Melina paused, her gaze lingering on the man's silhouette in the flickering candlelight.
Perhaps it was his unwavering spirit. For someone with fragmented memories, a person who radiated safety was invaluable. If she wanted to keep living, she couldn't afford to lose him.
"What's between her and me is none of your concern."
She rose to her feet, her expression hardening.
"Don't give me that suspicious look. I mean it this time. We won't cross any lines. She has her dignity, and I have mine."
He sighed. "I know you're both decent people, but the problem isn't just the two of you. There are too many outside factors."
The dragon who thrived on chaos, the apprentice who delighted in digging pits for him, his endlessly curious teacher—Throne's head throbbed just thinking about it.
He didn't need to see it to know Sellen could drive Melina and Ranni to the brink of madness. That witch was a force to be reckoned with, more dangerous than Lansseax in her own way. Lansseax played dumb, but Sellen genuinely didn't understand boundaries.
"Has Teacher made any progress over the years?" His mind wandered, conjuring horrifying scenarios.
If Sellen caught wind of his troubles, she'd likely gift Melina and Ranni each a puppet of himself, then sit back with a smile, offering lubricants and instruction manuals. He shook his head, banishing the thought.
The five-day deadline wasn't arbitrary—it was because of Sellen. If Morgott harmed her, killing Rykard ten times over wouldn't suffice to quell his rage.
"What kind of madness are you lost in now?"
Melina stared at him, utterly baffled.
Throne hesitated. Discussing another woman in front of her felt wrong.
"It's nothing. Just something important."
"If it's so important, why won't you say it?"
"You wouldn't understand even if I told you."
"How can I understand if you don't tell me? You must think I'm stupid."
"Not at all. You're being paranoid."
He silently thanked his past self for transforming her along the way. Aside from a bit of denseness, there was hardly any trace left of the kindling maiden.
Seeing her persistence, he gave her a light chop to the head.
Usually, she'd crouch defensively, clutching her head, but this time she remembered Millicent's words: "Teacher can be too casual. You shouldn't always be so submissive."
She hesitated for a moment, then tapped Throne on the head in return.
He blinked, stunned, before a sinister grin spread across his face.
"Quite bold, aren't you?"
He reached out to press her shoulder, but she reacted instinctively, grabbing his hand and twisting her body into a shoulder throw.
Bang—
The table shattered into splinters. A plate still holding bones clattered across the floor.
Throne lay flat on his back, blinking up at the ceiling. Had his plan to "complete" her wooden personality gone too far? He gritted his teeth.
"Me—li—na!!"
"I'm sorry! That was an accident!"
She turned to bolt, but he caught her slender waist before she could take a step.
The difference in strength was obvious, but Throne frowned as he held her. What now? Throw her back? That'd make him look like a bully. Toss her onto the bed? That'd make him a beast.
As he froze, the door creaked open.
Turning his head, he saw Rya standing at the doorway, looking on in a daze. It was as if a new world had opened for the girl. The domineering and powerful knight was holding his maid as if he were about to do something bad, while the maid was struggling. Some warnings her mother had given her surged into her mind.
She wanted to shout for him to stop, but she was still a bit afraid of Throne, so she could only manage a weak "roar": "C-could you please let this lady go?"
Throne had never heard such a weak warning. He wanted to laugh, but considering his current persona, he had to play the villain to the end.
"This is practice between the strong. It has nothing to do with you. Get out."
So that's it...
Like hell I'd believe that! Rya wasn't stupid, and she was a good child with a sense of justice. She looked toward Melina, and even with her slow reaction time, the girl realized the situation. She stiffened her neck and replied reluctantly:
"You've misunderstood. This is indeed a form of trial. Str-strength must be trained in the finer details."
Ah, so powerful people all have these strange quirks?
"Still not leaving? Do you want to practice with us?"
"I am terribly sorry, I'll leave right now."
Rya's face flushed red as she hurriedly closed the door. How would she dare join? Didn't she see the table had been smashed to bits?
When the door closed, Throne finally couldn't help it and burst out laughing.
