"General, our intelligence confirms Malenia has no interest in the throne. Her presence in Caelid serves a different purpose." Radahn accepted an ale from a knight, passing a cup to Throne without lifting his gaze. "What purpose?"
"Miquella the Kind is missing."
Radahn's grin widened. "You don't think I took him, do you?" He didn't bother verifying the information. When Radagon had brought him to Leyndell, Malenia and her brother hadn't even existed. He'd watched them grow, known their hearts. The Valkyrie wasn't one to lust for power. This report carried weight.
"Of course not. Malenia likely believes the same. But whoever took Miquella is here, in Caelid."
"Is this another tidbit from your organization?" Radahn's demeanor shifted, a flicker of seriousness crossing his face.
Throne hesitated. He couldn't deceive Malenia, but cloaked in the guise of this mysterious group, he clenched his teeth and nodded. "Yes. I believe there's a plot to pit you against her. Ending this war is the surest way to prevent the Scarlet Flower from blooming."
He watched Radahn's expression, saw the General's attention hadn't wavered, and pressed further. "You and Malenia could speak, clear the air, and use this time to find Miquella. Return her brother, and the Haligtree Army might withdraw."
Radahn laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. "Well said. Ogha, send men to uncover who dares frame me." Throne blinked, momentarily stunned. Had it worked? Was Radahn truly so receptive?
But before his relief could settle, Radahn slammed his cup down. The sharp crack echoed through the room. Throne's muscles tensed, expecting guards to storm in. Instead, Radahn leaned back, rubbing his chin with a teasing smirk. "Didn't peg you for a pacifist."
"I just want to avoid needless bloodshed."
"War brings only pain. Those who revel in slaughter aren't heroes." Radahn's tone softened briefly, but then he straightened, his gaze hardening. "Miquella will be returned, but this war must still be fought."
Throne's momentary joy evaporated. "Why? This war is a gamble. Can you truly defeat Malenia?"
"No. She's a genius. If she seeks to break the seal, I can't stop her."
"Then you don't trust her?"
"A little. Placing hope in a rival is folly."
"A little? Then why?"
Radahn rose, his voice weary but firm. "Duty demands it. As a Golden Lord, I know this cannot drag on. The Erdtree needs a King to restore order."
"The Elden Ring is shattered. The Lands Between crumbles by the day."
"This war could worsen it," Throne argued.
"Who knows what the future holds?" Radahn cut him off with a wave, his fist clenching. "Malenia pursues her path; I fulfill my duty. As a warrior, I won't retreat, no matter the cost."
Throne opened his mouth, smiled bitterly, and said, "You are truly stubborn." He thought even if he showed Radahn the truth, the man wouldn't falter. He'd dissect it, frame by frame, striving to do better. Radahn understood Malenia's desires, but he wouldn't stake his hopes on the Haligtree Army's retreat.
The throne isn't won with words. It's built on piles of corpses. "In private matters, neither Malenia nor I have the final say. Little brother Throne, you don't think demigods are supreme, do you?" Throne's pupils narrowed. A question surfaced, one that had haunted countless scholars.
"Who could penetrate the Haligtree and take Miquella? Not me. Not Morgott. You said someone wants Malenia and me to fight to the end—" Radahn's voice cut through the air, blunt and unflinching. His gaze bore into Throne. "Do you think those behind it could be insects or Primeval Sorcerers?"
Malenia and I might trust each other, but that trust means nothing to higher powers. The Elden Ring remains shattered. Choosing a King, despite the risks, offers better odds." Throne stayed silent. His gaze fixed forward, like that night, when he saw an unseen player on a vast chessboard.
It moved without expression, without feeling, placing pieces mechanically. Its voice echoed coldly:
Restore the Elden Ring at any cost. Let the Golden Order endure forever. For this, any risk is acceptable. Even if the land is defiled, hundreds of thousands turn to monsters, and the demigods become sacrifices—it's just a failed attempt.
As long as the goal is achieved, disasters can happen endlessly. Any existence can be sacrificed. This is ultimate rationality, cold calculations leading to a reasonable outcome. Who bears the risk? The gods don't care.
