It was September, truly a time of many troubles. In a small Leyndell courtyard, a few golden leaves were slowly drifting down. The famous hero, Margit the Fell Omen—who was also hostile to the various nobles—was constantly sawing wood, carving finely with a small knife. After a moment, he raised his hand; it was a lifelike wooden flower, carved exquisitely.
This level of craftsmanship was enough to be called master-level. The Fell Omen raised his head, his ugly face full of broken horns now filled with tenderness, as if this wooden flower brought him infinite satisfaction. Only when doing woodwork could he forget those grand causes and pains. This moment of tranquility was very important to him.
As a tinkerer who had to play two characters, who could understand the heavy pressure he felt every day? But this slightly innocent smile did not last long. He gently placed the wooden flower back on the table and turned his head silently. Several Nights Cavalrymen in full armor were standing not far away. Sigh, trouble again. Morgott sighed; he hadn't heard any good news these days.
First, the Two Fingers suffered a crushing defeat. Although the cause was unknown, he could see the other side suffered heavy losses and had hinted to him about marching into Liurnia. But this was impossible to agree to. Caria's actions all followed the Golden Order. Even if he could force Leyndell to send troops, he couldn't make the Golden Nobles give their best.
He was recently looking for an opportunity to test things out to see if he could achieve his goal. After all, Morgott was only acting in the capacity of the Elden Lord, and the only cards in his hand were these Nights Cavalrymen.
"Speak, what bad news is it this time?"
Nights Cavalryman Enrique stepped forward, first performing a chest-thumping salute, then reported: "News has come from Limgrave; the Death Eater has finally appeared."
What!? Morgott immediately became solemn, looking like a completely different person from the child-like carpenter just now, exuding a terrifying killing intent.
"Is it him?"
"No, this person uses a greatsword and is extremely powerful. Dozens of Tarnished couldn't stop him; he is not inferior to any Golden Hero."
A powerhouse using a greatsword? Morgott pondered for a few seconds, first in doubt, then slightly relieved. After all these years, he finally found a clue proving his initial guess was correct: the so-called Death Eater was an ancient mysterious organization.
He listened to the detailed report while deep in thought. When he heard about the Deathbird and the Those Who Live in Death, his brows furrowed immediately. The initial assumption was correct; this was indeed a remnant of the ancient era, with a vast organization and meticulous plans.
Since it happened right after the upheaval in Liurnia, one couldn't help but suspect the other party did it on purpose. Did they want to use Caria to attract attention and then sneakily carry out a conspiracy? But why target Limgrave? Morgott nodded, somewhat convinced. In terms of priority, this Death Eater was clearly above Caria.
After all, he didn't know what the latter was up to, but death must never be allowed to return; that was the bottom line.
"What else?"
Enrique swallowed and continued: "The Tarnished who snatched the great rune has also appeared. He killed the Round Table Assassins and then vanished without a trace."
"The Tarnished who snatched the great rune?!"
Morgott became even more serious; this was also a mystery that troubled him. He asked casually: "What were the Round Table Assassins doing there?"
"According to Sir Gideon Ofnir's report, they were pursuing the Death Eater."
This was the only answer. Ofnir couldn't say the Round Table Assassins were sent to deal with their own people.
The Two Fingers might grasp the truth, but Morgott's reaction would be far less forgiving. Lies breed more lies, and when Morgott heard the news, his lack of foresight sparked immediate suspicion.
"No, this is too convenient. The Death Eater and the one who stole the great rune must be connected. It seems… they're working together!"
Vyke's account painted a grim picture. Eina's search party had been ambushed by Isshin Ashina. They barely escaped, only to stumble into Vyke himself. The Round Table Assassins tasked with the rearguard had fallen in glory. The story held water—dozens of assassins dead meant the enemy was formidable. And the Death Eater had an alibi; clearly, it wasn't the same person.
But that was the problem. The coincidence was too perfect. Only Sir Gideon Ofnir would see through it, concluding Vyke was lying. Yet, even this brilliant Tarnished couldn't expose the truth without damning himself. The frustration was enough to make anyone spit blood. The Nights Cavalry, oblivious to these intricacies, trusted their allies. They didn't suspect deception from the Roundtable Hold.
Another Nights Cavalryman stepped forward.
"My Lord, perhaps the thief of the great rune is also a Death Eater. That would be the worst-case scenario."
The deep purple tassel on his helmet marked him as a Thousand-Man Commander.
"Erickson, explain your reasoning."
"Well, I believe the key isn't death itself but 'eating.' That Tarnished took the great rune but didn't head to the Divine Tower. Could it be…"
"Enough!"
Morgott cut him off sharply. His subordinates lowered their heads in unison. After a moment, he softened his tone.
