"This is a scam, isn't it? Everyone knows they're in Caelid."
"Wait a moment."
Lansseax stepped back casually, her movements unhurried. Then, in a heartbeat, her body coiled into a runner's stance. The four wings on her back unfurled, catching the air as she shot forward. Throne stared, bewildered.
She returned before he could mutter "crazy," tossing something at his feet.
The corpse sprawled before him was twisted, desiccated. Its lumbar spine had been snapped clean, its grotesque head caved in with a single brutal blow. Throne's pupils narrowed. He recognized it instantly—a Kindred of Rot. The wounds screamed Alexander's handiwork.
"Wait, why are the Kindred of Rot involved again?"
Throne felt the ground shift beneath him. He hadn't even dealt with the flying dragons yet. Now these shrimp-like abominations were crawling back into the fray.
"The minions of rot. Did your friend provoke them?"
Lansseax tilted her head, curiosity gleaming in her eyes.
Of course he did.
Among all the factions in The Lands Between, the Kindred of Rot despised him second only to the Erdtree. The Scarlet Flower's bloom was meant to herald their god's return, and he'd crushed it all underfoot. But what did Alexander have to do with this?
A moment's hesitation, and the answer struck him.
Not Alexander. Millicent.
"The Kindred of Rot have tracked us down. That shouldn't be possible. Radahn wiped most of them out. How are these bugs still crawling around?" Throne muttered under his breath. His gaze flicked to the Great Jar behind him, and the pieces clicked into place.
Alexander hadn't been idle these past years.
For the Great Jar to leave its post, something powerful from the rot faction must have arrived. And that direction—Liurnia.
Did they crawl out of the Lake of Rot? The battle in Nokstella must have drawn their attention. Throne wasn't certain, but one thing was clear: the waters of Caelid were growing murkier by the second.
Just like before, this journey was veering off course. His expression darkened, a storm brewing in his eyes.
"Fine. You want to go against me? I was planning to settle scores with you after the dust cleared, but you're forcing my hand now."
Truthfully, Throne despised rot. It was a blight on all living things. He and Ranni had no intention of letting The Lands Between fester with pustules and mushrooms. But for the sake of the bigger picture, they'd let it lie—for now.
Everything could be handled after the Erdtree fell.
But they had to push their luck.
Throne's annoyance flared. Greyoll's mess was already giving him a headache. He'd planned to quietly handle the flying dragons after picking up his companions.
Now the Kindred of Rot were crawling back into the picture. Alexander was his brother, and Millicent's fate was tied to something greater. He couldn't turn a blind eye.
Even setting aside personal feelings, the Kindred of Rot's ambitions clashed with his own path.
One could guess with their eyes closed that those shrimp-like creatures just wanted their god of rot to descend again. It had failed once, but here they were, trying again a decade later.
"Things in Caelid have gotten complicated."
Throne rubbed his temples, the tension palpable.
Lansseax's eyes sparkled with interest.
"Do you want me to help you analyze it?"
"No need."
Let me think about it properly. You go help me ask the Great Jar if it has anything else to say."
Throne never trusted this dragon. Even if the latter was harmless, he wouldn't share his plans with others. The dragon woman left, somewhat unhappy. He simply squatted down, splashed some water, and drew a map of Caelid with a twig. Rack his brains as he might, he marked the known intelligence one by one. Soon, the map was divided into several areas. The flying dragons were in the north, the Redmane occupied the other areas, the Kindred of Rot should be in the swamp—that was a kind of instinctive attraction—and a Mohgwyn Dynasty was hidden underground. He threw the twig down, his gaze gathering on the north, muttering to himself: "The flying dragons are tyrannical and vindictive. Their motive is nothing more than seeing that Radahn is injured and wanting to take the opportunity to retaliate. As for why they fought with Lansseax, it is by no means as simple as a small friction."
As for the specific reason, that Ancient Dragon who loved to play dumb had said something, but not the whole thing. There must still be secrets, but the flying dragons were very determined, even daring to unite with the Magma Wyrm.
"The motive of the Kindred of Rot is much simpler; it's nothing more than wanting to fulfill the wish from ten years ago. But the Starscourge General isn't crazy; their primary idea should be to get Millicent, then wait for Caelid to be in chaos to take advantage of the mess to escape."
"As for this Mohgwyn Dynasty..."
