"Hmph. When it matters, you still come crawling to me." Ranni's voice carried an edge—Sellen's earlier disrespect still stung, but this moment tasted sweet. "How did you end up brawling with Leyndell?"
"I'd love to know myself. Why don't you step in? Call it off—for your own sake."
"You dare humiliate me further?"
Ranni's rebuke crackled with icy authority. Then, catching herself, she softened—just a fraction.
"Impossible. Morgott is the Golden Order's attack dog. If not for his failed assault on Volcano Manor, he'd have purged Liurnia by now."
"I see." Throne feigned disappointment, though he'd always known. Morgott and Ranni shared no kinship, no alliance—only mutual contempt. The Grace-Given Lord kept no company but his brother's. A forbidden child, Marika and Godfrey's shame.
"If I face an enemy I can't beat... may I borrow your power?"
"You may."
"Aren't you afraid of the consequences?"
"Thorne Wright." The doll's voice turned grave. "You are my knight. Aiding you is my duty."
For a heartbeat, Throne felt something warm stir in his chest. Ranni was a good liege—generous with artifacts, steadfast when it counted. "Thank you. That steels my nerves. But sparing you trouble is also my duty. I'll only call on you as a last resort."
His grip tightened. "And if I must... I'll leave no witnesses."
Loyalty for loyalty. Throne wasn't some backstabbing wretch.
Silence stretched between them, thick with understanding. Ranni gave the faintest nod. "I appreciate your candor."
"Honestly? Just a lucky guess. Didn't know your consciousness inhabited the doll until now. Thanks for the... special attention."
Ranni's voice turned razor-sharp. "No one is giving you special attention! This is merely a side effect of channeling my power!"
Throne smirked. That infuriating, knowing smirk.
The doll twitched in his palm. She wanted to leap up and punch his smug face, but struggling in his grip would only compound the indignity. "Enough. Judge your own path. The right to wield my power is yours."
Her voice grew distant, fading like mist. One final jab:
"Next time you summon me, do not clutch me in your fist."
"Where should I put you, then? On a shrine?"
"That... is your concern."
"Lady Ranni? Hey—"
No answer.
He shrugged, opening his mouth for some smart remark—
The doll suddenly spat, "One final rule: You will tell no one I speak through this vessel. Not even Blaidd."
Throne jerked upright, schooling his face into reverence. "Understood. Any other commands?"
"And when idle, keep the doll in the spirit-calling ring. No strange behavior. No idle chatter."
"As you wish!"
He stared at the doll, then—bold as brass—traced a finger along its delicate cheek. Only silence answered. He exhaled. Adorable.
After experiencing this, the demigod's dignity in Throne's eyes weakened a little more; he could almost see the flush of humiliation beneath that porcelain mask. Blaidd would seethe with envy if he knew.
Throne shrugged one last time and tucked the doll away. Their little secret.
"Come to think of it, I have to thank you all for giving me such a reasonable excuse to draw Ranni out." He closed his smiling eyes. Now that his trump card was available, he still stuck to the old saying: try not to trouble Ranni if possible. If nothing went wrong, it would be here soon. Click... A few minutes later, a slight sound came.
Throne opened his eyes abruptly, saw a round shadow appear at the cave entrance, and withdrew his hand from his sword. "Ahem, so you were hiding here. You made me climb for a long time." Alexander squeezed into the cave, and seeing Throne's battered armor, he laughed heartily:
"Hahaha, I didn't expect you to be chased so miserably!" Are you that happy to see me in such a sorry state?
Throne rolled his eyes and asked: "Since you knew I was being hunted by powerful enemies, you still dared to come here and seek death?" "Warrior Pots never retreat! And we keep our promises!" Alexander patted his chest with a thumping sound and said loudly: "Since I promised to come, then even a mountain of blades and a sea of fire cannot stop me." "Alright, alright, keep it down."
