"It reminds me of Prime Minister Cao's expedition against the Wuhuan." Throne's mind whirled. With this intelligence, he could piece together the Dragon Race's intentions. They wanted Malenia to march swiftly, to engage Radahn before their own forces took heavy losses—not to trade Dragon lives for time to recover. "They're trying to force Malenia into early deployment? That won't work." "You intend to interfere?" "Interfere? I need time to devise a solution. If Malenia is pushed into moving prematurely, I'll have no choice but to flee this disaster."
Throne glanced at the graves and turned to leave. He had no other option. The Dragon Race would never ally with the Erdtree demigods, much less fight Radahn alongside Malenia. They'd stand by, watch the carnage unfold, and then fall victim to the Scarlet Rot. Throne couldn't even attempt to mediate. One wrong word, and he'd be reduced to ashes. "Apprentice, what's your plan?" Sellen understood the dilemma. Throne paused at the edge of the eaves, turned his head, and flashed a reckless grin:
"To slay the dragon, of course!"
A low whimper echoed through the lavish bedroom. The Valkyrie lay sprawled across the bed, her silken hair fanned out, her noble face twisted in agony. Her teeth clenched, sweat dripped down her temples, and the once-luxurious bedsheets crumpled into dust beneath her grip. The Scarlet Rot gnawed at her—mind and body. An ordinary person would have succumbed within weeks, but she'd endured its torment for centuries.
Her veins bulged, her golden eyes narrowed to pinpricks, and a destructive force surged through her. Whispers slithered into her ears, relentless and seductive: Let the world's most beautiful flower bloom, and you'll find freedom. Pride brings only ruin, strength only pain. Surrender... "I will never yield!!" Malenia slammed her fist into the bed, shattering it in an instant. The room shuddered. The bedroom door burst open, and a Cleanrot Knight stood silhouetted in the doorway.
Finlay, her helmet tucked under one arm, stepped inside. Her pale green eyes flickered with concern, but she saw no trace of the Valkyrie's suffering. Malenia leaned against the corner, her sweat-soaked clothes clinging to her slender, muscular frame. She breathed heavily, her face calm despite the lingering veins. "Your Highness." Finlay approached without hesitation, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from Malenia's skin. She paused briefly when she reached the rotted patches. "The Scarlet Rot is worsening. Shouldn't you rest?" "No.
This is the time to act." Malenia pushed herself off the wall, her fatigue and pain vanishing the moment she stood straight. "Report the latest developments." It was a flawless facade. Only Finlay clenched her fist, knowing the agony her lord endured—but as her right hand, she had to bear it too. "Your Highness, the nobles of Limgrave have submitted a joint petition. They claim flying dragons are ravaging their lands and request a reduction in the supplies they provide."
"Hmph, another petty trick." Malenia gazed out the window; armored soldiers patrolled Stormveil Castle's grounds. The Haligtree Army was far from home, and ninety percent of their supplies came from Limgrave. Extracting resources from these nobles was like tearing flesh from bone. "Your Highness, they're playing both sides. Should we—" Finlay gestured sharply, mimicking a beheading. "No. I don't have time for their games." Malenia dismissed the idea without hesitation.
The Imperial Grace Earth-Shattering Fist was child's play. Consolidating those fractured petty noble territories? That was the real headache. "Should I deal with the dragon myself?" "It's not so simple. The Dragon Race is looking for an opening. You can't go hunting dragons." Finlay nodded. Killing a flying dragon wasn't the issue. The question was whether it would incite the Dragon Race's wrath. If they retaliated, Radahn would be the one to benefit. Malenia rested her hand on the windowsill, her fingers tapping absently against the wood.
After a long silence, she straightened. "Let Godrick handle it. We kept him alive for a reason. And accelerate preparations—we move half a month early." "Understood." Finlay stepped back. Shifting the blame to Godrick was smart. If he angered the nobles, it would only strengthen the Haligtree Army's position. "One more thing. Priests from Leyndell have arrived. They want to descend into the Rift below Stormveil Castle." Malenia's finger froze mid-tap.
