"Let your imagination run wild." Throne watched the other's expression shift, knowing they were already spiraling into overthought. As an actor, he understood lies were crude; the real art was crafting a persona and letting others fill in the gaps. "Stormveil garrison troops, judging by their armor. Does Godrick hold a grudge against you?"
"Not at all. We've been in Limgrave the whole time, exploring caves at most." Vyke shook his head quickly, biting his lip. "I don't know why they ambushed us. They even wanted to take us alive." Because they wanted to chop you up for Grafting. Throne already knew the answer, but after spotting the spy earlier, he'd formed a new plan.
"That's irrelevant. Godrick won't let this slide after losing a squad. What's your move?" Vyke gave a strained smile, gesturing to his injured companions. "We'll retreat to the village to heal, then find a way out of Limgrave."
"Suicide." "What?" "Someone was spying earlier. The intel's already out. Godrick will send troops to wipe you out." "That can't be necessary, can it?" Vyke thought of the lawless Tarnished who'd slain countless knights. Why him? Throne smirked, leaning down to pluck an arrow from the ground.
"Then explain this—what makes you valuable enough to take alive?"
No grudges, no recent conflicts. Vyke had spent years in The Lands Between. The pieces clicked, and his face paled. "He wants us for Grafting?" Godrick's crimes weren't secret. If not for the Tarnished's return, Limgrave's nobility would've overthrown him long ago.
"No, that doesn't make sense. What use are Tarnished for Grafting?" "Maybe he's suffered losses at their hands." Throne shook his head. He knew this deranged demigod too well. "But that's not the point. You know his secret now. Do you think he's afraid of retaliation from the Roundtable Hold?" Of course he was. If he weren't, why hide like a coward in Stormveil? He only bullied the Tarnished because they were scattered, incapable of laying siege.
"Singer, grab Eina and Al. We're leaving now!" Vyke was decisive. He glanced at Throne, hesitated, then asked, "Lord Isshin, you've killed so many. Are you coming with us?"
The man was powerful. Recruiting him would mean protection. But he was also a lone wolf—unless Godrick sent an army, he couldn't be taken down. Throne had expected the invitation. He hadn't stepped in out of boredom. "Fine." He nodded.
Vyke looked surprised. Throne added, "I killed the grunts, but you took down the two knights." Vyke's mouth twitched. He wasn't stupid. This Isshin Ashina wasn't gifting him reputation—he was setting him up as a shield. But it defied logic. Most Tarnished would kill for a Roundtable Hold invitation.
"Why? Reputation gets you selected, assigned a Finger Maiden, makes you a candidate." "I don't need titles. I've no interest in the throne." Throne shrugged, walked over, and clapped Vyke's shoulder.
"Believe it or not, follow me. We're going this way." He walked at the very front, not even glancing at the two people helping their companion up, clearly knowing the other party had no choice. Who the hell wants to be selected by the Roundtable Hold? Judging by current intelligence, there is no major Grace yet, and the Roundtable Hold is in the core area of Leyndell.
Running right up to the Erdtree would be suicide, wouldn't it? Even if one were to go, it would be to go for an audience with a god-slaying blade in hand, and while at it, have a heart-to-heart talk with the Two Fingers. Now is not the time; it's better to make a fortune in silence. ... Since there was a Godricks Army camp to the north, running there would be walking right into a trap.
After hurriedly cleaning up the battlefield, the group simply dived into the forest and headed east. Hannah and Al had woken up. The Tarnished truly have backing; with the help of the flask of crimson tears, as long as they were still breathing, they could be saved. It's worth noting that ten years ago, when Throne was in the army, he rarely saw this stuff, and he only had an empty bottle on him.
However, he had already inquired, and one could obtain tears at the Minor Erdtree, so more Tarnished operated around the Minor Erdtree to quickly obtain supplies. Throne walked in the front wearing chainmail, his armor clanking.
Don't look at how he cuts through armor like paper; in reality, this stuff isn't just for psychological comfort—at the very least, it can withstand volleys of arrows and crossbow bolts. Therefore, unarmored assassins and mages are the first to suffer. If everyone aimed at the heavily armored Singer, it wouldn't be certain they could take him down from a hundred meters away.
"Hey, do we really have to follow this guy?" Al asked in a low voice. He had already noticed the problem: this person was very familiar with the terrain of Limgrave, and didn't look like someone who had just woken up. "We have no choice. Besides, without Lord Isshin, we would already be dead." Vyke was very clear-headed; he had seen Throne's moves with his own eyes.
