Rya's shoulders relaxed as the words sank in. She hated killing—loathed it to her core—and now she blushed, lowering her head.
"Y-you're right."
Throne fell silent. It wasn't concern for Melina that stopped him; it was the unfamiliarity of speaking to someone so normal, so endearingly human. It stirred something in him, a faint nostalgia he hadn't felt in years.
The irony wasn't lost on him. When had normal become such a rarity? Rya had just endured a trauma, her heart undoubtedly in turmoil. He hadn't thought much of it when he brought her along. Survival instinct would guide her now that she'd lived. She'd seek support.
Thud. A bloodied body landed before them.
Particles shimmered into existence, and Melina appeared at his side, her expression as cold and unreadable as ever.
"Done. Here's the living captive you wanted."
Throne glanced back. The figure wore plain linen robes, hoodless, but their aura told him everything he needed to know. A sorcerer—a Hermit Sorcerer, one of legend. Though, in truth, these people had no legends.
Hermit Village was aptly named. If they'd forged legends, they wouldn't be hermits. Melina hadn't struck too hard; the man was still conscious. With a metallic clang, Throne plunged his greatsword into the soil, the blade grazing the man's face.
"Don't pretend to sleep. You can't fool me."
"Those who pursue the truth will never yield to the fallen, nor bow to lackeys of the golden order."
The man's words were fierce, but his tone was eerily steady, as if reciting a script. Strange, but then, Primeval Sorcerers were inherently strange. Dust and blood obscured his face, but Throne smiled anyway.
"Look up. I'm no supporter of the golden order, nor did I come here to hunt Primeval Sorcerers."
The man struggled to lift his head. His eyes landed first on the sorcerer ball necklace—the mark of a Primeval Sorcerer—then he sensed it: an aura both familiar and alien. Primeval glintstone!?
Only two had ever earned the title of "Master" by condensing such a stone, since the age of stars and moon.
"You... no, this is the aura of Master Lusat."
"It seems you know a great deal. That's right. I am Lusat."
Throne nodded decisively, though his brow furrowed. The man's words were riddled with doubt, yet his tone betrayed no emotion.
"Impossible. He, he..."
The sorcerer's rebuttal faltered. He'd never seen Lusat in person, relying solely on aura for identification.
"You think a sorcery master should wield a staff, humble and polite? Don't forget the primeval glintstone's true purpose. Flesh and appearance mean nothing to us. Don't judge the primeval with mortal eyes."
Throne's tone was instructive, almost patronizing. The primeval glintstone housed the soul, allowing its bearer to change bodies at will. Even if Throne transformed into a dragon and landed before him, it shouldn't be surprising.
"Or perhaps you think I struck too hard? You acted hostile first. I've been restrained enough."
Throne's voice carried a cruel edge, typical of a Primeval Sorcerer. They cared little for life—their own or others'. Pursuing the primeval meant hunting their own kind.
There was no fault in Throne's words. If anything, he'd been gentle, at least by leaving a survivor. The man's expression finally shifted, becoming more vivid. He rose slowly and bowed.
"Master Lusat, what is it you wish to do?"
"I'm here to see an old friend. Lead the way. You can't stop me, and I've no interest in something as dull as killing. If there is a chance, perhaps I can provide you with some guidance on the path ahead."
The sorcerer froze for a moment, then brushed off the dust and made a gesture of invitation.
"Please, follow me."
Everything felt like an illusion; those bloody corpses were treated like insignificant little frictions. Melina frowned and glanced at Throne.
"It's a trap."
"I know."
Throne, of course, knew that all Primeval Sorcerers were scum who saw only the truth and couldn't be trusted for even half a punctuation mark. Things like killing one's wife to achieve enlightenment were as simple as drinking water to them—Sellen excepted, of course. This was clearly a case of them trying to play dirty since they couldn't stop him openly. Or perhaps a master who could act freely had immense value, so they had to make contact regardless of whether he was real or fake.
"No matter. I don't care if I kill outside or raise my blade within Hermit Village."
Upon confirming that these people were indeed Primeval Sorcerers, he couldn't help but think of an interesting matter. Aside from Rya appearing slightly nervous, the group stepped into the canyon. Before long, a wooden fence appeared ahead, and from afar, they saw a massive shadow. This was the first time Throne had seen the Demi-Human Queen. She no longer had the short stature of a typical demi-human; her size was comparable to a Troll, and she held a staff in her hand. As for her appearance, it bore no relation to a 'queen' whatsoever. Her skin was filthy, her hair sparse, and she didn't look very intelligent. Standing before her was a group of figures acting as if they were facing a great enemy. There were demi-humans and sorcerers, but compared to the Raya Lucaria Academy, none of them could be described as elegant or proper.
