After seeing off Greyoll, the Tarnished continued his journey southward. Before long, he discovered a modestly sized structure to the southeast, cordoned off by a massive wall of raging fire that divided the entire region.
These fire walls appeared to be a desperate measure to halt the spread of the Scarlet Rot. Unfortunately, it seemed they were either built too late or simply failed to hold back the tide; the entire fortress remained choked by the rot. Within its walls, there was no trace of human presence—only the scent of wild beasts mingled with a sickening, putrid stench.
As expected, when the Tarnished stepped into the fortress, he was greeted not by men, but by bat-like creatures with the faces of elderly women.
"Harpies..." These were beings shunned across the Lands Between. They were known to speak in human tongues, singing eerie hymns that no mortal could decipher. Wherever these creatures appeared, life was destined to fall. And because those who perished in their wake died unnatural deaths, the harpies were regarded as harbingers of calamity.
"Forget the Erdtree era... even in the age of the Deathbirds, no one wanted to die to these things. Their songs are hideous, and their breath is toxic." These harpies stood about six to seven feet tall. Besides their unsettling voices, their wings were coated in a thick layer of poisonous dust.
Even brief exposure to the nose or mouth carried a high risk of poisoning, and the creatures themselves were prone to tearing into targets with their talons and fangs. They were, quite literally, a species reviled by all.
The Tarnished faced three of them now. Clearly adapted to Caelid's extreme environment, they were significantly sturdier and larger than their kin elsewhere. Upon spotting him, they flapped their wings, scattering toxic spores while lunging with bared fangs.
"That's enough," the Tarnished muttered. He manifested a giant Dragonclaw, crushing all three bats into the stone with a single blow. No matter how much their constitution had improved, they were nothing in his eyes. A harpy's strength lay in ambush—waiting for a victim to weaken from poison before swooping in. That was their way of survival.
Pinned to the ground, the three bats continued to shriek in voices that sounded like elderly hags.
"You're all up there in years; save your throats." He exerted more pressure, and the three bats were instantly reduced to a bloody mist. As for the toxic gas? Fortunately, he was currently wreathed in the Giants' Flame; such minor toxins couldn't even get close to his body.
The Giants' Flame was the nemesis of many things. Beyond the Erdtree itself, it burned through toxins and even the legendary Scarlet Rot. This was exactly why the Erdtree forces felt the need to topple the Giants in the first place. The Fire Giants were formidable, second perhaps only to the Ancient Dragons. Such colossal beings were not something a normal person would dare challenge.
They had needed a catalyst, and that catalyst was the Golden Order. When the Erdtree launched the War against the Giants, they were aided by the betrayal of the Trolls and the assistance of the Zamor people, along with various smaller factions that joined the crusade.
"The Erdtree of today looks a lot like the Giants of back then," the Tarnished sneered. This was what they called the turning of the tide.
Having dealt with the sentries, the Tarnished climbed a ladder to the top level. There, inside a chest, he found an item of immense importance: the other half of the Dectus Medallion.
"Ah... so it was here. That saves some trouble. With this, I can head straight up the Grand Lift to the Altus Plateau." Satisfied with the haul, he tucked the medallion into his tunic and surveyed the fortress—Fort Faroth.
The fort was compact. Looking down from the current platform, he saw other levels where soldiers used to gather, though not a single living man remained. Aside from the corpses of criminals hanging from gallows, the place was empty.
"Hanging, eh? Come to think of it, that's how the Dung Eater died." That man had likely been awakened by Grace as well; the Tarnished had sensed his unique, foul aura the moment he first entered the Roundtable Hold.
"The Erdtree truly has a problem..." the Tarnished cursed under his breath. The Dung Eater was a man who had long since abandoned reason. Whatever grievances he once had had been twisted into a base, vile desire for defilement.
He had committed the most heinous crimes in the history of Leyndell. His victims were all nobles of the capital, totaling over a hundred. While the number seemed small compared to the tolls of war, one had to remember he committed these murders in the heart of Leyndell at its absolute peak. Even with elite knights and countless heroes roaming the streets, he had evaded capture and continued his spree. That alone proved how dangerous the man was.
The Tarnished had heard that while in prison, the man even defiled the corpses of his cellmates. Finally, when the situation became uncontrollable, he was hanged, and his body was tossed into the capital's sewers.
