"Who says it doesn't matter?"
Throne's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Am I not at war with Morgott? Don't the Two Fingers want me dead? If I don't eliminate them first, how do you expect me to reach Leyndell?"
"That might hold water if you hadn't provoked them first!"
"Bullshit."
Throne kicked a pebble down the hillside.
"Remember what happened when I reached Liurnia? I went to Ainsel River and walked straight into a Two Fingers conspiracy. Was I supposed to let Ranni drown in your mess?"
His fingers twitched toward his sword hilt.
"After reuniting with Ranni, ignoring Raya Lucaria wasn't an option. Caelid? Came here to recruit allies to strengthen our position. The dragons, Millicent—you think I should've stepped over their bodies without looking down?"
Melina's brow furrowed. On paper, every move served their agreement. The logic held. But this man collected complications like a beggar collecting lice. The Deathbed Companion. Millicent. These weren't problems solved between sunrise and sunset.
"When will you reach the Erdtree?"
In his mind's eye, Throne saw himself leading an army through shattered walls, planting his boot on the Elden Throne before tearing the Erdtree out by its roots. Outwardly, he waved a dismissive hand.
"No hurry. Deal with what's in front of us first."
He jerked his chin toward the distance.
"See Millicent over there?"
Melina followed his gaze. The girl stood beside Alexander, waving from across the battlefield. The Living Jar's simple nature had spared him Radahn's notice.
"The fighting aggravated her Scarlet Rot. Should I toss her aside like empty rations? Every action I take sends ripples through multiple factions now."
Melina watched Throne's retreating back. No words came. She wasn't cruel. Wasn't selfish. He kept moving forward, true—but his wake now carried more than just her.
"Damn him!"
Her boot kicked up dust as she hurried after him.
Throne didn't spare the outburst a thought. He knew Melina's wooden temperament like the grip of his sword. Apply the right pressure, and she'd bend to his will. The hillside crunched underfoot as he descended.
A greatsword-wielding Tarnished watched from the ridge. Throne dipped his chin in solemn acknowledgment. Bernahl's covering fire had let him cut through enemy lines like a scythe through wheat. No words passed between them—just a returned nod before the warrior vanished over the crest.
Throne's mouth twisted. Rare to find someone so allergic to conversation. Warriors understood each other in silence. Chasing after thanks would've spoiled the moment. He turned instead to the earthenware figure.
"Alexander. You've grown stronger."
"Aye. But you've outgrown me."
The Warrior Jar scratched his clay head. Millicent's account left no doubt—Throne had shouldered the battle's heaviest burden. The Red Wave alone would haunt Alexander's dreams.
"Thought I might almost match your stride."
"I won't slow down."
Throne's grin showed teeth.
"Want to keep up? Train harder."
Throne's fist struck the jar's surface, the hardened clay meeting his knuckles with a dull thud. He traced the small cracks with his fingers, feeling the rough texture of Alexander's weathered body. The Warrior Jar was a testament to countless battles, its surface pitted and scarred with the marks of swords and blades.
"You've worked hard all these years," Throne said softly.
Alexander laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that echoed through the air. "Hahaha, scars are a man's medals. I will definitely accomplish what I promised you," he replied, his tone brimming with confidence. Snatching Millicent had been no small feat, and he'd even managed to mold her into something formidable.
"I have nothing left to teach you. What do you plan to do next? Do you want to join me in challenging the Mother of Dragons?"
Throne shook his head.
"No, I plan to leave Caelid."
Alexander's laughter faded. He stepped closer, his voice steady.
"Following behind you, I will never grow; on the contrary, it will only cause this heart of mine to grow stagnant."
"Why?"
"When facing an impossible opponent, only despair remains. Plus, always feeling that someone will extend a helping hand makes one become cowardly."
He punctuated his words with a punch into the air, the motion sharp and deliberate.
Throne inhaled the acrid scent of rot, his pupils contracting. Alexander's determination was palpable. This Warrior Jar was willing to endure any hardship, risk any danger, to become stronger. Only by facing death could one find life, and only in desperate straits could one unleash their true potential.
"I see," Throne nodded. He had never treated Alexander as a tool or underling.
They were partners, equals. Neither owed the other anything.
"I won't stop you. As a parting gift, I'll give you something as a token of thanks."
Throne turned toward the approaching Redmane Knight and strode forward to meet him.
Ogha held a long, rectangular box in both hands, offering it with a bow.
"My lord, this is what the General asked me to bring to you."
Throne took the box, hefting it curiously. Radahn's silence on the matter was perplexing.
"How many dragons were shot down?"
