burned by fire or eaten by bacteria—the Tarnished felt it was a bit pathetic. Then again, it was a natural backlash to the way the Golden Order had suppressed every other power in the past.
The Putrid Avatar was far from weak. Though it looked decrepit, it was surging with power; the Scarlet Rot had granted it a twisted strength in exchange for its sanity. The Avatar slammed its hammer, shaking the earth, while Scarlet Rot fluid leaked from the weapon to serve as a wide-range spray attack. It was far more troublesome than a standard Avatar. This land did not earn its reputation for nothing.
But the Tarnished did not panic. He summoned Asimi in his mind, and the two of them surrounded the Avatar. They both raised their Crescent Blades, preparing to end it with their strongest technique.
No matter how much strength it gained, the Avatar could not change its clumsy nature. Before it could react, the trajectories of falling stars erupted from two directions. Even if Asimi's blade was a mimicry, its power far exceeded common glintstone sorcery. The twin impacts converged on the Avatar, blowing it to pieces in a matter of seconds.
The core of the creature fell to the ground—a crystal heart completely overtaken by the rot. There was no Cracked Crystal Tear to be found here, only a concentrated toxic sludge that would rot a living being instantly.
"Good work, Asimi." The Tarnished patted her shoulder.
"Helping is what I do best... but this Scarlet Rot... even as a Silver Tear, I find this power repulsive. It is a calamity for any living thing," Asimi said, her soul shivering with an instinctive dread. "My Host... hear me. I remember something... deep beneath Liurnia, in the lowest reaches of the underground world... there is a legend of a god's soul being sealed there. That place has long since become a forbidden zone for life."
So the Rot Goddess is sealed down there, the Tarnished mused, rubbing his chin. I see. But for now, the festival takes priority. I still have a little time before it starts.
"Host... I am with you." Asimi returned to his body. The Tarnished looked at the rotting crystal in his hand, gave a cold snort, and let a searing flame burn in his palm. He reduced the Scarlet Rot to ash, like dry wood.
As the ashes drifted through his fingers, he spoke softly. "If it's a cycle of rebirth you want... then I'll send you to the next one." The Scarlet Rot was no ordinary thing. He didn't know what it had been in the past, but the rot of the present was purely malevolent. At the very least, the current inhabitants of the Lands Between could not withstand such a force.
"When does the festival begin?"
Inside the fortress where giant red banners billowed in the wind, a towering Crucible Knight turned to the man beside him.
"Very soon..." Jerren replied, his voice muffled by the eccentric mask of a bearded elder beneath his pointed hood. He wore striped armor and watched the horizon with weary eyes. "I did not expect a subordinate of the War Lord—whom the General so admires—to attend this festival personally."
Jerren was more than a castellan; he was a guest commander and a comrade to General Radahn.
"Heh... a warrior should die a warrior's death. I have heard of his fame, and I shall see him off myself."
"The General..." Jerren's voice was raspy with age. A complex mix of sorrow and duty swirled in his heart as he looked out over the dunes.
•
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