"Wait... if he's been summoned, that means he's out of his cell... unless the sewers are still sealed." The Tarnished felt a headache coming on. Another variable to watch out for.
Descending to a different platform, he found several giant, rotting rats gnawing on remains. Below them, an item radiating an unusual brilliance caught his eye. He picked up the golden, eye-shaped object. It was almost identical to the "Soreseal" he had found previously.
"This brand... no wonder it looks so familiar." The smaller "Scarseal" he had found before lacked distinct features, but this one was unmistakable. It was a divine brand—a symbol of a great mission.
Marika once had a brand very similar to this, though hers was much softer in appearance.
"This must be Radagon's... but why does he have a brand so similar to Marika's?" According to Marika, the brand was a gift bestowed upon her by the Two Fingers and the Greater Will upon her selection. It was a mark of divinity.
Only the God who represented the Order should possess such a thing. An Elden Lord—at least in Godfrey's case—never received one. So why did Radagon have it? And why was it nearly a mirror image of Marika's? The previous Scarseal could have been explained as Radagon mimicking Marika's mark, but this "Soreseal" was identical to the one the Tarnished remembered Marika wearing. Suspicion began to root in his mind.
The sky of Caelid was blood-red, a hue that persisted even in the dead of night. A Night's Cavalry rider, mounted on a terrifying black steed, patrolled near the Greatbridge of Farum.
"To think Lord Margit would order us to assist a Tarnished... fine, since it is his command, I shall obey. But is he even here?" The rider scanned the surroundings. The bridge was littered with corpses—militiamen burned to cinders and dragons killed by single, crushing blows to the head. A fierce battle had clearly taken place here.
"And where is Greyoll?" He had been to Caelid many times and knew of the gargantuan dragon. Now, her presence was gone. "Did she fly away? No, she was too old to move... is she dead?"
Approaching the site where she once lay, he found a massive pool of blood. He followed the trail of smaller droplets that led away from the site, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw where they headed.
"Fort Faroth? Oh no, the medallion!" Fearing the medallion might fall into the wrong hands, the Night's Cavalry spurred his horse toward the fort. His mission from Margit was to secure the medallion and deliver it to the Tarnished. He couldn't let anyone intercept it.
"Thief! Halt!" Reaching the fort, the rider saw a knight in ornate armor stepping out of the gates.
"Hmm? Night's Cavalry? When did you get here?" The Tarnished nimbly dodged a sweep of the rider's halberd.
"Surrender the medallion, and I may spare your life!" the rider threatened.
"Margit's soldier... I'd rather not fight you if I can help it," the Tarnished sighed.
"Wait!" Seeing the man reach for his blade, a spark of realization hit the rider's mind. "Are you... the Tarnished who defeated Lord Margit?"
"That would be me. Are you here for revenge?"
"You misunderstand, my Lord! I am under orders to assist you!" The rider immediately shifted to a respectful tone.
"Oh? Orders from Margit?"
"Yes, my Lord."
(I see... but is he helping me as Margit the Fell, or as Morgott the Last King?) the Tarnished wondered.
"May I ask if you have secured the other half of the medallion? Is it complete?"
"I have it," the Tarnished nodded.
"I see... it seems I was a step behind." The rider looked ashamed. "In that case, I shall not trouble you further. The Night's Cavalry are spread throughout the Lands Between. You may use this to summon us during the night." He handed over two wooden tablets carved in the likeness of an Omen with horns.
"Shake them, and the sound of the plates clashing will signal the Cavalry... I bid you farewell." The rider bowed. "Oh, and the Night's Cavalry you killed previously has been resurrected as a spirit by Lord Margit. I hope you can get along when you meet..." With that, the rider dissolved into the shadows.
"A Cavalry Summoning Rite... interesting." The Tarnished found himself with a new base of support.
Examining the plates, he saw a line of text etched into the gap. It was a message left by Morgott:
> Uncle... I am the Last King... yet I am the son of Queen Marika and Lord Godfrey. It is because of them that I exist. Perhaps I should fight for my family. Since Mother chose to shatter the Ring... I, as her offspring, have decided to follow suit. I think I finally understand why Brother Godwyn had to die.
> Heh... Uncle, take this small aid from your wayward nephew. This item allows you to command my old guard, the Night's Cavalry. They are everywhere. I look forward to the day you reach the Royal Capital. Until then, I shall continue to guard it... fulfilling my duty as the Last King.