The expedition ten years ago left them battered and broken. Only after retreating to the Haligtree did they begin to recover. Marais, however, was an anomaly. He'd moved his entire family to Elphael, swearing to dedicate his life to protecting the slumbering Valkyrie. Extreme bootlicking, though baffling, could still command a grudging respect.
The gathered warriors, survivors of countless battles, skipped the pleasantries. ONeil, the eldest and most neutral among them, licked his lips.
"The Bishop of the Two Fingers is outside, demanding we hand her over for the third time. What's our response?"
"Hand her over. She's just a Primeval Sorcerer. I don't see why we're protecting her so desperately."
Niall leaned forward, his prosthetic leg tapping the floor. He addressed Finlay directly.
"You don't realize this will plunge Elphael into crisis. Until Her Highness wakes, every decision we make is wrong."
Finlay, the Haligtree's most formidable hero, a being verging on demigodhood, had spent the past decade in silence. Her sole intervention had brought nothing but trouble. It wasn't personal, but her eyelid twitched. She brushed aside a strand of golden hair.
"Her existence is necessary for Her Highness to wake."
"And the results?"
"There's progress, but it takes time."
The female knight leaned on her greatsword, her face unreadable.
"If I recall correctly, it's been years, Lady Finlay. I understand your feelings, but keeping her isn't just about waking Her Highness, is it?"
Niall's gaze didn't waver. He wasn't letting her off the hook.
"She has ties to us, but not at the expense of the Haligtree's interests."
Finlay fell silent. She'd been the first to charge into the heart of the battlefield. She knew who the Nameless Swordsman of Aeonia was. Without him, the Haligtree would have lost its vitality long ago. As a knight bound by loyalty, she owed him a debt.
But she couldn't say that outright. She glanced at Marais, the ultimate bootlicker. He understood immediately. The slightly effeminate man picked at his nails, speaking casually.
"Her Highness waking is more important than anything. That woman offers even a sliver of hope. Besides, who cares about some Bishop of the Two Fingers?"
Niall sighed, exasperated. He exchanged a glance with ONeil, whose expression was equally grave.
"Even if it means breaking ties with the Erdtree?"
"Break them if we must. They can't breach our defenses with their paltry numbers. Isn't our purpose to protect Her Highness?"
"But the Haligtree is more than just the Valkyrie!"
They couldn't reason with this fanatic.
Before they could find the right words, Finlay thumped her sword against the ground. Thump. Thump. Even Loretta, who'd been dozing, turned to look.
"I'm not without a plan. The Bishop's demand for the sorceress is a pretext. Their true aim is Elphael. Even without Her Highness, we lack the right or power to stop them. But it's too early to surrender."
"Precisely why we shouldn't provoke Leyndell unnecessarily."
"Do you think they won't find another excuse if we hand over Sellen?"
Finlay's cold stare silenced them.
"We're subjects, not kings. But that Bishop isn't a king either. I'm willing to gamble. If Her Highness wakes, everything becomes manageable."
"And how long do we gamble for?"
Finlay paused, then answered firmly. "Until overwhelming force arrives. When that happens, we'll surrender the Haligtree, concentrate our strength to guard Her Highness, and let the affairs of The Lands Between pass us by."
Ivan moved fast through the tree-lined corridor, boots scuffing damp wood as he rounded corners until he ducked into a secluded treehouse. The door creaked open to reveal a slender figure bent over bubbling flasks. Rot stung the air—thick, greasy decay. He gagged, flung the window wide. Grass-scented wind rushed in, thinning the stench.
"Miss Sellen, Lady Finlay—"
"She sent you to tell me to run?"
Sellen didn't turn. Her voice dripped amusement.
"So loyal. So righteous. She thinks Leyndell attacks the Haligtree regardless of me, so why not trade my life for favor?"
The knight's mouth hung open. How did this recluse know? His shoulders slumped.
"There's a ship at the northern port. You could reach The Shaded Castle first."
"I'm not going."
"What? Just—wait, what?"
Ivan's jaw tightened.
Weird, yes—but this weird? Fire licked the city walls and she wouldn't budge.
"The research just broke through. Fleeing now wastes everything."
She stirred a viscous liquid.
"Don't fret. My clumsy apprentice knows my situation. Plans are already in motion. It'll resolve itself."
Ivan choked. Weren't scholars supposed to be logical?
"This isn't the time for gut feelings."
"I don't have gut feelings. I said I'm sure."
The flask glowed crimson in her grip.
