Throne felt like a pawn in some cosmic joke, caught between a princess with iron will and his own stubborn resolve. Near the Haligtree, the faint trace of his teacher's scent teased his senses, reminding him of unfinished business.
"Come here," a voice cut through his thoughts.
He blinked, his mental storm interrupted by the brim of a wide hat. "I said come here," Ranni repeated, her tone sharp. Throne's chest tightened. Could she have seen through him? The thought gnawed at him as he reluctantly stepped closer.
Their shoulders brushed. Ranni tilted her head up, and before Throne could react, cold pressed against his cheek. His pupils narrowed, flames flickering in his gaze. Beside them, Torrent rolled its eyes, crunching on a rowa fruit with blissful indifference.
Outside the tree hollow, the wind howled, slicing through the icy mist of the snowfield. Inside, the torchlight cast a warm glow, a fragile oasis against the chill. Ranni vanished as quickly as she'd appeared. Throne stood frozen, his hand slowly rising to touch the spot where her lips had lingered. The cold sensation lingered too, like a ghost imprint.
He exhaled sharply, the realization hitting him.
"Princess, you really don't play by the rules," he muttered. "I was planning for a treaty under the city walls, and you went straight for an all-out assault."
The storm he'd hoped to quell now loomed larger than ever.
But as the shock faded, a sly grin crept across his face. He'd profited again, hadn't he?
"Does this count as getting on the carriage before buying the ticket?" he mused. He'd never been one for the standard progression path, but this? This was ahead of the game. The Dark Moon ring felt like a trinket now, something he could discard without a second thought.
His nose twitched, catching the faint trace of Ranni's fragrance still lingering in the air. He turned his head slowly, catching Torrent mid-munch, its eyes wide with curiosity. Throne rapped its head lightly.
"What are you staring at? This is how humans express intimacy. Don't go blabbing to your former master."
As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Torrent couldn't tell Melina, and the Spirit Steed wasn't exactly a gossip. Still, Torrent sprang to its feet, its long tongue licking Throne's face with fervor.
"Alright, alright," Throne groaned, pushing the steed's head away. "You're not human. Why are you joining in the fun?"
Torrent quieted, but its eyes burned with an intensity that caught Throne off guard.
"You want to become human?" he asked, half-joking.
Torrent snorted, a sound that could only mean agreement.
Lansseax's words echoed in his mind. The Ancient Dragon might play dumb, but she wouldn't lie about something like this. He nodded softly.
"Alright, since you don't object, I'll ask Lansseax when the time comes."
The Spirit Steed erupted with excitement, its front hooves knocking Throne to the ground before it resumed its enthusiastic face-licking. After a chaotic display, Torrent finally settled, snoring softly beside him.
Throne sighed. "Just like your former master. You can eat and sleep, but you're not slow. You're just too damn enthusiastic."
Throne wiped the saliva from his face with his cloak. Thinking of Melina, he coughed lightly and hardened his expression.
"Melina, where did you run off to?"
The cave stretched deep and dark, its blue bricks tangled with vines. Melted wax pooled on the ground, and torches flickered with grayish-white flames. Cling—clang, clang, clang! A blade flashed through the pitch-black corridor.
Over a dozen short, green-skinned imps were sliced apart. They tumbled to the ground, hurling daggers. The red-haired girl with the katana halted, her blade sparking as it deflected the hidden weapons. She leaped high, using the wall for leverage, and her speed surged. A direct thrust!
Her body followed the sword. Star-Frost pierced an imp's forehead, pinning it to the wall. She released the hilt, crouched low as the blade grazed her hair, and pressed her palm to the ground. A sweeping leg kick. Whack, whack, whack, whack... The surrounding imps toppled. Before they could recover, Millicent rose and drew her blade.
She charged for a moment, then unleashed a continuous sweep of blade light. Flesh split. The girl leaned forward, feeling the chunks of corpses fall around her.
"Millicent, your blade has become faster."
Melina emerged from the shadows, clapping softly.
"Not at all. I'm still far from reaching Teacher."
Millicent shook the blood off her sword and sheathed it, wiping sweat from her forehead.
"Why do you always compare yourself to him?" Melina hesitated, then added, "You're different. Throne's path to strength isn't just about the blade."
"I know Teacher's a monster, but at least in swordsmanship, I don't want to fall behind."
Millicent paused, glancing at Melina's dazed expression.
"You absolutely must not tell Teacher."
"Tell him what?"
"That I called him a monster behind his back. He'll knock me on the head."
"My lips are sealed."
Melina's mouth twitched briefly. She scanned their surroundings.
"By the way, we're lost. What should we do?"
"It's fine. If we keep moving forward, there'll always be a way out!"
Millicent patted Melina's shoulder with an air of maturity, slung her long sword over her shoulder, and strode ahead.