Throne quickly hushed him, though the corners of his mouth curled up involuntarily. In a desperate situation, nothing is more reliable than a real man. He shoved the dragon meat into the Pot Person's head and asked in a hurried tone: "How is it? Did you find the way to Caelid?" "You can rest assured when I handle things. I've found it.
It's a mine, and the other end indeed leads to the Caelid plateau." As expected, it's Gael Tunnel. Throne showed a hint of joy, but also a bit of worry. He didn't want to escape the wolf's den only to enter a tiger's lair, so he asked in detail about the situation inside. This was where the Redmane Army mined Cragblade crystals, but due to the urgent war, it was currently abandoned.
It was mainly because there was a large Magma Wyrm inside, and without sufficient defensive forces, the miners dared not go down the shaft, so it was simply left vacant. 'This is a good thing. I guess they don't know that the demi-humans dug a hole right under their noses.' Throne rubbed his chin. Because if both sides started fighting, the Redmane Army's position would be hard to control.
If he were besieged by both sides, he would probably be done for on the spot. "Fortunately, it left me a way out. As long as I escape into Caelid and change my clothes, it will be hard for them to find me. It's just this path down the mountain..." He looked at the cave entrance where the night wind was howling, thinking to himself that this road would likely be very difficult to traverse.
That hunter was very capable, at least a bit better than him. Furthermore, the cave entrance was in the south; if he charged down, he would definitely run head-on into the enemy's main force. There was a Nights Cavalry inside, which was also a hero-level powerhouse. If he was caught in a pincer attack, it would surely be a dead end.
Throne furrowed his brows and waved at Alexander: "I have the intelligence now. You go to the cave entrance and wait for me." "Are you not escaping now?" "I can't escape yet. I cannot confirm the location of the pursuers right now; it would be very troublesome if I ran into them halfway."
Throne only said half of it; the other reason was that the other team hadn't been drawn far enough away by Sellen, and he could easily be blocked. "Then I won't leave either." The Pot Person simply sat down. Seeing the swordsman's confused gaze, he laughed heartily: "I, Alexander, do not have the habit of abandoning companions to escape alone. Besides, you saved me, and this favor must be repaid!"
Throne's eyes flickered wide for a heartbeat before settling into calm. "You'd better be sure. This is suicide."
"Mm. I'm always sure." The warrior pot's voice rang with false bravado. "Danger? Heroes are born in desperate places."
Calm my ass. You couldn't take down a Nights Cavalry squire with that flimsy swing of yours. Throne bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
The pot was cheerful, reckless, and delusional in that endearing way fools sometimes are. Impossible to hate. "You're an idiot," Throne said. "Charging blind into certain death. Then again, with skills like yours, you'd trip over your own feet before making it down the mountain." He stood, scanning the pale bleed of dawn across the sky. Luck was with him today.
A demigod's favor at his back. A pot for company. What more did he need? "Fine. Let me show you how a real breakout's done."
Day broke hard over the borderlands between Limgrave and Caelid. The mountains stood barren, all jagged rock and shadow. No man could scale those cliffs—only skirt the ridges southeast. But even that path had an end.
The junction between regions was a knife's edge of land. Half a day's march would dump them into the sea. "He went this way." A crouched, brushing dust from a partial print. The mark pointed north. He gestured east.
Throne had littered the trail with false leads, but these hunters weren't Seluvis' lackeys. Among them moved true trackers. Those Who Live in Death thrived in wastelands. Their hunters knew terrain like their own rotting flesh. "East," A confirmed. "The grass bends that way."
A Nights Cavalry attendant nodded. Their order demanded survival skills as much as swordplay. "My lord, he means to dive off the cliffs."
"Impossible." A scoffed. "Two hundred meters onto open ocean? No shallows for a hundred miles. You think he'll swim it?"
A stroked his beard. This made no sense. Fleeing blindly just meant dying trapped against the sea. Better to turn, take a few throats on the way down. "No matter. Lord Oleg flanks from the south."
