Liurnia of the Lakes.
Around the crumbling Rose Church, the air was thick with the sweet scent of blood.
Inside the ruined chapel and throughout the surrounding grounds, scarlet roses bloomed in abundance—flowers as red as fresh blood.
These were the beloved blossoms of those who worshiped the Lord of Blood.
Bloodroses.
Wandering among the crimson fields were strange figures clad in dark red robes. These individuals served as guardians of the blood-soaked garden and devoted followers of the Mohgwyn Dynasty.
Yet among them stood one man who seemed oddly out of place.
Though his clothes were stained with dried blood, it was still possible to tell that his attire had originally been pure white.
A white mask covered his face at all times.
He was the Tarnished known as White-Faced Varre.
Like many Tarnished, Varre had once reached Roundtable Hold. With considerable strength and the guidance of his Finger Maiden, he had even been granted an audience with the Two Fingers.
But afterward, he betrayed them.
He abandoned both the Two Fingers and Roundtable Hold.
As proof of his loyalty to a new master, he personally murdered his own Finger Maiden and pledged himself to the Lord of Blood.
The vibrant red.
The exquisite screams.
Even now, the memories remained vivid in his mind—impossible to forget.
To Varre, it was the most beautiful sensation in the world.
His presence here had a single purpose.
To wait.
To wait for the Tarnished he had personally guided.
Yet thinking about that newcomer still irritated him.
After emerging from the Stranded Graveyard, that fool had treated him like thin air.
No matter how Varre called out, he had been completely ignored.
Varre had even gone through great trouble to interrogate that idiot demigod Godrick the Grafted just to learn the location of the Finger Maiden.
He had personally traveled there and killed her to remove the Tarnished's guide.
Although the poor Finger Maiden had already been mortally wounded by a Grafted Scion and would not have survived long anyway—
How could Varre pass up such a delightful opportunity?
And yet—
That newcomer dared to ignore him.
Still, another question remained.
Would that Tarnished even notice the message Varre had left and come here?
Varre had been waiting for days.
He had even ignored the commands issued by the Lord of Blood himself, all for the sake of recruiting that newcomer.
"I'll wait two more days."
"And if you still don't come… I'll personally hunt you down."
Anyone who refused to join the Mohgwyn Dynasty deserved death.
Behind the mask, Varre's eyes narrowed.
A flash of cruelty passed through them as a smile of pure madness spread across his lips.
If he could not recruit someone—
He would simply destroy them.
It was hardly the first time he had done such a thing.
More than once, he had killed Tarnished and tossed the corpses to Godrick's soldiers so their bodies could be used for grafting.
Just as he was considering what method he might use to kill the disobedient Tarnished—
The sound of hoofbeats reached his ears.
Clop. Clop. Clop.
Looking out across the lake, Varre spotted a figure riding a spectral steed.
The rider wore a black cloak over a sorcerer's robe.
And he was heading directly toward the church.
"…Ah. Finally."
The madness vanished instantly from Varre's smile.
If the man had come here, Varre had absolute confidence he could lure him into the Mohgwyn Dynasty.
"Oh! You finally arrived. I've been waiting for you."
Varre stepped forward warmly, like an old friend greeting a companion after years apart.
"So then—what brings you to see me?"
The Tarnished dismissed Torrent and approached slowly.
Varre's enthusiastic attitude made him feel sick.
Still, he maintained a calm expression.
For now.
He would play with him first.
Besides, Varre was surprisingly skilled at escaping death.
In one previous cycle, the man had actually managed to flee.
The Tarnished had attempted to stab him, but Varre sensed the killing intent and leapt into a pool of blood to escape using some strange technique.
The Tarnished had chased him all the way to the Mohgwyn Dynasty.
In the process, he had demolished the entire Blood Temple—along with Mohg himself.
Judging by your appearance, I'd say you've endured quite the journey."
Varre rubbed his hands together like a petty merchant.
"You must have obtained a Great Rune, joined Roundtable Hold, and even met the Two Fingers. Congratulations."
His tone sounded congratulatory, but the flattery was clearly insincere.
"But tell me—after joining Roundtable Hold, what are your thoughts?"
