Radahn glanced at his stern adjutant, using a laugh to mask his embarrassment: "Stop nagging! What kind of man doesn't drink? Alright, alright, let's look at the next one."
He didn't want to be lectured any further, so he simply pulled out another report, which was likewise not good news.
"Those Tarnished have attacked the town."
"Bloody Fingers?"
"Who else would have the guts?"
Radahn said in a muffled voice, crushing his cup in annoyance. "Ever since I fell into a slumber for a few years, why have all these bastards started popping up?"
The Redmane had very little information on the Bloody Fingers, knowing only that they were backed by the 'Mohgwyn Dynasty' and were slaughtering their own kind on a massive scale.
It didn't matter if Tarnished killed Tarnished, but these Bloody Fingers would occasionally go mad and slaughter villages. They were clearly enemies of the Erdtree and certainly didn't look like they had come to forge an alliance.
"Judging by their activity patterns, these bastards must have a stronghold somewhere in Caelid. How have we had no leads for years?"
"The Bloody Fingers act craftily, and we haven't been able to capture a single one alive. This is my dereliction of duty."
"Enough, don't look so dejected. If they dare to attack the Smoldering Church, they must have a plan. We'll take care of them all this time."
Radahn waved his thick arm. He had plenty of troubles already, and little Caelid was enough to keep him busy.
He subconsciously glanced at the map hanging on the wall. The Ancient Dragons to the north went without saying, and there were even more entities out there. Yet, the administrative system he had spent so much effort building was already riddled with holes.
"Our main focus must still be on the Flying Dragons. Any recent developments?"
"A Magma Wyrm was discovered near the Smoldering Church."
"Just one of those pathetic dragon hunters, right? Anything special about it?"
Radahn pulled out a new cup and snapped his fingers; the flagon flew up automatically to refill it.
"No. It's already dead. A warrior participating in the festival killed it."
"Oh? Interesting."
Radahn's hand paused as he held the cup. This was within his plans.
"These people who crave Dragon Communion usually appear to hunt Ancient Dragons. Could it be that they were discovered while crossing the canyon?"
Those who pursue Dragon Communion are far from being dragon-slaying heroes, because they eventually turn into 'dragons' themselves, even more feral than the Flying Dragons.
"No, the battle took place inside the town."
Ogha's answer made Radahn's pupils constrict. He looked rugged, but he was actually meticulous, and he immediately felt something was wrong.
"If I recall correctly, these people don't approach towns. Even if they occasionally enter, they aren't interested in anything other than dragons."
"Yes, but we cannot rule out conflicts arising from other matters."
This explanation was barely acceptable.
Radahn looked at the intelligence sent from the Smoldering Church and cursed Jerren for being an idiot who clearly didn't take it to heart. His gaze lingered only on the end.
"That Flowing Swordsman? He barely has a reason to come to Caelid, but why would he take action? Oh, so he took on my most difficult task."
Radahn tugged at his beard.
Logically, everything made sense, but the strong usually rely on intuition.
"Powerful strength, sword skills like flowing water... it always reminds me of some things from the past."
Ogha thought he was talking about Malenia, so he shook his head and said, "This person crossed the canyon to the Flying Dragon territory; he might not come back."
"He will definitely return. We'll meet eventually."
Radahn tossed the document aside, his devil-may-care grin never faltering. He pushed back from the table, massive frame settling as his chaotic thoughts stilled.
"Flying Dragons can't escape time's erosion. That mother dragon's entering her final days. If she wants to make a move, this is her last chance."
"You held the festival."
Ogha nodded, though his own plan would've been more secure.
"She's an old rival. Her strength once matched mine."
Radahn's voice carried the weight of legend.
"A hero deserves a grand finale."
Ogha opened his mouth to speak, but Radahn cut him off with a glance.
"My brain's not rotted yet. Everything's arranged."
"General, there's risk they might unite against us."
"So? Am I leading troops north or marching you all into a poison swamp?"
Radahn's laugh shook the table as he crossed his tree-trunk arms.
"Ogha, did war teach you nothing? Let them come. I'll be waiting right here."
Absolute confidence laced with cunning. Ogha fell silent. The Starscourge General had clearly prepared something spectacular. Still, Ogha delivered one final report before leaving.
"General—'they've' disappeared from the Divine Tower."
