There is only one throne, and in any world, the struggle for power is the most brutal. What do brotherhood or father-son relationships matter? Would Godfrey really show mercy? Regardless of whether he and Marika have some conspiracy, now that he has effectively ascended the throne, he must stand on the side of the golden order. This is the stance Godfrey took by jumping out early.
What Mohg intends to do cannot withstand scrutiny. If Godfrey finds out that this rebellious son is colluding with the Formless Mother and wants to become king himself, it would be a miracle if he didn't squeeze the yolk out of him.
"Morgott is different from Mohg. He has no ambition, and his stance is barely consistent with Godfrey's. Therefore, among the many demigods, he is the only one who can be considered to be in the same camp, belonging to the officially designated crown prince."
Throne lay in the woods, his voice flat. The originally opposing factions of The Lands Between were slowly becoming clear.
"What about Radahn? He treats Godfrey as his idol," Melina added.
"Not bad. You can actually associate Radahn with this now; your IQ really has... Hey, hey, hey, stop messing around. If we get discovered by the Bloody Finger, it'll be trouble."
Throne hurriedly pulled back the agitated girl, his face still shining with confidence, "But don't worry, Radahn has already made a pact with me and has long since withdrawn from this war."
"Is this a trap you set in advance?"
Sellen smiled, lamenting the unpredictability of the world; her own apprentice had already become friends with Radahn.
"I suppose so, although I didn't know Godfrey would return at that time."
Throne shrugged. Sometimes, he was quite lucky. Returning to the present, if not for Millicent's poor condition, he would have really intended to dump Mohg on Godfrey to deal with.
With a deity like the Formless Mother behind him, even if he could just bite a piece of flesh off this First Elden Lord, it would be worth it.
"But now I must deal with him in advance, and the Mohgwyn Dynasty is extremely dangerous."
Throne stroked his chin. Sellen followed him, deep in thought, also stroking her chin. Melina looked left and right, then likewise stroked her chin in a contemplative pose. As for what she was thinking, only she herself knew.
However, Throne was very serious and had never underestimated Mohg. "This is my first time actively invading a demigod's territory, and unlike Volcano Manor, this is truly kicking down the front door. Fortunately, the Formless Mother is hiding in the cracks of space and cannot come out, and Mohg is not the strongest among the demigods."
"No, I cannot treat him like a mindless robot. Mohg has suffered losses at my hands several times; even a fool would know to make some preparations."
Precisely because the 'prophet' ability was getting weaker and there were more and more unexpected situations, Throne was particularly cautious. There were plenty of things in the current The Lands Between that the Tarnished had never seen before, and enemies would also strive to change due to the alterations in the world line. The Tarnished's experience only had reference value. If he relied on it too much, Throne would have died a hundred times over.
"Apprentice, do you want to bring a few more people?"
"There's no time. I can't just tie up Malenia and throw her in, can I?"
Throne joked, thinking to himself that if he really threw Malenia in, and she saw her brother being treated this way, she would likely bloom on the spot.
"Let's stop joking here. Teacher, you wait behind. Melina, follow me as we sneak up."
Throne rested his hand on his sword hilt, lowered his body, and moved forward silently.
The snow-draped forest offered perfect concealment. Soon, they neared the cliff's edge. The sparse population here made it an ideal hiding spot. Throne spotted several figures on the dirt slope in the distance. They were dressed as Tarnished, gripping swords and spears, their eyes scanning the surroundings with sharp vigilance.
They looked like survivors who had fled Yelough Anix, but the stench of blood clinging to them couldn't escape Melina's notice. The portal was still there. Was Mohg still refusing to seal it and retreat into isolation? Of course. His survival hinged on nurturing Miquella quickly, coaxing him to break free from his cocoon and ascend as a god-king ally.
At this rate, Miquella wouldn't emerge on his own for thousands of years. He needed the blood of demigods, the blood of deities, yet every move he made was thwarted by Throne. Now, Mohg was trapped in a dilemma. The war that would decide the fate of The Lands Between wouldn't drag on for millennia.
The victor would inevitably come for the Mohgwyn Dynasty, its true nature already exposed. When that time came, with the world unified and every inch of ground scoured, where could he hide? That's why he prayed for Caria and the Erdtree to destroy each other. Even if he failed to obtain the blood of a deity, he could still deal with Miquella over time.
To achieve his goal, he couldn't retreat into isolation. He had to participate in this war and execute his schemes at the critical moment. Mohg was a master of schemes, but even the most brilliant strategist needed intelligence. The Bloody Fingers were his tentacles, his connection to the outside world.
"Should we cut through them directly?"
Melina's voice brimmed with eagerness. She could feel her power growing stronger with each passing moment.
"If possible, I'd prefer stealth. We need to delay being discovered by Mohg."
