"But I want to recover my lost memories."
Melina was no longer as conflicted about her mission as before; she simply felt that she was too weak.
"What's the rush? Let's go to the Haligtree first. Once we get that sorted out, we can go to Leyndell soon enough."
"Then why are you heading north?"
"There isn't just one path to Elphael. We'll take a boat. Adula, that lazy dragon, said she couldn't fly up there, so what else could I do?"
Throne shrugged and gently patted the horse's flank. Torrent neighed happily and immediately descended along the rugged mountain path. Perhaps it was because Rykard had devoured all the monsters and demons in the vicinity, but other than the occasional glimpse of sneaky demi-humans, Throne's journey was peaceful.
About half a day later, the road began to level out, and fields and flocks of sheep began to appear ahead. Melina had become invisible. There was no helping it; Throne could disguise himself, but she was a bit too recognizable. Nowadays, everyone in The Lands Between knew that the Chief Knight had an assassin maiden by his side, so Throne simply changed to someone else.
With her red ponytail swaying back and forth, Millicent first glanced at the towering volcano behind them, then looked around the fields with great interest. Some farmers were working in the fields, and the golden wheat swayed with the wind.
"Teacher, the Altus Plateau looks quite prosperous."
"Hmm, it is the core region of the Golden Order after all. It's a pity that Morgott can't make use of it."
"I'm curious to see what kind of experts are here."
"Hey, hey, hey, suppress that fighting spirit. We're busy traveling, not here to pick fights."
The Spirit Steed trotted forward over the soil. As they talked, they observed their surroundings. These villages were even more prosperous than those in Limgrave, and the farmers were tall and sturdy—perfect material for conscription.
There were soldiers patrolling the road as well. Their equipment was quite decent, and their cloaks were embroidered with noble crests. These were the so-called private retainers. The two of them were naturally stopped and questioned.
In the past, they would have certainly been considered suspicious, but ever since the Tarnished returned, suspicious individuals were everywhere, so they were no longer considered suspicious. Throne readily paid the toll and brandished the Roundtable Hold crest he had obtained from a certain Tarnished. The soldiers didn't press further; they weighed the bag filled with Runes and walked away.
Millicent, however, was a bit displeased.
"Teacher, you are encouraging bad behavior. You should teach these greedy people a lesson. Look, even the farmers are being fleeced by them."
Throne turned his head to look. A cart carrying wheat was being inspected, which was, of course, completely groundless. But he didn't show the same righteous indignation as Millicent.
He continued to ride slowly, taking the opportunity to impart some wisdom:
"Millicent, the evil in this world can never be completely eradicated. No matter how fast the blade is, it cannot sever the human heart. At the very least, this kind of evil isn't worth me drawing my sword."
"So we're just going to sit by and do nothing?"
Millicent gripped her sword hilt and said in a low voice, "Alexander said it was you who saved him from slave traders, and from then on, he decided to uphold justice."
"It was just a casual act. Things like this happen even in Liurnia under Ranni's rule; people do it in secret. Should I just kill everyone?"
Throne touched Millicent's hand and pressed down the sword she was holding.
"Swords can't suppress this—only order and law can. The oppression of nobles and the plundering by the strong will always exist as long as people do. Even if I killed myself trying, I couldn't wipe them all out. At least this kind of small injustice is still tolerable."
Throne smiled wryly as Millicent nodded, as if she understood.
He wasn't here to lecture on philosophy. He didn't understand economic foundations or superstructures. All he knew was that he'd rather be a dog in times of peace than a man in times of chaos. Even the Greater Will couldn't fix this. Take away evil thoughts, and they'd cease to be alive.
"You've got the makings of a heroine, I think. Alexander raised you well."
He was grateful to that upright Warrior Jar. At least he was a hundred times better than that stinking bug.
"What's a heroine?" Millicent asked.
"It means drawing your sword when you see injustice, seeking revenge for wrongs, upholding justice."
Throne paused mid-sentence as Millicent's eyes lit up. He tapped her lightly on the head.
"We've got important business first. When things settle, I'll take you heroing. For now, let's head to the town ahead for intel. Giddy-up!"
The Spirit Steed surged forward, cold wind whipping their faces. Throne's tap had been gentle, but Millicent still covered her head, her golden eyes gleaming with longing.
