There is only a sense of accomplishment in outsmarting another clever person; just like a top student beating a failing student, what fun is there in that? Throne declined several Tarnished who tried to recruit him and led his horse around to wander. The camp was not large, but it was not as crude and chaotic as Mistwood had been back then.
Various Tarnished squads were recruiting, hoping to advance further after completing the tasks of the Roundtable Hold. Either way, they were going to explore ruins and search caves anyway; they just gained a double benefit now, achieving a win-win result.
"Even if you can't become a new noble, isn't it great to just go into Stormveil and have some fun?"
Actually, what the Roundtable Hold offered was very simple: it was something called hope. With a ladder to climb, the Tarnished would not slack off or goof around. Throne let out a soft huff and walked up to a huge notice board. He took a careful look and couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity.
The notice board was filled with tasks, ranging from mapping and searching graveyards to dragon slaying. Depending on the difficulty, one could exchange them for corresponding contributions, and the Roundtable Hold would take a portion of the loot as a service fee.
"Damn it, they really know how to make something out of nothing."
Throne cursed.
The Tarnished would have done these things anyway; why should they have to share a portion of the earnings? Yet, he looked at the Tarnished nearby who were happily handing over runes, and was momentarily speechless.
"Oh? You saw it too?"
A voice came from the side. Throne glanced over, his gaze turning slightly serious. It was a Tarnished wearing dusty, grey armor.
He was tall, his armor thick and airtight, and he held a great hammer in his hand. He was a powerhouse, and he had used a disguise. Have I run into a peer?
"Power is a good thing. The Roundtable Hold has gone from a moral model to a rule-maker. By holding the power of distribution, it is naturally a highly profitable business," he replied casually.
A look of surprise appeared in the man's eyes, and he nodded, saying, "Well said. The Roundtable Hold has seized this opportunity and possesses greater influence among the Tarnished than any demigod."
Even Mt. Gelmir and the Mohgwyn Dynasty could only offer power; their base was not the Tarnished. If they tried to imitate this, the nobles under their banner would inevitably cause trouble, and the losses would outweigh the gains.
"It seems we have that unknown hero to thank," Throne said, staring at the notice board.
"Indeed, we must thank him for leaving a base for the Tarnished. I even suspect that the Roundtable Hold did this themselves, trading the life of a demigod for two benefits."
"Sir, conspiracy theories are not advisable."
"Heh, it's all just wild speculation."
The tall Tarnished laughed twice and asked with interest, "You don't look like a wandering Tarnished. Did you come to see what the Roundtable Hold is doing?"
This was a probe, yet Throne did not intend to deny it, and instead asked back, "Aren't you the same?"
The two smiled at each other, and the tall Tarnished extended his right hand, "I come from the Land of Heat, helping an old friend witness certain things."
The Land of Heat? Using a hammer? You wouldn't happen to be Bernahl, would you? Throne paused, but revealed a meaningful smile and shook his hand, "I come from a place ordinary people cannot reach."
"The Mohgwyn Dynasty?"
"Why do you say that?"
"The scent of blood on you is so thick it cannot be washed away."
That might be because I've killed too many people. Throne still did not deny it. He had a Blood Knight's medal in his pocket; at worst, he would just pin the blame on Mohg again.
"You certainly have a sharp eye, sir."
Some things don't need to be spoken plainly. Between experts, mutual suspicion is enough.
In any case, no one in Limgrave could stop them.
The Tarnished are divided into four factions: the Neutrals, the Roundtable Hold, the Bloody Fingers, and the Recusants. The cake is only so big; for the Roundtable Hold to act like this is undoubtedly stealing rice bowls from the other two.
"Gideon's choice was also out of desperation; this is not a good thing."
The Tarnished also looked at the strange and varied tasks, chatting away.
"Do you have any brilliant insights?"
"Hardly a brilliant insight, but he has allowed the sacred mission to be tainted by worldly interests. This is digging at the roots of us Tarnished."
What are the Tarnished? They are throne candidates awakened by the Greater Will. They are not subordinate to each other, moving forward for a single goal, the final hope of The Lands Between, yet they are gradually degenerating into individual interest groups.
Throne paused, disagreeing; tangible benefits were far more useful than empty slogans.
"You really are an idealist."
"I suppose so."
The Tarnished gave a bitter smile, hoisted his great hammer, and turned around.
"You take your time looking; I have things to do."
"Won't you have a drink and discuss how our two sides can cooperate?"
"No, these things are too troublesome."
Throne watched the back disappear into the distance and shrugged slightly. Regardless of whether this person was Bernahl, that top-tier powerhouse among the Tarnished, it didn't matter to him.
It was just a pity he couldn't take the opportunity to frame Lord Mohg.