Melina paused, then gave a gentle nod.
"Understood."
She vanished into the air, her presence fading like a top-tier Black Knife Assassin, nearly imperceptible to the naked eye. The Bloody Fingers on the hilltop noticed nothing.
Throne remained in the woods, counting silently. About ten seconds later, Melina appeared on the hilltop. The three Bloody Fingers instinctively turned their heads, only to find fair, slender hands resting on their necks. Snap.
She broke one neck, pressed down on the limp shoulder, leaped up, and wrapped her legs around another's head, squeezing until life drained away. All of it happened in a single second. The third Bloody Finger opened his mouth to raise the alarm, but the sound died in his throat.
Melina covered his mouth and wrenched his head backward. The cervical vertebrae shattered, his head hanging limp against his back. She laid the body down gently and waved at Throne.
"She's grown stronger," Throne muttered. These Bloody Fingers had the strength of knights, yet they were silenced without a sound.
He used Starlight Leap to appear on the hilltop, then gazed northwest. A depression lay there, dotted with a few tents. The Bloody Fingers inside were sparse. In the open space ahead, wooden stakes stood, their mangled burdens swaying in the wind. No, not corpses.
Though their flesh had been carved and peeled, several Leyndell soldiers and knights still clung to life, trembling uncontrollably. Red-robed Bloody Fingers stood before them, expressionless, recording notes. Occasionally, they jabbed their blade-like pens into the bodies, making Throne frown.
Bloodshed and cruelty defined the Mohgwyn Dynasty. No one surpassed them in the art of interrogation. Throne scanned the camp. Where's Varré? Did he leave to report? His gaze lingered on the prisoners—two Leyndell Knights among them. They won't know much. He shifted his focus to the portal at the camp's heart. Ten Bloody Fingers stood guard, poised to seal it shut at a moment's notice.
Throne's mind raced. There must be other exits I don't know about. No time to search.
"Melina, spirit form. Teacher, come here."
He didn't hesitate, pinning the Bloody Knight's Badge to his chest and tossing another to Sellen. He wasn't naive enough to think it would fool the Bloody Fingers, but he suspected the portal had a friend-or-foe mechanism. Anyone unauthorized would meet a grim welcome.
Preparations complete, Throne rested his left hand on his sword hilt. His thumb flicked gently. Ding—The blade slid free. The Bloody Fingers, attuned to killing intent, snapped to attention. The red-robed inquisitor glanced toward the hilltop. Something's wrong. Where are the sentries? His hand hovered over his blood-letting sword, but his body froze mid-motion.
Pfft. The long sword pierced his chin, driving through his skull. The two inquisitors beside him turned stiffly, only to find a knight already upon them. Throne twisted the blade, splitting the skull, and the blood-colored light of his sword swept across their necks. Before they could register pain, their heads spun through the air, landing beside their headless bodies.
Too fast.
Throne moved like a storm. Knights and heroes fell like wheat before a scythe. The remaining Bloody Fingers scrambled to their feet, weapons in hand, but the god of slaughter was already among them. Falling slash. Decapitation. Chest piercing.
His blade was simple, lethal, efficient. Armor tore like paper. Spears shattered along with the bodies that held them. Legs severed. Bodies fell backward, only to be impaled before they hit the ground. One step, one kill. In moments, Throne carved through the camp.
He twisted the sword hilt, ending the suffering of the Bloody Finger beneath his feet. With a flick of his toe, he sent a broken spear spinning into his hand. He hurled it with repulsive force. Pfft. The last Bloody Finger reached the portal's entrance, but the spear pierced his back, propelling him toward the thousand-meter cliff. Throne listened to the fading scream, flicked his blade, and shook a line of blood onto the pale snow.
Clap, clap. Sellen approached, her applause slow and deliberate. She stepped over severed limbs without flinching.
"Apprentice, your efficiency in killing is improving."
"These Bloody Fingers look brutal, but they're far behind. Slaughter isn't about theatrics."
Throne stood amidst the carnage, untouched by blood, an elegant passerby among the dead. He sheathed his sword, took Sellen's hand, and walked toward the portal.
Throne's gaze flicked to Sellen first. She met it with a faint smile, calm and ready. The temple of blood, the nest of slaughter, the dynasty of scars. Even knowing the dangers ahead, Throne didn't hesitate. He reached for the illusion mask, pressed it to his face, and stepped through the portal. In a blink, he and Sellen were gone.
"Let me show you what slaughter truly is—and who Khorne's chosen really are!"
The world blurred, then snapped into focus. The icy snowfields vanished. The biting wind was gone. Pale white gave way to gray stone. The air hung heavy with a faint, blood-red mist. Above, the sky shimmered with starlight. A one-way portal—perfect. It meant no interruptions, no witnesses. Throne had time to work.