"It's a promise, Teacher."
The village of Calico wasn't much different from others in The Lands Between. Aside from the noble lord's mansion, the rest were weather-beaten wooden houses. Throne led his horse down the muddy road, noticing something odd—only men were out. When his gaze swept the street, windows slammed shut.
He made a mental note and spotted a tavern up ahead. His lips twitched.
"I'll gather intel inside. You look around. Ask about The Shaded Castle. And no trouble."
"Mm, I know."
Millicent turned away, her brown leather boots sinking into the mud. Throne watched her go, a flicker of worry in his chest. She wasn't a child anymore, though. He tied Torrent in the stable, tossed him a handful of Rowa Fruit, and pushed open the tavern door, sword in hand.
Calico wasn't on any major trade route. The tavern was sparse—a few Tarnished, some idle farmers. Throne nodded to those who looked his way, sat at the bar, and tossed a few Runes to the owner.
"Two drinks, your best stuff. And I've got some questions."
"Coming right up."
The owner took the money and brought over two pitch-black clay pots, their surfaces stained as if never washed. Throne took a sip. Mediocre. Heavy-bodied, but nothing like Caelid's strong liquor. He slapped more Runes on the table.
"First question: why are there only men in this town?"
The owner was stunned; he hadn't expected the questions from these Tarnished to cut so deep. Before he could speak, a voice chimed in from nearby.
"The local baron's been rounding up women to send off. Started with refugees, now he's taking locals too."
Throne turned. It was a nomadic merchant.
The men wore nearly identical uniforms. He couldn't tell if they were old acquaintances or not.
"Why? Morgott issued a decree banning human trafficking."
"Maybe the nobles in the capital are bored, and the lower ranks cater to their whims. Break the rules, discard the evidence—no trouble. Morgott's decree?"
The merchant shrugged, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
"The lord of my lord isn't my lord. Besides, if no money changes hands, it's not a sale."
"Keep it down," the tavern owner hissed, glancing nervously at the door. He rushed to shut it when no one paid him any mind. Throne's face twisted in disgust as he slid a glass of wine across the table.
"What about the Church of the Two Fingers? Don't they care?"
"The Lands Between is a powder keg. Who has time for trifles? Since you bought me a drink, I'll share two things."
The merchant pulled up his shirt, revealing a jagged scar.
"First, chaos grips the northern Altus Plateau. Bell Bearing Hunters are looting and killing. Be careful."
"Second, a cult's been spreading. Villages now bar outsiders."
Throne nodded, sliding all his Runes across the table. Hunters and cults were nuisances, but caution would suffice.
Yet these nobles—did they truly believe this could stave off madness? Naive.
Throne traced the rim of his wine glass, certain Millicent would be targeted.
Outside, chaos erupted—screams, clashing steel. He sat calm, waiting.
The tavern door burst open. Millicent stood framed in the doorway, blood dripping from her blade. She avoided Throne's gaze.
"T-Teacher, I've caused trouble."
Her bloodstained appearance said it all. Throne didn't scold her.
He glanced at the stunned owner, stood, donned his bamboo hat, and tossed extra Runes on the table.
"Hush money. Hide yourself."
"I never saw your face!"
The owner snatched the coins and fled to the back room. Patrons scattered, leaving only the nomadic merchant sipping his drink, intrigued.
Throne ignored him, walking toward Millicent.
"How many did you kill?"
"Two soldiers. They tricked me into a house, tried to drug me. So I—"
Throne raised a hand, silencing her. He adjusted his sword and stepped toward the door.
"I'm not blaming you. Come. Let's kill them all."
"Huh? You're getting involved?"
Millicent's eyes widened, surprised by his sudden decisiveness.
"Being unable to tolerate evil isn't bad, but distinguish its scale."
Throne tapped his scabbard, pointing outside.
"They've crossed the line."
He strode out. A low profile didn't mean retreat. Power granted the right to be willful—and willfulness was a matter of mood. The wine here was terrible anyway.
"No guilt. You killed them well; this isn't trouble. But as your teacher, I offer advice."
He brushed past Millicent, his voice low.
"Since you've already started, there's a saying: eliminate evil completely."
He stepped into the street. Silence.
Then, the rhythmic stomp of iron boots approached.
