The long case shattered in his grip, revealing a fingernail-sized object. Gold gleamed on top, a ruby embedded at its center. The bottom burned crimson—fresh blood made solid.
The Tarnished inhaled sharply. Destined Death's agony had dulled to a bearable throb. He discarded the Blasphemous Claw. Both hands found his greatsword's hilt.
Throne stood immovable, golden eyes locked on his opponent.
"You think I won't stab you with another blade?"
"Precisely because I can't defeat you—everything must be cast aside."
"If you can't win, why fight?"
Bernahl's body coiled low. Storms churned beneath his boots. His gaze sharpened to a single lethal line where technique and will fused.
"While I still hold steel—why retreat?"
The air cracked.
He vanished. Wind arrived first—a sandblasting gale that scoured eyes shut.
"Good!"
Throne's blood ignited. Not since Radahn had he witnessed such fury. The Tarnished skimmed the earth like a skipping stone. Storm met tidal wave.
Damn. This burned.
Ecstasy seared his mind. Blood boiled in his veins. He crouched millimeter by millimeter. The ground fractured like dried clay.
"Of all warriors I've faced—in pure martial might—you stand supreme!"
Another detonation. Deeper.
Throne disappeared.
Mt. Gelmir's outskirts held their breath—then shattered under thunder.
Impact.
A meteor strike. A hundred-meter dust plume vomited skyward. Nearby soldiers caught the hurricane's edge. Bodies tumbled like dead leaves. Unluckier ones screamed into the abyss.
Spectating godslayers came with risks. No one moved to help. Every neck craned toward the settling cloud.
Two figures emerged entwined from a crater. Bernahl's greatsword screeched against the Royal Greatsword's edge. A crimson line opened beneath Throne's ribs. Blood pearls slid down steel.
Throne's palm—sheathed in azure crystal—hammered Bernahl's cuirass. Beast Champion armor crumpled inward. Metal fused with flesh.
Bernahl spat blood. Ribs snapped like kindling.
His vision swam. The mountain before him leaned close. A whisper grazed his ear:
"You've touched the Tarnished's peak. But for me—"
"Not enough."
The punch's echo still rolled through the valley. Throne's fist remained buried in Bernahl's caved chest.
One step back. That was all Bernahl had. He collapsed onto scorched earth, lungs heaving.
"You win."
The words scraped raw from his throat.
Throne studied him. Glanced at the dying embers clinging to his sword. The red-black flames had guttered out.
His gaze returned to Bernahl. Stronger than anticipated. That last strike held no restraint—pure killing intent. This man brushed against demigodhood. The Throne before Caelid might have fallen here.
But that still didn't reach the pinnacle. The so-called 'quasi-lord' could undoubtedly suppress ordinary demigods, but now, with everyone watching, he couldn't go in for the kill.
Throne's voice dripped arrogance. He tossed the greatsword—its Destined Death spent—into the dirt.
"Fought well."
He looked down from the heights.
"Now. The item. And everything you know."
Hardly had he finished speaking when he reached out and grabbed something that flew toward him. It looked like a small shield, filled with an indescribable aura. This was the Blasphemous Claw? Throne didn't know what it was forged from, but as long as it worked, that was enough.
Using the greatsword containing Destined Death was also an experiment; at least after Bernahl used it just now, it was indeed effective.
"And the information?"
"You want me to tell you now?"
"You aren't dying, and you can still speak."
Bernahl was speechless, so he had to continue in a hoarse voice: "Bishop Hughs, one of the three giants of the Church of the Two Fingers, has gone to the northern Haligtree, wanting to demand that Primeval Sorcerer. But that is just an excuse. All they want is that ownerless city. There is news that Leyndell is already assembling legions."
This was clearly related to Caria, and also carried a warning. However, Throne had already learned this news from Ranni, just not in such detail.
What three giants? Were they also experts who had disappeared into the river of history like Red Wave before the Tarnished arrived? That made sense; it would be strange if a dignified Church of the Two Fingers didn't have some powerhouses.
"Tell me about those three giants."
Bernahl looked deeply at this knight, waved his hand to make the approaching Recusants retreat, and struggled to stand up.
"You should know that possessing two great runes allows one to become an Elden Lord, but you don't know that in The Lands Between, great runes are not just possessed by these demigod lords."
"And of the Church's three giants, only two remain now."
