There was not even a bed in the room, and on the table, there were only a few loaves of bread as hard as stone, showing that the followers of blood no longer cared about their quality of life, focusing only on their faith.
Unfortunately for the owner of the house, he had encountered Throne, who had never liked to torment others; he had simply and cleanly snapped the man's neck and tossed him into a corner, denying him even a final moment of pleasure.
"Who are these people? Why would they save me?"
Roderika stood by the table, feeling uneasy. After drinking a flask of crimson tears, her condition had improved significantly; her mind was no longer hazy, and she was slowly regaining the ability to think. Yet, looking at the woman by the table, she did not dare to ask, for from the moment they entered the room, Sellen had not even glanced at her properly. Sellen was only interested in things with exploratory value.
What Roderika displayed was too ordinary, and Sellen would rather read a book than waste words on her. The atmosphere was awkward for a time. Just as Roderika was about to lose her patience, the door was gently pushed open, and a foul, bloody stench drifted into her nostrils, making the hair on her arms stand up. She turned her head to see a Blood Priest standing at the doorway.
Seeing the woman by the table still quietly reading, he immediately understood that the knight had returned.
"Did you find anything out?" Sellen asked without looking up.
"I wandered around again and witnessed many new tricks of these lunatics. Unfortunately, the people here are like puppets; even if I ask, they won't answer. As for the other Blood Priests, I didn't dare to make contact with them."
Throne answered concisely; he did not know any Blood Incantation and was afraid of blowing his cover.
"We won't be able to keep the mountain region hidden for too long. Have you thought about what to do next?"
"Hmm, I'm only worried that Mohg might escape. Sooner or later, there will be a slaughter."
Throne waved his hand dismissively and turned his gaze toward the young girl.
"Your name is Roderika?"
"Yes, sir!"
The girl stood up immediately; being ignored any longer would have driven her mad. It was indeed her. Throne confirmed her identity and knew that this girl posed no threat, so his tone softened considerably.
"Sit down. I suppose I can be considered your savior, so there is no need to be so nervous."
The little girl in the red hood felt slightly relieved. That's right, this person is my savior, what am I afraid of? She bowed somewhat clumsily and whispered, "Thank you for saving me. I will surely repay you."
The girl gave Throne a feeling somewhat like Rya; putting aside her identity as a Tarnished, she was just an ordinary young girl.
"It was no trouble at all. We can talk about repayment after we leave this place. Now, answer some of my questions."
Throne pulled up a stool and sat down, crossing his legs.
"Where were you captured by the Bloody Finger?"
Roderika wore a pained expression. After thinking for a moment, she recounted her experience with difficulty. It turned out they had been captured in the southern part of Caelid. They had been exploring a cave when they encountered a Bloody Finger wearing a white mask. After making contact, the Bloody Finger tried to recruit them, but the leader of their squad refused without hesitation. The Tarnished now had hope; the fertile Limgrave was their home.
Even the lowest-ranking Tarnished had a goal to strive for: to strengthen their power, join the Roundtable Hold, be granted land, and reach the pinnacle of their lives. If one could walk the righteous path and become a noble lord, who the hell would be bored enough to submit a letter of allegiance to become a Bloody Finger?
On one side were the tangible benefits of the Roundtable Hold, and on the other was the notorious Bloody Finger. Was there really a need to consider the choice? But the Bloody Finger was no longer the same as before; if they hit a wall, they would forcefully proselytize. Thus, the two sides started fighting, and the entire squad was wiped out. After the few survivors were captured and sent underground, the girl in the red hood couldn't help but shed tears at the thought that she was the only one who had survived.
"What are you crying for? The path of the Tarnished is one that leads toward death. There is no difference between being killed while exploring a catacomb and being killed by a Bloody Finger."
Opposite her, Sellen looked up and rolled her eyes, muttering to herself that this foolish apprentice was even more blunt than she was. How could the Lunar Princess and others like him? It really made no sense. Throne had his own steel-straight logic; he was more interested in the behavior of the Bloody Finger.
"Usually, they should have given up after hitting a wall. Or was it their intention from the very beginning to hunt the Tarnished?"
He tapped his fingertips against the tabletop. Blood was just blood, but the blood of the Tarnished, designated by the Greater Will, was clearly more precious. It seemed that the Blood Lake was not just for performance art; it must have a special purpose, and it was in the southern part of Caelid... It was within his expectations. That was fine too; let Godfrey slowly search the snowy mountains, and he would give him a surprise when the time came.
"Do you know the direction from which you entered the Mohgwyn Dynasty?"
Throne threw out a second question.
"The tarp covered the prisoner carriage, so I couldn't see."
Roderika shook her head blankly, then immediately added, "But the stench of blood was very strong; it made me vomit."
The stench of blood was very strong? Then it must be near the Blood Lake. Throne pondered for a few seconds and reached the answer. He had just gone to check it out, but there were too many followers there, and the heavy blood mist covering the lake had made him afraid to get close and observe. Now it seemed he would have to take some risks.