She turned sharply, her expression unreadable. Military discussions didn't leave room for interruptions like this. "Why?" "They claim they're seeking death. Something about confirming intelligence." Finlay's tone was hesitant. The Rift? Malenia's mind flickered to Ranni's agents, who'd been poking around there before. She dismissed the thought. Ranni hadn't shown her face in years—she was undoubtedly plotting something. Caria's schemes didn't concern her. Neither did Leyndell's ambitions.
Her focus couldn't afford to waver. "Let them in. But without my permission, they get nothing." "As you command." Finlay bowed and left. Alone, Malenia stood by the window. Her golden eyes tracked the swirling descent of a few stray leaves. Beyond the courtyard, a dozen figures loitered on the arch bridge, peering down. They weren't clergy. Their stance was too aggressive, their presence too predatory. Hunters, perhaps. Their leader sensed her gaze. He looked up, revealing a middle-aged face framed by a wild beard beneath his cloak.
Their eyes met. The man pressed his right hand to his chest and bowed. Malenia didn't return the gesture. With a flick of her index finger, the falling leaves split into fragments, as if cleaved by an invisible blade. Her red hair stirred in the breeze as she turned away. This was no time for distractions.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, a covered carriage rolled to a stop by the roadside. A faint shimmer rippled through the air, and Throne emerged from the shadows, clad in full Banished Knight armor. He scaled a nearby tree and pulled out a pair of binoculars. Agheel Lake stretched before him, its waters shallow and still. On the southern shore, a small town sat half-submerged. Once a jewel of Limgrave, it had been abandoned years ago. The elden ring's shattering had unleashed chaos, and the Dragon Race's growing dominance had sealed its fate.
When the flying dragon arrived, this prosperous lakeside town was left to rot. Moss-covered sculptures whispered of its former glory. The elden ring's collapse had set off a chain reaction. The King and Goddess vanished, plunging The Lands Between into chaos. Demigods, heroes, and knights turned on each other, their unity shattered. The Golden Order crumbled, and with it, any semblance of control.
Monsters and demons, long suppressed to the brink of suffocation, finally took the stage. The farce turned savage, leaving few alive. When the Tarnished ascended the throne, all they found was the Lands Between—a shattered, bleeding wound. "Beneath the throne lies an ocean of bones," Throne muttered, binoculars pressed to his eyes. "Wonder if whoever sits there feels the chill through their ass."
"What're you mumbling about?" Sellen's voice drifted up as she scaled the tree, her ascent marked by flickers of starlight. She perched beside him, her presence sharp and luminous.
"Just cursing fate," Throne said, his voice dry. "One bastard breaks the ring, and the rest of us pay. This town used to be good. Now look at it."
Sellen tilted her head, her tone casual, almost flippant. "Why not become the Elden Lord? Clean up the mess yourself."
Throne's grip on the binoculars froze. The idea was absurd—yet it landed with a strange weight. People who whined were useless. If you saw a problem, you solved it. He shook his head, dismissing the thought before it could take root.
He lowered the binoculars, stroking his chin. "Intel's wrong. No sign of the dragon."
"Let me see." Sellen snatched the binoculars without waiting. Her gaze locked onto a spot in the distance. "You're still too green, apprentice. See that island in the lake? That's the dragon's nest."
Throne took the binoculars back and peered through them. Sure enough, the island was a chaotic mound of debris—too massive to be man-made.
"Where's the dragon?"
"Probably out hunting fish. It'll be back by nightfall." Sellen's form blurred, dissolving into starlight, and reappeared beneath the tree. "Come on, apprentice. Let's scout it out."
Her speed was staggering. The Graven-Mass Witch wasn't just a title; it was a warning. Her Starlight movement outpaced his by leagues, and paired with the Thopss Barrier, she was a nightmare for any mage. Unhittable. Uncatchable. Even two Sorcery Professors would die cursing her name.
Once Caelid's business was done, he'd settle scores with those bastards. The thought made him grin—sharp, feral.
Throne leaped down from the tree, landing lightly on the ground. He conserved his mana, unwilling to waste it on flashy displays. The covered carriage served as their mobile storage. He organized his gear in the spirit-calling ring, leaving behind the Cleanrot Rapier—too fragile for this encounter.
Sellen waited, her light blue dress incongruous against the desolation. She looked like a noblewoman out for a stroll, but the town was no vacation spot. Weeds swallowed the streets, roofs sagged, and pale bones peeked through the overgrowth. The sky darkened as they moved deeper into the ruins.