"He could have completely silenced us, but he didn't, so he is clearly trustworthy." "But he wants you to be a meat shield!" Eina huffed in dissatisfaction. "Uh, perhaps Lord Isshin has some unspeakable difficulties. But this doesn't count as a cost; I had intended to leave Limgrave after this expedition anyway." Vyke was a bit lost.
He thought he was prepared, but after seeing that elegant slaughter, he discovered he wasn't prepared for anything at all. The gap in strength was too great. If all the Tarnished outside were this strong, he had no qualifications to become a candidate for the throne. The young man was wavering. Just then, he saw Throne ahead stop abruptly, and quickly quickened his pace to catch up.
"Lord Isshin, what's wrong?" "Just call me by my name." Throne's tone remained indifferent, but his eyes revealed a look of nostalgia. At this moment, they had walked out of the dense forest. In front of them was a large, shallow lake. The moonlight shone on the water, reflecting a mirror-like silver-gray.
To the left was a large bridge spanning a mountain stream, and to the right in the distance, one could see ruins hidden in the hazy moonlight. This was Agheel Lake. Many years ago, he had once slaughtered a dragon in the center of the lake with Sellen. The roar of that flying dragon still echoed in his ears. Now, revisiting the old place truly made one sigh with emotion.
Vyke thought the other party needed information and hurriedly said: "This is Agheel Lake. I heard that there used to be a flying dragon in here, but it was slaughtered by a nameless knight. It should be fine to walk through now." "What about the dragon's corpse?" "It was long ago dismantled, not even the bones are left.
If the dragon were still here, who knows how many Tarnished would've been devoured. "Interested?"
"No. Just thinking it would've been good to kill it once." Throne shook his head and stepped into the lake. The silt felt the same as before, though the water seemed lower. Time passes, places stay the same, but people change. The hero returns.
Something's off. Throne waded through the mud, glancing back. The Tarnished were drenched in sweat, water up to their thighs, silt clinging to their calves. This terrain drained the life out of them.
The heavy-armored warrior had stripped off his gear, letting Vyke carry it. Exhausted as they were, they pushed on. Agheel Lake offered no cover. If pursued, they'd be riddled with arrows.
But as dawn broke, Throne saw no sign of Godrick's men. "Based on the spy's distance, they had enough time to report to the barracks. The cavalry should've caught us by midnight."
It didn't add up. Unless the spy was just a villager passing by. But who wanders outside in the dead of night? Aren't they afraid of beasts? Strange. Throne frowned, stepping onto the lake's central island. It stood several meters above the water. To the north, Saintsbridge loomed; to the east, the shore. He pulled out his map. Waypoint Ruins wasn't far.
"I'm done." Eina collapsed, legs numb and swollen, caked in black mud. The others sprawled on the ground, gasping like defeated soldiers. Vyke leaned on his spear, barely standing, staring at Throne's unwavering back.
Lord Isshin's a tier above me. He walked this far without breaking a sweat. "A bunch of rookies. Vyke's mid-tier at best. The rest? Low-tier knights with lousy gear. They'd struggle against a Cuckoo." Throne glanced at them, but he didn't feel scorn.
In The Lands Between, this strength counted as elite. When he first arrived, he was a grunt. That clumsy warrior could've beaten him senseless. Can't be helped. He leveled up early, leaving the average Tarnished behind.
Still, ten years had passed. The first Tarnished to wake should've reached hero status by now. "Lord Isshin, where are we headed?" Vyke trudged over, steps heavy. "I told you to drop the honorifics." Throne glanced at him, indifferent, and raised a finger. "Ashore. Waypoint Ruins." "What? There's a Godrick's Army barracks there, plus soldiers from nearby nobles. Isn't that walking into a trap?"
"The pursuers didn't come. I need clues. Also, Waypoint Ruins has a treasure vault." Throne kept it brief. "Waypoint Ruins has a treasure vault? Since when?" Vyke was baffled. In the intel, it was just a key node for maintaining the route to the Weeping Peninsula. The Tarnished were a problem, but the nobles weren't handing over power.
"Got something to say?" Throne noticed his hesitation. "Yeah." Vyke took the map and drew a triangle.
"Waypoint Ruins, Fort Haight, and Castle Morne—they form a blockade line. That's where the Limgrave nobility's rule holds strongest." Vyke jabbed a finger near the Minor Erdtree. "Blockading whom? Mistwood. That's the Tarnished settlement in Limgrave. Your map's outdated. Doesn't even mark it."