"What are you laughing at?"
"I didn't expect you to learn how to bluff others along with me."
What else could I have said in that situation? Melina was vexed and could only grit her teeth.
"It was my fault first, so I had to accompany you in your mischief. Now let go, I need to clean this up quickly."
Throne let go and stepped back half a pace. He didn't speak, just stared at her with a half-smile.
Melina was busy picking up the fragments on the floor, her head hanging lower and lower until her chin almost touched her chest. Just as she was about to snap and agree to some unequal treaty, there was another knock on the door.
"My Lord, are... are you finished with your training?"
Rya's uneasy voice came from outside the door.
Sigh, I was just a bit away from breaking Melina's defenses. Then I could have followed up and added a bunch of 'fair and reasonable' deals for her.
Throne strode to the door and pulled it open, seeing the timid girl right there.
"What is it now?"
Without needing to fake it, his tone was unpleasant.
"Lady Tanith wishes to see you."
"At this hour?"
Throne wanted to check the time, but this Volcano Manor didn't even have a window.
Under the dim candlelight, one couldn't distinguish day from night. But it must be very late. What does that furry-lover want?
He gave Melina a look, and she rolled her eyes back at him, telling him to get lost. He then turned around, his aura quite fierce.
"Lead the way."
"Please follow me."
Rya nodded quickly and led the way, stealing glances at Throne out of the corner of her eye along the path.
She didn't have the courage to ask questions, and Throne's current persona was well-suited for acting cold, so there was naturally no need to say much.
In silence, they arrived before a carved wooden door. Rya knocked, and a woman's voice came from within.
"Come in."
When the door opened, Throne saw that it was a rather magnificent room.
Murals hung on the walls, the ceiling was decorated with patterns in gold, and the floor was covered with a red carpet. Upon closer inspection, these patterns were all related to snakes—either giant, winged, or opening their bloody maws toward the sun.
Tanith, the mistress of Volcano Manor, sat on a wooden chair, still wearing her iron mask.
Her grey robe clung to her form, sheer and trailing, an edge of indolence in the fabric's drape. This wasn't some tired seduction ploy—late-night meetings rarely were.
Throne's eyes swept the room, settling on the burly figure behind her. Silver armor sealed tight, a greatsword propped against his shoulder.
Not the Crucible Knight he remembered. This was Bernahl, the Warmaster.
They'd crossed paths twice before—Limgrave, then Caelid. This made three. Each time, Bernahl wore a different face. Unremarkable in Limgrave, reserved in Caelid, now brash and domineering. The inconsistency left Bernahl uneasy.
He studied Throne, searching for something familiar. The man before him felt both known and alien.
Throne stood firm, legs apart, commanding the space. He didn't acknowledge the scrutiny.
"It's late. Does Lord Rykard have orders?"
"Lord Rykard is still considering your proposal," Tanith replied, her voice soft, almost deferential.
"This isn't about his business."
Throne cut straight to the point.
"What's to consider? Mt. Gelmir and Caria share the same interests. The Blasphemous Claw was a gift from my Princess. If Rykard won't act after all these years, we will. The Erdtree will feel our pain."
A flicker of irritation crossed Tanith's masked face, but she held her tongue. Throne wasn't just another Tarnished; he represented power.
"The Lord has other concerns."
"Such as?"
"If we unite," she said carefully, "who leads? Lord Rykard is Princess Ranni's elder brother. Surely you and the Carian Knights won't take orders from the Manor?"
"We're strong. You're weak. Naturally, we won't."
Throne shook his head, his expression firm. Inside, he sneered. Stalling. Typical. Did I arrive too soon? They're not ready. Command rights—the perfect excuse to delay.
If neither side acted in good faith, they could argue for a year. And the Fallingstar Beast? Just the first test.
"Lord Rykard's concern is valid," Tanith said, her tone lighter now. "Volcano Manor doesn't mind, but Mt. Gelmir has its allies. Just as Caria has its Trolls and Glintstone Dragons."
Throne caught the shift in her demeanor. She thought him aggressive but rational. Good. Let her underestimate.
