"Go inside and focus on your research. I'll handle the driving alone." "It's not about that." Sellen waved her hand, her tone serious. "You don't think these problems can be solved by imagination alone, do you? There's not even enough scratch paper. As your teacher, I'm often forced to rely on mental calculations." Sorcery wasn't some whimsical art—it demanded experimental data, theoretical foundations, and meticulous formula work. Otherwise, what had those sorcerers been doing in the academy for decades?
Sellen's mind buzzed with ideas, inspiration sparking like wildfire. Yet the tools to bring them to life were absent. "It's tricky. Instruments are scarce out here. What if we seized a magic tower?" Throne rubbed his chin, the weight of their predicament evident. He'd been the one to land them in this mess. "The academy's pursuers would descend on us instantly. You don't want to waste time dealing with them, do you?"
"Hmm, true enough." Throne nodded, his expression hardening. "If it's too difficult for you, Master, we can find a place to settle first. We discussed this before. Caelid is dangerous for you."
Caelid. Sellia, the magic town, was deeply intertwined with the Olivinus Conspectus, hunters of star sorcery. Those people weren't naive academy scholars—they were known for killing their own kind. Sellen pinched her chin, deep in thought. Danger had never frightened her, and she'd never cared about her destination. But after traveling with Throne for so long, the thought of parting ways gave her pause. That hesitation was her highest compliment to him.
They weren't lovers. They weren't strictly master and apprentice. And they weren't some indecisive youths clinging to each other out of fear. Logically, Throne needed to develop embedded mediums and multi-slot mana frequency modulation as soon as possible. Time was finite. He couldn't afford to drag Sellen through every dangerous corner of Limgrave. It wasn't necessary, nor did it suit his nature. If he grew accustomed to having a powerful sorcerer backing him up, he'd falter the moment he stood alone.
And Sellen couldn't spend her life as his artillery instead of pursuing her own path. Both carried their own thoughts, their silence heavy. No matter how cold and rational they might be, the days they'd shared had been good—and humans instinctively yearned for such happiness to last.
"Let's wait and see. I found a promising location in Seluvis's notebook. It's not far from here, an old secret laboratory of his."
"Where?"
"A noble waypoint nearby. There's a basement."
Throne froze. Could it be the Waypoint Ruins?
That place was hidden, almost impossible to find. Had destiny looped them back to the beginning? He shook his head with a wry smile, saying nothing. Sellen had her own plans. If she made a decision, he'd support her without hesitation, without weighing gain or loss. Just as she had always supported him.
The carriage raced through the autumn wind. Not far off, within Stormveil Castle, a group of hooded figures circled the shattered remains of the Ulcerated Tree Spirit, their expressions grave.
This once incredibly violent monster was now broken beyond recognition. Thick tree roots lay severed, charred by fire until the creature had shriveled to a tenth of its original size. Nearby, a mound of rat corpses was arranged with grim precision. Order teetered on the edge of collapse, though it hadn't yet decayed into the lifelessness of the late Tarnished era. The Erdtree's champions still clung to their power and communication.
"From the marks outside, someone got here first."
The scarred giant crouched, fingers tracing the gashes in the corpse's bark-like flesh. "Two killers. One with steel." His calloused thumb lingered over a wound that still shimmered with residual magic. "The other wielded Glintstone." His beard swallowed half his face, the rest hidden beneath a cloak frayed by claws and blades. "This Ulcerated Tree Spirit was just vermin. My true quarry's the heresy festering in Liurnia." He adjusted the cracked leather straps of his armor. "But if deathroot crosses my path, I'll purge it with you."
The black-armored knight approached, his bucket helm's horsehair crest swaying like a hanged man. "A." The name cracked like a whip. "Why risk Malenia's wrath when the kill's already stolen? You're not the only death-hunter here." The bearded man shrugged. Most hunters were mercenaries trading deathroot for lords' coin. Not them.
They wore Morgott's sigil. Nights Cavalry—the golden order's shadowblades, tasked with purging The Lands Between of any threat. Different roads, same bloody work. They'd fought side by side in Liurnia, butchering Frenzied Flame fanatics until the marshes ran red. But now, as Stormveil's gates loomed, the Beast Eye at A's belt had begun trembling like a live thing.
The castle courtyard told the story. "The prey's dead," A growled. "But where's the stench of death?" His lieutenant frowned. "Explain." Squires exchanged nervous glances. "Deathroot leaves a stain," A said. "Time bleaches it slow. This?" He kicked the carcass. "Something ate the rot whole."
Metal creaked as every man stepped back. Deathroot turned flesh to walking corruption. What teeth could chew that poison? "You're certain?" a squire whispered.
A's laugh was a whetstone on steel. "I've hunted corpse-eaters since you were pissing your swaddling clothes." Destined Death was Maliketh's domain—Marika's shadow, standing above even demigods. The Black Blade cared nothing for their Shattering; he sought only to reclaim what was stolen. That's why he'd taken the guise of Gurranq, why he'd gathered hunters like A. These truths burned in A's gut, unspoken.
