Ranni hesitated. She remembered Throne's return last time and forced herself to stay calm, her mind racing in silence.
"War Counselor Iji, I will send out a projection."
The Troll, who had been chuckling moments ago, stiffened. His expression darkened.
"Your Highness, this—"
"It's necessary. Allen and his forces alone won't be enough to draw their attention. Only when I arrive in person will those sorcery professors tremble."
Few knew her true condition, but as a demigod, why should she reveal herself? Iji lowered his head, his thoughts heavy.
"A projection will divide your power. If those blades in the dark strike now, it would be perilous."
It wasn't just Ranni's power at risk. Caria Manor was at its weakest, and even his usual interest in books had faded.
"It would be safer to wait for Blaidd to return."
"No. Throne is right. This must be resolved quickly." Ranni raised her head, her gaze fixed on the calm lake in the distance. Her fists clenched slowly. "Since he likes to take risks, I'll gamble with him."
......
At the pinnacle of Raya Lucaria, the wind howled, whipping Throne's ponytail back and forth. The elevator was broken, leaving only a narrow ledge for footing. Below, sorcerers guarded the roof. This had to be the fourth layer of defense. How paranoid were they about being backstabbed?
Throne peeked over the edge, then pulled his head back.
Inside Raya Lucaria, relying on sight alone wasn't enough. The sorcerers were highly sensitive to magic fluctuations. Casting "Unseen Form" on himself wouldn't work for climbing down.
As Ranni had said, Throne had walked into a dead end—no way forward, no way back. Strength wasn't enough. This required courage.
Throne wasn't panicked. He even managed a wry smile.
Would Ranni be angry? He felt a flicker of frustration. His rapid actions were for her sake. As someone who favored decapitation strikes, he'd long realized such movements couldn't be hidden from the Two Fingers. The trick he played in the Eternal City wouldn't last long, and the Two Fingers didn't care about Raya Lucaria's allegiance.
"It only wants to get rid of Ranni. The longer this battle drags on, the more dangerous she becomes."
Throne muttered to himself, glanced at the sky, and pulled out his binoculars.
From this height, the surroundings stretched for miles. The solemn buildings stood in layers, silent and still.
"Let me see. Half the sorcerers are gathered at the south gate, which means the other half are scattered. Hmm, the Carian Army has already reached the bridge. Taking the town outside the gate shouldn't be a problem."
This was the best observation point. Every movement in Raya Lucaria was visible.
"But this isn't enough for you to break in." Melina appeared beside him, poking her head out to peek—this was her old line of work. "How about sneaking in disguised? You're good at that, right?"
"Sorcerers aren't stupid. They suffered once ten years ago, so their internal management must have tightened. Don't underestimate the enemy." Throne tapped her head irritably.
"I don't even know what you did ten years ago!" Melina covered her head, ready to retaliate, but Throne suddenly turned serious, raising a finger to his lips.
Remembering their precarious situation, she pulled her hand back. Throne, his scheme successful, leaned against the low wall, his legs dangling into the void.
This was tricky. Raya Lucaria had colluded with the Tarnished, so their combat power must have improved. Charging in like a brute to kill was ill-advised.
Now we wait—see if Allen's commotion draws enough attention. Strike only after they do.
"Patience. Ranni's got a plan. When the front erupts, we slip through the chaos. They won't have time to hunt spies then."
"Then what?"
Melina had no answer. She slumped beside Throne, shoulder to shoulder, leg to leg.
"Watch the damn scenery."
Throne tilted his head back. The Erdtree loomed so close he could almost touch it. He reached up, fingers curling into a fist.
"What're you doing?"
"Crushing that tree."
Melina's lip twitched. "Childish."
She yelped. "Ow! Why'd you hit me?"
"You started it."
"Stop squabbling. You'll bring the sorcerers down on us."
Melina gnashed her teeth, face twisted in outrage. Throne bit back a laugh. She looked like a scalded cat.
The Erdtree was beautiful, he'd give it that. Golden light bleeding through the branches. The sight curdled his stomach. Conquest built that wealth. Bones fertilized its splendor. Nobles, kings, even Tarnished—all just fodder for its roots.