Radahn paused. Those shadowy figures had lurked around the tower for years, their purpose unknown. Powerful enough that with the Flying Dragons blocking the way, he'd never spared the effort to root them out. Not that it mattered—they'd been there before he came to Caelid. Peaceful all these years. Watching sufficed.
"Leave them. Mysterious bastards, probably tied to some power we don't need to provoke. They won't ally with the others."
Radahn waved a dismissive hand, then pointed at the cup before him.
"I set one table. Three groups came to feast. This meal's half-cooked."
The Starscourge General's focus sharpened like a blade being drawn. His growl shook the tent.
"Half-cooked or not, I'll devour every scrap!"
Throne guided his horse along the canyon's edge, riding south. Only a fool would underestimate Radahn—the Starscourge General's mind remained as sharp as his blades. Whatever happened next, the man would have plans within plans. That knowledge gnawed at Throne. What should've been simple kept tangling into complexity. If only he could split himself in two, advancing all his schemes at once. 'One man can't be everywhere.' He exhaled through his nose. 'Find Alexander first. Complete the immediate goal.' The realization loosened something in his chest. Even if he did nothing about the other matters, Radahn would still tear his hair out. Might as well finish his own business. The Flowing Swordsman—he'd chosen the avatar without much thought. Now fate seemed to be weaving its own patterns. Fine by him. The dragons would be on high alert. Perfect conditions for visiting an old... acquaintance. Torrent's pace slowed. The terrain grew jagged ahead, skeletal trees rising from the earth. Their bark peeled in gray-white strips, branches bare except for bulbous tumors. A putrid stench rolled over them. The spirit steed snorted, tossing its head. Throne stroked the creature's head, then moved forward. The highland rose before him. He halted his horse and surveyed the landscape. In the distance, the forests rolled like waves, but the trees were bare, their twisted branches clawing at the sky like grotesque hands. It felt like entering another world. The Redmane was no wealthy tycoon. The Smoldering Wall held firm on the east, west, and south, containing the rot's spread. The north, with its rolling hills and absence of life, was left untouched for now.
"Rot erosion. These mushrooms are vile."
Even the playful dragon frowned. Rot was not death. Death commanded respect; rot only disgusted.
"Hmm, truly disgusting."
Throne nodded. No one could stomach those pustules and tumors. He closed his eyes, sensing the air. The rot's aura didn't touch him. Strength was resistance. A powerhouse like Radahn wouldn't fall to ordinary Scarlet Rot, even drenched in it. The real challenge lay in clearing it. Throne hadn't seen any Fire Monks here. In The Lands Between, recovery was the only defense.
"These things are a nuisance. Have you faced them before?"
Lansseax didn't answer directly. She smacked her lips.
"They taste awful. Made me vomit for days."
You ate the Kindred of Rot? Throne stared, impressed. A true warrior. He dismissed Torrent and walked forward. Two mountains stood between him and the swamp. Night had fallen, and rushing into the poison-riddled mire made no sense.
"They'll head for the swamp. We'll track them tomorrow."
"Are you sure?"
"Trust me. Even as allies, they wouldn't let these filth invade their home."
Throne waved a hand. The Kindred of Rot weren't fierce, but the Scarlet Rot was a plague. Below the hill stood a wooden hut, likely a hunter's refuge long abandoned. Tumors sprouted from the planks. Throne slashed them away in disgust, finding a clean corner to rest against the wall. His mind was empty now, indifferent even to Lansseax's curiosity. The Flying Dragons hadn't arrived, but he was already at the Kindred of Rot's doorstep. All that remained was simple—find them, kill them. Woo-woo—The night wind howled through the cracks, a ghostly lament. The air reeked, sour and pungent, like an open can of surströmming left to fester. Throne gagged, opening his eyes.
"Damn it, every last one of them deserves to die!"
He'd planned to enter the Asura state, silent and focused on slaughter, but the stench was unbearable. No wonder rot thrived. Even the strongest couldn't endure this torment. If Throne didn't need to press on, he'd have detoured long ago.
"Heh, let's see how long you last." Lansseax laughed, amused.
"I can't enter the state because of this. Can't you smell it?"