So that was it. Lords must be demigods, but demigods are not necessarily lords. No wonder you could become a quasi-lord. Just you and Vyke together require four great runes; those lords wouldn't be enough to go around.
Throne's thoughts raced. Killing a bishop was much simpler than a lord.
This Greater Will wasn't too pitiless; having the lone Tarnished face lords with armies would be suicidal. This logic was much clearer now. Even a guy as scummy and weak as Godrick, if he hid inside Stormveil Castle, it would be impossible for him to kill him with his current strength.
"Good, this intelligence is very interesting. Go heal your wounds."
Bernahl leaned on his greatsword and slowly stood up. Seeing Throne, who had already turned to leave, he couldn't help but ask: "There are more experts in The Lands Between than you imagine. Even among the Tarnished, there are existences similar to me. How long can you keep going by force alone?"
This question was for him, and also for himself.
He had once thought that apart from a few existences, he was invincible, only to be beaten up by this knight who had suddenly appeared. As the words fell, Bernahl saw that person turn around, raise his hand, and clench his fist without hesitation.
"You must know, before us, there are absolutely no rivals!"
Bernahl's eyelid twitched.
He just stood there with a few Recusants, and it took a long time for him to come back to his senses. How arrogant!
"With such spirit, it makes one wonder who is the king of Caria, he or Ranni."
Above the volcano, Rykard was also watching. He had to come; half the reason for Bernahl's actions was their friendship.
In this way, not only did he see the strength limit of this chief knight, but the latter also lost a weapon that made demigods wary. Bernahl might lose out, but he, Rykard, definitely profited immensely.
"My lord, what do you think of this knight?"
Tanith stood by his side, rubbing her chest gently against Rykard's arm, her eyes full of love.
"Very strong, but not enough.
"Arrogance will be his downfall."
Rykard allowed her touch, indifferent since his merger with the Great Serpent had stripped him of mortal desires.
"But he's already pushing us."
He sneered.
"Men like him believe they control everything, that their strength can crush any threat. Yet he's no Radahn."
"Does he truly think demigod power reigns supreme in The Lands Between?"
Tanith's leg brushed against him, her movements deliberate. This calm, insatiable version of Rykard fascinated her.
"And what of Caria's retaliation? I've inquired—their power is vast, and that knight from before... he was... unusual."
Her words sparked Rykard's memory. That formidable knight had once defected to Volcano Manor, only to vanish inexplicably. He'd wanted to consume him, to absorb that strength, but failed. At least the knight hadn't returned for vengeance.
Still, Rykard puzzled over Caria's resurgence—destroying the Cuckoo, conquering Raya Lucaria Academy, forging alliances, and amassing an army of skilled warriors. His gaze fixed on the towering knight. The stronger the opponent, the hungrier he became, like a starved beast fixated on a scrap of meat guarded by lions.
Even as clarity slipped through his fingers, the Great Serpent's influence twisted him further.
"It doesn't matter," he murmured. "That knight's ties to Ranni are deeper than they appear. From what I know of her, she's calm on the surface but reckless when something she cares about is threatened. No matter the excuse, she'll come for answers."
"Morgott will hear of it and clash with her. When they're both weakened, I'll devour them and march on Leyndell. I'll consume the garrison, the Erdtree itself. My ambition will finally be realized!"
His body trembled with anticipation, the gnawing hunger impossible to ignore. If not for Throne's display of strength, he'd have acted long ago.
Sane men would flee from such monstrosity, but Tanith's obsession grew fiercer. As the ruler of Volcano Manor, she knew this path was inevitable. The lords prepared for war, the Tarnished claimed their territories, and their supply of... ingredients dwindled. Even if they consumed everyone within the manor, it wouldn't suffice. Once word spread, the lords would unite against the volcano. How would Rykard, still ravenous, withstand their assault?
"Only through devouring can we find hope. Only through greed can we attain blasphemy."
The thought weakened her knees. She pressed herself against Rykard's scaled back, her robe slipping away as her fingers traced his serpentine skin.
"My king," she whispered, her voice trembling with devotion. "Favor me. Let me bear a divine heir for you."
Throne paused at the mountain's base, Melina beside him. His sharp eyes caught the scene above. It was... unsettling, to say the least.
"Don't look," he muttered. Melina stood on her toes, curiosity piqued.
"What are they doing? I can't see—"
Throne tapped her head sharply, eliciting a glare. Tanith had never admired Rykard, not when he was consumed by ambition. But after the Great Serpent swallowed him whole, she fell into a mad, twisted love. Throne shook his head. Furries were terrifying. To forsake a true hero for a monster—it defied reason.