When I got this map, you were still lying in your coffins. Throne rolled his eyes, pinched his chin, and let the pieces click into place. The conflict between the Tarnished and the Golden folk had already sharpened. Both sides circled each other, knives drawn in the shadows. Who'd win this long, bloody dance?
In the end, the Tarnished would be whittled down to stragglers, the nobles vanished, the demigods locked away. Everyone holding hands as The Lands Between crumbled around them. The Tarnished were just a smokescreen. Irrelevant.
Three things mattered now: find Sellen, report back to Ranni, and maybe swing by Caelid to see the aftermath of the Shattering. Anyone standing in his way? Kill them. Simple.
Throne folded the map. "Rest for ten minutes. We head to Waypoint Ruins." No explanation. None needed.
Vyke breathed out, nodded, and stepped away. Near noon, the group reached the lake shore. The southern road of Limgrave stretched ahead. Shackled trolls dragged carts forward while Kaiden mercenaries and Godrick's knights eyed the passing Tarnished with sharp gazes. The place buzzed with life.
Civilians, soldiers, Tarnished—all mingled on the road, a fragile peace hanging in the air. Across the way, a small town hugged the path. Not really a town—no walls, just a market strung along the road. But it thrived.
Low shacks leaned against each other, stalls sagged under the weight of goods. Mushrooms of odd shapes, white ghost glovewort—everything piled high. Tarnished and nobles wandered through, haggling and shouting carrying far. "Second largest market in Limgrave. Mostly for the Golden folk," Vyke explained as he stepped up. "First?"
"Mistwood. Where Tarnished trade among themselves." Throne nodded. So that's where the 'pay-to-win' Tarnished came from. Bold, unshackled, digging treasures from catacombs and trading whatever they couldn't use for Runes to crush.
Waypoint Ruins. The name clicked. Just a pedestrian street, and the so-called waypoint? Throne glanced left. A wooden fence marked the entrance, soldiers standing guard, ballistae mounted on watchtowers. Trolls hauled carts inside.
This belonged to the nobles—a storage hub for supplies hauled from the Weeping Peninsula to Stormveil. He spotted a few Tarnished among them. "Tarnished in Godrick's army?" Vyke peered out, unfazed. "Of course. Not every Tarnished aims to be Elden Lord.
They might become explorers, find a village to settle down in, or join forces across The Lands Between—noble knights, caravan guards, or..." "Or what?" "Or hunt their own kind. Recusants. Bloody Fingers. Powerful Tarnished, all of them." The young man swallowed hard, voice strained.
Recusants and Bloody Finger? Throne pondered for a moment. If he remembered correctly, the former was an organization from Mt. Gelmir, subordinate to Rykard, and the latter was the blade of the Mohgwyn Dynasty, subordinate to Mohg. These two were standard traitors among the demigods, having pledged themselves to Outer Gods and acting specifically against the golden order.
As for the choices of the Tarnished, he was not surprised at all. Among them were the disheartened and the ambitious. If they were as filled with a sense of mission as the Undead, The Lands Between wouldn't be enough for them to kill. This counted as important intelligence. Throne crossed the main road, leaving behind only one sentence: "Now you know why Godrick won't let you go."
The expressions of Vyke and the others were uncertain. They certainly understood; if the news of Godrick wanting to use Tarnished for Grafting spread, then the Tarnished he had recruited would immediately rebel. Throne couldn't care about the choices of a few Tarnished, and they had no choice anyway.
He just walked into the market, slowly passing by stall after stall, and found that this place was slightly different from the magic town of Sellia. Many of the stall owners were Tarnished, and the things they sold were varied.
Many of the goods looked like they had been stolen from graveyards; he even saw a dragon heart. 'Truly worthy of being the Fourth Calamity, easily doing things that even demigods dare not do.'
Throne had gained a deeper understanding of this era of the Tarnished. They possessed the privilege of protecting the golden order while destroying it.
It's worth knowing that even demigods dare not go to the catacombs to steal; that would surely cause the people below to rebel. Once one becomes a lord, one must bear responsibility. The Tarnished are barefoot and have no fear of those wearing shoes; they don't need to consider politics and diplomacy at all.
For example, if they slaughtered a flying dragon, Greyoll couldn't possibly wipe out all the Tarnished, right? The Tarnished are free. As long as they can win, all kinds of resources in The Lands Between are open to them.
Throne glanced at the price tags on the shelves and walked past coldly, but in the eyes of Vyke and the others, it seemed like his standards were too high and he couldn't be bothered to act, not even sparing more than a glance at the dragon heart. Little did they know, the man was thinking about how to kill and seize the treasure all along.