Radahn's schedule was clear today. He stood fully armored, deep in conversation with Ogha. Throne stepped onto the plaza and immediately spotted the two black-robed Death Hunters flanking the general. So, they'd actually come. His fist clenched briefly before he forced his muscles to relax. He bowed to Radahn. "General, the preparations are complete. From the southern mountains of Sellia to the Northern Boulevard, everything is—"
"No need for details. I trust your work." Radahn's rugged face broke into a smile as he gestured casually toward the hunters. "You've arrived at the right moment. These two Death Hunters have some questions for you. That won't be an issue, will it?"
"Of course not. I'm equally curious why Death Hunters would involve themselves in this war." Throne's nod was measured, his mind already rehearsing the conversation.
"It's sudden, I admit, but we have our orders. No offense intended." The hunter stepped forward, smiling. "I've just spoken with Lord Radahn. You only joined the Redmane Army a few days ago, correct?"
"Not joined. Assisting. As for my mission, that's none of your concern." Throne glanced at Radahn, who was now absorbed in discussing strategy with Ogha, paying them no mind.
"Highly classified, then?"
"Yes. It concerns the future of Caelid—and the Lands Between."
"Impressive." The hunter whistled and began circling Throne. "I heard your swordsmanship is exceptional. Care to explain?"
"Partly training. Partly the guidance of a swordsman whose blade moved like flowing water—winding, swift, penetrating." Throne answered before the hunter could press further. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ogha frown. Clearly, the man was overthinking it. A blade like flowing water? Could it really be that legendary figure?
Wait. There had been reports of Scarlet Rot kin appearing recently. Was that why he was here? The hunter's thoughts drifted to an ancient legend. Everything seemed logical, yet something felt off—too convenient.
Not too early, not too late. The target enters Caelid, and this man appears, hunting Scarlet Rot kin while stumbling into a conspiracy. Trying to poke holes in my story? Good luck. Throne and the hunter exchanged faint smiles before the latter spoke again. "I investigated Cheka Village. You have a Warrior Jar and demi-human servants, don't you?"
They'd already been to Cheka Village? Throne nodded calmly. "Yes, but they've moved on. They have their own mission and are no longer in Sellia. Is that a problem?"
"Not at all. It's just that the target we're tracking also has a Warrior Jar following them." The hunter snapped his fingers, his tone flippant. "Pot People leave distinctive footprints. And we had a companion whose corpse went missing—likely devoured by a Pot Person."
The remark carried a subtle malice. Throne's eyes narrowed. Peers were often rivals, and Death Hunters were proving to be his natural enemies. In just half a month, they'd not only caught up but uncovered clues. This one was sharper than A.
"What are you implying?"
"Nothing specific. But certain matters require you to prove your innocence—or perhaps accompany us for a brief trip. It's not far. If everything checks out, I'll personally escort you back."
Throne's anger flared, but the hunter raised a hand, his smile ingratiating.
"Of course, I wouldn't ask you to go empty-handed. A substantial compensation is guaranteed. If that's not enough, how about I throw in these two hands as well?"
Throne's gaze turned icy. He couldn't prove his innocence—he'd infiltrated Caelid, after all.
An investigation would be simple—check the entry records at Redmane Camp. But going north with them? Impossible. Only the Throne knew what lurked there. Facing the Beast Clergyman up close? He couldn't risk exposure. Their reflexes were too sharp—no time for decoys, no room for misdirection.
Gael Tunnel. Cheka Village. Sellia. The path was too obvious, the flaws too glaring.
"Enough." Radahn's voice cut through the air like a whetstone on steel. He rose from the log where he'd been discussing strategy, his gaze locking onto the hunter whose smile had vanished. "He works for me now. When would he have time for your little excursion?"
The hunter's brow furrowed. He gave a stiff bow. "You know what this means for the Lands Between. The Clergyman called it equal to the Shattering." A being that devoured the dead—there were layers here, depths to plumb. And Radahn had known for a while.
"I know. But it waits until after the battle."
The hunter stiffened. Ogha, the adjutant, clenched his fists. The Throne's identity reeked of deception. But before they could protest, Radahn snatched a letter from a guard and brandished it. "Malenia marches!"
The war horns howled.
Stormveil shuddered under their mournful cry. Below Stormhill, the sunset painted slaughter in gold. Haligtree banners whipped in the gale. Blades, spears, armor—all molten in the dying light. Eighteen golems stood like siege towers, flanked by hundreds of knights in plate so thick it turned them into moving fortresses.