"So Rykard's gathering his allies to discuss."
He nodded, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
A discussion was certain—but not necessarily about an alliance. Many of Rykard's allies cared nothing for Caria. Enough gold, and they'd side with anyone. His expression hardened.
"Understood. But calling me here tonight wasn't just to deliver a message, was it?"
"Don't overthink it," Tanith said, sitting straighter. "I'll notify you of any developments. If you're bored, Rya can show you around the volcano. Desolate, but there's beauty here."
She gestured to the armored man beside her.
"This is a close friend of Lord Rykard. His name is—"
"Bernahl. I've heard of your name."
Throne's voice cut in, flat and final.
The air smelled of old blood and smoldering embers.
"You've crossed The Lands Between for years," the silent man said. His voice rasped like steel dragged across stone.
"Challenging every strong warrior. Mastering every technique. They call you Warmaster."
A slight nod.
"I'm honored you've heard of me."
No flattery. Throne had taken Raya Lucaria Academy alone. Conquered Caelid single-handed. His reputation dwarfed Bernahl's.
"Call me Madara."
Throne crossed his arms, chin tilting up. The gesture would've been arrogance on anyone else.
"Strong warriors earn that right. You... interested?"
First time in living memory the Chief Carian Knight revealed his true name. Without yesterday's corpse of the Fallingstar Beast steaming at his feet, the words might have sparked outrage. Now they settled like law.
"Madara."
Bernahl tested the name on his tongue.
"You've been to Caelid."
"Helped the Flowing Swordsman gut the Kindred of Rot. Slaughtered Greyoll."
Throne shrugged.
"Killed others. None worth mentioning except the dragon."
He spoke like recounting a tavern meal. Insects swatted. Chickens plucked. Convenient the man hadn't witnessed the actual fights—let him spin whatever tale he wanted.
Tanith's fingers tightened around her goblet. So Caria had allied with the Flowing Swordsman. What storm brewed behind those castle walls? She should warn Rykard. Provoking them now would be... unwise.
Bernahl exhaled through his nose. Pieces clicked. He'd wondered how the Flowing Swordsman managed Greyoll alone. That fragile style couldn't crack dragonhide.
Joint operation. Throne's admission solved the riddle. Also proved the knight lacked caution—sharing battle secrets so freely.
"Greyoll's corpse proves your strength."
Bernahl rolled his shoulders.
"I've an audacious request."
"Fight me?"
Throne's eyebrow arched. He knew this type. During the Caelid campaign, three duelists had challenged him before breakfast. Didn't matter if this was test or tribute.
"The Radahn Festival's cancellation robbed me of measuring blades with the general. The Flowing Swordsman too."
Bernahl's grin showed teeth.
"But I don't ask for free lessons."
He let the pause stretch.
"Haligtree intelligence. Might interest you."
Throne's face stayed stone.
"Why would I care?"
"Kingless land tilts toward Caria or Erdtree. Recusant spies confirmed it."
The words tasted hollow even as he spoke them. Information alone wouldn't move this man.
Bernahl unslung the long box from his back.
"Blasphemous Claw. Rykard's gift."
The lacquered wood gleamed dully.
"Caria wants it back? Then respect my terms. Let this be our wager."
Second only to the Lord of Volcano Manor. Of course he'd possess the sacred weapon forged to counter Maliketh. Stealing it would stain both their honors.
Throne nodded once.
"Let's get one thing clear—I don't do pleasantries."
The words came sharp as a blade drawn from its sheath.
"Between warriors, holding back insults the fight. My death changes nothing between our houses."
"Fine. Pick the place at dawn."
Throne didn't linger. His boots snapped together, a single nod, then he was gone—crimson cloak slicing the air behind him.
Once the sound of his iron boots faded into the distance, Tanith turned, mouth opening—
"Don't."
The interruption cut like wire.
"This fight's half for Rykard's sake. His mind frays at the edges. I see it—his judgment crumbling. If this man proves too strong to break, I'll make Rykard stand down myself."