"Eight," Ogha replied, his gaze lingering on Throne with a flicker of recognition. But a knight's duty was to follow orders, not to ask questions.
"Give their flesh and hearts to him; let that be the payment for this time," Throne said, gesturing toward Alexander, who was now energetically doing squats in anticipation.
Ogha's eyes widened slightly as he looked back and forth between the two.
"It's you??"
The astonishment flashed across his face before he composed himself. A knight didn't ask what shouldn't be asked.
"I will report back to the General. Do you have any other business?"
"No. Thank him for me."
Throne turned away without hesitation and clapped Alexander on the shoulder.
"The matter is settled. Keep your wits about you and don't die."
Eight dragons were a fortune beyond measure—no other Warrior Jar had ever enjoyed such treatment.
"Big Brother, thanks. I don't know how to repay you."
"This is what you deserve. Who told you to choose the hardest path?"
Throne's words carried a weight of unspoken meaning. If Alexander had stayed in his shadow, he could have had eighty dragons eventually. But then, he wouldn't be the upright, indomitable man he was now. He'd have been nothing more than Throne's lackey.
The path is chosen by oneself, not by someone high and mighty acting on the wishful thinking of 'it's for your own good.' Throne glanced at the beaming Living Jar.
"Alexander, what is your goal for becoming stronger? When is the end point?"
"Of course, it is you!" Alexander replied without hesitation, thumping his chest with a resonant clang.
"You are the strongest in my eyes, and I hope one day to be able to defeat you!"
An unmasked ambition; a man disdains to hide such things in his heart.
"Hahahaha, interesting. That actually puts some pressure on me. If I were to be defeated by you, I wouldn't be able to save face."
Throne laughed loudly, without a hint of mocking Alexander for not knowing the immensity of heaven and earth.
With an ideal, everything is possible. He extended his hand and said with a smile: "Then farewell. At the very least, you must become the strongest among the Pot People!"
"Aye. Before challenging you, I will challenge the Great Jar; only then will I have a bit of confidence."
"Smack!!"
The two men's hands slapped together tightly, then released freely, and they turned around to walk in opposite directions.
"Let's go. Don't dwell on it."
Throne pulled on the somewhat reluctant Millicent. He understood the girl's feelings; after years of being together, they hadn't even spoken two words after a life-or-death battle.
"Why is this Living Jar so persistent? Even though no matter how hard he tries, he can never catch up to you. In terms of efficiency, it would obviously be better to follow behind you."
Melina didn't quite understand.
"He is not my pet, and he is walking on a difficult yet correct path."
Throne emphasized his tone, looking at the muddy battlefield and clenching his fists.
The Mother of Dragons, the Lord of Blood, the Scarlet Rot—combined, even Radahn was no match for them, but weren't they ground into the mud now? Therefore, in this world, how can one know the outcome without trying?
The autumn rain kept falling; apart from easing up a bit midway, it had never stopped, making the mountains wet and muddy. Throne hadn't lingered in Sellia for long. He had already met with Radahn, and he wasn't familiar with Ogha and the other Redmanes—especially with the matter of stealing the primeval glintstone, which would inevitably invite Radahn's ridicule.
They had just been raising cups to discuss heroes when Edred came to report the theft of the primeval glintstone. No matter how thick-skinned Throne was, he would have broken down on the spot.
"Time to bail, time to bail. What primeval glintstone? Never heard of such a thing."
Of course, this act of running away appeared to Millicent as a display of indifference to fame and fortune, and because of this, her gaze became much more respectful. She thought to herself that her teacher was truly reliable and worthy of being her role model.
The three of them followed the forest north for over ten kilometers, only then leaving the vicinity of Sellia, and saw Lansseax waiting ahead. The dragon woman leaned against a wet tree, humming an inexplicable tune. Her eyes lit up upon hearing footsteps.
"I thought you would stay a bit longer. Wait, such a fragrant scent of wine. The battle just ended, right? Where did you go to drink?"
Do Ancient Dragons have dog noses too? Throne breathed out, not smelling any wine at all, then seeing Lansseax's playful gaze, he simply rolled his eyes.
"How did you guess?"
"Well, you went to see the Starscourge, didn't you? What could two stinky men do when huddled together? And Sellia doesn't seem to have..."
Before she could finish, her mouth was covered by Throne.
The man said fiercely: "There are children here, watch your mouth!"
The dragon woman looked at Melina and Millicent, thinking to herself that neither of them looked anything like children—or rather, what child in this world could hold a sharp blade and kill until heads were rolling? But thinking about it for a moment, the two did seem quite pure.