Throne turned to her. The dragoness had plugged her nose with wooden stopples; her voice was muffled. Of course. A creature of her age knew better. Why hadn't he noticed the stench before? He turned his head back and forth, wanting to find something similar, and then raised his hand, catching something the dragon lady threw at him. He opened his hand to see a pair of wooden stoppers.
"Thanks."
Throne quickly plugged his nose and breathed through his mouth a few times before he could catch his breath. Speaking of which, this aura of rot wasn't just simple foulness; an ordinary person staying here wouldn't last a few days before falling severely ill and dying. Even powerful beings like Throne and Lansseax were forced into a comical situation. No stern swordsman would plug his nose with wooden stoppers, so Throne simply couldn't be bothered to look for the feeling anymore. He asked in a muffled voice: "Since I can't sleep anyway, tell me some stories."
"Stories about the God of Rot?"
"Yes, consider it gathering intelligence."
Throne nodded. The dragon lady had many uses, and this wealth of life experience was one of them. Lansseax thought for a moment, her smile fading inadvertently. Only when she talked about the past did she give off the sense of an Ancient Dragon's vicissitudes.
"The God of Rot came from the outside world and survived for many years, and was also besieged for many years. At its peak, its influence spread throughout the Ainsel River. That was its divine kingdom, a region where the living could not set foot."
"Hmm, and then it failed?"
"The deity fell, and the remnants were sealed deep in the Ainsel River. A swordsman played a key role; he was blessed by a fairy and defeated the God of Rot. Speaking of which, I have a poem here; do you want to hear it?"
Throne immediately assumed a listening posture, and Lansseax opened her mouth, her voice as melodious as flowing water. Rot takes hold, living beings suffer. Flowing water twists, the deity falls. The rot vanishes today, tomorrow diseased trees sprout. All things cycle endlessly, the foul stench never returns. Throne already had a sufficient understanding of poetry, and he had quite a vivid image in his mind: in a time of crisis, a swordsman stepped forward and, together with his companions, sealed away the rot. That posture was undoubtedly that of a hero. This was another protagonist. In any case, Throne didn't dare to imagine how strong the Kindred of Rot were at their peak.
"Speaking of which, how did this rot come back? And why did it end up on Malenia?"
"Do you remember the last line of the poem? Only stagnation brings rot, and rot will never be eradicated. As for the Valkyrie? She was just too suitable."
Throne pondered for a moment and finally understood. As long as The Lands Between continued to develop, the God of Rot would never return. But the Erdtree imprisoned life and death, stagnated the stars, and turned The Lands Between into a stagnant pool, so the God of Rot naturally appeared. Rot cannot be eradicated, but like mushrooms, it must find a host. And an entity of this level certainly wouldn't find just any Tom, Dick, or Harry to parasitize; a demigod like Malenia was naturally the best candidate. The cause and effect were all connected. Throne nodded solemnly; he finally knew the story behind the rot.
"I find you quite useful. As an eyewitness, you are more comprehensive than scholars' books."
"Who do you think I am? I know plenty more." Lansseax finally smiled. She didn't mind sharing past experiences and couldn't help but get interested.
"The twilight elegy of the gods' chaotic war, the world-destroying catastrophe of the Ancient Dragon War, the brilliant civilization of the Star and Moon era—oh, and the painful roars of the giants' extinction. Which one do you want to hear?"
"Not for now. The guests are here."
Throne raised his hand. He could hear whimpering mixed in the wind, as well as light footsteps.
"I forgot, the living always attract rot." Lansseax tapped her head lightly and asked with a smile: "Do you want my help?"
Why are you so eager... Throne was a bit uncomfortable, and even less reassured by this fun-loving dragon.
"Leave professional matters to the professionals." His fingers snapped. Melina materialized at his side, her raised eyebrow asking the question her lips didn't: Remember me now? Throne unsheathed Moonveil in one fluid motion, rising to his feet.
"Just us two. Keep it quiet."
Stealth was his trade. These were just infected strays.
"Melina—scout for Kindred of Rot. Make it clean."
"Okay."
The girl vanished mid-leap without another word. Throne tracked the approaching whimpers, raising his sword parallel to the wall. His left palm grazed the blade—Moonveil dissolved into Unseen Form. Empty air filled his grip. Then—Bang. The wall exploded inward. A gaunt, pustule-covered Rotten Stray hadn't even realized what was happening before its body split clean down the middle.