Granting a title to a lawless Tarnished who had killed a Golden Noble was far beyond what anyone present had expected.
"Your Highness, this is an important matter. Should we not consider it more carefully?"
A knight stepped forward to offer advice, worried that his lord was acting on impulse and might regret it later.
"I have already made my decision."
Godrick did not grow angry at the knight's warning. He simply waved a hand and dismissed him.
Then the Shardbearer called out loudly.
"Someone, carry out my command."
...
Several days later, Leyndell.
The headquarters of the Church of the Two Fingers had quietly begun to change. Compared with the past, the place now felt somewhat different.
From the top of the tall spire, if one looked into the distance, a cluster of buildings could be seen below. They were understated yet unmistakably luxurious.
The structures stood densely packed together, stretching toward the horizon like an ornate carpet.
Yet the towering city walls rose like a massive barrier, mercilessly cutting off the view.
Along the inner walls, fully armed soldiers and heavily armored knights stood on guard.
Looking closer, one would notice that nearly half of them kept a wary eye on the interior of the city.
It seemed they were more concerned about threats within the walls than about any rebel army that might attack from outside.
The most noble Grace-Given, Morgott.
Although he had chosen to heed the words of the Two Fingers and extend aid to the Tarnished, deep down he still held some caution toward these outsiders.
As the undisputed ruler of this land, he carried responsibility for countless lives and had to remain vigilant at all times.
Under the rule of such a powerful Lord, the chaos seen in Limgrave was nowhere to be found here.
Even the Tarnished, despite their special status, did not dare act recklessly in this place.
A new force had begun to rise with the support of the Two Fingers and many heroes.
The strongest Tarnished gathered together, and thus the Roundtable Hold was born.
The sole purpose of this place was to select a true Lord from among the heroes.
For that reason, only those who stood out among the Tarnished were allowed to pass through its doors.
And as everyone knew, heroes were always rare.
Any Tarnished wishing to enter the Roundtable Hold needed the approval of three parties: the Roundtable Hold itself, the Two Fingers, and the Grace-Given.
Beside a large window stood a silent man.
He gazed quietly toward the distant royal palace, his figure carrying a hint of loneliness.
He wore a strange suit of armor.
Its surface was covered with countless patterns of eyes and ears, and in his hand he held a gleaming silver scepter.
The man was named Gideon Ofnir. Because of his extraordinary intellect, he was known as the All-Knowing.
Yet even someone as intelligent as him understood that wisdom alone was never enough. In the end, knowledge depended on what one could see and hear.
The truths of the world often lay hidden beneath layers of appearances. Only careful observation and listening could uncover them.
A faint sound broke the silence.
"So we have finally found a place to stay, yet the Sir still seems unhappy."
The door slowly opened, and a tall figure clad in silver armor walked inside.
His helmet was decorated with a long tassel woven from the fur of a white wolf's neck.
When it moved in the wind, it resembled white flames, dazzling to behold. That was also the origin of his title.
"Raging Wolf" Vargram, one of the founders of the Roundtable Hold.
Unlike those who chased after the throne or divine power, he held little interest in the lofty positions of gods or kings.
Deep within his heart, he longed for the legendary shadow of an Empyrean, the fierce and fearless wolf.
Hearing the voice, Gideon turned his head slightly and looked toward Vargram, who had just entered the room.
The two men looked at each other in silence for a moment.
"Our mission is far from complete. This is not the time to celebrate victory."
"If time ultimately proves that we are of no use, then being cast aside will be inevitable."
Gideon's expression was grave. After letting out a long sigh, he spoke slowly.
"So? Is the Grace-Given Lord preparing to act?"
In truth, this was no longer much of a secret.
Anyone in the Lands Between with a bit of sense could reach the same conclusion.
Whether the Royal Capital or Volcano Manor wished to expand outward, this step could not be avoided.
And at present, those who could assist the Grand Praetor were either unwilling to move or simply lacked the strength to do so.
This was the perfect opportunity to show the world the power of the Dynasty and force the rebels to kneel beneath iron hooves.
The same was true for the Tarnished. With the support of a great army, taking the heads of Demigods would be far easier.
This was the chance the Grace-Given Lord had given them. The moment for the Tarnished to prove their worth was approaching.
Vargram, who had already walked to Gideon's side, suddenly stopped. He slowly shook his head and spoke in a low voice.
"Not yet. War is always long, whether it is beginning or ending."
Gideon frowned.
"So whose name has reached the Royal Capital?"
"Have you spoken with the Two Fingers? The Finger Maidens are not under my authority."
Seeing how quickly Gideon grasped the situation, Vargram silently admired his sharp mind.
But after thinking it through, there really was no other explanation. He could only answer somewhat reluctantly.
"The Two Fingers have already chosen a group of maidens. But I thought it would be better to hear your opinion first."
"That Tarnished named Nolan Bethel has done more than simply make a name for himself."
"He killed nobles, received a title, and now he has become a powerful lord, widely loved by the people."
"A title? A lord? Loved by the people?"
Even Gideon could not help widening his eyes.
This was simply too strange.
Those Tarnished at the bottom often believed themselves chosen by fate and thought they could act however they pleased.
They naively assumed that with the Grace-Given Lord and the Two Fingers behind them, they could do whatever they wanted.
But reality had long made the truth clear, even if most preferred not to acknowledge it.
Commoners feared them and avoided them like a plague.
Nobles despised them, seeing them as crude and lowborn.
Even the kings who ruled above all remained wary of them, always guarding against the threat they might pose.
If things continued this way, enemies would surround them everywhere.
And yet they still had not fulfilled the single mission entrusted to them by their patron.
Now someone had managed to integrate himself into the world, becoming a regional lord.
And he had done it in Godrick's own territory.
"When will the Finger Maidens depart?" Gideon asked, urgency creeping into his voice.
"Tomorrow," Vargram replied immediately.
"Is there any more information?" Gideon pressed. Even the sharpest mind was useless without intelligence.
Vargram shook his head.
Gideon fell silent for a moment, then said thoughtfully,
"Perhaps we should offer our fellow Tarnished a little assistance."