"Waiting leads to destruction. Let's carve our own way out."
Throne moved through the alley, the stench of rot clinging to the air. A drunken robber lurched toward him. He grabbed the man's head, slammed it into the wall, and stepped over the limp body as it crumpled to the ground.
The common folk drifted with the tide, powerless. But these nobles—cowards clinging to life for the sake of power—were a different breed. Their dealings with the Frenzied Flame reeked of desperation. They wouldn't go quietly into extinction. They'd dare anything, no matter how foul.
'And Margit? What's their grudge against the Omens? It's not just religious intolerance.'
Throne couldn't untangle it. With the nobles abducting people, things were spiraling into chaos. 'The Crucible Knights—they're not just random bosses guarding roadblocks anymore. They're acting on their own.'
He tilted his head, gazing at the grey haze smothering the night sky. The moonlight barely pierced through. His foreknowledge had become a curse. Pull one thread, and the whole tapestry unraveled. The Lands Between were alive, its inhabitants making choices he hadn't anticipated.
"Throne."
Melina's voice cut through his thoughts.
"I've found something under the Shaded Castle."
Her combat skills lagged, but her perception remained sharp.
"Something? Like what?"
Throne frowned, rifling through his memory. Other than the Bell Bearing Hunter, the Shaded Castle shouldn't hold any surprises.
"I'm not sure. It resembles a Minor Erdtree, but it's... chaotic. Like many things stitched together haphazardly. Its aura is complex."
"Can you be more specific?"
"I don't know how to describe it. Don't call me stupid."
Throne paused mid-step, silent. He considered turning back, cleansing the castle before investigating further. But lately, strange things had a habit of spiraling out of control.
An Erdtree-like entity, stitched together chaotically—could it be Godfrey? He scoffed at the thought.
"It's fine. They've mistaken me for the Old Man. I'm already part of their plan. The truth will come."
"You're not in a hurry anymore?"
"I am. But I can wait a few days."
Throne remained steady.
"Find Millicent. This isn't the time for her to play the hero."
If the nobles were stirring trouble in one region, Millicent's antics wouldn't matter. But this was bigger. They needed to lay low, avoid provoking the Crucible Knights. Otherwise, Throne would have to drop his disguise.
"Trouble's coming. Take care of yourself."
Melina's voice faded as she departed.
Throne stood in the alley, the darkness swallowing him whole. His left hand rested on the tsuba of his sword.
"You've waited long enough. Come out."
His voice echoed through the alleyway. No answer came, save for the retching of a drunkard in the distance. Throne waited, his patience thinning. Heavy footsteps approached, slow and deliberate.
"You. How did you find me?"
"Even the Shaded Castle doesn't smell as bad as you."
Throne narrowed his eyes. The hazy moonlight outlined a figure, tall and looming.
The armor encasing him was filthy, weighed down by jagged horns jutting from every surface. A massive sun emblem blazed across his chestplate. Over one shoulder rested a grotesque greatsword—its blade resembling a segmented spine fused together. The Dung Eater. The Lands Between's most depraved Tarnished. A butcher whose name alone turned men pale.
"So it's you."
Throne's fingers tightened around his sword hilt.
"Does working with nobles bother you that much?"
He knew this psychopath craved becoming an Omen. But confronting him here, unprovoked? That was unexpected.
"What nobles?"
The Dung Eater cocked his head, hefting the spine-sword with unsettling ease.
"Never heard of them. Hey—can you feel it? The blessing?"
"Blessing?"
Throne's nose wrinkled.
"All I smell is rot." His blade hissed free from its scabbard.
"Why slaughter indiscriminately?"
"Searching."
The greatsword's jagged edge caught the light.
"For those worthy of the blessing. Most swine don't qualify no matter how many I gut. You though..."
A wet chuckle.
"Might be special."
Steel shrieked.
Throne's crimson slash cut the rant short. He'd dealt with enough madmen lately—no patience left for sermons. But the Dung Eater moved fast. The blade only carved through air as he vaulted backward, bisecting a crumbling wall instead.