The squad erupted in theories:
"Some resurrected horror?" "Demigods fear death's touch. This is older."
A turned as his masked partner dropped from the cliffs above. No grace in the landing—just efficiency. "Malenia claims no trespassers," the figure spat, voice sharp enough to draw blood. "Shall we... persuade her?" someone ventured. The masked one didn't bother looking. "That blade has felled gods. Try it. I'll watch."
A studied his companion—somehow still breathing after a lifetime of bad decisions. "We'll track this eater ourselves. If it hungers for death, it'll come." He turned to the monk. "Your aid?" The monk bowed. "I'll dispatch riders to Leyndell. Morgott must know." "Good." A's knuckles popped. Every theory in his head led to something worse than the last. Something that consumed death? The thought tasted like grave soil.
A glanced at his ignorant companion, who seemed to have survived through sheer stubbornness. "Move out. And pray we find it before it learns our names."
The figure loomed like a relic from the ancient days of The Lands Between. Monk, of the Night's Cavalry, had no desire to wade into this mess. His plate was already full, sinners to hunt stacking up like kindling. But the weight of those purple eyes, heavy with expectation, pinned him. He nodded. "By the contract, you aid us in hunting sinners. In turn, I'll help you with this... Those Who Live in Death." He hesitated, then added, "Lord Oleg is in Limgrave. We can seek his support."
"That's good to hear."
Monk turned, his massive frame shifting as sunlight spilled through a crack in the wall. Limgrave. The intuition dug into him like a splinter. This was where they'd find it.
***
The autumn wind carried a chill that wasn't unpleasant. Fallen leaves brushed the carriage roof as Throne eased the reins, slowing the horse. They'd ridden hard northeast for miles—far enough to avoid detection. Whoever the nobles blamed for their ruined plans wasn't his concern. The Lands Between still had its lone heroes. In a world where individual power eclipsed armies, they weren't hard to find.
Maybe some wandering soul had taken issue with the flying dragon and cleaved its head off on a whim. The nobles could point fingers all they wanted. The villages around Agheel Lake would sleep soundly tonight. Throne smirked, the warmth of a good deed settling in his chest. He felt almost heroic.
***
The day wore on as they followed the gorge of Agheel Lake. Noble retinues clogged the path, soldiers bristling with weapons and surcoats blazoned with crests. Throne lost count of how many times they stopped him. Each time, the inspection ended the same—an empty carriage, a wave through.
He couldn't help but grin at the nobles' sour faces. By afternoon, they'd left the mountain path and turned onto the main road of Limgrave. Wide enough for four carriages abreast, it stretched eastward, unfurling toward Caelid. The air carried the tang of war. Checkpoints dotted the road, soldiers peering into faces and carts, hunting spies and padding their pockets.
The lords of Limgrave, allies of the Haligtree Army in name, took their duty seriously—or at least their cut of bribes. The Cuckoo Knights weren't unique. Discipline had frayed as the war dragged on. Throne pulled the carriage behind a group of nomadic merchants. His gaze flicked to the roadside, where corpses hung from a massive tree, skin sun-dried and cracked.
Their skin was grayish-brown, and they were short in stature, like twisted echoes of goblins—Demi-humans. In The Lands Between, humans ruled, and these creatures were little more than slaves. Only Caria treated them as allies, deploying them to stir trouble along the shores of Liurnia of the Lakes. But they were weak. A single knight could dispatch dozens without breaking a sweat.
"Tsk," Throne muttered, spitting. "Bullies who prey on the weak and cower before the strong." His thoughts turned bitter. For certain matters, he had the Erdtree to thank.
In the ancient era, a little runt like him would have had no human rights at all, forced to serve as cannon fodder, perhaps not even qualified to guard the city walls. Behind the checkpoint stood a small castle with low walls, flying several sea lion flags; this was the residence of the local lord. "Why have we stopped?" Sellen lifted the curtain and poked her sleepy head out. "There are soldiers conducting inspections." Throne gestured with his chin toward the front and added, "You'd better not show your face; I'm afraid of trouble." "Does Limgrave have ties with Raya Lucaria Academy?"
"Not really, I just hate it when melodramatic things happen." Throne shrugged. His teacher was completely oblivious to the fact that she was actually quite beautiful, at least more beautiful than any of the maids he had seen in Stormveil. As a low-profile person, he was naturally averse to melodrama. "Tch, wouldn't it be fine if we just killed them all?" Sellen grinned, truly ruthless. However, she still retreated back inside, merely patting Throne on the back: "When will the rest of the manuscript be delivered?
