She wasn't wrong. Without him, the Age of Stars might never have ended. She could have died in the decay of the Golden Age, or been consumed by the prairie fire of the Frenzied Flame.
"We're more than like-minded. Don't forget, I'm your Lord Consort. Why bother drawing lines between us?"
"Who said you were the Lord Consort!"
Ranni lifted her chin high, then abruptly lowered it, hiding her face behind the brim of her oversized hat.
"You're the Consort-to-be. Don't forget it!"
Throne shrugged. Was there really a difference? He was used to her tsundere antics by now.
"So when does the 'to-be' get removed?" he pressed, stepping closer. This time, Ranni didn't vanish in a flustered retreat.
Perhaps sensing the peril ahead—after all, Godfrey had ambushed them once already—she realized some words left unsaid might never be spoken. Her four hands clenched the hem of her robe, her voice steadying.
"When you kill the Two Fingers and sever fate's chains… I'll acknowledge you as my Lord Consort."
Throne was already at the cave's entrance, but her words froze him mid-step. He turned, genuinely startled. He hadn't expected much, but after a moment's hesitation, wild elation surged through him. Godfrey, you've done me a solid. Stay calm. Now's the time to keep cool, to maintain the upper hand over Ranni in the future.
He kept his face neutral, nodding curtly.
"Mm. Once the Two Fingers are dead, remember to wash up and wait for me."
With that, he turned and strode into the wind and snow, vanishing before she could respond, leaving her staring at his retreating back.
Ranni stood frozen, emotions cascading through her. First, shame at her bluntness. Then, irritation at Throne's lackluster reaction. Finally, as his words sank in, her face burned crimson.
"What do you mean 'wash up and wait for you'? Explain yourself!"
On the Mountaintops of the Giants, the wind sliced through the air like a blade, biting into exposed skin. This was the edge of the world. Above, pristine snow stretched endlessly. The rhythmic clink of a blade echoed as Throne drove it into the rock wall. Outside, the cold was relentless, but inside, his heart burned.
After years of outmaneuvering Ranni's tsundere defenses, victory was finally within reach.
"Hmph, I told you long ago you couldn't beat me. Forget about holding any authority over me."
He grinned, chuckling softly, and silently thanked Godfrey again. Without his looming threat, who knows how long Ranni would've held out? Thinking deeper, there was never any doubt about the outcome—only who would hold the advantage. Truthfully, if it weren't for Melina, Throne wouldn't have cared who came out on top. And deep down, Ranni had already moved past Melina. But it wasn't just about Melina. Throne rubbed his temples, feeling a headache brewing.
The battle of wits with Ranni was far from over. Still, the first crack had been made, and things would be easier from here. Lost in thought, he reached the cliff's edge, pressed his hand down, and hauled himself onto solid ground. The snow mountain stretched before him. Time to focus.
Throne shook off his reverie and scanned the surroundings, but the bitter wind and snow blurred his vision. All he could make out were jagged rocks and frozen trees. The howl of the storm filled his ears.
It was early winter. The gale blew so hard it was impossible to keep one's eyes open. A thin layer of ice had formed on the surface of his cloak, and the ground was covered in snow half a foot deep.
"This godforsaken place is too cold. Can humans really survive here?" Throne rubbed his hands, realizing he had just said something redundant. Of course there were people on the Mountaintops of the Giants, such as the Fire Monks.
Not just humans, but all sorts of strange and powerful creatures. He needed to figure out where he was first. He looked around. In The Lands Between, there was one landmark that could be seen from anywhere: the Erdtree. Even with the snow obscuring his vision, Throne could still see a brilliant golden light to the southwest.
Judging by the distance, it was already quite far away. 'The coastline is to the west. Judging by the distance, is this the Consecrated Snowfield?' Throne felt slightly relieved. As long as he hadn't ended up in some bizarre place, it was fine. However, the Consecrated Snowfield was also quite vast. If he remembered correctly, to the south was the Grand Lift of Rold, the necessary path to Leyndell.
He had to head north. At the end of the Consecrated Snowfield was Ordina. If Finlay wasn't an idiot, she would never let the Golden Army pass through there. The Golden Army was different from someone like the Bishop of the Two Fingers. Before the pressure reached a breaking point, the Cleanrot Knights would certainly stand their ground against them. Of course, there were two other possibilities.
Ordina wasn't the only way. After all, it would be too inefficient for an army of thousands to use a single portal. Either the two sides had already started fighting, but without an overwhelmingly powerful figure, the Haligtree wouldn't surrender so quickly.
"I'll find a place with people first to gather some intel."
Throne was in no hurry to rush. There were too many people wanting his life right now. If seven or eight Crucible Knights or Godskin Nobles showed up, Sellen would have to be the one saving him. Pulling up his hood, Throne blew his horse whistle to summon Torrent. Just as he was about to leave, he remembered something.