With no one bothering him, he began to look at the notice board seriously. Finally, his eyes locked onto a certain spot, he squinted and read softly:
"Recently, some Tarnished have appeared in Limgrave seeking death. They are enemies of the golden order, monsters serving Those Who Live in Death."
Following that were the contributions to be gained for providing clues or making kills, as well as the locations of recent sightings. The description was too vague, and the rewards were too meager; it could be considered ignored by everyone. How much time would one have to waste on this kind of crappy task before getting to Stormveil?
"This one it is, I'll clear some things up along the way."
Throne withdrew his gaze. He had quite a connection with 'death'; he still clearly remembered that reincarnation. If he could reincarnate again, he would go into Leyndell tonight, detonate the power of the great rune instantly, and turn into a human nuclear bomb.
Throne leaped onto his steed, took another look at the bustling camp, and kicked the horse's belly, shooting out like an arrow.
He was quite the dashing figure, drawing the gaze of a crowd of Tarnished.
"What a powerful fellow Tarnished."
Vyke happened to be coming out of Stormveil and stood on his tiptoes to watch.
"Alright, you are, after all, the Guardian of Stormveil, one of the Twelve Knights of the Roundtable. When will you ever become steady?"
The brown-haired girl tugged at his sleeve; it was Eina.
Vyke scratched his head. The two were a couple in the true sense of the word. Eina was considerate, but she kept him on too tight a leash, even watching him closely when he went to find a Finger Maiden to exchange for power.
"Sigh, I just think of Lord Isshin whenever I see such a powerful Tarnished. Without him, how would I be where I am today?"
"Is that why you keep his secrets?"
Eina glanced at him. Only the two of them remained from that original squad.
"Only those who know gratitude can be considered heroes. This life was given by him; even if I return it to him, it's..."
Before he could finish, his lips were pressed by the girl's finger.
"You are not allowed to say such depressing things. I am also very grateful to him; otherwise, I would have died in the woods near the Coastal Cave long ago."
Eina remembered the ambush by Godrick's Army back then. Vyke might have survived, but the rest of them would have died. She kicked a pebble under her feet.
"By the way, if you were the only one who survived that time, what would happen?"
Vyke thought seriously for a moment and replied, "I would leave Limgrave, keep you in my heart, and truly embark on the journey to become the Elden Lord."
"Big talk." Eina smiled, turning her rose-red eyes. She understood this man. He seemed dull, but in reality, he was incredibly determined; even if a wall of copper and iron stood before him, he would smash a hole through it.
If I died, perhaps he could really become the Elden Lord. The fantasy lasted for an instant, and she quickly shook it out of her head. The girl was very satisfied with her current life and didn't want to be some kind of sacrifice. High status, safe situation, no longer having to sleep in the wind and dew; that was why she hated that sinister Sir Gideon Ofnir.
Isn't it good to maintain the status quo?
"You are going to hunt Those Who Live in Death next, right? You'd better be careful, and you are not allowed to talk to that maiden..."
"I know, I haven't spoken more than ten sentences to Tina in these few months. Besides, I have you, so what other thoughts could I have?"
"Hmph, good that you know."
The two walked toward the camp; this was a daily task Vyke had to perform.
And on the tall and majestic walls of Stormveil, 'Sir Gideon Ofnir', Gideon Ofnir, was watching them silently. Their shadows were stretched long by the torches, and the knight's eyes were extremely deep.
"Vyke has great potential and is extremely serious in his work. It seems his status hasn't had any impact on him."
"Yes, everyone has been a bit slack lately. Vargram was actually drunk last night; it's simply unimaginable."
Crepus stepped out of the shadows. He wore leather armor, high boots, and a top hat, looking like an elegant gentleman.
Gideon sighed and said indifferently, "So my plan is a double-edged sword. It can unite the Tarnished, but it can also corrupt them. Material incentives are very useful, but they can make people satisfied, forever unable to step onto that supreme land."
With food and clothing provided, who would be willing to risk a life of nine deaths? Those who are willing are either people with high aspirations or desperate gamblers, and such people are one in ten thousand.
Therefore, in every chaotic time, heroes rise, but only a few can truly be remembered by others.
"But you, Sir, still hold onto your ideals." Crepus said softly; this was not flattery.
"I have no choice. Including a Crucible Knight, three hero Tarnished have lost their lives in Liurnia, yet the Two Fingers have no reaction. I am increasingly unable to understand this The Lands Between."
Gideon looked behind him. Under the full moon, in the distance, the shimmering lake seemed like his greatest concern. News from the Raya Lucaria Academy had already arrived. He had prepared no fewer than ten follow-up disposal plans, but it presented a mysterious silence. There was no reaction at all, as if this failure did not exist.