They found shelter in a half-collapsed villa, its three stories leaning precariously. Inside, the place was stripped bare—cleaner than a dog's dish. The balcony faced the lake, offering a clear view of the island.
Throne extended his thumb to measure the distance—no more than two hundred meters. "Perfect spot. Mid-tier magic range." He nodded, satisfied. Behind him, Sellen dragged over a lounge chair.
"Don't sit!"
She froze, mid-motion, scanning for traps. Throne stepped forward, wind swirling around his palm, and swept the dust from the chair in a single motion.
"I wash my clothes every two days," he said, his tone flat. "Don't make me do it more."
Throne split his time between apprentice duties and nanny chores—cooking, washing dishes, doing laundry. Fussy. Sellen huffed in mock dissatisfaction but reclined obediently, basking in the sunset glow. A prickling sensation made her glance up. Throne was watching her. He looked away the moment their eyes met. Sellen glanced down at her V-neck, the fabric dipping low enough to reveal pale skin. She adjusted the collar without a trace of embarrassment. "Master, what are you doing?" Throne started, caught off guard.
"Nothing. If you enjoy looking, look your fill. It's just a mammary organ. Nothing extraordinary about it." She raised a slender finger, her tone shifting to that of a lecturer. "You're always distracted. These base desires are a waste of time." "Few at Raya Lucaria could resist. I don't want to end up like Seluvis." Throne's voice was heavy. He was just a commoner. If he had that kind of discipline, he'd have joined the ascetic monks at Senpou Temple long ago. "Tsk. This part is troublesome. Fine. Master understands."
Sellen's eyes gleamed. "Next, I'll find a way to relieve you of this worry."
Throne stiffened, legs instinctively tightening. Relieve the worry? That didn't sound soothing. "H-how will you relieve it?"
"A secret. You'll know when the time comes." Her lips curved, but her narrowed blue eyes sent a chill down his spine.
He swallowed hard, retreating to the balcony. Sellen wouldn't harm him. Probably joking. The flying dragon hadn't arrived yet. Neither of them was a rookie; the tension was minimal.
Throne raised his binoculars, scanning the lake. "Master, how long have we known each other?"
"Let me think... Eh? Only three months? Feels like years." Sellen's eyes widened, a rare flicker of confusion crossing her face. Three months was a blink in her long life, yet the ease between them felt ancient.
Throne felt it too. With three lifetimes of memories tangled in his mind, he wasn't exactly young. There was only one explanation.
"Maybe we've been through too much." "Well said. I never imagined life outside magic could be so... interesting." Ah, truly an eccentric. Being hunted counts as interesting? Throne kept his gaze on the golden lake. "Didn't you hate trouble?" "Alone, yes. With you, it's different. Inspiring, even." Sellen twirled a strand of black hair, her voice light.
"Once things settle down, this inspiration can pass a lot of time." "Being with me, settling down won't be easy." "Heh. Just kill everyone in our way. Problem solved." Sellen shrugged, her tone casual. She didn't know what to call this feeling. A master's care for her student? Too simple. A lazy person's dependence? She'd never relied on anyone before. No research topic, no experimental reference—this was something else entirely. Outside the bounds of magic, in a realm she couldn't define. She closed her eyes, fragments of memory drifting through her mind.
The Glintstone Lamp cast its pale glow on the man's ferocious grin, wild and untamed. Memories flickered—the swordsman draping a hood over her shoulders as siege engines roared in the distance, his blade piercing Seluvis's skull in a single, crimson-soaked strike. There were quieter moments too: the tea cup the student handed her during endless nights, the absurd image of the Sword Ghost crouched by the riverbank, scrubbing clothes with comical precision. "Apprentice," she murmured, "Master suddenly feels… a bit inseparable from you."
Throne's attention was locked on the lake. A small black dot streaked across the horizon.
"What did you just say?"
"Nothing." Sellen didn't bother repeating herself. She rose, pulled a rubber band from her pocket, and swiftly tied her black hair into a ponytail. Dropping into a crouch beside Throne, she glanced at the approaching dot.
"It's coming?" Throne's voice was clipped, his focus absolute. He didn't press her.
"Yeah. Looks like it ate its fill today. Let's give this dragon some post-meal exercise in a bit."