It choked the sky, shackled the land with its laws, then tossed scraps to the starving and called it grace. Pay pennies, reap kingdoms. No wonder Ranni rebelled. No wonder Marika tried to burn it.
Boredom sharpened his gaze until he spotted the killing intent woven into the branches. A useful skill. His position wouldn't waver.
At least he had allies.
"Melina."
"Hm?" The girl kept her head down, refusing to look at him. Too tired to argue, she'd defaulted to her sleep tactic.
"If you don't object… when the time comes, I'll help you burn that tree."
First time he'd acknowledged her kindling purpose. Silence stretched. He turned. Chuckled.
Melina's hands rested on her stomach, head lolling against his shoulder. Out cold.
Thick nerves. Blind trust.
The wind howled as he studied her. No mystery here. Just a dorky girl with sleep crust in her lashes. Nothing like an arsonist of divine order.
His thoughts shifted. Maybe because this golden wingman proved too damn useful.
He pulled a black cloak from his ring, draped it over her. Reached for the finger-mark branding her left eye. Stopped. Drew back.
A wry smile faded as he scanned the leaden clouds. Something fiercer took its place.
"Sleep easy. I've got you."
Bottomless abyss below. Enemies circling. A prison by any other name.
......
Dawn broke. The Erdtree's glow painted them gold. Melina nuzzled his shoulder, blinking awake.
"Did I…?"
"Yeah. Impressive nerves. Sleeping through this." Throne, who was swallowing dragon meat raw, glanced at her. The stuff filled bellies and stoked strength. Fresh enough to avoid poisoning. "Want some?"
Melina eyed the bloody chunks. Disgust twisted her face. "Pass. You're here. Why shouldn't I sleep?"
Her righteous stance stirred something in Throne—a familiar itch to provoke her.
"Smart move, conserving energy. Next time, keep the drool off my shoulder."
Melina froze. Her fair skin flushed pink. She glanced at his shoulder, then clenched her teeth in fury.
"You're lying!"
"Lower your voice. You want to end up as meat paste?" Throne's face remained stone-cold, his tone as severe as a military judge's.
Melina's aggression evaporated. She turned away, grinding her teeth. 'I can't take this anymore. A few more days in this hellhole, and I'll lose my mind.'
Throne always found ways to rattle her, twisting her composure into knots. She vowed not to speak to him for the next two days.
Then Throne's voice cut through her resolve.
"Hey, look. Are those sorcery professors and Tarnished?"
Melina sprang up, peeking out from their hiding spot. A group moved beneath the shadow of a towering spire, winding through the alleyway. Some stood out—their attire unmistakable.
"'Festering Fingerprint' Alberich? 'Exile Sorcerer' Vilhelm? And that tall one—'Earthshaker' Hoarah Loux?"
Throne sighed. The titles these Tarnished carried grew more grandiose by the minute. Hero-class Tarnished were a headache—each with bizarre skills and a knack for slaughter.
"The Tarnished are here, just as I thought. What's the deal with 'Earthshaker'?"
"Barbarian lineage. Rumor says he's kin to King Godfrey."
Throne nodded. Hoarah Loux was King Godfrey.
Those barbarians had sworn allegiance to the Erdtree, adopting its ways, but their fighting style remained wild and untamed. Through the binoculars, the man came into focus—bronze skin, solid muscles, a breastplate, and a fur cloak draped over his broad shoulders.
"He's worth keeping an eye on, but he's no match for me alone."
Throne licked his lips. The heroes of Roundtable Hold weren't weak, but aside from the elite few, most fell short compared to him. Their teamwork, though—that was the real threat.
'I'm not about to get ganked like some dungeon boss. Patience.'
He stashed the binoculars and crouched behind the low wall.
Hoarah Loux halted mid-stride, his gaze sweeping the surroundings with sharp suspicion.
"Lord Hoarah, what's wrong?" an instructor asked.
"Feels like someone's watching me." The barbarian rubbed his thick beard. His instincts rarely lied—that gaze had been hostile.