"Not seeing that damn Erdtree is a relief," Sellen remarked. Throne wasn't sure what was so great about this bleak place. He scanned the area. No ambushes. Few people. The Mohgwyn Dynasty wasn't about prosperity—it reeked of blood and death. He took a few steps forward, eyes sweeping the surroundings. To his left stretched a vast lake of blood, its surface shrouded in thick crimson mist. The stench was overwhelming.
A lake of blood. How many lives had been drained to fill it? Throne's jaw tightened. He'd killed plenty, but never innocents. That's why he despised the Mohgwyn Dynasty. This place wasn't something Mohg stumbled upon or built himself. It was deliberate, calculated. Throne's gaze settled on the ruins of a temple ahead.
The crumbling walls were etched with cracks and murals of unknown meaning. To his right, the land rose in uneven tiers, winding stairs leading up past palaces—homes of the Bloody Fingers. At the summit loomed a massive temple, a vantage point to oversee the entire dynasty.
It felt familiar, like scenes from old stories where gods watched from their lofty thrones. Mohg had chosen well—a place that hid his operations and fed his ego. If he'd wanted true secrecy, the catacombs of The Lands Between would've been better. But Mohg wasn't one to hide among the dead. This underground realm was his kingdom.
"Look," Sellen said, her voice low. "Too many Albinaurics. Blending in won't be easy."
Throne glanced sideways. The place was crawling with them. Even the best assassin would struggle here.
"We've got this."
Throne tapped the badge on his chest. Years of aliases had led him here, to the heart of the nest.
"Let's move. We'll stay hidden as long as we can."
Sellen nodded, unflinching. Together, they pressed forward, turning a corner to face the massive blood lake.
The banks were crowded with round, second-generation Albinaurics—hundreds of them. Their dark red bodies reeked of blood, strange horns jutting from their foreheads. Most lounged lazily, though a few shuffled about. Sensing someone approaching, their pitch-black, large eyes rolled. They spotted the Bloody Finger insignia and lost interest. Albinaurics identified by aura; without the blood-colored badge, no disguise would fool them.
'The first line of defense is a warning,' Throne thought. 'If we slip past, will they cut off our retreat?'
Throne quietly moved his hand away from his sword. He had intended to penetrate this dragon's den and tiger's lair anyway, so he didn't care about retreat paths. Instead, he looked at the blood-colored lake with interest. The blood was not deep. On the bank, some believers were kowtowing toward the lake. They used knives to pierce their palms, letting the viscous blood drip into the lake.
Although they were in agonizing pain, their faces were filled with fanaticism and happiness. They raised their hands, which still had short knives stuck in them, and carefully cupped a handful of the bright red lake water to feed into their mouths, then revealed an expression of extreme satisfaction. And some Blood Priests wearing gorgeous robes stood behind them, chanting inexplicable scriptures, raising long whips full of barbs, and lashing them fiercely on the backs of these believers. Crack—crack! The crisp sound of whips echoed, tearing through clothes, ripping skin and muscle, letting fresh red liquid ooze from the wounds.
And those still queuing behind had faces full of envy, even some eager to go up and receive the blessing. And further away, there were all kinds of torture instruments: needle pricking, whipping, knife stabbing, and even using axes to chop off their own fingers. The air was not only filled with the stench of blood but also with madness.
Various sounds of happy pain and heavy gasps converged, causing the air to resonate, as if forming a song:
Blood is the blessing, scars are the gift Pain and scars make us feel that we are living clearly Fear not the illusory appearances of the world, for the god says—Our pain shall last forever
What the hell kind of hellscape is this?
Even though Throne was well-informed, he was dumbfounded by this super-sized masochist gathering. In a sense, the Erdtree's victory was also the choice of the people of The Lands Between, because these crazy, evil things were enough to destroy the worldviews of normal people.
"This Mohgwyn Dynasty is so interesting," Sellen said, her eyes shining. She loved these eerie scenes the most, as if there were infinite secrets waiting for her to dig into.
Throne was speechless again, thinking to himself that she couldn't just go over and ask a Blood Priest to explain it to her, so he pulled her sleeve and walked forward.
"By the way, when are we going up to hack that Mohg?" Sellen asked, while still using her eyes to look at those evil rituals.
"No rush. Our identities haven't been exposed yet. Try to gather some intelligence; after all, there is too little information on that Formless Mother."
Throne was always cautious, and besides, this time he didn't bring Radahn or anyone else, so how could he be reckless enough to start killing immediately? There were many people in this Mohgwyn Dynasty. If they all swarmed up, it would be enough for him to kill until his hands went numb. Crossing the blood lake, Throne saw a settlement in the distance. It was built along the ruins, not large in scale, but the houses were tidy, and it looked like there were quite a few people.