"You Haligtree soldiers won't retreat either. You'll wait until the Golden Army's swords are at your throats before cooperating."
She turned, swirling the beaker. Dark liquid spat bubbles against glass. Confidence etched her face.
"Malenia carries the Scarlet Rot. If the Golden Army takes her, Morgott decides whether she lives."
"We'll die before they touch her!"
Ivan's neck cords stood rigid, veins throbbing at his temples.
"Die all you want. The tide won't care."
Sellen crossed her legs, pale toes peeking from her robe. Mockery curled her lips.
"Only my apprentice can save you. Tell Finlay: stall if she must. Morgott might never come. And apart from him? No one else matters."
Ivan's protest died in his throat. Wrong. This was all wrong. He came to persuade her. Wait—was Throne even alive?
"Stop gawking. Go, unless you'd like to sample my newest brew."
The knight shuddered. Last trial nearly turned him into a projectile that'd have poisoned the Haligtree's roots.
Sellen raised the beaker. He fled.
The door slammed.
"Boring."
She sipped the potion, smacked her lips.
"Not bad. Throne wouldn't have run."
Her cabinet groaned open.
Inside lay another her—perfect down to the fingernails, eyes shut in false sleep. Peaceful years at the Haligtree meant no shortage of materials. Her puppet craft might've surpassed Seluvis by now.
"Clumsy apprentice. Even your test subjects are prepared."
Sellen turned her head to look at the birds and flowers outside the window. Her face flickered through emotions before she smashed the cabinet shut.
"Hmph! How much longer must Master wait?"
Volcano Manor. Throne slumped in his chair, one hand propping his head, the other shoveling fruit into his mouth. Exhaustion weighed his bones after scouting the volcano's western flank.
However, Bernahl's words echoed in his mind over and over. He could already predict Leyndell's movements; they were undoubtedly taking the opportunity to cause trouble. Would the Haligtree give in? Would Master leave? If she stays there, how much risk will there be? Bang!
"Are you thinking about that teacher named Sellen?"
Melina suddenly slapped her hands on the table, which startled Throne; he thought she had mind-reading powers. He was stunned for a long time, then smiled bitterly: "You are always keenly intuitive in such inexplicable places."
"Hmph, do you think I don't know why you ran to Volcano Manor?"
Melina crossed her arms, somewhat curious: "Tell me, what kind of person is that Primeval Sorceress?"
"Her? She's powerful and always has many ingenious ideas." Throne said this, but complained in his heart:
A low EQ way of saying she likes to watch the world burn. Could it be she gets along well with Lansseax? That is too terrifying.
"So she's very smart."
Melina frowned slightly; she didn't like smart people.
"Is she serious?"
Throne, who was building a terrifying world of two chaos-lovers, had a serious expression and answered without hesitation: "Very serious, serious to the point of being terrifying."
An existence that can rationally analyze all problems—how could she not be serious? Oh, it's good that she's a serious person. Melina was clearly deceived and was bowing her head in thought, then heard Throne ask.
"Why are you asking about her?"
"I have a premonition that she will cause trouble sooner or later, so I'm gathering intelligence in advance. Can't I? I have to strengthen my power; if it really comes to the moment of action, it would be inevitable to suffer losses." Melina muttered to herself, making Throne's scalp tingle.
It was hard to imagine what the scene would look like if several people got into a fight.
"Action is absolutely not allowed."
"Can you control me? Can you control others? I'm just making preparations."
Melina frowned tightly, suddenly thinking of a serious matter: "Why do I feel like you are always hoodwinking me, specifically picking on me to bully?"
Because you are easy to fool.
Throne laughed inwardly and said solemnly: "That's not true. That's just what makes our relationship seem close."
"Then why don't you bully the Lunar Princess?"
"Ranni is the Lord of Caria, after all. A dignified demigod must be given some face."
"And I don't need face?"
Melina looked at Throne's somewhat frozen expression, suddenly reached out, and knocked heavily on the latter's head. Thwack.
Throne reacted for a few seconds before covering his head, inexplicably saying: "What are you doing?"
"Now we are even."
A smile, so faint it was hard to distinguish, appeared on Melina's face as she pulled Throne up: "It's too late, go to sleep. This time it's your turn to be the pillow."
Hey, hey, hey, you gave me a shoulder throw, how is that even! Before Throne could protest, he was pulled up.
Taking turns being the pillow was something they had agreed on long ago. He sat on the edge of the bed, and Melina immediately lay down, twisting her body a few times.