Radahn spoke plainly, dismissing the so-called taboos. His confidence shone through. He loathed riddles and cared little for what Throne might infer. In the Lands Between, without power, even prophecy is worthless. "You understand now. Some wills can't be bent by mortal hands.
Prepare for the decisive battle." Throne's gaze remained cool. He didn't bite. "So, you've accepted this?" He knew Ranni hadn't. That's why she joined the Night of the Black Knives—to defy the Greater Will. "Acceptance isn't the question. I'm loyal to who I am. No one forces me."
Radahn spread his arms, his voice brimming with resolve. "As a warrior, as a lord, I fulfill my obligations. That's what makes a King. A hero." Radahn wasn't some commoner. Talking about fate being in his hands was absurd. He was a Golden Lord, protector of the Golden Order, general to Caelid's countless souls.
Lonely lies the crown. To cast it all aside for fleeting freedom would be betrayal. But he wasn't a puppet. His will was his own, or Throne's head would've rolled. "Each path is different. Each mission unique. Do you grasp that?" "I do.
Your pursuits are built upon your obligations." Throne nodded, abandoning any thought of persuasion. Such a will was unyielding. Words wouldn't move him. Whether it was resolve or stubbornness, Radahn wouldn't falter. This was the weight of the Greater Will, the burden of the Lands Between, or perhaps the essence of a King.
"Since you've chosen to fight, I'll find a way to mitigate the risks." "That's your concern. If you need assistance, seek out Ogha." Radahn waved a hand, his tone dismissive.
"As for you and me, there's still a debt to settle." "A debt? What debt?" "You've forgotten again. I, Radahn, always repay favors. You aided greatly with Sellia. Name your request." He remembered? Throne paused. After their earlier exchange, he knew Radahn wasn't one for subtleties.
He considered briefly. "I want to learn Gravity Magic." The request caught Radahn off guard. Warriors typically asked for weapons, Runes, or secrets—rarely magic. Gravity Magic was scarce and coveted in The Lands Between, but Radahn wasn't one to retract his word.
"Are you certain? Gravity Magic is no trifle. I'd suggest an Ash of War—something you can wield immediately." "That's too simple. It wouldn't truly be my own power." Radahn laughed, a deep, rumbling sound.
"You've got spine. Knowledge held in one's own hands is the only security, eh?" He studied Throne with approval, then slapped his thigh. "Very well, I grant it!" He reached into his chest and pulled out a leather-bound notebook. In his massive hands, it looked no larger than a palm, but to an ordinary person, it would've been thick and heavy. After a moment's thought, he tore out a few pages.
"These are some of my insights. Start with them. The rest is… formidable.
You might crush yourself. Return once you've mastered these." Throne couldn't ask for more. Radahn didn't know he had two master sorcerers at his side, already treating him as a prodigy. He accepted the pages with both hands, glanced at the dense charts and text, and tucked them into his pocket.
"Thank you, General." "Don't thank me. Unpaid debts unsettle me. A word of caution: power is merely a ladder. Don't lose sight of your purpose." Radahn stood, stretching his chest.
"Now, are you staying or leaving?" Throne, still elated, blinked. "Is there more?" Radahn didn't use Gravity Magic. He hoisted a five-meter stone pillar with one hand, balancing it on his shoulder like a laborer. "Need you ask? Of course, you're helping."
By evening, Throne dragged himself back to the inn, exhausted. He didn't know how it happened, but he'd spent the entire day hauling logs, stone pillars, bricks, and tiles. From Night Sorcerers to Redmane Knights, everyone worked tirelessly to rebuild the town. With the Starscourge himself leading the effort, who dared slack? The ruined structures rose anew, one by one.
Even Throne, whose stamina matched any knight's, was spent. Working under the Starscourge is no joke.
He pushed open the door, glanced at the Pot Person snoozing on the balcony, and collapsed onto the bed, too weary to move. His once-magnificent armor was caked in dust; the noble knights were indistinguishable from common laborers.