"No, I need to give you a disguise too."
There were advantages to jumping ship halfway. Those waiting to intercept him wouldn't know where he would appear, so he had to keep a low profile.
"Let's change your color first."
Throne took out some dye. As a result, Torrent thought it was food and stuck out her tongue to lick it, only to be lightly tapped on the head by him.
"Don't be greedy. Let's agree first: once I put this on you, don't lick it off and eat it."
Snort—
Torrent let out a whinny as if in agreement, but soon stuck out her tongue to lick it again. Chemistry didn't exist in The Lands Between, and the dye was made from plants. Throne was helpless and could only pull out a handful of Rowa Fruit, complaining, "How are you as dim-witted as your former master?"
Just as he finished speaking, he was nudged by Torrent's hoof, her eyes full of seriousness. Don't compare me to that log! But this seriousness did not earn Throne's praise; instead, she immediately received another tap on the head.
"If someone gives you more Rowa Fruit in the future, are you going to say bad things about me too??"
Torrent was quite intelligent and soon realized her attempt at flattery had backfired. Since she couldn't speak, she stuck out her long tongue to lick Throne's face.
"Alright, alright, I'm covered in your spit."
Throne had finished the dye job by then. He stepped back two paces, looking at his work with satisfaction. The Spirit Steed was now white. The two horns on her forehead were a bit of a problem, so he took a breastplate, bent the steel by force, and fitted it over the horns like two specially made battering rams. He put away his twin blades and took out weapons that were both precious and not too conspicuous, like the meteorite staff and the Crystal Staff. Only then did he mount up, take the reins, and ride Torrent toward the north.
As the knife-like wind and snow slapped his face, he simply fastened a Silver Mask over his face—standard equipment for the snow mountains. The Spirit Steed's hoofprints stretched toward the north, only to be quickly covered by the snow again. Consulting his map, he galloped for over ten kilometers before Throne faintly saw a building.
Due to the poor visibility, he could only vaguely make out what seemed to be a wall.
"Torrent, over there."
The Spirit Steed stepped through the snow, instantly changing direction. Her speed was unaffected by the accumulation. Soon, Throne discovered it was a wooden wall, with ice frozen onto the surface of the thick logs, clearly making them harder than in other places. Yelough Anix?
There weren't many towns in the Consecrated Snowfield, and this was the only one on the western side. As the Spirit Steed drew closer, a small town revealed itself before Throne. The buildings mainly featured pointed roofs and slanted tiles, with large log beams exposed, appearing rugged and bold. Vertical chimneys emitted black smoke, seemingly able to dispel a bit of the severe cold.
There weren't many pedestrians on the street, but they all wrapped themselves tightly. Those without masks would have bandages wrapped around them, revealing only a pair of eyes. Hearing the sound of hooves, the pedestrians turned their heads to look, but there was no curiosity or wariness in their eyes. The attitude of the mountain people was like this cold wind: biting and indifferent.
Whether they were Tarnished or other warriors, there were too many people eager to come to the snow mountains to make a fortune. They would soon die in the cold wind, their corpses covered by ice and snow. Since they were as good as dead, what was there to care about? Only those who survived would be the strong, so one should not waste time becoming stronger for the sake of curiosity.
"The local customs here are quite different again."
Throne didn't even need to ask; he could distinguish the character of the mountain people from their eyes. He had already been to many places, such as the gentle and indirect people of Liurnia, the hospitable people of Caelid, the people of Limgrave struggling in the cracks, and the flowing desires of The Shaded Castle.
Each land would nourish different people, and even the Tarnished would be affected. Under such harsh conditions, the mountain people truly couldn't produce any fiery passion. Even the guards at the gate did not stop him, merely collecting a substantial entry fee. In this godforsaken place, the town was a sanctuary.
Throne had intended to give some extra Runes to fish for information, but the soldier wearing chainmail and a thick fur coat directly returned the Runes, saying solemnly:
"There is a saying in the snow mountains: The wind and snow will punish every overly greedy person. For every extra bit of greed, the danger increases by a fraction."
Throne held the coin purse, stunned for several seconds, before finally giving a nod of respect.
"I stand corrected."
These words were sincere. He knew the mountain slang came from lessons learned in blood and tears. Gritting one's teeth to move forward in pursuit of greater prey—it was precisely this greed that made it difficult for people to return.
He led his horse along, observing the pedestrians on the road with interest. Most of them were tall and built, carrying heavy weapons like greataxes, greatswords, and cleavers. There was no lack of Tarnished who had come for trials. With Throne's personality, the breakthrough point would definitely be a tavern where people from all walks of life gathered.
