Throne stirred awake in the afternoon light. He sat up, his head throbbing faintly, and ran a hand through his hair. "Why hasn't he come yet?" His voice was low, almost lost in the stillness of the room. He glanced sideways instinctively, fingers brushing his forehead as if to push away the ache. Nearby, Melina lay sprawled on the bench, her soft snores filling the air. Throne stared at her, dumbfounded. Who was it again that claimed last night they didn't have a "sleeping" function?
She looked so peaceful, more so than he had been all morning. He smirked at the irony but didn't move to wake her. Some questions didn't need answers. For Melina, with her fragmented memories and relentless obsession, every waking moment was a battle. Sleep was her escape, her shield.
He studied her face for a moment. Ordinary. Beautiful, yes, but nothing about her screamed "chosen one" or "hero of destiny." If anything, she seemed more lost than anyone he'd met.
"Maybe she's even less experienced than I am," he muttered under his breath. With a sigh, he rose quietly, stepping over the creaky floorboards. He climbed the stairs on tiptoe, making his way to the top of the church. The outer walls were crumbling, the bell long gone, but the view was worth the climb. The entire valley stretched out before him, the small river beside the church murmuring softly as it flowed.
He turned his gaze southeast, his expression unreadable. He wasn't here to fix Melina. That wasn't his role. He was here for one purpose—to wait. And his patience was wearing thin.
The Minor Erdtree area was too crowded, too close to Godrick's supply lines. It was a terrible place for a fight. But Throne had left enough "clues" to draw his guest here. Oleg would find them. He'd piece it together—the shattered Avatar of the Erdtree, the desecration of sacred ground. It would stir something in him, something unpleasant.
Throne's lips curled into a faint smile. Oleg wouldn't suspect him. No, the Banished Knight would only realize that the attackers weren't just hunting Tarnished. They were targeting the Erdtree itself. And if they continued, this Church of Marika would be next.
Oleg would come. He had to.
A rustling sound broke the silence behind him. Throne didn't turn. "You're awake?"
"Why didn't you wake me?" Melina's voice was flat, her tone indifferent. She rubbed her eyes, still half-asleep.
"You looked peaceful. I didn't want to disturb you."
Melina frowned, her gaze drifting to the horizon. "What's the point of sleeping if I'm just going to wake up tired?"
"Sleep lets you forget," Throne replied, his voice distant. "At least for a little while."
She stepped up beside him, following his line of sight. "What are you looking at?"
"The answer we agreed on earlier."
Melina blinked, confused. She didn't remember any agreement. But Throne's demeanor had shifted. The gentleness was gone, replaced by a sharp, focused intensity. His heart pounded with a wild energy, his body taut like a coiled spring.
Her eyes scanned the distance, searching for whatever had caught his attention. Then she saw it—a figure on the mountainside. The midday sun glinted off silver armor, and a gray tassel fluttered in the wind. The man was descending the cliffside, using the protruding stone slabs as steps, his movements deliberate and heavy.
"Is it him?" Melina's voice was quiet, almost reverent. She recognized the Storm King's wings instantly. Oleg, the Banished Knight. A legend in Limgrave, a warrior second only to the greatest in The Lands Between.
"I told you he'd come," Throne said, a calm smile playing on his lips. He straightened his priest's robes, the picture of grace and composure.
The Banished Knight strode toward them, his presence commanding. There was no time for questions now. The game was about to begin.
Melina snapped her head toward the Throne complex. "You're strong, but you're no match for him." Her honesty cut sharp. Throne wielded the power of a hero, but heroes weren't created equal. The gap between them couldn't be measured.
If forced to compare:
Oleg could take on two Dunns in a straight fight without breaking a sweat. My only chance is to intervene, make it two against one, but that's a gamble. I'm not sure I can take down this Banished Knight, and if he decides to run, there's no stopping him…
"Don't worry. I won't drag you into this."
Throne raised a hand, silencing her thoughts. He wasn't desperate for quick victories. He respected Melina's judgment. "I know Oleg's strong—the Storm's wings, stronger than Godrick's right-hand and left-hand men combined—but I have to face him."
His fingers brushed the spirit-calling ring. Six sharp thrusting swords materialized, each coated with Rot Grease and Blood Grease. He tossed them to Melina. "Help me set the stage, then watch closely—" Throne adjusted his glasses, his smile calm and deadly. "—how I kill him."