The soldiers flooded the street, blocking it completely. At their rear stood a man in golden chainmail—square-jawed, broad-shouldered, a battle-axe resting against his shoulder. He looked every inch the warrior, not some pampered noble from cheap fiction. The local baron. Bloodied soldiers clustered around him, jabbing fingers toward the tavern entrance.
"My Lord, she's the one who killed our men."
"Shut your mouth! Who ordered you to harass Tarnished?"
The baron backhanded the soldier and stepped forward, dipping his head in a curt nod.
"My apologies for my men's behavior. Two lives, two thousand Runes. Consider the matter settled."
Smart. Nobles weren't lawless idiots—they knew when to fold.
Throne didn't even glance at him.
"What's the point of kidnapping those women? Does acting like animals make you forget the terror the Frenzy brings?"
"None of your concern, and nothing to do with the Roundtable Hold!"
The baron's face darkened.
He'd offered courtesy. The Tarnished had spat on it.
"Millicent."
Throne tilted his chin toward the baron's estate.
"Search his mansion. Look for a dungeon."
"Yes, Teacher."
She took one step. The baron's axe came up.
Clang—
Blades cleared scabbards. Crossbows creaked under tension. Dozens of guards braced for bloodshed.
"Tarnished, this isn't your fight. Count Hero is my liege—a patron of the Roundtable Hold. Don't throw your life away for pride."
"Count Hero? Who's that?"
"The great House Hero! Royal scribes for generations, one of the Council of Six Houses. Even Morgott heeds their counsel."
The baron's chest swelled.
"Impressive."
Throne kept walking, ignoring the crossbows tracking him.
"Enlighten me about this Council."
Where did this backwater savage crawl from, not knowing the Six Houses? The baron smirked.
After Limgrave fell, his contempt for Tarnished had festered. If the land were reclaimed, his family might claim a slice—why leave it to these barbarians?
"Ask anyone in the capital. Every Elden Lord rules through the Council's grace."
The baron lifted his chin, noble arrogance etched into every line of his face.
"Just know the Count is beyond your reach. Now leave, before I—"
Pfft.
The baron blinked. The Tarnished had been ten paces away. Now the man stood before him, close enough to smell the iron on his breath.
That blank face. The words, soft as a razor drawn across flesh:
"Council of Six Houses? Good. When I have time, I'll slaughter them all."
Too fast. The soldiers barely registered the movement before a crimson arc split the baron—armor, flesh, bone—clean in two.
A figure streaked through the blood mist. A casual flick of the wrist sent two crossbowmen's heads tumbling.
"Kill him!"
Spear tips gleamed in a bristling wall. Throne didn't slow. Didn't dodge. Just kept walking, sword loose in one hand.
The dense sword light cut through long spears, sliced open iron armor, turned men into crimson mist. At this level, it wasn't battle—just reaping.
"Millicent."
Throne didn't look back.
"Why are you standing there? Move."
Ten meters forward, ten corpses behind—Throne spun on his heel. Millicent blinked, shook herself awake, nodded once, then vaulted onto the roof. She vanished, taking the quickest route. I warned you. Get too close to Melina, and you'll catch her madness. Throne chuckled, shaking his head.
He turned. The last dozen soldiers had dropped their weapons, scattering like shards from a shattered pot.
"Annoying."
One step, and he was behind them. His boot crushed one into the mud, grinding slowly. He shook his sword free of blood.
"Death's the same for everyone. Why make me work so hard?"
The screams came sharp, brief, then silence.
Minutes later, Throne sat on the steps, chin propped on his hand, face blank. Crushing victory? Hardly worth savoring. If they'd wanted to make him break a sweat, they should've sent knights. These village nobles? Not even close. The cheering crowd he'd imagined? Didn't happen.
Of course it didn't. Throne hadn't overturned the order—he'd just killed people. Anyone bold enough to cheer would face the next lord's wrath. Reality. Killing solved problems, but not all of them.
"Creak—" The door behind him groaned. Throne glanced over. A window slammed shut in haste, but on the ground, a pale yellow wildflower lay discarded.
He picked it up, sniffed it in front of his nose, and then slowly put it down.
"Hmm, it smells nice."
The scent was crisp, clean. But what truly pleased him was the subtle surge in his recovery.