Throne hesitated for a moment. If one said Mohg, that homosexual, was ambitious, he hadn't really done much in all these years. If one said he was lurking, he used the Bloody Finger as tentacles to infiltrate the Tarnished. As for what he wanted to do, Throne could only put himself in his shoes. Thinking it over, he only felt that a healthy Radahn was no less than a Sword of Damocles to Mohg. If the Starscourge General knew that it was he who caused the decisive battle in Aeonia, he would probably dig three feet into the ground to smash his head in.
"It's not good. These three parties have signs of merging. They all want to kill Radahn." Throne laughed at himself, not knowing what to say. Setting aside personal friendship, these three were all monsters and demons. Killing Radahn was one thing, but Caelid would definitely be plunged into misery. Throne was a bit worried. From the perspective of a cold planning machine, doing so had great benefits. At least, by fanning the flames, the eyes of the entire The Lands Between would be focused on Caelid, and Caria could make a fortune in silence. But I'm just not reconciled... If so, wouldn't he have died in vain ten years ago? And what about Alexander and Millicent? What to do? Should he consult Ranni's opinion? Should he sacrifice hundreds of thousands of low-value lives to advance the entire progress? Throne was somewhat lost. Reason and emotion were in conflict. This was not about being soft-hearted, but about not being able to turn back once the bottom line was crossed.
"Have you decided?"
At this moment, Lansseax returned.
"No, no matter how I choose, there are pros and cons, which is why I'm indecisive."
The dragon woman paused for a moment, then laughed out loud, as if she somewhat understood Throne's struggle. She had lived for too many years and had encountered similar situations.
"Since you can't decide, just follow your intuition. Sometimes people who are too rational can become big shots, but they can't become kings; they are always missing one thing."
"What thing?"
"Bearing, and the courage to move forward without looking back. Do you know why I think those Roundtable Tarnished can't accomplish anything?"
Lansseax had clearly observed for a long time, smiling and replying: "Some of them are too stupid, some are too smart, and they always like to sacrifice others to achieve some kind of great cause."
Throne frowned. It wasn't that this lecture was soul-shaking, but rather that he discovered something he hadn't considered from these words. If it were Sir Gideon Ofnir, he would definitely choose the aspect most beneficial to himself without hesitation. Friends and family could all become sacrifices; at worst, he would be sad for a few minutes.
"You're right about that. I just mocked someone in Limgrave, but fell into a thought loop myself." Throne laughed, looking up. He didn't like to struggle, but sometimes he was backlashed by planning too much.
"I always choose the hard way over the easy one, but every time I can beat the smart people into submission!"
If he really wanted extreme rationality, why would he provoke Ranni? Why would he take Sellen away? One should know that in the eyes of an egoist, everyone except oneself is marked with a value.
"I like this free-spiritedness of yours. Being brainless is annoying, and being too smart is alarming."
Lansseax suddenly stopped smiling, her face full of seriousness, as if she understood this man better.
"I don't need you to like it. Even without your reminder, I would have made a choice, just like before."
Throne retorted decisively, returning to normal after just a few minutes. Ten years ago, his choice was stupid, but time proved it was correct. This is what is called "man proposes, God disposes."
"By the way, what else did that Great Jar not say?"
The dragon woman was also a straightforward person. Seeing him make a decision, she didn't dwell on the previous topic and replied: "There really is one thing. It will give every warrior a gift."
Throne immediately remembered. It seemed like this Great Jar would send a talisman. Thinking about it carefully, this reward came really 'easily'.
"Why don't you negotiate with it again, just say I'll take a few more punches from it, can it give two more gifts?"
Lansseax, who had walked a few steps away, looked back, her face full of astonishment, clearly discovering that this man's true nature was exposed. Setting aside strength and intelligence—"You are truly shameless!"
...
Caelid, Redmane Castle. This city was built on a large island, connected to the mainland by a bridge. As the residence of the Starscourge General, it still maintained its consistent simple style, looking nothing like a palace, but merely a military fortress. Gray-white walls, angular buildings, and large tracts of reclaimed farmland outside the city walls—it was no exaggeration to say that Redmane Castle was even more perilous than Stormveil. As long as that bridge was destroyed, enemies could surround this place for a hundred years and might not be able to conquer it. Splash—Seawater crashed against the cliff, shattering into white foam. Radahn stood in front of the window, eyes closed, listening to the sound of the crashing waves. Even in the most painful moments of Scarlet Rot erosion, it could calm him down. Today, the Starscourge General was not wearing armor. His square face looked incomparably majestic, while the cuffs of his robe revealed traces of corrosion. Caressing the wound, he subconsciously showed a few bitter smiles. Over these years, he had somewhat understood Malenia. That kind of pain was something even a tough guy like himself couldn't bear, let alone Malenia who had endured it for many years. Incidentally, he also understood how important Miquella was.