"Despair!"
The killer crouched atop the fractured stonework, trembling with excitement.
"More! Let it drown me!"
"Fucking masochist."
Throne kicked the remaining wall apart in a spray of debris. His follow-up strike met the spine-sword midair—impact reverberating up his arm. Strong. Of course. Weaklings didn't survive long in this line of work.
Blade locked against blade, Throne twisted—
Senpou Leaping Kicks!
His boot slammed into the Dung Eater's chestplate. The force catapulted the armored figure through two more walls before embedding him in a building thirty meters away. Dust billowed.
Throne didn't wait. He sprinted through the debris cloud and leapt, sword raised overhead for a killing stroke.
Metal shrieked. Stone split.
The Dung Eater barely parried, knees buckling as the impact cratered the ground beneath him. Instead of fear, laughter bubbled from his helm.
"Yes! This hatred! This loathing for existence!"
Throne pressed down, his blade inching closer. The spine-sword's spikes grazed his opponent's pauldron—
Then the stench hit.
Shit-black flames erupted from the Dung Eater's armor. The reek of sewage and curses rolled off him in waves. Throne barely Bloodhound Stepped away in time, watching embers sizzle on his sleeve.
"Goddamn it."
He batted at the clinging fire. Worse than the Frenzied Flame—this filth seeped into your soul. Only certain twisted individuals carried this affliction.
Across the ruins, the Dung Eater charged. Berserk. Spittle flying behind his visor. A living embodiment of defilement and despair.
Throne's grip shifted. Both hands on the hilt now. Golden light flared in his eyes as he swung—
Not a swordsman's strike.
A batter's home run swing.
The air screamed.
The wind pressure exploded into a pale ring. The Dung Eater was sent flying, bouncing and rolling along the ground like a stone, smashing several wooden houses into ruins. Screams erupted all around, but Throne sprinted forward along the trail the impact had created.
He watched as balls of foul-smelling flame came flying toward him; upon closer inspection, they were actually twisted human faces. Rivers of Blood! Swish, swish, swish... Dense, crimson sword energy tore these fireballs into shreds. With someone watching, Throne couldn't easily use extra power, but this—this was enough! He rushed out from the lingering fire and slashed at the opponent's head.
Seeing the Dung Eater duck to dodge, the greatsword also ignited with yellow-black flames, stabbing directly toward Throne's chest. Clang—Throne reached to his waist and drew Moonveil.
A more violent force slammed into the greatsword, preventing it from advancing an inch, while the Rivers of Blood in his right hand had already slashed back. Ding!!
The sword slashed into the shoulder armor, and a spray of blood shot out. The Dung Eater pressed himself close, his entire body ablaze with yellow-black flames, until Throne's knee slammed heavily into his chest.
Instantly stained with blood, it brought forth explosive power. The Dung Eater before him was gone, turned into a shooting star that flew over a hundred meters, slamming into the castle wall with a 'boom'. Throne stepped down but did not chase after him to deliver the final blow.
With both swords pointed diagonally at the ground, he turned his head slightly and saw the hunters emerging from the darkness.
"What the hell are you doing?"
The person who emerged from the darkness was none other than Elemer.
He led a group of hunters scattered in various positions with no intention of greeting Throne; over by the castle wall, some knights were already using iron chains to bind the Dung Eater. Throne had actually known for a while that someone was watching from the shadows, which was why he had tried to stick to using sword skills.
He hadn't expected these people to use him, though; it seemed they had been planning to capture the Dung Eater alive all along.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"As expected of the Old Man. Such swordsmanship—perhaps only the Valkyrie could firmly suppress it in The Lands Between."
Elemer wore a smile on his face.
"I asked what you meant. Did I give you permission to steal my prey?"
Throne's gaze grew colder, and he lightly raised his sword.
