"I have one last requirement." Throne flashed a sinister smile; he had never actually said the deal was finalized. "Either stay away from me, or follow me openly. Don't go lurking around behind my back—it messes with my judgment." He wasn't persecuting Melina on purpose; having senses that were too sharp was a double-edged sword.
Having a spiritualized person following him gave him the constant illusion of being watched by an enemy. "You..." Melina opened her mouth, wanting to complain about how demanding he was and how he completely ignored the usual script. Logically speaking, after receiving a Spirit Steed and a way to gain power, shouldn't one agree to the deal with ecstatic joy?
Why was he the one acting like the dominant party in the transaction instead? The girl was a bit confused by the situation and even felt an impulse to take back her offer, but she glanced at the Spectral Steed Whistle gripped tightly in Throne's palm and sensed that getting a refund wouldn't be easy. She thought about it further.
The fact that this Tarnished could detect her presence meant his request wasn't just a whim; it would be bad if it led to accidental friendly fire. Besides, she couldn't stray too far from her contractor, much like a land-bound spirit tethered to Throne's side. "Fine. When I am by your side, I will not spiritualize, but please allow me to conceal my appearance."
Throne thought to himself that her identity was indeed special. He wouldn't object to that; otherwise, it would be troublesome if she got caught in the crossfire just for being there. He extended his right hand. "Then it's a deal." Melina paused for a moment before raising her hand to shake his. Her small hand was smooth but somewhat cold.
Throne didn't have any lingering thoughts; he simply held on and didn't let go, dragging her toward the post station just like that. "What are you doing?" "We're headed to Mistwood next. That ability of yours to appear out of thin air would look suspicious to even an idiot, and I can't explain it. Since you'll have to be seen sooner or later, put your hood up and try not to speak."
Throne spoke as he walked. With Tarnished everywhere now, a suspicious spiritualized girl would draw too much doubt. Since he'd agreed to the deal, he wouldn't just take the horse and do nothing. But an agreement was an agreement; Melina would have to fight by his side as well. She couldn't just be a free rider. "Oh, by the way, call me Throne when no one is around.
If there are people, call me Isshin." The swordsman's strength was immense, making the light girl feel like she was practically flying as she was dragged along. Perhaps Melina hadn't gained the upper hand once throughout this entire conversation; her mind was a bit of a mess, and she hadn't quite snapped out of it yet.
Several Tarnished sentries were just ahead and happened to see the two approaching. By the time Melina realized what was happening, it was too late to refuse; she quickly pulled up her hood and looked at her hand, which was being held tightly, feeling a sudden surge of frustration. This bastard is using the situation as an excuse!
Throne was clearly doing this on purpose, as if trying to hide certain secrets from her gaze. But regardless of his difficulties, a thought flashed through Melina's dizzy head:
Can I get a refund?
Mistwood is the largest stronghold for the Tarnished in Limgrave, having existed since the pioneering period several years ago. I heard the Tarnished who founded the town is named 'Riley the Near-Dusk.' He designed it very cleverly, placing it right in the middle of a dense forest with only a few winding paths leading to the outside world. True to its name, a thin white mist lingered in the air.
The terrain here was hellish—no room for armies to maneuver, no place for knights clanking like tin cans. Without those advantages, the armies of The Lands Between struggled to trap and crush the Tarnished. Every faction fought in its own way. The Tarnished? They thrived in small, swift skirmishes.
Their strength lay in unpredictability. Each fighter wielded unique skills and gear, making them slippery targets. If a fight turned sour, they vanished without shame. But in a straight-up clash against organized forces? They'd be flattened. Nearly a hundred Tarnished trudged north, trailing along the path.
Their formation was a mess, discipline nonexistent. Some lagged behind, distracted by the slightest thing. An elk emerged from the woods, and half the group broke off to hunt. Throne, who'd marched with three proper armies, felt his stomach twist. Think of them as a legion of knights, he told himself. But expecting discipline? Forget it.
He scanned the chaos. When the Haligtree Army marched, even under enemy fire, they'd keep moving without a word. Discipline showed in the smallest details. The Tarnished couldn't handle real battles. They were explorers, not soldiers—no hierarchy, no training, no unity. Expecting them to storm Stormveil? Suicide.