Before the Tarnished could reply, Varre continued speaking.
"Oh, there's no need to say it aloud. I already understand."
"The Roundtable Hold that once gathered heroes from across the Lands Between… is now nothing more than a pile of useless garbage."
"Disappointing, isn't it?"
"I know exactly how you feel."
"The current situation is pathetic. And tell me—after meeting the Two Fingers, didn't something feel… wrong?"
The Tarnished nodded.
Despite the deep hatred between them—and Varre's constant self-important rambling—
He had to admit something.
Varre's words were correct.
Roundtable Hold truly had become little more than a nest of cowards.
Only one or two individuals there were worthy of respect.
A gathering place for kings?
Hardly.
It was a refuge for the weak.
Otherwise, how could so many Tarnished refuse to challenge even someone like Godrick?
They had even relied on a young girl to deal with him.
Thinking about it, Varre had probably used this exact speech to recruit countless others.
The Mohgwyn Dynasty's recruitment department was almost as persuasive as a cult.
No—
It was a cult.
Varre, oblivious to the strange look in the Tarnished's eyes, continued enthusiastically.
"Ah! I knew you'd feel the same."
"To be honest, I feel exactly the same way."
"The words of the Two Fingers cannot be trusted. They sound like the ramblings of senile old fools."
"I often wonder… when the Elden Ring shattered, were the Two Fingers and their guidance shattered as well?"
"And above all…"
"I can no longer feel any love from the Two Fingers toward us."
The Tarnished nodded again.
Varre truly was one of the rare people in the Lands Between who saw the truth clearly.
Everything he said perfectly matched the current reality.
Which raised the same question the Tarnished had long wondered:
Were the Two Fingers still truly guided by the Greater Will?
In that sense, Varre and the Tarnished might have been kindred spirits.
They could even have been friends.
But unfortunately—
Varre had to die.
"Oh! Before I forget."
"I have a gift for someone as insightful as you—"
Varre reached into his robes.
At that exact moment—
The Tarnished's eyes sharpened.
His hand shot forward, seizing Varre by the throat before slamming him violently into the wall.
BOOM!
The entire ruined church trembled as Varre's body smashed into the stone.
"Cough—!"
Varre couldn't even speak.
Only weak choking sounds escaped his throat.
Through the narrow gap in his mask, he stared at the Tarnished in absolute terror.
Why?
Why?!
Why was he this strong?!
The power emanating from him was overwhelming.
It felt almost like facing Mohg himself.
Impossible.
This was only a Tarnished—a defective one at that.
Varre clenched his teeth so hard they nearly shattered.
But struggling was useless.
He couldn't even move.
That single strike had left him completely incapacitated.
Lord Mohg…
"Varre," the Tarnished said calmly.
"Everything you said is correct."
"I agree with all of it."
"If circumstances were different, I might even have become your friend."
"But unfortunately…"
He raised his left hand.
The sleeve slid back, revealing a dark crimson Dragon Communion seal embedded in his finger.
With a gentle flick—
Thunder roared.
Dark clouds instantly gathered overhead.
BOOM!
Lightning writhed through the storm clouds like serpents before crashing down into his hand.
The crackling power condensed into the shape of a blade.
A sword of crimson lightning.
"Today, you die."
Varre watched in horror as the blazing lightning blade filled his entire vision.
BOOM!!!
The earth trembled.
Thunder shook the heavens.
The violent storm was so powerful that it even stirred someone far away—
Ranni, sleeping within the Three Sisters towers of Caria Manor.
She slowly opened her eyes and looked toward the darkened sky.
Curious.
Who could possibly be causing such a disturbance?
Could it be the ancient dragons?
But she made no effort to investigate.
Instead, she leaned back in her chair and returned to sleep.
Whatever happened outside had nothing to do with her.
For now, she simply needed to conserve her strength.
Meanwhile, in Liurnia of the Lakes.
The entire Rose Church vanished from the map under the power of Lansseax's incantation.
A massive crater remained.
Soon afterward, lake water flooded in and filled the pit.
At the Tarnished's feet lay the only remnant of Varre—
A severed head, still wearing the cracked white mask.