Rapiers. Scythes. Tower shields and greatswords. Warriors from every corner of the Lands Between stood united under the Haligtree sigil. Their armor creaked like a chorus of grinding teeth. They grinned—not smiles, but the bared teeth of wolves scenting blood. The poets among them already composed victory hymns in their minds. The spectacle was too vast, too terrible.
Eight thousand soldiers. Six hundred knights. Supply trains snaking from Stormveil's gates through the valley, swallowing the earth whole. A flood of steel, unstoppable, inevitable. Even the lowliest footman wore full mail, backs straight, eyes bright.
This war machine had crossed continents. A month's rest had honed it to a razor's edge. Now it woke—a beast unshackled, hunger fixed on the east. Such might. Such precision. And at its helm, one of the greatest commanders alive. Who would dare stand against it?
Hoofbeats. Fast, rhythmic.
Malenia's white stallion crested Stormhill. The view from here stole breath. The sunset gilded ten thousand upturned faces, ten thousand pairs of eyes fixed on the Valkyrie's flame-red hair.
As one, they stamped. As one, fists struck breastplates.
Boom.
The sound drowned the storm. Golden weapons gleamed. Iron-shod horses pawed the earth. Their roar shook the heavens.
Anyone seeing this scene would likely be so excited their scalp would prickle. Malenia didn't blink. Her golden gaze swept the ranks. This army could carve a path to the Elden Throne. But that wasn't her ambition. The hoofbeats grew louder. She turned her head, just slightly.
Finlay galloped through the storm, her golden ponytail slicing the wind. Her face was carved from granite—unyielding, serious. "Your Highness, why keep Godrick behind in Stormveil? Leaving him there is a disaster waiting to happen."
"This battle will be bloody. I won't have a viper at my side."
Malenia's fingers traced the scar on her arm, the flesh marred by Scarlet Rot. Her voice was soft, almost to herself.
"I won't return without my brother."
The Valkyrie's words hung heavy in the air, a vow forged in iron. Finlay's grip tightened on the reins. She didn't offer empty comforts, didn't try to dissuade. Instead, she bowed her head. "I'll clear every obstacle in your path."
"I believe you will." Malenia's nod was firm, her trust unspoken but absolute.
Finlay hesitated, her brow furrowed. "Is there something else?" Malenia's voice cut through the storm.
"What are our chances of victory?"
The question lingered, sharp and unspoken between them. This wasn't like the Shattering—no holding back, no half-measures. Two demigods, each carrying the weight of their legacies, would collide with everything they had.
The Redmane held the advantage—home turf, greater numbers. But the Haligtree Army was a blade honed to perfection. The clash would be decided by the duel at its heart.
"I don't know. But like Radahn, I don't have the luxury of retreat."
Finlay's eyes dropped. "Have you prepared yourself, Your Highness?"
Malenia didn't answer.
Finlay didn't agree, but she respected the decision. She'd made her own choice, too. No matter the outcome, she'd drag Malenia back to the Haligtree—alive or dead.
There was something else, though. The Death Hunter's spies had come sniffing again. But under the weight of this battle, it was irrelevant. Bringing it up would only cloud Malenia's focus.
Finlay reached for the saddle, lifting the Valkyrie's helmet with both hands. "Your Highness, the army awaits your command."
Malenia took the helmet with her prosthetic arm, the golden metal gleaming in the stormlight. She placed it over her head, the red hair disappearing beneath its edge.
She tugged the reins, her white stallion rearing high. Her blade pointed east, a single word cutting through the storm.
"Caelid. Advance."
The Haligtree Army's march echoed across the Lands Between, a thunderclap that shook the world. The demigods watched—some relieved, some sneering, some indifferent.
Monsters and demons craned their necks, whispering curses and prayers. Let the two strongest destroy each other.
The civilians, numb and broken, saw no difference. One master replaced another. The golden order remained, unchanging as the Erdtree itself.
A few dared to hope. Let someone—anyone—clean up the mess.
Ten thousand soldiers moved east, a river of steel. But Caelid wasn't panicking.
Just as the Haligtree believed in Malenia's invincibility, Caelid believed in Radahn's. Throne felt no doom, no fear.
Everyone worked, steady and focused.
Caelid needs everyone to do their duty.
Standing on the ridge north of the swamp and looking west, one could see the massive Redmane camp being dismantled. Countless soldiers were moving the camp to the edge of the swamp, then erecting ten-meter-high thick log walls and watchtowers. It was clearly a temporary fortress. As he watched, he suddenly gave a self-deprecating laugh.