"Master, I will go and report this," the sorcerer said, understanding that his companions would blast him to pieces along with the others.
"Who is in charge of Hermit Village?"
The sorcerer narrowed his eyes. After a moment of hesitation, he replied, "On the path of pursuing the primeval, we are equal. We do not need names; we simply address each other as Hermit."
"I see."
Throne knew his cover was blown, so he simply raised his hand.
"No need to report. It is simple for Primeval Sorcerers to reveal their identities; no words are necessary."
He pulled out his long, slender staff. Pale purple Stars of Ruin appeared, circling Throne like spirits—gorgeous, yet filled with destructive power. Primeval Sorcery: Stars of Ruin. It was as if a long-imprisoned starry sky had unfolded at this moment. The crowd grew restless. They had been trapped here, obsessed with their own narrow pursuits for countless years, and this starry sky held a fatal attraction for them, even if the one wielding the Stars of Ruin was a blood-stained knight in heavy armor, which defied common sense. But the path of pursuing the primeval was, in itself, contrary to common sense. A fierce argument erupted at the village entrance, but Throne paid it no mind, taking the opportunity to flesh out the plan that had just emerged in his mind.
"Why not just kill your way in? Even if a few of these sorcerers have the strength of heroes, they definitely couldn't stop you."
Seeing the argument intensify and observing the crazed expressions of the people, Melina grew annoyed.
"As a lady, you shouldn't always have 'kill' on your lips," Throne said solemnly.
"You have no right to lecture me."
Melina glared at him, an expression of disdain on her face.
"Those demi-humans are related to Rykard; they will definitely betray you. You must be up to some underhanded scheme again!"
"Just a preliminary idea. Why do you think Primeval Sorcerers are hunted by the Erdtree?"
"Need you ask? Because they study taboos, of course."
"There are plenty of beings in The Lands Between that touch upon taboos. Why such persistence? Especially the hunting of my teacher in recent years."
Melina tilted her head and thought, and she did indeed find a clue. Death Eater! Or rather, Sellen had dragged all the Primeval Sorcerers into the water. Before, the Erdtree hadn't shown such intense killing intent. Following this line of thought, she thought of the greedy giant serpent in Mt. Gelmir, and her pupils couldn't help but constrict. This guy was looking to shift the blame again. An idea that only emerged after seeing the Primeval Sorcerers? Was his reaction speed really that fast?
"Exactly. Morgott wants to pursue the truth, so I will give him the truth. In his eyes, Primeval Sorcerers have long been associated with the Death Eater, which is why he is so obsessed with my teacher. Very well, there just happens to be a village full of Primeval Sorcerers here. Whether they are dead or alive, it will give him plenty to ponder."
Throne crossed his arms, the train of thought in his mind becoming increasingly clear. A Hermit Village alone couldn't explain anything, but adding a giant serpent that devoured everything was enough to explain a great deal. You think there must be a big shot backing the Death-Tarnished, right? Come and take a look. Are the status and prestige of a Demigod, a traitor, and the Lord of Mt. Gelmir, Rykard, enough for you? Just as Throne was thinking about how to trap people, Rya, on horseback, let out a cry of alarm. The two looked up and saw that the argument had turned into a massacre. Sorcery shattered the Demi-Human Queen's skull, and short swords pierced the chests of companions. Intense flashes of magic rose and fell; even when demi-humans knelt and begged for mercy, they were killed without hesitation and blasted into minced meat.
"W-what are they doing?"
Rya covered her mouth. The scene before her was bizarre and incomprehensible.
"Deciding which faction speaks the truth, of course. Did you think they would hold a debate? These are the most vicious of Primeval Sorcerers, completely different from those scholars at Raya Lucaria Academy."
Throne, as if he had long anticipated this situation, stood there like an iron tower, a trace of disgust appearing in his eyes. This bunch of lunatics—no wonder they were spurned by the Greater Will. They really would screw over their own allies and think it was only natural. A few minutes later, the slaughter finally ended, and the remaining dozens of Primeval Sorcerers walked over together. They were still covered in blood, their faces beneath their hoods written full of desire, with not a shred of shame or pity to be seen. Throne had seen this look before on a sage named Campore. That sage had been willing to use the entirety of Sellia as a sacrifice just to get the chance to pursue the primeval. The sorcerers bowed in unison, appearing so elegant, yet against the backdrop of the dilapidated village and the scattered corpses, it was so bizarre.
"Master Lusat, welcome to Hermit Village."