He wrapped it casually in cloth and tossed it into his pack.
"Ah… what a refreshing feeling."
He wiped imaginary sweat from his forehead.
Then he looked toward the distant Four Belfries.
"Next… I should bury my Finger Maiden."
With that quiet remark, he mounted Torrent and rode toward the towers.
After he departed, another figure appeared.
Melina.
She gazed at the water-filled crater where the church once stood.
Then she looked toward the distant Tarnished riding away.
Thoughtfully, she crouched down and retrieved a small bouquet of Bloodroses floating in the water.
Moments later—
She vanished again.
Chapel of Anticipation
Passing through the portal of the Four Belfries, the Tarnished stepped once more onto that familiar land.
Everything here remained bleak.
Gravestones of unknown origin littered the ground.
Dead plants.
Withered leaves.
No sign of life.
He crossed the old wooden bridge and walked through the worn archway, returning to the plaza where the statue of Marika stood.
This time, however—
The Grafted Scion did not attack.
He crossed the hanging bridge and climbed the stone steps before entering the ruined chapel once again.
The Chapel of Anticipation.
A place meant to await the arrival of a lord.
Yet the lord had arrived—
And the witch had died.
How ironic.
How helpless.
A bitter smile touched his lips.
He pushed open the decaying doors.
Creeeak.
Golden light from the Erdtree illuminated the interior.
And his witch still lay there.
Motionless.
The blood had long since dried into dark stains on the floor.
Aside from her body, only one thing remained to prove she had ever existed.
Her final words.
"Even if the guidance has long been shattered… please become the Elden Lord."
He repeated those words softly.
The smile on his face turned strained.
Taking a deep breath, he walked forward.
"My witch."
"I've come back."
He gently lifted the cold body and carried her outside.
At the highest point overlooking the Erdtree, he buried her.
He placed a blank stone marker over the grave.
Then carved four simple words upon it.
Finger Maiden.
Beside the grave, he impaled Varre's head with the Ornamental Straight Sword and planted it before the tomb.
He never knew the witch's name.
All he knew was that she had been his Finger Maiden.
Nothing more.
Standing before the grave, he felt a deep wave of nostalgia.
What kind of life might he have lived if she had survived?
Would he still have met Melina?
Would he still have encountered Ranni?
Probably not.
Melina had appeared only because he lacked a Finger Maiden.
And meeting Ranni had only been possible because of Torrent.
Under normal circumstances, he likely would never have met either of them.
The thought left him conflicted.
He didn't know whether to feel sorrow—
Or gratitude.
"Aaaaa."
The small figure called A'jiang popped out from his body and climbed onto his shoulder, gently patting his cheek in comfort.
"I'm fine, Ao-chan."
He smiled faintly and tapped the little creature with his finger.
At that moment—
Melina appeared again.
She said nothing at first.
She simply stood beside him, gazing at the grave.
After a while, she spoke quietly.
"…Is this why you travel without a Finger Maiden?"
"…Yes."
He nodded.
Melina fell silent again.
Then she took out the bouquet of Bloodroses and placed it beside the grave.
"…You left this behind at Rose Church."
"I originally intended to return it to you."
"But it seems more appropriate here."
"?!!"
He stared at her in surprise.
Was this really the same Melina he knew?
"…Is something wrong?"
Melina looked confused by his reaction.
"No… nothing."
Was this truly the Melina he knew?
Usually she behaved like an emotionless wooden doll.
Yet now she had done something like this?
Had someone possessed her?
No… that was impossible.
She was already a spirit.
After thinking about it for a moment, he dismissed the absurd idea.
Leaving the grave behind, he retrieved the Stormhawk King Spirit Ashes from the chapel balcony.
He didn't know how Nepheli would fare in this cycle.
But bringing this to comfort her would surely be the right decision.
Meanwhile, Melina remained behind.
Still gazing at the grave.
After a long silence, she bent down and bowed three times.
"…Unknown witch."
"I am Melina, who now serves beside the Tarnished in place of a Finger Maiden."
"It was because of you that the Tarnished and I were able to meet."
"Thank you."
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