"Apologies. Your hypothesis is… unsettling. I spoke too harshly."
The cavalrymen bowed swiftly, understanding their lord's turmoil.
If consuming death was abhorrent, devouring a great rune was cataclysmic. Death merely brought back the fallen, but the great rune transcended the original gods, touching the realm of the 'Greater Will.' The thought of a hostile 'Greater Will' opposing the Erdtree sent shivers down their spines.
Morgott's breath came heavy, the autumn heat oppressive. He refused to entertain the hypothesis, yet he couldn't dismiss it. At his level, coincidences were never trusted. How could a Death Eater hero escape, only for a Tarnished thief to appear and cover his tracks, annihilating the Round Table Assassins—the best trackers alive? If this was mere chance, who would believe it?
"My Lord, should the legion still march to Liurnia?" Erickson asked. The deployment had been completed days ago. The Nights Cavalry was to escort the Church of the Two Fingers' investigation. There were ample reasons to wage war. Morgott didn't answer, merely casting a glance his way. Erickson stepped back silently, realizing he'd asked a foolish question.
In the current climate, Caria was no longer a significant threat. During the Erdtree's zenith, they'd have been eradicated. But now, Caelid remained silent, the Haligtree isolated. Leyndell alone couldn't suppress the demons and monsters rising everywhere. Even nearby Mt. Gelmir was left unchecked. Troubled times indeed—forces conspired to overthrow the Golden Order from every corner.
Morgott gazed at the towering Erdtree, a pang of helplessness welling within him. He felt like a patchwork laborer, tearing down one wall to fix another. The harder he worked, the more cracks appeared. Damn it all. Where had these strange enemies come from? Their movements were so covert, their presence so elusive, that even his greatest efforts couldn't uncover them.
Morgott gripped his staff until the wood groaned. Shadows coiled at the edges of his vision—not the familiar gloom of Leyndell's alleys, but something sharper, hungrier. Liurnia would have to wait.
"I'll consult the Two Fingers. You—double the legion's numbers."
His claws tapped a staccato rhythm against stone.
"Power first. Everything else after."
The air tasted of lightning and old blood. If those scattered threats ever united... He chuckled, low and jagged.
Raya Lucaria's library echoed with the snap of a closing tome. Ranni kicked her legs free of the chair, landing light as a cat. Her boots whispered across enchanted marble as she circled the astronomy tables, lips curving around a secret.
The report had been flawless. She'd schooled her face into bored approval—"Adequate work"—before severing the connection. Then she'd spun twice, sleeves flaring like ink in water.
"He's turned the board!"
She saw the pieces clearer than Morgott ever could. Caria had struck first, yes, but the real stroke was making the Two Fingers flinch. Throne's feint toward Caelid? A masterplay. Let the dragons roar and draw the gaze.
"Faster than I dreamed," she murmured, tracing constellations on a stained-glass shadow.
"Watching them chase phantoms…" Her laugh scattered motes of starlight.
The Two Fingers were scrambling. Morgott's legions stretched thin. And the Roundtable's fractures? A serendipitous crack. Ranni's fingers stilled as she faced the magic circle's heart—her mother, suspended in amber silence.
Memory washed over her: cold tea left untouched in the nursery, tutors bowing too deep to meet her eyes. Loneliness had shaped her, but never suited her. She stepped into the circle. The wards stung like winter wind, yet her sigh was warmth itself.
"Mother."
She cradled the Queen's lifeless hand.
"I've found someone to walk the stars with."
No answer came. None ever did. That was the point—confessions here cost no pride.
"He's clever. Strong. Our schemes fit like lock and key."
Her thumb brushed the Queen's knuckles.
"I gave him the sword, not the ring. Obviously."
Moonlight pooled in the Queen's unblinking eyes.
"Why the sword first?"
Ranni's nose wrinkled.
"Because that fool wouldn't recognize its meaning if I etched it on his ribs."
Her grip tightened.
"Caria's dignity demands at least this much."
A sudden heat prickled behind her ribs.
"Melina," she spat, as if the name were a burr in her boot. That wandering maiden with her borrowed eyes and saccharine smiles—Ranni's nails bit crescents into her palms. She knew better. Heroes weren't possessions. Throne's path would cross countless souls.
The Queen slept on. Ranni's laugh cracked like thin ice. She withdrew from the circle, shaking phantom cold from her fingers. This ache had no solution. Chains would only dull the blade she admired.
Her shoulders lifted with fresh resolve—then locked. The library's warmth vanished. Between one breath and the next, Ranni went rigid. Every candle flame stood perfectly still.
Looking at the sleeping Queen again, she laughed self-deprecatingly and stepped out of the magic circle.
