"Lange, I have grown old. My body... it can no longer keep up."
Nebra sat slumped in his chair, staring blankly at the ceiling. His voice was thick with the heavy air of twilight and decay.
"Lord Nebra, please, do not speak such things," Lange urged, kneeling on one knee before him.
"It is the truth. There is no sense in denying it," Nebra replied. "When I faced that flying dragon today, the searing pain in my lungs—the agony of drawing upon my strength—reminded me at every turn that I am a shell of the man I once was."
If the Nebra of before had been a sickly lion holding onto life for the sake of the Ancient Dragon ritual, then the Nebra of now was a lion on his deathbed. Even his last shred of fighting spirit was beginning to wither away.
"Lange, you have followed me until now. It is time you thought of your own future," Nebra said, tracing the carvings on the armrest of his chair. He let out a long, weary sigh. "I will petition the King to recognize your merits and transfer you to another unit. You should not continue to waste your youth and talent on me. I have been far too stubborn and selfish."
"Lord Nebra!" Lange's voice rose sharply, his tone vibrating with unwavering conviction. He stared fixedly into Nebra's eyes. "Without you, I wouldn't have even survived the Lands Between. You gave me an identity, dignity, and status. Please, never say such things again! From the day you saved my life, this life has belonged to you alone!"
Nebra fell silent for a long time before finally giving a slow nod.
"Very well. Then I must trouble you to keep this old man company in his final days. But promise me... once I am gone, you will go to the King and serve him with all your strength."
Lange bit his lip, ultimately giving a heavy, silent nod of agreement.
"Good. You may go. I wish to rest alone for a while."
Nebra waved a tired hand at Lange, then slowly stood up to walk toward his bed.
"I shall have the maids come in then," Lange offered.
"No need. I prefer to be left to my thoughts."
"...Understood."
Only when the sound of the door closing echoed through the room did Nebra finally collapse onto his large bed. His hands slowly tightened into fists. Veins pulsed on his neck and forehead, and his eyes turned a bloodshot, fiery red.
He opened his mouth, letting out a roar of absolute, unbridled fury.
"AAAAAAARRRRRGGGHHHH!!!!!"
It was a scream of rage against his own failing body and the cruelty of an unjust fate.
Once the anger passed, however, only emptiness and sorrow remained. The confrontation with the flying dragon had dragged up memories of his glory days, forcing him to realize that hunting a dragon was now an impossible dream.
The loss of the Ancient Dragon ritual, the unattainability of the Dragon Communion... this sequence of blows had crushed his spirit. He felt as though he were merely waiting for death to claim him. Yet, he was unwilling to truly let go, lingering in a state of wretched survival, hoping against hope for a miracle.
Just then, a knock sounded at the door.
"Who is it?" Nebra asked, his voice rasping.
"My Lord, it is I. There is... a piece of information. I thought you might find it of interest."
Hearing his butler's voice, Nebra relaxed slightly. The butler's movements were quiet and excessively cautious, as if he were deathly afraid of being discovered by anyone.
"Speak your mind. There is no one else here," Nebra said, pushing himself up to sit against the headboard as the butler carefully shut the door.
The butler's face twisted with grief upon seeing Nebra's condition, but it was quickly replaced by a mixture of hope and anxiety.
"My Lord... it is this."
He handed a scroll to Nebra.
Nebra frowned as he took it. He began to read, and as the contents revealed themselves, his eyes widened and his hands began to tremble. Finally, he snapped his head up to look at the butler.
His gaze was that of a drowning man catching sight of a final, desperate lifeline.
"Do you... do you realize this is treason?"
Nebra's voice was even more hoarse than before. But the butler, who had spent years by his side, understood Nebra's heart better than Nebra understood it himself.
"My Lord, I simply cannot bear to watch you suffer like this anymore!!"
Nebra's heart shuddered. He remained silent for a long time. However, the way he gripped the scroll suggested his mind was anything but calm.
"You... leave me."
"...Yes, My Lord."
As the butler departed, Nebra could no longer resist. He unfurled the scroll again, staring at the words with an intensity that bordered on madness, whispering under his breath.
"The Formless Mother... the Lord of Blood's Blessing... a blessing! A blessing!!!"
A cocktail of longing and mania began to fill Nebra's eyes. The most defining feature of the Golden Dynasty was the Grace of the Erdtree—a blessing that made warriors stronger, granted them long life, and even removed the fear of death through the promise of "Returning to the Roots."
That power was something the people of Stormveil did not possess. They relied on spiritual energy and feral, martial training to elevate themselves. Perhaps their ancestors once held such a blessing, but Nebra had never seen it. Now, a blessing of a different power sat before him. Perhaps... this was the medicine that could cure him!
After sitting on the bed for a long time, Nebra slowly stood up and placed the scroll into his desk drawer. Then, he lay back down.
He craved the power of a blessing, yes. But... what was the goal of this mysterious faction that had never shown its face before? What did they want from him?
He was no fool; he didn't believe for a second that this scroll had appeared before him "just in time" by some twist of fate. It was a calculated move by someone exploiting his psychological state and his physical weakness.
Were these people planning to use him to strike at the King? That was his greatest concern.
He chose to seal the scroll away for now. But the desire buried deep in his heart was not something that could be so easily extinguished.
"Lord Horulf, the task you assigned has been completed."
"Excellent. The seed has been planted. Now, we need only wait for the day it takes root and sprouts... How is the situation with the demi-human clan?"
"They have been subdued. Once we captured their two chieftains, the rest surrendered immediately."
"Good. Begin the disguise and construction efforts. Do not fail the Sovereign's expectations."
"Yes, sir!"
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Elden Ring: As the Consort, I Reject Miquella (415 Chapters – Ongoing)
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