"The more I know, the more I doubt whether the Tarnished can become King. This magnificent era might just be a farce, and we are merely stepping stones."
"So that's why you want to let someone give it a try?"
Crepus understood the meaning and looked at the young man below.
"Yes, I want to know if one can really become the Elden Lord after collecting two great runes."
Gideon also looked over.
The result seemed to be noticed by Vyke, who turned around and waved to them. The young man was as enthusiastic as fire, always humble, and growing rapidly, possessing all the elements to become a hero.
Gideon also waved his hand, but his eyes were filled with the coldness of reason.
This young man had a fatal flaw: he carried too much, as if entangled in a web; that drive was bottled up inside and could not be released.
"This blade is clearly sharp, yet its edge is covered by the scabbard. The more one yearns for happiness, the greater the power that erupts after despair. His steps should not stop in Limgrave."
"That weak Tarnished has indeed caused an obstacle. She is too jealous; even the Finger Maiden has become a passerby." Crepus replied silently, clearly having been observing in the dark.
"Love is too extravagant in our era, even somewhat inappropriate. Under the banner of righteousness, everything can be abandoned."
"This is dangerous."
"But failure is no loss to us. Perhaps it can even inspire other Tarnished. This is also for Vyke's own good."
The two looked at each other. The assassin leader retreated silently and soon disappeared into the shadows, his voice coming with the wind.
"Fine, I understand."
......
"This should be about right."
Throne pulled the reins, and Torrent immediately stopped. He had galloped through the night and reached the location recorded in the task from Stormveil in just one night. This place was not far from the Saintsbridge; to the north was the vast inner sea, and the sound of crashing waves was clearly audible.
Throne casually tossed a string of Rowa Fruit to the Spirit Steed and looked around, seeing a small village on the terrace in the distance. The village was not large, filled with crooked shacks that looked like they hadn't been tended to in a long time. A few gaunt figures were walking back and forth at the entrances like zombies.
The madness.
Throne frowned; he hated this thing the most, so he patted Torrent's rump.
"Go."
Neigh—
The Spirit Steed immediately understood, opened its hooves, and galloped over. Those 'zombies' hadn't even reacted before they were trampled into the mud by the horse's hooves, their bones shattered, instantly relieved of their suffering.
"Well done."
Throne flicked several red fruits one after another.
The Spirit Steed ran back and forth and caught them all, then proudly shook its head, making a purring sound. It was clearly a horse, but it felt like a little child. Throne laughed at the absurdity and affectionately stroked the Spirit Steed's head.
Torrent was his most worry-free companion; it wouldn't be like Melina curing low blood pressure, nor would it be tsundere like Ranni. Even if he didn't call those two out, he wouldn't be lonely on the journey.
Just as he was thinking this, Torrent suddenly nudged his hand, its head looking persistently toward the Saintsbridge.
"You want to ask why I'm not in a hurry to get on the road?"
Purr.
"There is still some time before the Radahn Festival. Besides, burying your head in the journey will always make you miss a lot of scenery, and you won't find many useful opportunities."
Throne explained with a smile. He didn't have the convenience of teleportation like the Tarnished, but he could always find opportunities on the road. Just like the matter of Nokstella; if he had headed straight for Caria Manor, he would have missed this key clue.
Perhaps he would be slacking off in the city, and a 'big dragonfly' would suddenly appear above his head; wouldn't that be terrible? This time was the same; he saw the changes in Limgrave within a few short months, with more and more importance placed on the Tarnished.
'It seems I need to find an opportunity to report to Ranni. Sir Gideon Ofnir's operations are a double-edged sword. Since the Roundtable Hold can give, Caria can also give.'
He chuckled sinisterly. Caria had few people and a lot of land, and it was a one-man show; isn't it just about wealth and honor? Anything that can be done with money is not a problem.
Leading the Spirit Steed, he walked into the village.
Rubble, garbage, and corpses littered the ground. Not a soul stirred. The air hung heavy with a stench that clawed at the throat—rotting flesh tangled with the briny bite of sea wind. Throne breathed through his mouth, grateful for his stomach's resilience. Lesser men would've lost their breakfast by now.
The village was dead, its people long gone.
Madness lingered, though. It clung to the ruins like a stubborn shadow. Time and sea breeze had eroded any trace of civilization, leaving behind only fragile memories that popped like bubbles.
Throne trudged past the crumbling houses and found himself at the village's edge. Dead trees clawed at the sky, skeletal and defiant. Beyond them stretched a field of cracked tombstones, their once-proud inscriptions weathered into obscurity. Black birds perched atop the stones, preening their feathers with jagged beaks.
There was a deathly silence, and those who came to pay respects would never return. It was a growing trend in The Lands Between—graveyards without mourners, tombs without names.