He finished tying his horse, nostrils flaring. That scent—too familiar. Throne lifted his head, scanning the street. The tavern door swung open. A broad-shouldered man emerged, draped in a heavy cloak, a crimson hood pulled low. Sharp instincts. The man sensed the weight of Throne's gaze and turned, their eyes locking.
His gaze lingered briefly on the staff at Throne's waist before he looked away. The tavern door opened again. More figures spilled out. The leader wore a white mask, elegant and cold. He dipped his head in a curt nod to Throne before turning to leave. Their backs melted into the wind and snow that swept the long street.
Throne returned the Stargazer's salute, then lifted his chin, staring thoughtfully in their direction.
"Old friends from the Mohgwyn Dynasty. Almost forgot—there's an entrance to their territory at the peak of these snow mountains."
Memories surfaced, sharp and sudden. A secret clicked into place. Much had changed in The Lands Between, but some things endured.
"That teleporter—it's the one Mohg used to kidnap Miquella. So what are these people doing here in the snow mountains?"
The confusion lasted only a heartbeat. Throne, who'd foiled Mohg's plans in Caelid, pieced it together. Demigod blood. That old deviant Mohg still craved it.
Radahn was busy cleansing the rot from Redmane Castle—no chance there. Rykard was dead. Ranni, a puppet. The one cradled by Rennala had no blood to offer. Mohg's targets were dwindling.
Bernahl had once said: a demigod didn't have to be a lord. Distant royal relatives could inherit the lineage or a great rune. Except for the likes of Godrick, the rest were scraps—barely fit to be Kings. But if quality was lacking, quantity could make up the difference.
Bernahl held two. Vyke had none yet. That meant two scraps were still out there.
"Could they be after the Bishop of the Two Fingers?"
Throne's mind leaped to the candidate. He glanced toward the tavern, licked his lips, and followed. He could drink later. Chances to catch up with "old friends" were rare.
Evening deepened, the wind and snow howling louder. Throne crouched in the shadow of an alley, hands rubbing together for warmth. The Bloody Fingers had vanished into a house at the end of the street. They'd been inside a long time. That old deviant Mohg was growing restless. His Dynasty was exposed.
He hadn't dared activate the medal's teleportation authorization yet, but Mohg, the demigod lurking in the shadows, was watching. In a way, he hoped The Lands Between would keep rotting. Only if madness spread and civilization crumbled could he wait for his moment. As a recluse, he had no desire to emerge. But things had shifted.
With The Lands Between teetering on the edge of a new Shattering, his existence was no longer hidden. He'd made an enemy of Caria. If the Erdtree triumphed, fine. But if Caria won, they'd dig three feet into the earth to find him. And if they did, what could he do against a unified Lands Between ruled by Caria?
"So the plan must be moved forward. Even if not to make an enemy of me, he must at least have the power to protect himself. And the only thing that can oppose me is to become the new King."
Throne understood Mohg's reasoning, but he also had a score to settle with the deviant. What were these Bloody Fingers plotting? Throne kept his distance, wary and unfamiliar with the snow mountains.
Either they were after Malenia or that Bishop of the Two Fingers. Either way, it didn't add up. Cleanrot Knights and Tree Sentinels weren't exactly pushovers. How were these few idiots planning to pull it off with both sides ready to tear each other apart? The sky deepened to a heavy gray, and every exhale hung in the air like frost.
Snow dusted Throne's head, thick and unrelenting. The door to the log cabin stayed stubbornly shut. These Bloody Fingers—were they allergic to sunlight? He cursed under his breath, regretting not bringing Melina along. She was built for stakeouts, standing motionless for hours like she was carved from stone.
Fine. If waiting wasn't working, he'd try something else. The group had come from the bar—maybe the answers were back there. Throne retraced his steps, spotting the tavern with its rough-hewn facade. It wasn't laziness; it was practicality. In The Lands Between, entertainment was rare, and every town had its watering hole.
People had needs, even here. For most men, getting drunk and finding a woman to bed was the height of pleasure. Throne wasn't about to indulge—he wasn't that bold—but a drink or two wouldn't hurt. He pushed the door open, and warmth washed over him like a tide.
The fireplace roared, thawing the bite of the cold. Rough log tables filled the room, their surfaces bare and unfinished—pure northern grit. But unlike the chaos of Caelid, the mood here was subdued. Men and women huddled close, murmuring in low tones.
Don't mistake the quiet for refinement. The barbarism of the snow mountains clung to them like a second skin. They drank with women draped over their laps, hands wandering freely. These mountain folk weren't ones for bragging. Life was short—might as well enjoy it while it lasted.
"Throne, could you stop frequenting places like this in the future?"
Ranni's voice cut in, tinged with exasperation. As a self-proclaimed recluse, she'd tagged along to see the world, only to find herself drowning in the crude excess of humanity.