Outside the Church of the Two Fingers in Leyndell, the Grace-Given King Morgott stood quietly, his figure looking somewhat lonely beneath the sunlight.
The recent string of events had left him exhausted, as if the entire world were working against him.
Someone had caused chaos in Godwyn's mausoleum and destroyed the underground passage connecting Leyndell to the depths below. On top of that, he had suddenly discovered that the younger brother who had been guarding the Frenzied Flame underground for him all this time was actually a fake.
The Mohg beneath the capital was only a clone. He had no idea where his younger brother had gone, but he had no time to deal with that now. The affairs of the Royal Capital had already left him utterly overwhelmed.
Faced with so many vexing problems, Morgott felt the pressure on him growing heavier by the day.
He was the Grace-Given King, and also the Omen King, a cursed child who had fought his way out of the sewers.
He tried to imitate that elder brother in every way, yet never managed to truly resemble him. Because of that, he had never believed himself to be a qualified Lord.
The affairs of the Royal Capital had already been more than enough for him to handle, and now this had happened as well.
Half a month ago, Morgott had requested an audience with the Church of the Two Fingers, but he had never received a reply.
His meeting with the Two Fingers had been postponed again and again, which only deepened the anxiety in his heart.
The Two Fingers held a special status, so he could not easily resort to force. But if this dragged on any longer, he would have no choice but to lead men into the Church of the Two Fingers himself.
The redeployment of the Crucible Knights was far too important. If those knights were gathered together, they would become a force capable of changing the situation on the battlefield. He could not afford to ignore it.
Only today, after the Two Fingers accepted Morgott's request for an audience, did the knights who had already prepared to charge into the Church of the Two Fingers return to their barracks.
Creak. Creak.
As the heavy wooden doors slowly opened, an old, stale smell drifted out.
A Finger Maiden draped in a brown cloak walked lightly toward Morgott, every step careful and measured.
When she arrived before Morgott, the maiden stopped, bowed slightly, and performed a proper salute.
"Your Highness, Grace-Given King, please follow me."
Morgott followed the maiden inside, and before long, they arrived at the deepest chamber of the church.
A solemn, mysterious atmosphere filled the room. The enormous Two Fingers stood at its center, and beside them was still Enia, the Finger Maiden.
Strangely, the moment Morgott stepped into the room, he felt an unprecedented sense of danger, a threat even stronger than the Great Serpent.
That threat did not come from the Two Fingers or Enia.
Morgott steadied himself, forced down the unease in his heart, looked straight at the Two Fingers, and asked, "Why redeploy the Crucible Knights? Why send Tarnished to support the Magic Academy? Why seal off the church these past few days? What exactly are you hiding from?"
His voice echoed through the room, carrying a note of interrogation.
The Two Fingers shifted gently, and Enia's voice flowed slowly through the air like an ancient melody.
"The Crucible Knights were redeployed because the time has come to use them. As for supporting the Magic Academy, it is to curb the expansion of Nolan Bethel's power."
She paused, as if interpreting the words of the Two Fingers, then continued, "As for sealing off the church... it was to allow the Crucible Knights to play their role more effectively. The Two Fingers agreed to one of their conditions, but that condition requires time to prepare."
Morgott's brow furrowed tightly. His gaze fell on Enia as he asked, "Nolan Bethel? You mean the Tarnished from Limgrave?" There was doubt in his voice. "Isn't he the Lord you chose?"
He had long been prepared for the day when he, a false king, would be overthrown by the true Lord. All the more so because this Tarnished was the returned "Golden Spirit of Leyndell."
In reputation, virtue, and strength, Nolan Bethel was among the very best.
Morgott felt that, among all the lords, he was the one most likely to become an outstanding Lord. He had always been waiting for the day Nolan would come to defeat him.
The last time Morgott had come to discuss matters with the Two Fingers, they had praised Nolan Bethel highly, even saying that Nolan Bethel was the Tarnished they valued most.
Why had they suddenly changed their minds?
Could the rumors spreading from Limgrave really be true? Were the Two Fingers planning to eliminate this Tarnished Lord, whose reputation had grown too great, for the sake of the power in their own hands?
Thinking this, Morgott looked at the Two Fingers. His eyes narrowed slightly, and his gaze gradually became dangerous.
Anger surged in his heart. If the Two Fingers truly intended to ruin the great undertaking of choosing a Lord for their own selfish ends, he absolutely would not stand by.
Before the battle of Lords arrived, he would not mind first removing this so-called mouthpiece of the divine.
A true Lord should be the Lord of the Lands Between, the Lord of the Golden Dynasty, not a puppet of the Two Fingers.
"We must admit, we misjudged him before."
"But he truly is Leyndell's Golden Spirit. Radahn and the Knight of the Night admitted it themselves!"
"Absurd. A Golden Spirit? If the power of the Golden Order could truly cleanse the Scarlet Rot, then Malenia would not have had to endure the pain she was born with, and Miquella would not have been so eager to raise the banner of rebellion!"
That single sentence left Morgott speechless.
If the Golden Order could cure the Scarlet Rot, then that half-sister of his could have lived a different life.
And Miquella's original reason for betraying the Golden Order had also been for her sake.
"You can trust our judgment. Nolan Bethel must die. He is a monster even the Golden Order cannot control."
Both the Two Fingers and Enia paused. The former seemed about to keep persuading him, to explain the stakes and win over the current strongest fighter in Leyndell, but a voice interrupted them.
"Enough. You talk too much."
It was a rough voice.
The voice felt both familiar and unfamiliar to Morgott, making his whole body shudder.
Morgott looked into the shadows behind the Two Fingers, and a powerful man stepped out.
He knew this man. Although he had spent only a very short time with him, he would never forget him.
Morgott stared at the powerful man, unable to speak. His knees bent, and he dropped straight to the ground.
"You... You are..."
The man was even taller and broader than Morgott. His thick arm reached out as though it could shatter space itself, yet when his large hand settled on Morgott's shoulder, it was not as heavy as he had imagined.
"You're still as useless as ever. You've been a Lord for so many years, and all you know how to do is kneel and hide yourself away?"
That voice was extremely stern, but Morgott was smiling, his eyes wet with tears.
...
Nolan slowly opened his eyes. The distance from Limgrave to Farum Azula was greater than crossing the entire Lands Between.
Yet in his perception, crossing that distance had taken only an instant.
The moment his feet landed on the floating city, the wild, unrestrained wind freely swept up his long silver hair.
Nolan straightened and let the wind howl around him. He merely raised a hand and lightly smoothed his flying silver hair.
Standing together with Florissax and Sethlinsax, they really did look like nobles with unusual tastes out on an excursion.
Nolan's gaze passed over Florissax and Sethlinsax and turned toward the front.
In his field of vision, a massive tornado towered ahead like a gigantic vortex that blotted out the sky.
The tornado was astonishingly vast. It stood right at the center of a cluster of ruined buildings, piercing straight through the entire city.
Gray-white walls and grand, magnificent palaces stood there in ruins. Though badly broken, they still gave a sense of their former glory.
And the greatest thing these buildings had in common was their size.
There was no doubt that they had been built for some kind of enormous creature. Only a colossal being could have matched them.
Fragments of stone floated quietly around the storm. They were not pulled into that terrifying tornado, as though bound in place by some invisible, formless power.
Without that power, even this shattered ancient dragon royal city would likely have collapsed long ago.
This was the gradually collapsing sky city, Farum Azula.
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