"So, did she really come to find Miquella?"
The General shook his head slightly. That was not a simple sibling affection; it was no exaggeration to call it living for each other. Without Miquella, Malenia wouldn't have lived for long. His memory was a bit blurry. He vaguely remembered Throne mentioning this, but at the time, the arrow was on the bowstring, and he couldn't retreat for any reason. Now that he had calmed down, he felt a bit stifled instead.
"Damn it—who dares pin this blame on me?"
His fist cracked the stone windowsill. Caelid had nearly ended because of that treachery. The battle with the Valkyrie? No regrets there. A duel of kings, fought with honor. But someone had rigged the game, forcing a demigod who never wanted the throne to fight him to the death. That stung worse than the Rot. When he found the bastard responsible, he'd grind their bones to dust. Pain lanced through his chest. The General snarled, gripping the sill until his knuckles bleached white. Scarlet fire seared his lungs—another flare-up. Emotions always stirred the Rot. He rode the wave, breath ragged, until the agony receded. Steel through and through. Within minutes, Radahn straightened, dragged a stool over, and sat with deliberate control. In, out. Deep breaths.
"Can't even drink properly these days."
The ache faded, leaving bitterness in its wake. Throne was gone—not even ashes remained. That final image kept replaying: his friend drawing his own sword, the flash of steel in dim light. Finding the puppetmaster wouldn't bring Throne back. But it'd be one hell of a funeral offering. Without that intervention, he'd have ended up a mindless beast. Knock. Knock. The door swung open. A Redmane Knight stood at attention, spine rigid as a spear.
"General."
"Ogha."
Radahn rose smoothly, every trace of weakness buried. A man didn't flaunt his wounds. Ten years of recovery hadn't kept him from his duties—he'd worked the fields alongside crippled veterans, sweat and soil keeping his body strong.
"You should rest, sir."
Ogha's gaze lingered on the sweat sheening Radahn's brow.
"Since when do knights nag like old women?" Radahn barked a laugh.
"Lose your legs, you crawl. That's the rule."
Ogha saluted, then laid reports on the table.
"The trap's working. Enemies are surfacing."
Throne had guessed right. The Redmane Festival was bait. For a decade, the Starscourge General's condition had been a mystery. The world knew he'd taken the Scarlet Rot point-blank. But how far it had ravaged him? That secret had kept Caelid's waters still. Until now. Stagnation broke. The Kindred of Rot stirred. Mohgwyn's dynasty flexed its claws. Even the dragons grew restless. Every player in The Lands Between was revealing their hand—willingly or not.
"Let's see who wants to spice up the festivities."
Radahn flipped open the first dossier. His frown deepened. Rotkin sightings increased, while lesser rot creatures dwindled. A veteran didn't need volumes to smell treachery. Malenia and her Rot weren't synonymous—he'd never blame the blade for the wielder's sins. But these new pests?
"Filth trampling Caelid again. Didn't ten years of corpses teach them anything?"
"Interrogations yielded nothing, but the recent Kindred came from beyond our borders."
Ogha delivered facts like sword thrusts—precise, lethal. Radahn spread his hands.
"They here for a scenic tour of the battlefield? Or did those bugs finally grow a spine and come for revenge?"
This had nothing to do with him, and he almost became someone else's knife. Ogha pondered for a moment before giving the answer: "I don't know, but it must have something to do with the Scarlet God. I have been thinking about what happened ten years ago.
The Valkyrie was indeed rescued, and that swordsman did indeed stop the Scarlet Flower from continuing to bloom, but the rot was not eliminated; it was just blocked inside by the fire."
He had some words left unsaid. The residual poison from ten years ago had been affecting things until today, at least destroying the Redmane's control over the grassroots. Rot creatures were running around everywhere, and it was no longer something that a single village could stop. So most people lived with towns as the center, making that tight net riddled with holes, which was a waste of years of hard work.
"You think the same as I do. That Scarlet Flower must have spewed out something that was enough to attract the Kindred of Rot. I am just wondering why it only appeared after a full ten years?"
No one could answer this question, as if fate had arranged everything in the dark. The two looked at each other, and there was indeed no answer. Radahn was not a person who liked to struggle, so he drank a glass of wine.
"Hahaha, it doesn't matter. Whether they have good intentions or bad intentions, just win when the time comes."
"That's the truth, General, but the physician said you shouldn't drink."