Yet no one complained. How could they, when a demigod worked alongside them, hauling heavy logs, chanting rhythmic tunes, drinking ale from massive cups, and clapping shoulders in camaraderie? Whenever someone faltered, Radahn stepped in, laughing. "Can't keep up?"
Then go take a rest; I'll do it." Having such a hands-on leader was both happiness and pain. As a man's self-esteem, one had to grit their teeth and persevere. I'm exhausted... Throne didn't want to move a finger. Radahn was terrifying. He had intended to slack off but had unknowingly used all his strength, and through the chats during breaks, this had become a daily routine.
It wasn't an act; the Starscourge had always led by example, just like the famous saying:
If a commander doesn't go to the front line to fight, how can they understand the hardships and pain of the soldiers? "Sigh, brother is still the same as before, always leading from the front, always disregarding his status to meddle in affairs." A sigh sounded in his mind.
Ranni had watched the whole process today, just without speaking. "Was he like this before too?" Throne asked curiously. "Mm, when we were in Leyndell, he often went on patrols with the guards and was criticized by the cathedral priests for not acting like a demigod. Rykard and I went to persuade him, but we ended up being dragged into doing work for no reason.
Hmph, I just wanted to stay in the palace and read." Ranni's gaze was distant, as if she saw three half-grown red-haired children under the resplendent Erdtree, gritting their teeth as they dragged a giant cart, only to be snickered at by the nobles.
If anyone laughed out loud, the strongest boy would flush red and rush up to beat them, while the girl would hesitate for a moment before grumbling and helping, and the other boy would quietly return to the palace to fetch reinforcements. "That must have been a beautiful memory." Throne said out of the blue.
The smile on Ranni's lips faded, and her tone returned to being cold: "That was all in the past. The three of us siblings have long since gone our separate ways. Radahn decided to follow Father's path, and Rykard..." She stopped there; the princess did not want to mention the other brother. "Beautiful things will never change, even if there is fratricide." Throne sighed.
If the Radahn siblings were just ordinary people, it would be fine, but unfortunately, they were powerful demigods. Silence followed for a long while. After a long time, Ranni sighed: "Aren't you going to try and stir things up?" "I have no qualification to participate in the affairs between you siblings. Or rather, both you and Radahn are people of firm mind, so I don't need to waste my breath.
If that day really comes—"
"What would you do?" This time it was Ranni's turn to be curious. Throne smiled, his tone as firm as steel: "Of course, I would do my utmost to defeat him. That is the highest respect for a hero." Just as Radahn said, everyone's path is different. Forcing someone to twist their stance and ideals—that arrogance itself is a blasphemy.
As if there was a delay in the conversation, the voice was silent for a moment, and then a pleasant, light laugh sounded in Throne's mind. "Boastful. Radahn could suppress you with one finger, but I am happy that you still hold awe and respect." Ranni smiled.
Actually, Throne could have turned around and persuaded her to give up, but if he had really said that, their relationship would have plummeted to freezing point. "That is because you, Malenia, and Radahn are all worthy of my respect." Throne said a heartfelt truth; not everyone was worth him treating with emotion. He narrowed his eyes slightly, looking at the cracked ceiling, his heart pounding.
The decisive battle is in ten days.
After the formal meeting during the day, the 'best strategy' Throne wanted to implement had been declared a failure. General Radahn had already made his decision, and he would never change it. Excessive entanglement would only risk falling out. Indeed, this family was full of inflexible, ruthless people and stubborn bulls.
Radagon clawed desperately at loyalty to the Golden Order, a dog begging for scraps. Rennala crumbled from warrior queen to broken shadow, her mind fracturing like shattered glass. The siblings carried their parents' legacy—not in crowns or swords, but in the sharp edges of their choices. One carved freedom from their own flesh. Another charged headlong into fire to forge heroism. Even Rykard, whom Throne had never met, bore the mark of cold-blooded resolve.
Ideals demand sacrifice. Everything becomes kindling for the pyre. Steel-hearts like these don't bend to pretty words. Throne had exhausted diplomacy. Now, the middle path remained. His eyes snapped open. Last night's rest settled like fresh snow, crisp and clear. This fight wouldn't come to him—he'd have to ignite it himself.