"That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons even death may die."
At Stormgate in Limgrave, he rode Torrent at an easy pace, planning to swing by the Church of Elleh first, then head down to the Weeping Peninsula and see whether Castle Morne could be brought onto his side.
And, while he was at it, he intended to test a suspicion that had been gnawing at him.
At some point he'd changed armor—now he wore Maliketh's black-and-gold set, beastly iron trimmed with gold. It hung a little loose on his frame, but it sat comfortably enough.
As for why he'd put away Malenia's armor?
Simple.
He was about to go see Ranni. Showing up wearing Malenia's gear would be begging for a misunderstanding so spectacular that even hurling himself into the Forge of the Giants wouldn't wash it clean.
In his hands, he cradled a book titled Necronomicon, reading it with unsettling enthusiasm.
He'd skimmed the sections on Nyarlathotep, Azathoth, Yog-Sothoth, Shub-Niggurath, and the rest, and the more he read, the more the descriptions felt disturbingly familiar—like someone had taken a brush to the Lands Between and painted over it in another myth's colors.
Especially when the book touched on things that blurred boundaries—creatures made of mismatched traits, the idea of endless amalgamation.
Before the Age of the Erdtree and the Golden Order, the Erdtree's authority had once been tied to the Crucible, the primordial form of life.
And for reasons he couldn't explain, that concept—the mixing of all things into one—kept tugging at his mind, lining up too neatly with certain passages in the book.
All things returning to one. No clear separation.
Could there really be a connection?
The book also recorded pages of obscure incantations—dense, crooked lines of text that made no sense to him at all. He couldn't read a single word of it with any confidence.
"I'll ask Chika Fujiwara when I get the chance."
He was just about to swap to another book when a horn suddenly blared in the distance.
He narrowed his eyes.
Near the ruins and a small campfire, a soldier stood with a horn raised high, sounding the alarm like his life depended on it.
"Damn. You're really dedicated," he muttered. "Your boss is dead and you're still standing watch."
Godrick was dead dead—dead enough that even the Lands Between should've gotten the memo—but the soldiers scattered through Limgrave seemed to be patrolling as if nothing had happened.
Maybe the news hadn't reached them yet.
It was possible.
It didn't matter.
He'd seen this before.
"Torrent—run them down."
He tapped his heels against the spectral steed's flanks, and Torrent surged forward like he'd been blessed by a storm. The soldiers blocking the road lasted less than a heartbeat—either smashed aside by the charge or crushed under hooves, becoming nothing more than another handful of runes.
Even the heavy infantry didn't fare better. Some tried to raise their shields, only for the metal to cave in under Torrent's stomp, buckling like soft tin.
And then he spotted something else up ahead.
Something… off.
A rider in black armor—black boots, black weapon—mounted on a sleek, dark beast that looked like a cross between a panther and a lion. The moment it noticed him, it raised a long blade and charged.
He squinted, then lifted his gaze toward the sky.
"Oh. So it's that time."
A Night's Cavalry.
A knight that only emerged after nightfall, dangerous enough to rival the Tree Sentinel near the Church of Elleh.
As the black rider closed in, he lazily drew Lusat's Glintstone Staff. A Carian royal sigil flared into existence before him, and a deep-blue greatbow of magic condensed in the air.
He pulled the string back—full moon draw—and four arrows formed along the glowing cord, growing larger by the second, heavy with sorcerous force.
Then—
He loosed.
Four shots screamed forward and slammed into the Night's Cavalry in the blink of an eye. The rider didn't even get a proper swing off before being swallowed by a storm of detonating magic.
Loretta's Greatbow.
One of his favorite spells.
He'd even used it once in a long-range duel against Radahn—an absurd memory, but a real one.
The blast wind flattened nearby trees, and as branches snapped and leaves scattered, something black and round tumbled out of the grass like it had been knocked loose by the shockwave.
"Ow! Hey! What's wrong with you? That was way too violent!"
He blinked, then guided Torrent closer.
There, in the churned grass, was a tiny creature—gray and dingy—wearing clothes. It looked like someone had tried to make a person out of a rat and a monkey and then given up halfway through.
"...What is this thing?" he murmured.
"Rat? Monkey?"
Maybe both.
It wasn't even tall enough to reach Torrent's knee.
After hundreds of cycles, he'd never seen a creature quite this… aggressively unfortunate.
He stared for a moment, expression flat behind his helm.
"Whatever. I'll just kill it."
He drew the Grafted Blade Greatsword, lifting it with casual intent.
A creature shaped like that was better off as runes.
"Wait—wait, wait, wait! Don't kill me!"
The strange little thing curled into itself, trembling so hard it nearly rattled. A warm stream started pooling beneath it.
"..."
That timid?
The sight killed his enthusiasm on the spot. He lowered the sword slowly, like he was putting away a bad idea.
"If you don't want to die, then you have ten sentences," he said coldly. "Tell me your name, where you came from, and why you're here."
The creature immediately dropped into a full prostration and started bowing like its neck was on a hinge.
"Th-thank you! Thank you for sparing me!"
"Nine."
He gave the reminder with the kindest tone he could manage—which somehow made it worse.
Unbelievable. Limgrave had produced all kinds of horrors, and this was what passed for a living thing?
Even Kurara had more spine than this.
"Y-yes! I'm Boc. I… I wasn't liked, so the others in the cave threw me out… and then someone cast a spell on me, and I turned into a tree…"
Boc spoke in a rush, eyes flicking to the greatsword every other breath, terrified it would fall on him at any second.
"Thank you for breaking the spell… you truly saved me…"
"Boc?" The name tugged at his memory. He searched through it carefully.
…No. He didn't recognize it.
But the mention of a cave did ring a bell—he'd definitely seen creatures like this near one of those places.
Though from what he remembered, those ones were bold. Bold enough to jump him without hesitation.
He didn't dwell on it.
"Forget the thanks," he said, tugging Torrent's reins. "If there's nothing else, I'm leaving."
He'd been apart from Ranni for far too long. He missed that sharp, stubborn attitude more than he cared to admit.
He took only a few steps before Boc scrambled in front of him again, blocking the way.
He stopped.
"Are you tired of living?" His voice cooled instantly. "You want to die?"
He raised the Grafted Blade Greatsword again, ready to end the conversation permanently.
"N-no! Don't kill me—please! I… I want to ask you for help…"
Boc tried to steel himself, but the moment the sword rose, he folded into a shivering ball again.
And the ground beneath him darkened further.
"..."
Torrent shifted uncomfortably.
The steadily spreading wet patch made him lose the will to kill anything in the general vicinity.
Fine.
"Alright," he sighed, as if he were the victim here. "Since you had the courage to block my path, I'll hear you out."
He even took a second to congratulate himself internally.
I'm truly a saint.
Then he looked down at Boc.
"Talk. What do you want me to do?"
"I… I want to ask you to help me return to the cave by the coast," Boc said, trembling but forcing the words out. "I need to retrieve something important… If you do that, I can repay you for breaking my spell…"
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