It wasn't a powerful enemy attacking, but rather that at some point, the mental power connection had been established, but she was completely unaware because she was interfered with by the magic circle just now. He actually... The world suddenly became quiet, with only the sound of slight breathing. After an unknown amount of time, a man's voice came through.
"Ahem, reporting to Her Highness, I am passing through the Caelid border."
"And then?" Ranni asked stiffly.
"Uh, it's fine now. By the way, I think this automatic connection permission is quite useful. Next time, how about..."
"Then get lost already!!!"
Ranni's roar echoed in the Grand Library.
Making sure the mental connection had been cut, she couldn't help but cover her face with one pair of hands while the other pair kept pounding the high-backed chair. Bang bang bang... The pounding was accompanied by curses of shame and anger: "You might as well just die out there and never come back!"
A few hints of crimson cheeks and gritted teeth showed through her fingers.
Her shoulders trembled slightly, and she didn't raise her head for a long time. Lunar Princess, super humiliated.
Caelid, Border. A checkpoint was established here, which was exactly an inspection point set up by the Roundtable Hold at the border, searching for people with obvious characteristics one by one. For example, being tall and carrying a greatsword, or wearing a black robe and a White Mask with a katana at the waist.
But Throne had none of these characteristics; he was just holding a Nox Flowing Sword and wearing a blue coarse cloth robe. Although this weapon was strange, there were plenty of Tarnished with strange weapons. No matter who came, they wouldn't see any problem. Furthermore, the Roundtable Hold couldn't cut off traffic for one person.
It was just a long queue of civilians, merchant caravans, and Tarnished mixed together. Throne, bored while waiting, actively established the mental connection. To guard against Melina and for the sake of fairness, this time the doll was dominated by Throne. Thus, he caught Ranni off guard and happened to hear some things he shouldn't have.
"Oops, I've really offended her this time."
Throne shivered. If he were in front of her, the bashful Dark Moon would probably have already been thrown at him. But is this my fault? He shrugged. It was just that this layer of window paper had been poked through a bit more. He knew the meaning of the Dark Moon Greatsword better than anyone. Only Ranni thought he knew nothing and believed she had hidden it well.
He also didn't know if he would be hit by a bashful Dark Moon if he told the truth. 'So is Ranni rolling on the floor right now, or squirming like a maggot?'
A hilarious image appeared in his mind. In the future, the Lunar Princess won't need to follow procedures; she can just start being humiliated directly. But thinking about it carefully, this might not be a good thing.
There's only a one-character difference between tsundere and yandere. If the heat isn't mastered well, Ranni will become even harder to deal with. I didn't hear anything. After a moment of calm thought, Throne made a decision. Some things are fine to just think about. If he brought it up voluntarily when they met again, Ranni would probably go berserk on the spot.
It was also lucky Melina didn't know; otherwise, he might be silenced. Being humiliated is enough for him alone. As for others, the great Lunar Princess is naturally full of dignity. Putting away his scattered thoughts, Throne, having crossed the border line, looked around and couldn't help but nod heavily. Caelid was still that fertile appearance, not ravaged by even a bit of Scarlet Rot.
The life lost had been worth it. The Battle of Aeonia marked the turning point in Throne's journey—the first time his actions rippled through history, hurling the Tarnished back into The Lands Between ahead of schedule. Everything after—Limgrave, Liurnia—was just echoes. He crouched, letting crimson soil slip through his fingers.
"This land gets under your skin."
People nodded as he passed, even fellow Tarnished. Caelid respected strength above all. Here, warriors were welcomed.
The Roundtable Hold dangled titles and gold, yet they still came—pilgrims to the Radahn Festival, desperate for a glimpse of their demigod idol. Throne walked until the border faded behind him, then whistled for Torrent. The spectral mount materialized, hooves kicking up dust.
Ten years ago, he'd slipped in through Gael Tunnel, skirting the Great Swamp's fringes until Sellia's sorcerers drove him back. Now the northern highway stretched unfamiliar. To the north, a church's silhouette broke the horizon, backlit by the glow of a Minor Erdtree.
The soil still teemed with life, but the villages? Empty husks. No Scarlet Rot, no siege marks—just abandonment.
"Where'd everyone go?"
Even the Redmane patrols had vanished. The border lay undefended. Had the whole realm gone hollow?
Throne thought for a moment, turned his horse around to go to the church not far away. Beyond it, a town sprawled—ramshackle huts clinging to the chapel like barnacles. A sign creaked in the wind.
"Smoldering Church?"
The Redmane soldiers at the gates, crimson surcoats dull with dust, made his shoulders relax. Something familiar, at last.