After going around in so many circles, the final moment had finally arrived. "Throne, let me out to get some air." Ranni finally spoke. She had said very little in the past two days; it was unclear whether she was tired of watching or plotting something. "Alright." Throne opened the cloth bag and took out the doll. Before he could speak, a majestic rebuke came. "How many times have I said it?
Do not use your hands!" "Oh." Throne placed it casually on a stone nearby. "Put it higher!" Why are you so demanding? Throne rolled his eyes, helplessly placing another stone on top of the first one. Now he had to look up to see the doll. "Are you satisfied now?" "Yes." Ranni was finally satisfied.
Truth be told, she had been avoiding a certain question:
When humiliation had become a daily occurrence, it seemed that no matter how high she sat, it could not restore the dignity of the Witch. Of course, Throne would not point this out.
Even with his emotional intelligence, he knew that if he said it, Ranni would surely be furious, so he prepared to protect her from below at any moment—
The wind on the hilltop was strong. If Her Highness were blown away, he would, of course, have to rush up to protect her immediately. Ranni, a thousand miles away, did not have this self-awareness.
With a wide view, she could take in the distant Redmane camp. After watching for a moment, she became puzzled. "Why did they dismantle the camp? Wouldn't it be better to defend at the border?" This question was a bit tricky. Throne was stunned and asked back in confusion: "Do you not understand warfare?" As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them.
Ranni certainly didn't know how to fight; otherwise, why would she be trapped in a corner of Liurnia, with all combat plans proposed by the Troll War Counselor Iji? Sure enough, the hilltop was silent for a moment before a response came: "I certainly know, but I wanted to hear your opinion." Pretend, keep pretending.
Throne chuckled inwardly, but he wouldn't miss this chance to show off, so he spoke eloquently: "The border is indeed narrow, and the camp is considered sturdy, but fighting a decisive battle against the Haligtree Army in that area is disadvantageous for the Redmane." "The Haligtree Army has numerous knights and cavalry. On flat terrain, the Redmane infantry simply cannot hold off the cavalry.
If they form a defensive formation, they will be blasted to smithereens by the giant golems. You must know that even a fortress as strong as Stormveil could not withstand the Haligtree Army's relentless attacks." Throne had been on both sides, so he considered himself to know both the enemy and himself.
If they fought head-on, the Haligtree Army would use golems and catapults for repeated bombardment, and after the formation was scattered, the heavy cavalry would charge—that would be a massacre. "Then where should the Redmane meet the battle?" Ranni gradually became engrossed, feeling a bit like when Iji analyzed military strategy for her. "The edge of the swamp.
Perhaps they will even feign defeat and retreat inside, then use the mud to slow down the cavalry's pace. That way, their numerical advantage can be utilized." Ranni thought for a moment, her tone filled with deep skepticism: "Malenia wouldn't be that stupid, would she? She wouldn't fail to see such a shallow strategy?" "The Valkyrie is experienced in battle, so of course she isn't stupid.
But the outcome of war depends on the right time, the right place, and the right people. Radahn occupies all three points." Throne licked his lips and continued:
Time favors Caelid. The Haligtree Army marches far from home, Malenia desperate to save her brother. Every day that passes tightens the noose around their necks.
"If I commanded Radahn's forces, I'd push our odds up ten percent." "Arrogant." Ranni's voice dripped ice. "You claim to surpass the Starscourge General?" "Not surpass. Just... dirtier. More adaptable."
Throne folded his arms, lips curling into something sharp. "I'd fall back to Redmane Castle. Dig in. Send out guerrilla units to bleed their supply lines dry. Let the land itself rise against them."
The Haligtree Army would have two choices: throw themselves against fortress walls or rot in a siege.
"When they're hollowed out, we strike. Break them. Then the hunters become butchers. How many do you think would make it home?" Ranni stayed quiet. The math was brutal—Redmane's island position made Stormveil look vulnerable. Radahn's name alone would rally the locals like a wildfire.
"You're vile. Thank the stars we've no cause to aid him." "That prideful bastard wouldn't listen anyway. War's a dance to him."
Throne stiffened as cavalry thundered down the road toward Limgrave—vanguard troops hungry for first blood. His face darkened. "This seals it. They'll fight to the last."
Two war machines in motion now. Nothing short of annihilation would stop them.
He tracked the riders until dust swallowed them, their numbers swelling past two hundred before vanishing into the horizon. The wind carried grit to his teeth when he finally spoke.
"Tell me, Your Highness—do you resent how I speak of Radahn? By Caria's rights, I should be slitting his throat, not weighing tactics to save him."
The words fell, but there was no response. After several seconds, a lukewarm question came back.