"He wants compensation. After ten years of fruitless struggle, too many Tarnished have grown weary. They see this as a way to boost morale." Morgott skimmed the letter once before closing it. The Tarnished were disruptors, not pioneers. Awakened while the old order still stood, they'd been ground down to misery long ago.
"They deserve it. Otherwise, awakening them was a mistake. But civilization is crumbling faster than we can stop it. We have no choice but to take the risk." The Two Fingers spoke as if explaining themselves. Morgott remained silent. It was a gamble, but as King, he couldn't wait until Leyndell was overrun by madness before someone stepped in to clean up the chaos.
He felt it—the Two Fingers were all in, willing to let the old order collapse. That order had built civilization, but it wasn't civilization itself. "Why not give the demigods more time?" "I've given them time. Look at the results. Which of them looks ready to take the throne?"
Morgott said nothing. He didn't know if Rykard had fallen, but the man was busy blaspheming against the golden order. Malenia was out of the question—her Scarlet Rot was intolerable. Ranni had her own issues, though the Two Fingers never elaborated. That left Radahn, but he needed time. And sacrifices.
"I understand. You're choosing between the Tarnished and Radahn, and you want it done quickly. I'll assist." Morgott nodded. He believed himself unfit for the throne and felt no jealousy, but his voice turned sharp.
"Let me be clear: even if you pour everything into supporting the Tarnished, if they prove to be a plague, I'll wipe them out. I won't hesitate." His words carried a lethal edge, the kind that preferred destruction over compromise.
If the Tarnished—no, if the Roundtable Hold betrayed the golden order, he'd hunt them down one by one. The great hunt of heroes would begin. What came after, Morgott didn't know. He'd stand before the throne, waiting for the challenger to arrive.
The Two Fingers remained unmoved by his threat. Only the Finger Reader, drenched in cold sweat, spoke. "Very well." It sounded like a parting of ways—or a wager. Two figures of immense stature had reached an agreement. The nobles waiting outside didn't know their hopes were doomed today. "You have your stance. We'll make our decisions."
"Certain matters, certain people, shouldn't become obstacles now." Morgott didn't know who the Two Fingers meant, but it didn't seem like they intended to act directly. He didn't care enough to press. An invisible psychic force cut through time and space, heading to Liurnia with a message for another set of Two Fingers. That traitor had to be dealt with.
"Do it quietly. Her status isn't ordinary. Don't disrupt the other candidates." In the cave, the fingers swayed. Understood. Under the scorching sun, Limgrave remained in chaos. The war's pain was at its peak. The Tarnished were still holding meetings at Fort Haight.
The Roundtable Hold had shifted into extravagance, eager to elevate Vyke and others as symbols for the Tarnished. Titles, promises, Finger Maidens from Leyndell—they were broadcasting to the Lands Between that following the Roundtable meant prosperity.
Even the captured nobles were treated with courtesy, an attempt to overturn the image of the Tarnished as lawless savages.
Their vanguard had already marched toward various castles, aiming to wrest power from the nobles, but their numbers were too thin to occupy all of Limgrave. Defeated soldiers turned into bandits, looting and pillaging, plunging the land into chaos. Stormhill was littered with dozens of corpses, hacked to pieces—finding a whole body was a rarity. Two warriors sheathed their blades in unison, exchanging smiles.
"I won, Lord Blaidd. You've regressed over the years."
Throne flicked his long blade into its scabbard. Slaughtering twenty unruly soldiers was hardly worth mentioning. "Hmph, it's because you've got too many tricks. No matter how fast I am, I can't match you pulling people straight toward you." Blaidd snorted, annoyed, slinging his greatsword over his shoulder. His gaze drifted toward the distant fortress.
Stormveil still loomed on the high ground. The Godrick flag had vanished from the ramparts, and the garrison, now leaderless, looted without restraint. "Do you think the two of us could take that fortress?" "Technically, yes, but it's best not to. The Two Fingers and Morgott likely reached an agreement."
Throne stepped forward, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Blaidd, letting the relentless gale whip his robes. Blaidd nodded. It was just a joke. He knew Caria couldn't seize the fortress. Tactically, their front line was stretched too thin, and they lacked the manpower. Strategically, any move would make Caria everyone's target.
He knew Lady Ranni and the golden order were mortal enemies. "I'll see you off here. Head to Liurnia yourself. The front line's reached the Village of the Albinaurics; no one should stop you." "Eh, you didn't come to find me?" Throne was surprised. "Nonsense, I'm scouting Caelid. By the way, I remembered something."
The wolf-man turned, his tone sharp. "You brat, haven't you been bought off by Radahn? Letting him bear the full brunt of the Scarlet Rot makes it easier to kill him later. But now, I hear his wounds have healed. How are we supposed to fight him?" "Even at the cost of hundreds of thousands of lives?" "For the Lady's ideals, that's nothing."
"That's why you don't understand her. She's not as cold-blooded as you think." Throne glanced at Blaidd's discontent and changed the subject. "Don't worry. I admire Radahn, but people like us express admiration simply." You're going to kill Radahn? Blaidd wanted to mock Throne for boasting, but his calm expression silenced him.
Liurnia stretched before them. Blaidd remembered their last parting—Throne had been a novice, easily crushed. Now, he'd killed Godrick. "Suit yourself. Everything will be left to the Lady to judge." Blaidd turned and left without hesitation. Halfway there, he pointed at Melina with a smirk. "Oh, right. Don't run off with her, or I'll kill you next time we meet."
"Get lost!" Throne shot back, unwilling to waste words. My loyalty to the Lady is unshakable. How could I elope with a piece of wood? Blaidd, unbothered by his anger, tossed a badge from afar.
Throne caught it, examining the Carian crest on the shield badge. "Carian Knight badge. You've been gone too long. Don't get killed by friendly forces." Damn it. After all my deeds, only now do I get an ID badge. Throne grumbled. Melina, who had been silent, stepped forward.
She frowned, catching only fragments of his words. "Wait—you know the Lunar Princess and General Radahn?"
"Indeed. And the Valkyrie Malenia too." He shrugged, as if it were nothing. "I intervened in a dispute between her and Radahn. Stopped Caelid from becoming a wasteland. But that's ancient history now. Hardly worth talking about."
Her breath caught. Her right eye widened, realization dawning. This wasn't just idle chatter. It was the answer to a question that had haunted The Lands Between for generations. He'd stood between Malenia and Radahn, averted catastrophe, and still bore the scars of being called a meddler by that wolfish brute.
Could it be that the nameless swordsman, known as the End-Warmer, the Savior, the Hero of The Shattering, praised by countless souls in Caelid…?
Throne caught her gaze, grinned, and jabbed a thumb at his chest. The storm roared around him as he laughed. "You guessed it. That's me."