"I must keep Millicent away from this experienced vixen in the future. Oh no, she's already starting to get curious."
Millicent scrutinized Lansseax. Strong individuals were attracted to one another; although this arm-in-arm dragon woman had no proper decorum, the impression she gave was quite powerful.
"Eh, where did Blaidd run off to?"
Throne hurriedly changed the subject.
"I don't know. He wanted to fight me just a moment ago, but when I turned my head, he was gone."
Did Ranni have a mission? Or did he get lost? Throne let out a long sigh of relief. One of the reasons he had rushed over was that Blaidd, the "dog-headed" strategist, had such a fiery temper; he was afraid that he might have already treated Lansseax as a threat.
It was better that he had left, so he wouldn't have to intervene in a biased fight. Blaidd was faster with his hands than his mouth, and this dragon woman was no pushover either. Throne didn't know what other mission Blaidd might have, so he looked north. It was all rolling mountains, with large piles of broken wood, showing just how hastily the dragons had fled.
The dragons were inherently violent and lacked much organization. There were no fewer than fifty or sixty that had besieged Sellia that night; excluding those that had been slaughtered, a portion had scattered in all directions.
"Now is the time when Greyoll is at her weakest. We must finish her off quickly; I'm just worried that this creature might vanish without a trace."
"She has nowhere to run. But speaking of weakness, aren't you in the same state?"
Lansseax laughed and said with some emotion: "Mages are truly clever; to have come up with such a strange amplification magic. No wonder you end up in such misfortune."
Throne wanted to ask why it was "misfortune," but the dragon woman had already skipped over the topic.
"Hmm, the scent of primeval glintstone. You implanted this thing into your body? Logically speaking, this method should only result in being influenced by the soul of the primeval glintstone."
"Heh, my teacher is not ordinary. She solved this problem perfectly."
"Using the primeval glintstone as an energy core and releasing it with amplification magic? But that still wouldn't reach the effect you had when you started the battle. Even if Lusat came in person, he wouldn't be able to achieve such power."
It had to be said, this fun-loving dragon was quite wise when she thought, her eyes filled with the light of reason.
"I also used the Queen of the Full Moon's theory to remove the magic threshold."
The light of reason dissipated.
Lansseax was stunned for a moment, then immediately returned to her usual playful expression: "You are truly crazy. Aren't you afraid of breaking yourself??"
"Not afraid. That's why I forcibly removed it twice."
"I take back what I said earlier; you are fundamentally a madman. But I like madmen; they bring surprises at every moment!"
This time it was Throne's turn to be horrified.
It wasn't the first time he had gone mad while killing, but others were either tolerant or fearful; never before had anyone been interested.
"Don't compare me to yourself. I am usually very kind."
"No, no, no. You are still a crazy person at your core, so don't be so guarded."
Lansseax licked her lips and said with a smile: "Between one madman and another, there are so many ways to play~~~"
"Enough!"
Melina could no longer listen to this. What was all this nonsense? The way she looked at the dragon woman was as if she wanted to devour Throne alive. The young girl stepped between the two, her face gloomy: "Didn't you say we were in a hurry? What's the point of standing around gossiping?"
Lansseax flicked her nails casually, her tone light but edged.
"You're rushing him when he's barely holding himself together. You want to deliver him to Greyoll as a snack?"
She wasn't angry, just stating facts.
"It's a miracle he's even standing. If it were one of those frail mages, they'd be dead seven times over by now."
"Is it really that bad?"
Melina glanced back at Throne, studying him closely. She saw nothing outwardly alarming.
"She's right," Throne admitted, crossing his arms and tilting his chin up. "The backlash hit me hard, but I'm still functional. My combat effectiveness hasn't dropped much."
"That doesn't make sense."
"Plenty of things in this world don't make sense. You'll get used to it."
Throne avoided elaborating. Lansseax was right—removing the threshold twice had left damage no incantation or Flask of Crimson Tears could fix. Only time would grind it out. Even with a dragon's body, he'd be weakened for a while. But he could recover through bloodshed. A Scarlet Rot lord and a Lord of Blood clone had given him a hefty boost—particularly the latter. The blood power held untapped potential. He hadn't had time to study it yet, and the fact it was tied to an "Outer God" made caution essential.
"Alright, alright."
Throne shook his head, breaking the tension.
"Let's find a place to rest, then get the map so we can plan properly."
He spotted a cave nearby. The drizzle of autumn rain clung uncomfortably to his skin. He snapped off some branches, but they were too damp to light. Frustrated, he turned to Lansseax for help.