Like the rankings Throne once crafted in Stormveil, if heroes were generals from the Three Kingdoms, the gaps between them would be vast. Finlay, the Fin-Dragon, stood at the pinnacle. She'd led the Haligtree Army home across thousands of miles after Malenia fell unconscious, grievously wounded.
In a direct clash, Godrick, the weakest demigod, might not even hold his own against her. Oleg, though, had earned his fame early. He'd fought in the ancient Battle of Stormveil, witnessed the duel between Godfrey and the Storm King. The latter had held his own against Godfrey for days. His generals couldn't be weak.
But Oleg was still a loser. He'd lost his king, suffered grave wounds in the final battle, and the aftermath had sapped his strength. His comrades scattered across The Lands Between. He'd accepted Morgott's offer, becoming one of the few Banished Knights to defect to Leyndell.
Betraying a mortal enemy drew scorn. Even Ingham, his other wing, turned against him. Oleg didn't care. In terms of strength, he held the second seat in Limgrave. Among all the heroes of The Lands Between, he was firmly second-tier. Tap, tap…
Iron boots echoed on the stone path.
The surrounding houses smoldered, sword slashes scarring every surface. Oleg walked past, expressionless. He'd seen this too many times. The horrors of war had etched themselves into his soul. He despised the Tarnished, who plunged The Lands Between into chaos once more. Even the Church of Marika wasn't spared. What do these people think order is?
His face darkened as he passed twisted, rotting corpses. He stopped before the church door, slightly ajar. Through the crack, he saw a priest standing beneath the goddess's statue, his face brimming with murderous intent. Bang—
The door shattered into splinters.
The knight stood in the doorway, two greatswords in hand, a colossus blocking the path. Throne turned slowly, meeting Oleg's boiling rage. He dusted the lectern with deliberate calm. "Sir Knight, attacking a church is a grave crime. Do you wish to be exiled further?"
"Enough nonsense."
"You think dressing as a priest means I won't kill you?" Oleg's greatsword rose. He wasn't a fool. The burning village, the shattered church—this wasn't the work of a holy man. Before he could finish, a burst of golden light engulfed him. The murderous heat in his chest cooled instantly. Erdtree incantation?
He froze. He'd assumed this was an enemy in priest's garb, but such pure power couldn't come from someone who defiled the Erdtree. "Incantations flow from faith. Only those who truly believe in the golden order wield this strength." Thorne's voice was flat.
He descended the platform, his thin robes fluttering as he approached the frozen knight. "The gods teach us not to be blinded by illusions but to listen to the heart." Oleg wasn't a believer, but he'd seen enough priests to know this one felt genuine. Yet the scene before him twisted his thoughts.
The village was ransacked, yet here stood a true priest in the ruined church. Oleg lowered his blade. "What happened here? Where did you come from?" "I arrived too late. I couldn't stop the massacre." "You're saying you missed it?" Oleg's lips curled.
From what he knew of the Church, priests wept and fled to Leyndell after tragedies. They didn't linger in ruins. Then he noticed the eyes behind the lenses. His grip tightened. "You're Tarnished." "Yes." Thorne's nod was firm.
Grace couldn't hide from a hero like Oleg, but Thorne spoke calmly. "And I've been searching for you—the former wings of the Storm King, the guardian wandering Limgrave, Lord Oleg." Oleg's eyes narrowed. He hadn't expected his name to fall so easily from a stranger's lips.
His deeds had faded. He'd left no mark on Limgrave. "What do you want?" "By the will of the Two Fingers, I seek information about someone." The Two Fingers? A secret envoy of the Church? Oleg began to understand why this man dared to stay.
Church envoys were no strangers to power, nor were they strangers to Tarnished. "Who?" "The Death Eater incident, ten years ago. The seal used as bait was triggered. The Two Fingers want details." Thorne's fist clenched in his sleeve. His heart raced.
He sought Oleg not just for his strength but for clues about Sellen's whereabouts. The risk was immense. He didn't know if the factions had shared information. But for his teacher, he'd gamble everything.
Morgott, Godrick, Raya Lucaria Academy, the Two Fingers, perhaps even the Beast Clergyman—five titans loomed over this. Thorne bet that while the high lords schemed, men like Oleg remained in the dark. A wandering guardian wouldn't travel to Leyndell to ask questions.