The hunter doubted they'd catch the witch. Her magic cheated distance—one blink across chasms, and pursuit became futile. This pause was just to catch their breath. Throne had stamina to burn; they didn't.
Dried meat vanished between teeth. They climbed, the peaks growing steeper. More signs appeared—scuffed stone, disturbed earth. Then, in a cave, the remains of a meal. A pinched the meat scraps between his fingers. Saliva still damp.
"He's close."
Steel sang free of scabbards.
No one dared to let their guard down. Judging from the pursuit all the way, it was hard to say if the enemy was strong, but at the very least, he was a skilled hunter. The cave mouth yawned dark. Inside, footprints lingered in the dust. Someone had gone deep.
The Nights Cavalry attendant advanced cautiously, shield raised in one hand, sword gripped tight in the other. His boots crunched on loose gravel as he scanned the cave interior. Three steps in, the hunter's shout echoed from behind: "He's not inside!"
A whirled around mid-stride. He sprinted for the cave entrance without a backward glance at the two skeptical attendants.
The moment he cleared the threshold, a shadow detached itself from the rocks. The figure streaked downhill, boots kicking up dust. "There!" A's shout ripped through the air. Footprints in the cave? Irrelevant now. The attendants bolted after him.
From their vantage point, the slope revealed everything—a figure in shattered Banished Knight armor sliding down the mountainside. No discussion needed. Three pairs of boots hit the scree as the pursuit began. Leather scuffed stone. A flare burst overhead, painting the sky crimson.
A outpaced the others. At optimal range, he flung both arms forward. Golden light flashed. A wave of gravel surged toward the fleeing man.
Throne didn't turn. His body blurred with Bloodhound's Step, covering ten meters in a heartbeat. He launched off a six-meter boulder, knees bending on impact, rolling through the landing before springing back into a dead run.
Wind screamed past his ears. He flowed down the mountain like water, glancing back—a hundred meters still separated him from his pursuers. They moved like wolves, relentless. That flare meant roadblocks ahead.
Throne's breathing stayed even. The rhythmic thuds behind him grew louder.
"What the hell is that?" A craned his neck mid-sprint. His gut clenched. A boulder the size of a horse cart tumbled from the cave mouth. Behind it, a Pot Person emerged, iron fists raised.
The clay warrior kicked off its shoes and hammered the mountainside. Rocks fractured. Stones of every size broke free, gaining speed as they rolled downhill. Alexander couldn't take a Nights Cavalryman in a fight, but gravity did the work for him.
Boom!
The hunter pivoted, smashing the first boulder with a punch. Shrapnel exploded outward—just in time for the second and third stones to barrel through the debris. Each one weighed more than a man, accelerating into lethal projectiles.
"Split!" The command was unnecessary. The attendants already dove for cover.
One took two direct hits. Blood sprayed from his mouth as his partner dragged him behind an outcrop.
"You—kill that Pot!" A's voice was sharp but controlled.
The sword-and-shield attendant scrambled uphill, cursing his luck.
Throne had gained two hundred meters. A thirty-meter cliff loomed ahead. The cascading rocks shattered on impact below, clearing his path. Had he scouted this route in advance? Lured them up here deliberately?
The hunter almost broke down, quickly taking a deep breath to steady himself. "Circle around with me—he won't get far!" A classic diversion. Simple tools, lethal when wielded with cunning.
Throne shook his pursuers—for now—using sheer momentum and terrain. He didn't slow. No time. The interception ahead left him exposed, stripped of cover for another ambush.
South. The cave's south. His boots skidded against loose rock as he scanned Limgrave's sprawling plains below. Downhill was good. The slope burned his thighs, but gravity did most of the work. His ass ached from the descent, raw from scraping stone, but stamina wasn't the issue.
Only the cave meant survival. His mind raced, sharpening the plan. Sellen wasn't just bait—she'd split their forces, scattering them to hunt a ghost.
Even if they saw the signal, there would be a difference in time for them to arrive. Seconds counted. Blood would decide who reached the cave first.