Melina felt her scalp tingle and gripped her sword hilt, unable to stop herself from wanting to slaughter all these lunatics. Throne hadn't even put any chips on the table, yet they had just killed their own companions like that?
"I am gratified that you are so persistent in your pursuit of the primeval."
Throne's gaze was indifferent, and he spoke in a tone devoid of any emotion.
"But remember, I have not given any promises."
The sorcerers showed no sign of turning hostile; various voices came from the crowd of identically dressed people.
"Their blood is enough to demonstrate the apology of the hermits."
"You need not promise anything; the magic you displayed moments ago is the guiding light."
"If we can draw even half a step closer to the primeval, it is enough to comfort the dead."
No logic, no emotion; all living beings, including their own companions, were merely sacrifices. In almost an instant, Throne understood why The Lands Between had to eradicate the Primeval Sorcerers. The power differential didn't matter. These hollow-eyed fanatics were Sellen and Campore's final destination—the true zealots of the primeval current.
"What do you want?"
The valley swallowed his words before the reply came, flat and toneless as a chant.
"We request the two masters merge into one. Become the stars."
Throne's disguise had fooled them, but he'd never been one of them. Their creed curdled in his gut. A disciple of overwhelming force, he treated the primeval current as a battery—raw energy to fuel greater destruction. Discarding flesh for truth? Turning into cosmic seeds? Madness. He watched the sorcerers scrub blood from the stones with mechanical precision. A chill crept down his spine. They were like exam-crazed scholars, solving equations blind to whether the answers meant anything.
"I don't understand them."
Thank the gods he'd intervened with Sellen early. Thank her stubborn attachment to their master-disciple bond. Throne walked faster. Unlike these "noble" lunatics, he calculated returns like a merchant. Abandoning everything for an indescribable ideal? That wasn't devotion—it was idiocy. Melina's jaw tightened. Hostility simmered beneath her skin.
"Your teacher," she whispered, "she isn't like them, is she?"
For the first time, she feared the woman she'd never met. Fanatics out-terrorized dragons.
"Not even close. I won't let her become this."
Throne's smile felt like cracked ice. Murderous heat boiled behind his ribs. These zealots couldn't meet Sellen. He didn't get their insanity, but she would. She'd see kin. And he'd spent years bending her worldview back into shape. No matter. When the time came, he'd slaughter them all. Throne exhaled. In a world bound by logic and physics, power crushed everything. The silent hermit led them forward. No one spoke—or perhaps the primeval sorcerers thought constantly, even if it brought them nothing but agony. Throne scanned the village with detached interest. Crumbling huts. No families. Living conditions fit for rats. No wonder the Academy wiped this place off the map in the original timeline. His boot scuffed something—a segmented stone worm writhed in the dirt. Beyond it stood a fresh Evergaol, its bars gleaming.
"Who's locked inside?"
The lead sorcerer turned, unbothered by the question.
"A flame-chaser who came to Mt. Gelmir. We caught him. Made him a test subject."
Rambling followed—something about the Fell God of fire granting visions, about self-mutilation to glimpse the stars. All dead now. Throne tuned out. These lunatics would try anything. But the prisoner's name snagged his attention. Adam, Thief of Fire? Did this unlucky fellow have a grudge against Evergaols? In the original Lands Between, he'd been sealed in Liurnia. But Throne's interference had rewritten history—Adam had wandered everywhere. Millicent mentioned spotting him in Caelid.
"No wonder there are Fire Monks in Mt. Gelmir."
Rykard's resurrected fire incantations played a part, but was it also because of him? The thought sparked Throne's interest. He knew exactly what fire Adam had stolen—the Fell God's flame, a force that shouldn't exist in this world. A fire capable of burning the Erdtree itself. Throne circled the area, his eyes scanning, but Azur was nowhere to be seen. The hermits claimed they needed to prepare for the ritual, and Throne was fine with that. He wasn't gay; the idea of embracing Azur held no appeal. As for becoming a 'seed of stars,' it sounded more like a curse than a blessing. Night was falling, so he found an abandoned house to settle in. He watched the hermits move like puppets, their motions mechanical and lifeless, as his thoughts wandered. Melina moved through the room with precision, inspecting every corner as if something vile might be lurking. Rya grabbed a duster and rag, cleaning with a determination that seemed excessive for a single night's stay.
"When do you plan to make your move?" she asked, her tone steady but sharp. After finding no issues, Melina walked to the window and looked out at the sorcerers pacing aimlessly, their purpose unclear.
"I didn't expect you to have such strong killing intent toward these people. I've never felt you urge me like this before."
Throne paused, a strange sensation creeping over him, though he couldn't quite grasp its source.