"I told you not to look. You like to learn so much, what if you learn something bad?"
Throne remained vigilant. This Melina had super learning ability; if she became a furry lover, wouldn't he be miserable? Oh, there was a Lansseax by his side.
Melina didn't know Throne's good intentions, remembering it hatefully in her heart, deciding to give him a taste of her own medicine when they were alone.
Throne didn't think too much, just walked slowly toward the manor, his mind non-stop recalling Bernahl's words. The latter only saw the Haligtree, but he thought of Sellen.
"I didn't expect Morgott to move so fast. If the Golden Army really went, those Cleanrot Knights definitely couldn't stop them, and that bishop named Hughs is very strong. I don't know if Teacher can break out."
He felt a bit of a headache. Who knew what Sellen was doing at the Haligtree? But based on her personality, it definitely wasn't just for simple refuge.
At this moment, he thought of the physician Ranni mentioned, and his heart skipped a beat. "She couldn't be researching Malenia, could she? Very possible. When it comes to courting death, how many people in The Lands Between can compare to a Primeval Sorcerer?"
Throne became agitated instantly. Looking at the castle and the sparse crowd in front of him, he had the urge to start a war right now, but he knew this was meaningless. He had to expose Rykard completely to people's eyes. Only then could he disrupt Morgott's plan and make him choose between the Haligtree and Mt. Gelmir.
As long as the Golden Army didn't go, the Haligtree, which needed Sellen, could hold on until he could free up his hands.
"Just taking Sellen away is meaningless. I cannot let Morgott swallow the Haligtree, otherwise, Caria will be gone, and the ending will be equally tragic."
He saw Rya, who was peeking from afar, forced his heartbeat to calm down, and pursed his lips at Melina: "Go, call her, let's go for a walk nearby."
You just pick on me, right. Melina gritted her teeth. Considering Throne's persona, she had to walk forward sullenly. A few steps later, she turned back.
"By the way, what did that Tarnished tell you?"
Your network latency is really high. As long as my brain turns slowly enough, no one can keep up with my thinking, right. Throne almost didn't react. He didn't speak, just reached out and pointed to the northeast.
Melina was stunned for a long time before she knew where he was pointing, and tilted her head suspiciously: "Are you sure you're not going?"
"No rush, there is still time."
Throne appeared very calm. Melina stared at him for a few seconds, revealed a smile, and said a sentence that made his blood pressure soar.
"Hehe, so you are also a rebellious disciple."
Town of the Haligtree, Elphael. After the king was gone, the long-silent knights had put on their armor again, holding swords and spears, standing straight in various places. This town, built against the tree, was intricate, like a maze. The roads formed by the tree trunks were very narrow; only a few squads of archers standing on high ground were needed to shoot all invading enemies.
It could be said that if Malenia hadn't led the troops on an expedition back then, no one could have broken in. Unfortunately, history has no ifs. This unique majestic city had long become a land without a king. Fortunately, the remaining knights still performed their duties loyally.
They looked toward the square from time to time, seeing a group of surviving high-level figures discussing. Looking toward the snowy town outside, a convoy of over a hundred people was parked on the road. They were flying the flag of the Church of the Two Fingers. The guards were stomping their feet in the snow to keep warm, and from time to time, they looked toward this side with resentful eyes, seemingly cursing something.
However, the Haligtree Army pretended not to hear. The door was barred by knights, their spears crossed in an unyielding X. No one entered without orders. Townsfolk lingered nearby, watching with curiosity but little reverence.
The Haligtree might have sprung from the Erdtree, but they weren't the same. Leyndell ruled with an iron fist; here, under Miquella's guidance, tolerance prevailed. The Church and its envoys mattered little to them. Yet without the demigod's word, resistance wasn't an option.
The standoff dragged on. The guards kept glancing toward the town square. Though there was no king, heroes held sway.
Finlay, leader of the Cleanrot Knights, stood tall and unflinching. Her emerald gaze swept the room: Niall, commander of the Banished Knights; Marais, lord of The Shaded Castle; O'Neil, general of the Haligtree Army; and Loretta, commander of the Royal Knights.
With Malenia and Miquella nearly inseparable, military decisions in Elphael fell to the Valkyrie's lineage. O'Neil and Loretta rarely spoke their minds.