"We didn't expect you to do such a great job either. This job will come with extra pay. Since you were going to kill him anyway, why not sell him to us?"
This was put quite logically. Throne certainly wanted to kill this bastard; he had no fondness for the Age of Despair. However, he was more curious about what these hunters—no, the nobles behind them—wanted to do by capturing the Dung Eater alive. Logically speaking, shouldn't they just hack him to pieces? No, wait—it seemed that back in the Tarnished's time, the Dung Eater was also just locked up, not killed. He remembered something he had almost forgotten, and his pupils constricted slightly.
It seemed the Dung Eater himself possessed a certain value.
"You're curious about what we intend to do by capturing this heinous villain alive?"
Elemer read his expression.
"Can you tell me?"
"There's nothing to keep secret about that."
The hunter smiled slightly and provided the answer: "We are doing the same as you—seeking greater power."
This answer was perfect; it seemed to say something, yet it said nothing at all. Throne clearly knew the other party had no intention of revealing the secret, so he turned his head to look at the Dung Eater's peculiar appearance and recalled another matter.
"Why does he disguise himself as an Omen?"
"Perhaps he's praying he won't suffer from dementia; the Omen never have to worry about dementia."
Elemer raised an eyebrow.
"The Omen don't suffer from dementia?"
Throne froze. The words struck a nerve, exposing a gap in his understanding.
"So Count Hero wants to harness their power to cure dementia."
His voice was flat, almost a whisper.
"Yes," Elemer replied, clicking his heels with military precision. "But I can't tell you how."
He nodded once, a gesture of finality.
Throne stood in the center of the ruins, his sword gripped tight, his mind racing. Greater power? Just like me? The thought gnawed at him. He was the Old Man, after all, and behind the Old Man loomed the Mohgwyn Dynasty. Slowly, he sheathed his blade, a bitter smile tugging at his lips.
"These nobles have lost their minds. Ranni, what do you think they're trying to pull?"
The Lunar Princess watched from the shadows, her head tilting ever so slightly.
"I don't know. I've had no dealings with the Dung Eater. But perhaps… consider the source of that curse power."
Her voice was calm, almost detached.
Throne frowned. Curse power? He muttered to himself, the pieces slowly clicking into place. The yellow-black flame—only one kind of person wielded it: the Dung Eater, Margit, and the Omen.
"In ancient times, the curse was a blessing. If you trace this power back…" His breath hitched.
"The crucible of life."
Yes. The crucible of life—the cradle, the soil of the Erdtree. It had taken root there, sprouted, grown into a towering giant. According to legend, the crucible was the Erdtree's earliest form. And Elemer's remark—the Omen don't suffer from dementia. Was this the nobles' goal? To mine some miracle cure from that ancient power? But why the Dung Eater?
His thoughts spiraled. Was it because of the Nights Cavalry? Had the Omen in the capital's sewers become untouchable? Memories surfaced, buried deep. The Dung Eater spread curses, cultivated them, became a breeding ground himself. And from that, the Mending Rune was born.
Throne's jaw tightened. He began to see the nobles' plan, why they kept Crucible Knights at their side. But where was Godfrey? Had he been resurrected? He turned toward The Shaded Castle, its lights flickering like distant stars, its flags snapping in the wind. The stench of the city hung heavy in the air, a tension coiled tight in the night.
Since leaving Volcano Manor, Throne had felt something was off. His intuition had been vague, a shadow he couldn't shake. Now, the unease had a shape.
"Ranni, this isn't as simple as I thought. What's hidden in The Shaded Castle… it's more than just sin."
"Then what will you do?"
Ranni's tone was even, her faith in Throne unwavering.
"First, I'll verify my theory. There's no rush. I'm already in the game, and their target isn't me."
"You're still this calm?"
"I've walked too many roads, killed too many powerful foes. Why panic now?"
Ranni smiled faintly, her gaze steady.
A hero is not defined by how strong their power is, but by the mentality of not changing one's expression even when the mountains collapse before them.