Beneath their helmets, the Tree Sentinels wore faint, disdainful smiles, their contempt for these pampered nobles plain to see.
Heavy iron armor struck against cold steel, ringing out with crisp, resounding clangs like echoes from an ancient battlefield.
The knights strode into the magnificent palace with their heads held high.
Their eyes were sharp as hawks, sweeping over the figures who carried themselves with an air of nobility. They had no respect for them.
They were descendants of the heroes who had followed the Lord and the Goddess in conquering the lands at the dawn of the Dynasty. Generations had passed since then, and most of the nobles had long since lost the fierce spirit of their forebears.
People chose different paths. Some drowned themselves in luxury and excess. Others were willing to spill blood on the battlefield.
The knights looked down on them, but said nothing, continuing inward without comment.
The palace still looked splendid from the outside, yet within, signs of decay had already begun to show.
They wound their way through corridors both lavish and crumbling, until at last they reached a secluded, timeworn chamber.
Pushing the door open, they found the room dimly lit. Inside stood only a simple bed and a few pieces of battered furniture.
A massive screen divided the space between them. The knight could not understand why this great lord, who could have enjoyed every extravagance, chose instead to seclude himself in such a forgotten corner.
Just then, a deep, authoritative voice came from the depths of the room.
"Yadur, you've returned?"
The knight looked toward the sound. In one corner stood the enormous screen, completely concealing the speaker from view.
Even so, he dropped to one knee without hesitation.
"Yes, my lord."
He knew that behind the screen sat the legendary hero revered by the warriors of the entire city—Morgott.
Countless people would pay dearly for the chance to behold Morgott in person.
Yet now, that towering screen stood like an impenetrable wall, cutting off any possibility of glimpsing his true appearance.
This great figure distrusted nearly everyone, yet placed absolute faith in The Fell Omen, Margit.
Margit not only bore the heavy responsibility of serving as a general within the army, but had also become Morgott's voice, exercising authority and delivering orders in his name.
Because of this, a ridiculous rumor had begun circulating through the Royal Capital—that Morgott and Margit were actually the same person.
Utter nonsense. Few Omen bore no hatred toward the Dynasty. If they refrained from sabotage, that was already a mercy. How could they possibly turn around and save it?
As for the Omen Legion and The Fell Omen, they must have been convinced by Lord Morgott himself to fight under his banner.
The knight could not help but find those absurd rumors amusing.
"Has Margit awakened?" Morgott asked casually, though the question was pointless.
With their identities now reversed, he himself was the so-called avatar, merely bearing the name Morgott. How could he possibly be unaware of the original body's condition?
Still kneeling, Yadur inclined his head slightly.
"Not yet." He paused, as if weighing his words, before continuing. "However, several nobles have grown restless of late. They obey your commands on the surface while defying them in secret."
"It seems Margit's injury has shown them an opportunity. Should we take action?"
Though his tone remained respectful, the meaning was clear.
With Margit still unconscious, the threat of force had lessened considerably.
Morgott slowly shook his head, his expression solemn as he replied,
"Leave this matter to the Praetors. Submit reports of their conduct as usual. The Dynasty's laws will deliver a fair judgment."
Hearing this, Yadur could not help but sigh inwardly. In his view, this lord was far too merciful.
If it were up to him, the simplest solution would be to execute those unruly nobles outright.
Their crimes were countless. One only had to look, and evidence would pile up in heaps.
But under the Dynasty's law, nobles enjoyed special privileges. A trial would never cost them their lives.
"Any word from the others?"
Yadur quickly nodded and began relaying intelligence from distant territories.
According to the reports, the various lords had all returned to their domains severely wounded and still unconscious.
Fortunately, none were beyond saving. For now, they were recuperating quietly within their own lands.
If the main body had been unharmed, this would have been the perfect opportunity to dispatch troops and crush the rebellion in one sweep.
But fate had other plans. For the time being, they could only hold their position and wait for the situation to develop.
During the final battle, Morgott had been too close to that flower, making him one of those who suffered the heaviest impact.
His mind had turned hazy, as though wrapped in dense fog, to the point that even thinking clearly became difficult.
Even this avatar, tightly linked to the main body, knew little of how the battle had truly ended.
He could only piece together fragments from the accounts of heroes who had watched from afar.
Though he did not know that person's identity, the achievement of saving millions could not be allowed to sink into obscurity.
For that reason, he chose to let the tale of that hero spread freely across the Lands Between.
"The Haligtree has sent word. The two Empyreans seem to be searching everywhere for the hero's remains," one of the knights reported.
"For what purpose?" Morgott frowned, quietly weighing their intent.
A corpse should be returned to the roots. What would the Haligtree want with it? Did Miquella truly believe the Haligtree could replace the Erdtree?
"We don't know. But there are rumors that something is wrong with Miquella, Your Highness. His mental state seems… unstable."
"Miquella?"
Morgott froze.
How could someone perfectly fine suddenly develop a mental disorder? Was it because of Malenia's blooming?
Everyone knew how dearly Miquella cherished his sister. But the Scarlet Blossom had not fully bloomed. Had something still happened to her?
Morgott's expression grew heavy. His suspicions were not baseless.
The conclusions one draws are limited by the information one possesses.
By blood, the Valkyrie was his sister. By status, she was both an Empyrean and one of the strongest contenders for the throne.
The final Elden Lord would be chosen from among those with ambition. He had no intention of claiming the throne himself. His duty was only to ensure that a worthy Lord emerged.
The forces of the Royal Capital remained withdrawn within Leyndell, like a turtle pulled into its shell, unable to extend their reach too far or too deep.
Without sufficient intelligence, even if Morgott exhausted his thoughts, he could not uncover the truth.
Still, if nothing unexpected occurred, with the lords lying dormant, the Lands Between would enter a brief period of calm.
But that so-called peace would be like a blunt blade slowly cutting into flesh, dragging out the suffering.
So long as the Lands Between remained unsettled, and no true Lord was chosen for the throne, the flames of war would inevitably rise again.
And when they did, the war would be longer and far more brutal.