If your brain isn't working well enough, your teacher can make you some medicine to boost your cognitive functions." "I'm writing it, I'm writing it." Throne brushed her off, then began to let his mind wander again. If not for the business in Caelid, driving around The Lands Between with Sellen like this wouldn't be so bad—acting as heroes, perhaps turning it into a road trip movie. He thought of a very, very old anime; in some ways, this teacher was somewhat similar to that cute wolf.
Perhaps the memory of the later siege by the Interior Ministry was too painful, and not knowing where to demonstrate his own level of coolness, Throne preferred to let his mind wander rather than write. As he thought, the sky began to darken. "So slow; what are these bastards doing?" It was just like a traffic jam on the highway during a holiday. Throne stood up, somewhat impatient, and seeing that the checkpoint ahead had set up roadblocks, he frowned and called out to a nomadic merchant passing by his carriage. "Friend, what's going on up ahead?" His tone was friendly, and he looked harmless.
The merchant, dressed somewhat like a gypsy, turned his head to look, his face full of helplessness as he said:
"I heard the Redmane Army has blocked the main road. We're done for now." What? The road is blocked? Throne frowned. Even if it made sense, it was still annoying. His spirit-calling ring was stuffed to the brim, and all sorts of daily necessities were piled in the carriage; if he had to leave the road, he couldn't exactly carry it all on his back, could he? "Then can we take a detour from the southern road?" "The path through the Agheel Lake gorge is also blocked.
We can neither advance nor retreat now." Huh? This news caught Throne by surprise. He looked at the sighing merchant; merchants like this suffered the most losses, but they were also the most well-informed. He simply pulled back the curtain, told Sellen, and then jumped off the carriage to walk alongside him. After revealing his desire to purchase, the nomadic merchant, whose name was Boc, immediately felt better and eagerly led Throne to the side of the road. A campfire was lit there, and several nomadic merchants were sitting around it, drinking and chatting.
They wore tattered clothes and were relatively short in stature—they looked like seasoned veterans who had weathered many storms. In fact, nomadic merchants were less of a profession and more of an ethnic group. Their ancestors had also been conquered by the Erdtree, and then, for some unknown reason, they angered Queen Marika. She issued an oracle forbidding them from entering politics, joining the army, or even settling in towns, so they had no choice but to wander everywhere. But Throne knew that these nomadic merchants were not simple.
Not to mention their relationship with the Frenzied Flame, even more exaggerated was:
No matter how desperate or dangerous the place—somewhere a Tarnished would need ten lives to survive—these merchants always, somehow, managed to be there. Everyone introduced themselves, and Throne found a corner to sit.
The nomadic merchants were talkative and full of knowledge, boasting about everything from the snowy plains' vistas to border wars, from Marika's affairs to Radagon's treachery—how he used his pretty face to deceive the Queen of the Full Moon. "You've got guts," Throne said, warming himself by the fire and sipping wine. The wine came from the Mountaintops of the Giants, carrying a unique chill that burned like fire as it slid down his throat.
Refreshing. Throne wiped the corner of his mouth. How long had it been since he'd tasted liquor this strong? The merchants laughed, and Boc poured him another cup. "Young brother, you're not old, but you look like you've been through enough to handle such strong drink." "In The Lands Between, who hasn't been through enough to survive?" Throne swirled his cup. Seeing the merchants grow somber, he laughed lightly. "Enough of that. I'm here to buy. Got anything?"
"Just name it. We might not match the big caravans in scale, but we've got plenty of curiosities." Boc thumped his chest. It was rare to see a citizen of the Golden Order ignore the oracle and drink with their kind. "First, I want a Sacred Seal." Throne's request was unusual. A Sacred Seal was a medium for Incantations, tied to sects and useless to ordinary people.
The merchants didn't ask questions. One who'd set up outside Leyndell claimed to have an Erdtree Seal—a palm-sized golden cross stained with dark red blood. He said he'd found it on a battlefield. 'Not bad luck.' Throne rubbed the cross, impressed the merchants could get their hands on something so rare. Confirming the item was genuine, he shifted into full spending mode.
From obscure map fragments to vague intelligence, from Sleep Pots to Poisonbone Darts, from Holyproof Livers to Silver-Pickled Fowl Feet, he bought a mountain of oddities, even a bottle of Scarlet Grease. The item had passed through countless hands, said to be refined from a certain lake. Since it was unusable, it sold cheap. Throne spent most of the Runes he'd swindled from Stormveil before reluctantly ending his spree, packing everything into a box.
"Young brother, you've got a sharp eye. The things you picked are actually useful." Boc looked at Throne with admiration. Merchants had a knack for mixing junk with treasures, things most couldn't distinguish. A chipped piece of sculpture could be sold as an ancient relic at a high price. 'I've used these to skip who knows how many classes. Of course I'd recognize them.' Throne smiled but said nothing, only mentioning he'd read quite a few books.
With his purchases done, he had no interest in idle chatter. Just then, he spotted several large covered wagons passing by on the main road. He raised his hand and called out.