Oleg studied the priest's calm, mission-driven face. He shook his head. "I'm still investigating. It's possible the seal was triggered during clashes between Tarnished and Godrick's army." He let it drop.
A Tarnished who could know about the Death Eater incident and possess powerful Erdtree incantations was certainly not ordinary. Guessed right. This guy really could only rely on letters to get information, and Morgott couldn't possibly write every detail in the letters. Throne chuckled inwardly, while outwardly appearing to be in deep thought: "What do you mean by 'possible'?"
"The Avatar of the Erdtree was defeated and shattered into powder. This is somewhat similar to the intelligence I once received." Oleg answered in a deep voice. "The Witch reappears?" "No, I did not see many traces of high-level magic left behind. Instead, it is somewhat similar to the methods of that swordsman." Observed so damn carefully.
I specifically used a large amount of magic, and it still didn't fool him. Throne's heart skipped a beat, and then a sharp killing intent surged up. This person absolutely could not be left alive; otherwise, he would be like a plaster, haunting him endlessly. "A swordsman? In the prophecy of the Two Fingers, he is already dead." He even knows this?
Oleg further confirmed the identity of this person. Because this matter concerned the face of Malenia and Radahn, the security clearance was very high. "There may be more than one swordsman, but what puzzles me is that for all these years, I have not found any clues about this organization, nor do I know which god stands behind them."
The knight was very confused and muttered: "But being able to consume death is by no means some clown. Anyway, that witch is not qualified enough. Without a demigod-level existence, how dare they stir up trouble in The Lands Between?" Fine, I'm weak and that's my sin. Throne couldn't respond to this; their self-brainwashing was logical.
"The mission entrusted to me by the Two Fingers is to assist you in your investigation, but there is one thing I am curious about." Throne went in a big circle and used a chatty tone to ask the question he cared about most: "Where did that witch run off to?" "You don't know?" "The past is meaningless. The Two Fingers will not tell me everything.
Of course, you can refuse if you are unwilling, but I think understanding the target's information might be helpful for the subsequent search." "There is nothing to hide about this." Oleg thought for a moment and felt that the other party had a point. Since he already knew so many things, a little more wouldn't matter, so he put his greatsword back on his back.
"At that time, I had just gone to Caelid, and then I heard that soldiers under Godrick discovered people hiding beneath Waypoint Ruins. At first, they thought it was Tarnished stealing, but in the end, nearly a hundred soldiers were all killed, alarming all of Stormveil." This stupid teacher, she forgot all the assassination techniques I taught her.
Throne was furious, and an angry expression appeared on his face. Of course, in the eyes of the knight, this became a hatred of evil. "Godrick personally fought her, and then drove her back. I heard he even chased her to the north of Limgrave, but in this battle, he lost at least a double-digit number of knights." The priest was startled, his anger laced with killing intent.
This sense of shared hatred drew an approving nod from Oleg:
"Of course, this is all Godrick's one-sided story. He didn't say exactly where they fought or where he lost the target. I even think it's possible that this witch has already been captured by him." "Why?"
The knight showed an expression of disgust and said coldly: "He is looking everywhere for strong people to perform Grafting, and I heard he even wants to hunt dragons." Throne took a deep breath to calm his furious heart.
He'd never considered this. Sellen fleeing because her location was exposed—that made sense. But a direct, brutal fight with Godrick? Unthinkable. Not that he doubted his teacher, but Godrick wasn't alone. He had an army of knights, the resources of Raya Lucaria Academy at his disposal.
"You're too angry. Godrick's still an ally—for now."
The knight's words hung in the air. Something felt off. He'd been played, steered by Throne's words, distracted from the bigger question:
How did this Church envoy know he'd come to the Church of Marika?
Before he could voice it, Throne acted. The sacred seal rose, cold and deliberate. "The prophecy of the Two Fingers: Godrick deserves death. And you, for conspiring with him, deserve the same."
What? He'd just called Godrick an ally. A temporary one. A lump formed in his throat. Years of experience, and still, this accusation hit like a blow.
He opened his mouth to explain. Too late. A golden crest erupted in front of him, violent energy surging outward. Wrath of Gold. The shockwave tore through the floor, hurling him toward the door.
He scrambled to his feet, legs trembling. Above him, Throne descended, a golden sword of light blazing in his hands.
The crossed greatswords blocked it. The knight gritted his teeth, the golden blade inches from his face. "Are you insane?"