"Alright, that's all the questions. You've been a huge help."
Seeing that she had been useful, Roderika completely relaxed. She glanced at the deep-in-thought Throne, pursed her lips, and finally gathered the courage to ask, "Are you leaving?"
"I will leave eventually, but there is one thing I must do before that."
"W-what is it?"
The girl felt that she had spoken out of turn the moment the words left her mouth, and she lowered her head again.
"Sorry, I shouldn't have asked so much."
Throne stared at her with a calm gaze and answered slowly, "Kill the Lord of Blood Mohg, and then turn this place into ashes."
"Destroy this evil dynasty? Just the two of you??"
Roderika's face was full of shock, but she did not question Throne. She gathered her courage once more.
"Can I help? Danilo and the others' deaths must be avenged."
Throne's gaze held a hint of astonishment, then slowly became calm. This girl looked ordinary, but she was a participant in an epic; all things considered, she was not ordinary at all. He was going to use his own strength to oppose the entire Mohgwyn Dynasty. No matter what Roderika chose, he could not guarantee her safety.
"Alright, then let's stir up some trouble together."
Throne agreed. He didn't pay much attention to the girl's look of joy and turned his gaze toward Sellen.
"Teacher, let's prepare. We'll go check out the Blood Lake first, then get to the main business."
"Aren't you afraid of alerting the enemy?"
Sellen closed her book.
"It will be exposed sooner or later. Maybe it will even divert their attention. Thousands of followers crowded the area. Drawing even a fraction away would be a victory."
"And Roderika—" Throne dumped a mountain of Fire Pots from his ring, covering the wooden table entirely. Flames reflected in his eyes as he spoke.
"Burn this town to the ground. Do you have the stomach for it?"
He'd scouted the terrain. Past the town lay a heavily guarded restricted zone—stone steps leading up to Mohg's temple. A raging fire would buy him time, ease the pressure. This was their first meeting. Trust didn't exist. Roderika wasn't a fool. Lighting the fire would be easy. Escaping? Nearly impossible. If this man died or abandoned her mid-flight, she'd be left with nowhere to bury her bones. But sitting idle guaranteed nothing better.
"I'm weak, but I can do this."
The girl's nod was heavy, her eyes burning with hate. She had spine. Throne respected that. Courage and strength weren't the same. Her potential as a spirit tuner made her worth a few more risks.
"Time's short. We start now. Roderika, wait for my signal. Once the fire's lit, run like hell toward the Blood Lake."
He turned to Sellen.
"Teacher, move out."
Sellen never wasted breath on battle. She rose and followed Throne without a word. The door slammed shut. Roderika sat frozen, staring at the table of Fire Pots.
He just… trusted me? Just like that? No fear I'd betray him? We've known each other less than two hours.
The knight's decisiveness left her reeling. Before she could untangle her thoughts, the door creaked open again. She sprang up like a startled rabbit, scrambling for a weapon. Finding none, she grabbed the stool and clutched it to her chest.
"Forgot to mention—hide the corpse in the corner. Stay inside. War's coming."
Throne's head reappeared in the doorway. The sight of her, stool raised like a shield, almost made him laugh. He kept his voice stern.
"That thing won't save you. Lock the door. If anyone forces their way in, light the pots. The blast will vaporize you—quick and clean."
Roderika blinked. By the time she processed his words, the door was closed again. She stared at the oil pot on the table, then collapsed back into the chair, drained. This nameless knight… what kind of man is he?
Outside, in the ink-black alley, Sellen's voice cut through the dark.
"Apprentice. Do you trust her?"
She'd been relaxed since entering Mohgwyn territory, treating it like some grand excursion. Throne envied that—her thick skin, her freedom from overthinking tactics.
"She has no choice," he said. "The blood followers have her terrified. Betrayal isn't an option."
"But lighting the town ablaze? That's a ninety percent death sentence. She might balk."
"Teacher, never underestimate hate."
Throne quickened his pace.
"If Godfrey killed me tomorrow, would you hesitate to face the Elden Lord?"
Sellen went still. Then she laughed, sharp and conceding. If Throne fell to Godfrey's axe, she'd storm the Erdtree itself. Cloaked in Blood Priest robes, Throne moved fast, boots striking the cobbles as he cut through the town's winding streets.
Scouting the Mohgwyn Dynasty had revealed the truth—total annihilation wasn't feasible. Their numbers stretched beyond counting, each warrior strengthened by blood baptism. Mohg's own power compounded the problem. Wasting energy on foot soldiers made no sense when decapitation would serve. Kill Mohg, rescue Miquella—that was the mission. These common zealots couldn't possibly channel the Formless Mother's power anyway. Cut off the head and the body dies.