"What are you doing?"
"I feel like something is poking the back of my head."
Throne's old face flushed, and he coughed lightly: "How about we swap?"
"No, don't try to trick me."
Melina tilted her head up, saw Throne's unnaturally furrowed brows, and knew he was thinking about troublesome things, so she reached out to hold the man's face. Her palms were cool, once again pulling Throne out of deep thought, and he lowered his head, looking at that single eye with questioning gaze.
"How much time is left?"
"Three days, but I don't plan to wait until then."
"Then don't think about anything. Me, or that sorceress—none of us should become your burden. If there's something you want to do, just go ahead."
Melina's eyes were very pure and very serious. Throne felt his blood pressure riding a roller coaster, high one moment and low the next, and he suddenly laughed.
"I didn't expect you to be so understanding."
"Pfft, I've always been very smart, okay?"
"On that point, I reserve my opinion."
Melina didn't get angry this time, continuing to rub Throne's cheek with her hand. The hot breath touched the man's face, making him feel a bit ticklish. His slightly irritable mood relaxed. He knew Melina hadn't changed her nature, nor was she bored. Aside from helping in battle, she had sensed his unease and wanted to calm him down in her own way.
He remembered the last time, back at Stormveil under the moonlight, he was lost, and it was Sellen who helped him make up his mind. That's right, there's no problem with Master; I still have to proceed at my own pace. Throne thought for a long time and squeezed out a sentence: "Thank you, Melina, for walking with me until now."
"You already said that last time."
Melina opened her eyes; she was almost asleep.
"Then I'll phrase it differently." Throne pinched the hand beside his cheek and smiled slightly.
"Walk with me until the end, to the end of this world."
Since the battle with Bernahl, the following time fell into a mysterious silence. Volcano Manor seemed to have forgotten that a Chief Knight of Caria was living in their home. Aside from Tanith occasionally inviting Throne to have lunch together, the others did what they had to do.
The Recusants were still carrying out missions, quietly shuttling between the mountains, occasionally losing a few men; the Gelmir Knights monitored the Leyndell Army camp outside the exit of the volcano. Throne, who had stabilized his mindset, also liked this silence, spending most of his time lying flat in his room.
He was recuperating, trying to restore his damaged magic circuits, and there was no place more suitable than Volcano Manor. Occasionally, he would let Rya take him out for a stroll. This girl was really quite interesting. Since the misunderstanding that night, she was clearly scared to death, yet she had to force herself to act like she didn't care.
Mt. Gelmir was very large, and the manor was actually a very small part of it. All kinds of strange battlefields unfolded around the volcano, which stirred up quite a few painful memories for Throne. In The Lands Between, there were few areas as small as this that concentrated so many strange things.
God knows how intense the Blasphemous War was back then, and how many helpers Rykard had called for—it was practically a museum of the Erdtree's enemies. "Let me think, there are Kindred of Rot, Grafted Scion, demi-humans, Bloodhound Knights, as well as Fire Monks, Magma Wyrms, and Omenkillers. It seems the Frenzied Flame is also secretly eroding.
Just how many good brothers did this guy Rykard call to help? No wonder Morgott was defeated and returned." After all, Mt. Gelmir and Leyndell were too close. No matter how dangerous the terrain was, with the cards Rykard had in his hand, it was far from enough.
No wonder the sword monument said:
Swarms of the tainted, disease, blasphemy—
No honor to speak of, endless tragic wars.
Damn it, just how fierce is Morgott? He could block Volcano Manor despite so many monsters and freaks. Throne cursed. In a sense, the crimes Rykard committed against the Erdtree already exceeded his own, but unprincipled alliances would only leave endless trouble.
Forget it, just find a way to make use of it. Besides the manor, there were many interesting places nearby, like the village where Azur was located. He didn't know if Master had been there. Over the past three days, Throne had been both high-profile and low-profile. Aside from climbing mountains and wandering around, he declined all dinners.
Melina's cooking was the only food I'd eat now. Something had shifted in her since that night—like she'd swallowed a dose of certainty. Throne didn't pretend she was invisible anymore. He didn't treat Ranni like some untouchable princess while reducing himself to a servant at her beck and call. Even when their rivalry gnawed at him, he refused to crush either of them underfoot.
She didn't ask for much; this attitude was enough. It made her walk taller these days, chin up, shoulders back—like she'd won some small, decisive battle. And with that came fire. A hunger to fight.