Throne's mind flashed to the battles he'd seen: cavalry charges, shield walls, arrows darkening the sky, Golems and Trolls clashing like titans. The Tarnished couldn't fight like that. They didn't have the numbers or the discipline. And this was the calm after the storm—their ranks had swelled, but no super-elites had emerged to carve a path through cities single-handedly.
Throne glanced sideways. Vyke's gaze flickered over, not at him but at Melina, who shadowed Throne closely. Vyke barely had time to look before Eina's elbow slammed into his gut. "Hmph! What are you staring at?"
"Just curious," Vyke muttered. "Where'd Sir Isshin pick up a companion?" Throne had returned to camp in the dead of night with a young woman in tow. She stayed silent, like a ghost. "Mysterious. Keep your distance," Eina snapped, her lips curling.
They stood apart from the group, radiating an unspoken stay away. Throne was a walking calamity—everywhere he went, chaos followed. Vyke tried to get closer, but Throne rarely acknowledged him. Fine, Vyke thought. If he doesn't care, why should I?
His mind drifted to the future. Rumors in Mistwood said he'd soon be assigned a Finger Maiden. What would she be like? He grinned like an idiot—another elbow to the ribs cut him short. "Eina, what's your problem?" "That stupid grin. It's annoying."
The tall girl huffed and stormed to the front. Throne caught the exchange and chuckled softly. "What's so funny?" Melina's sharp ears caught the sound. After last night's 'negotiation,' she'd realized he wasn't the cold, ruthless figure she'd thought. He was playing a role—and playing it well.
She didn't feel right asking why he was pretending, but a faint wariness settled in her chest.
"A melodramatic romance drama's about to unfold," Throne said, his voice tinged with envy. "Vyke here might have to weather a 'Shura Field' of jealousy." That Vyke—he had a knack for catching women's attention.
Not only did he have his teammate's affection and a bond with a Finger Maiden, but Throne remembered something about a cross-species romance too. Damn it. In looks and strength, I'm ten times the man he is. Why hasn't luck swung my way?
Sure, there were women in his life—one dignified tsundere, one idiot with zero common sense, and now an "incombustible piece of wood."
He was sighing inwardly when a cold voice cut through the air behind him.
"'Shura Field'? Who wants to kill him?"
Throne turned sharply. Melina stood there, her expression dead serious. For a moment, he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
He'd only just started interacting with her, but he already had her pegged. "As expected of a piece of wood. You really are dense." With that, he quickened his pace and left her standing there, stunned.
Seconds later, her voice rang out. "What gives you the right to insult me!?"
Rounding the bend, a cluster of wooden buildings came into view. Mistwood had no walls. It was filled with capable Tarnished, so wild beasts wandering in for a snack weren't a concern. If enemies reached the gates, defending would be pointless anyway. Walls would only slow their escape.
The Tarnished weren't the type to live or die for their strongholds. The town's houses were cluttered, clearly thrown together without a plan. Throne scanned the area—hundreds of Tarnished were here, but none seemed tied to the missions or justice mentioned in the prophecies.
Some lounged in the sun, others drank and boasted. A group played cards, while another pair brawled in the dirt. He even spotted Misbegotten and Demi-humans—bruised, shackled, and doing manual labor. Captives, clearly.
"Sir Isshin, this must be your first time in Mistwood," Vyke said, noticing the curiosity in Throne's eyes.
"Yes, it certainly gives me a different feeling." Throne struggled to phrase it politely. It was far too chaotic and disorganized. He turned to Vyke. "Does Mistwood have no manager?"
"No. Initially, this was just a place to rest. It grew because it's close to a Minor Erdtree."
"Then how do they maintain order? Prevent infighting?"
Vyke blinked and spread his hands. "Everyone's a Tarnished. Order isn't really a priority. Well, there is one rule: no killing blows allowed in town."
Throne turned just in time to see a bald brute knock a swordsman to the ground. The axe stopped inches from the man's nose, sparing him a split skull. Grinning, the brute hauled his opponent to his feet.
"Who set the rules?"
"The Roundtable Hold. They believe Tarnished shouldn't kill each other. We should help and love one another, work together to save The Lands Between." Vyke's face glowed with yearning.
So that's the so-called official organization. Throne pieced it together. From what he knew, the Roundtable Hold wielded immense prestige and had the Veiled Monarch Morgott's backing. They were at their peak.