Blood Town's position between the mountains and the crimson lake made it a perfect choke point. Throne's new disguise as a Blood Priest granted him free movement through the ranks. The dynasty's isolation bred complacency. Only Bloody Fingers and mission-bound priests ever left—neither group prone to betrayal. No records existed of captured operatives. Even if someone stole a Blood Medal, the Formless Mother's essence woven into each relic made them useless to outsiders. Mohg had revoked all teleportation permissions. A stolen medal might frame some poor fool at best. Secure. Impenetrable. The threat of infiltration ranked below negligible.
Years of this arrogance had created fortress walls facing outward, unlocked doors within. No one watched for intruders in this nightmare court. Followers lost themselves in ecstatic mutilation—why notice another priest walking by? Throne left Sellen at the town's edge and moved alone along the lakeshore. He didn't avoid the blood rituals. An infiltration specialist knew better. His eyes shone with practiced reverence as he moved between the self-flagellants, offering expert advice.
"Angle the blade—maximizes pain without killing."
"Whips gone dull? Braid wire through the lashes. That's real devotion."
The acolytes' eyes widened with revelation. They bowed to this apparent master of their dark sacrament, murmuring praise for his doctrinal wisdom.
"Remember," Throne intoned, raising his arms in benediction, "only the living can worship through pain. Wounds sanctify. Death disgraces."
Sunlight caught his pose, casting a counterfeit halo. Out on the blood-dark waters, High Priest Esgar observed from his drifting skiff. He nodded approval.
"That one—he understands the deeper truth."
A junior priest squinted shoreward. The voice sounded rougher than usual, but what of it?
"Brother Broad, my lord. Oversees the town flock."
"Promising. Summon him later. These desperate times demand we empower our best."
"As you command, Lord Esgar."
Envious glances passed between the lesser priests. Greater power meant missionary work beyond these walls—the highest honor. Esgar's attention had already returned to the lake. His hood shadowed a furrowed brow. Despite recent... indulgences, the deficit remained. That damnable battle in Sellia still bled them dry.
He thought back to the battle on the rainy night in Sellia. The trifecta of rot, dragon, and blood forces shattered beyond recovery. Mohg himself bore wounds requiring vast draughts from the lake—reserves meant for godhood. Now their sacred stock dwindled further. Secrecy or efficiency. Never both.
The Sellia incident had forced Mohg's hand—he'd thrown open the Blood Lake's gates, flooding the place with new 'followers.' The only weak point was the entrance, so he guarded it himself. Good timing. With war brewing across The Lands Between, no one's paying attention to the Dynasty. But he'd need to warn Varré soon. If Radahn decided to charge in, things would get messy.
Mohg's gaze cut through the thinning blood mist to the lake's center, where a jagged rock jutted from the crimson waters. A gate stood atop it—three meters wide, five tall, its surface carved with twisting, unfamiliar sigils. Pass through, and you'd find yourself in the Swamp of Aeonia. An entire caravan could march through at once. Proselytizing had never been easier—but neither had invasion.
"When does Varré depart?"
Mohg's voice was gravel. A priest flicked through parchment.
"Three days, my lord. He's currently briefing His Majesty on the Mountaintops situation."
Esgar massaged his temples. The Dynasty's luck had turned sour. Even the Mountaintops operation, a sure victory, had unraveled. The plan was flawless—they'd even enlisted a Great Magusa Wyrm. The Two Fingers' Bishop, bearing a Great Rune, had broken from the main force as intended. Then someone botched it. An early assassination tipped their hand, leaving the Bloody Fingers exposed. The Dynasty excelled at knife-work in the dark—what were they supposed to do against a Tree Sentinel's cavalry? The retreat had been a bloody farce.
"At least Leyndell's forces are fixated on the Haligtree," Esgar muttered. "No time to hunt us down."
He and Varré had watched for days, confirming the golden host's withdrawal before slipping away. Bad luck, but not fatal. The Dynasty still lurked in the shadows, untouched. A Bloody Finger could cross ten thousand miles in a heartbeat—from Mountaintops to Dynasty, from Dynasty to Caelid—while their enemies still fumbled for their quills. But with the Shattering's endgame approaching, Esgar couldn't afford complacency. He turned to the assembled priests, voice iron.
"By His Majesty's decree: redouble efforts in Limgrave. Fill this lake by month's end. Then we secure the precious blood—and claim our final blessing!"
At that word, blessing, the priests' eyes ignited. They bowed as one.
"It will be done!"
There's a heavyweight on that boat. Throne's fingers paused mid-demonstration, the latest 'volunteer' gasping beneath him. His gaze flicked up, catching the high priest's stare the instant it landed. Esgar. Old friend. He resumed his 'instruction,' watching from the corner of his eye as the skiff vanished into the mist. His eyelid twitched. That blood fog didn't belong.
The Mohgwyn Dynasty shouldn't have mist. Shouldn't have a town. Yet here it was—a warped mockery of prosperity. People change. But this? The fog was a screen. A defense. Mohg's paranoia ran deep if he'd walled off his own kingdom. Throne almost admired the man's dedication. Just as he was thinking about how to get across, Melina's trembling voice rang out in his mind.
"Tho... Throne, I didn't expect you to be such a pervert!"