"Come on. Dressed like that, who wouldn't stare?" Vilhelm's voice dripped with sarcasm. Sorcerers had little patience for brutish types.
"You mocking me?" Hoarah Loux's eyes narrowed, his arms crossing over his chest. "There's a square up ahead. Need me to loosen your muscles?"
The knight's savage grin pressed closer. Vilhelm hesitated, biting back a retort. Offending a "royal relative" in the legion wasn't wise.
The Golden Order Army, King Godfrey's elite force, had been the backbone of the Tarnished. Its core? The barbarian warriors who'd followed the king from their tribes. When a man rises to power, even his dogs ascend to heaven. As the first Elden Lord, Godfrey's kin were untouchable, though whispers of "barbarian" still lingered.
"What did you say!?" Hoarah Loux's voice boomed, his eyes widening like copper bells.
"Enough. We're here representing Roundtable Hold. Don't embarrass yourselves."
Alberich moved like lightning, planting himself between the two combatants. His scythe screeched against Hoarah Loux's advance.
The sorcerers watched the Tarnished brawl with exhausted resignation. Leon and Oritis exchanged glances at the front—amused but stifling it. Their hall of learning was being disrespected, yet they needed these brutes. They couldn't intervene.
Keeping mercenaries out of the academy had been the right call.
"Vilhelm's the problem," Oritis muttered. "I checked his archive requests. The man's hunting Primeval knowledge."
Leon's nod was slow, deliberate. After a long silence, he admitted, "Makes sense."
The Tarnished only cared about power. Never the cost.
"He won't find anything useful here anyway." A bitter laugh escaped Leon. The archive fire a decade ago had been a blessing in disguise. His face burned with the hypocrisy.
"Maybe he's been talking to Sellen."
"Did Roundtable ever confirm that?"
"Never. They don't give a damn about Primeval Sorcery."
"Then it's just rumors. Has to be."
Oritis waved a dismissive hand. Unless this Tarnished started screaming about becoming a Primeval Sorcerer in the quad, they'd pretend not to notice. What else could they do?
While the professors wallowed in shame, the Tarnished settled their dispute. The two warriors agreed to duel after the mission, then turned away like scorned lovers.
"My apologies for the display." Alberich's swordsman's salute was flawless, his smile a knife wrapped in silk. "We Tarnished speak with steel, not honeyed words. If one of us falls in battle, I'll deliver his head as apology."
The Festering Fingerprint's voice crawled over skin like frost. Polite. Deranged. Ready to carve them apart without blinking.
"We... understand." Oritis forced a smile. These freaks meant nothing to him.
"Where's Lady Premia?"
That Crucible Knight was their linchpin. With her here, the Carian Knights might as well throw themselves off the walls—unless the Lunar Princess intervened.
"Lady Premia answers to no one." Alberich's warning cut deep. "She follows her own will. In her territory, keep your distance."
No one knew why the silent knight had come. But they could guess. Her eyes were locked on the great rune. She'd slaughter anyone who got close.
A powerhouse lingering in The Lands Between—who was she guarding that rune for? The answer chilled blood.
The First Lord. Humanity's mightiest warrior. A legend who walked the clouds. Sorcery professors couldn't even fathom such heights. Had he returned? What did he want? They didn't dare ask.
Even Gideon Ofnir only dared speculate.
"Raya Lucaria respects her choice." Oritis' laugh was brittle as old parchment. He kept walking.
Easier to invite a god than send one away. Win or lose, the great rune wasn't theirs anymore.
The group reached the church spire once built for the Cuckoos.
Looking out from here, they could see points of starlight. The Carian Army had reached the walls, seizing the town for their camp. Catapults creaked into position, their shadows stretching across the bridge where supply wagons rolled in endless lines.
Hoarah Loux scratched his beard. "Why not burn the town? Blow the bridge?"
It made no sense to him. He looked like a brute, but his military instincts ran deep.
"Burn it. Blow it to hell. Poison what's left." His grin showed cracked teeth. "Let's see them try to dig in after that. No siegeworks. No puppet soldiers creeping through the dark."
He looked vulgar, but actually had rich military experience.