Which raised the question.
With such a powerful organization, why hadn't anyone become the Elden Lord? He glanced at Vyke, still so enthusiastic and simple-minded.
Throne, the 'prophet,' knew exactly what Vyke would do in the future. Becoming a candidate for Lord but branded by the Frenzied Flame... Could he be the one who caused Morgott and the Roundtable Hold to split? The thought lingered, sharp and unsettling.
It wasn't just possible—it was plausible.
If the Tarnished's chosen Lord candidate walked the most treacherous path, Morgott, with his position and temperament, would move swiftly to eliminate such a threat. He'd deploy Tree Sentinels, Night's Cavalry—every tool at his disposal—to hunt down the newly awakened and uncertain Tarnished. Vyke might just be the spark that ignited the fire.
Tensions between the Tarnished and the locals were already simmering. From peasants to nobles, disdain for these rootless wanderers ran deep. History often shifts on the smallest push. Vyke, oblivious to Throne's silent accusations, gestured toward the square ahead. "Sir Isshin, why don't we meet the Roundtable Hold representative together?"
Across the square stood a stone house, gray walls topped with white tiles. Its sharp edges gave it the austere look of a church. Throne shook his head. "No need. You go alone. Melina, let's wander a bit." He took the girl's hand and walked away, leaving Vyke to sigh softly. "Sir Isshin truly cares nothing for fame or fortune. So her name is Melina?"
"Poor thing," Vyke muttered. "She's mute."
Thud. An elbow slammed into his ribs. Before he could protest, Eina grabbed his arm, her voice laced with irritation. "Let's go! If you're not rushing to claim the reward, there's something wrong with your head!"
"Why didn't you go meet the Roundtable Hold representative?" Melina's calm voice broke through the clamor of the square. Throne raised an eyebrow. Around them, Tarnished barked their wares, the noise deafening. Yet her words cut through clearly, a reminder of Ranni's abilities.
"What skill is that?" he asked.
"A method of using mental power."
"Can you teach me?"
Melina stopped walking, her calm gaze widening slightly. "Of course not!" His earlier indifference had been convincing, but now he was shamelessly asking for favors. They'd barely met, and her impression of him was already sinking.
She didn't trust him—not yet. The secrets he carried seemed as numerous as her own. "That's a pity," Throne said, unfazed. "Why not reconsider? I can offer some... special services."
Melina's expression didn't change. She knew his background, though she didn't trust him completely. At least she hadn't reacted when she heard his name—Throne. Either the Erdtree forces hadn't uncovered his identity, or she was still unaware of the events from a decade ago.
Every word he spoke was a trap, but Melina wasn't biting. "Not necessary," she said coldly. "And don't expect me to intervene unless it's against a specific enemy. I won't help you advance."
"So you'd let me die?"
She tilted her chin, her voice firm. "That's a risk I'm willing to take."
Throne shrugged. Truly a piece of wood. He didn't take it personally. He'd find a way to win her over eventually.
He had collected a batch of Runes recently, but he didn't bother browsing the Tarnished's stalls. Instead, he headed straight for the notice board at the edge of the square. It was plastered with scraps of paper—requests for teammates, mission commissions. No one managed it, leaving it a chaotic mess.
"Thief needed urgently. Must handle a bow. Bring your own gear. Objective: track the Great Bear in the woods." "Exploration of Siofra River begins in five days. Looking for squadmates. Loot split evenly." "Radahn Festival starts in three months. Seeking bold experts. We'll visit the ruins of the Aeonia battle along the way."
Throne's voice rolled low as he read the notices aloud. The Tarnished had settled into The Lands Between, no question. Something about that last post tugged at him. "Didn't you just ask why I didn't meet with the Roundtable Hold's representative?"
Melina stood silently behind him. She was used to solitude, but his words caught her off guard.
She'd forgotten. Luckily, her face gave nothing away. A calm nod. "Yes."
"I want to understand the Tarnished," he said. "Know yourself, know your enemy—victory's certain. Best way to gather intel? Start from the bottom." "You see them as enemies?" "Aren't they?"
Throne gestured with his chin toward the various types of Tarnished around them. He'd figured it out—their lack of ties to The Lands Between meant they held endless potential.