"I'll lead the way. You just follow. Listen to the call and meet my destiny!"
Melina glanced at the stone coffins and white candles around her, then looked up at the entrance. The elevator was at least a hundred meters above. She stepped forward, watching Millicent's figure ahead, and murmured softly, "Throne, you've already heard it, right?"
"Hmm, this rebellious disciple dares to speak ill of her master behind his back. I'll definitely settle the score later!"
Throne cackled sinisterly, his laugh echoing with the souls of countless Hall elders he'd devoured. It has nothing to do with me, he thought, suddenly establishing a mental connection.
Melina whispered her regret. "I intentionally brought her into this catacomb to run in circles. It should delay her. You need to hurry."
You've learned to bluff people? Throne was surprised. Melina had brought Millicent into a catacomb, one of those long, tedious dungeons. It was a clever distraction.
"By the way, which catacomb are you in?"
"I don't know. Aren't all these gloomy places the same?"
Melina glanced at the stone coffins and took a step back. Cling! A poisoned dagger stabbed the ground in front of her.
A twisted, petite creature dropped down. Before it could lunge, a Black Knife pierced its skull. Rumbling footsteps echoed from ahead.
Warrior Jars two meters tall charged forward in a violent stampede. Millicent didn't retreat—she met them head-on. At the last second, she dropped into a slide, her blade flashing twice. Thick ceramic legs shattered.
"Huh. Warrior Jars in a catacomb?"
Throne 'saw' the battle through their shared vision. This godforsaken hole usually only had imps and Those Who Live in Death.
"It's larger than expected."
Melina kicked off the wall, driving her Black Knife into a jar's belly. Fetid pulp exploded outward.
She glanced up. That relentless figure was already moving, blade carving forward. Melina hurried to follow. Millicent couldn't navigate her way out of a paper bag. To this day, no one understood how she'd mistaken the southern grand lift for a northern route.
Enemies poured from the blackened corridor. Millicent cut them down like wheat, not stopping until she hit the central hall. Her charge faltered—steel shrieked as she raised her sword just in time. A guillotine blade crashed down, trap triggered.
The mechanism groaned, pressing her entire body down under its weight. The fleeing imps turned, hurling a storm of daggers. Sparks erupted—clangclangclang—as Melina's twin blades became a silver whirlwind. She kicked Millicent clear just as the guillotine rose again.
Melina stepped onto the ascending blade, riding it upward. At the apex, she traced a sigil. Golden Order Blade. A flash of light. The mechanism embedded in the rock wall shattered. The guillotine froze mid-fall.
"Watch your step. This place is a death trap."
She landed lightly before Millicent.
"Got careless."
Millicent adjusted her grip, stepping forward to shield the other woman.
"This is my trial, sister. Stay back." Before Melina could protest, she called into the shadows: "Besides. Our real opponent's here."
Silver ooze dripped from the corridor's end. The substance writhed—elongating, sprouting limbs, forging a blade from its own mass. Features resolved into a mirror image.
"Millicent?!"
"Now I see where you've been. Damn it, how'd you even get here?"
Throne observed the newcomer with detached curiosity. Of course she'd stumble upon this. The girl had a protagonist's luck, uncovering every hidden ruin while he got stuck with curses. A runaway Mimic Tear—flawed remnant of the Eternal City's king-making experiments.
The sight resurrected buried plans. Elden Lord and Bell-Ringing Servant.
"Failed prototype. Copies appearances, skills, gear. Shouldn't be a threat—just kill it clean. And harvest the remains."
"The Nox went this far?"
Melina saw that Millicent had already lunged forward, and then there were two—blades clashing, movements perfectly mirrored.
"They've done worse to themselves."
Throne watched a moment longer before losing interest. A lone Mimic Tear could only parrot. Poorly.
Although achieving a physical resemblance went beyond the scope of 'technique,' aside from having stronger defense, it felt clumsy and was always a few beats too slow. This was also the reason he hadn't taken the Mimic Tear to heart. Imitation always had its limits; it couldn't turn into two demigods to gang up on others. The clanging of blades colliding continued.
Millicent was clearly enjoying it; nothing could hone swordsmanship better than an identical opponent. Moreover, she discovered that this strange monster was learning; whenever she used a new sword technique, it would be imitated. Throne withdrew his gaze. At his level, a failed product wasn't worth watching, unless such things could be mass-produced and deployed in war.
"After clearing this catacomb, head east. There are plenty of monsters for Millicent to use for trials. Oh, and you must be careful too; those Godskin should be able to track you."
Melina's expression became a bit more serious. Throne could kill Godskin Noble repeatedly, but that didn't mean she could.
This trial was full of crises, and this time, that man was not standing by her side to shield her from the wind and rain.
"Are you preparing to go to Elphael?" Melina asked uneasily. How long had it been? She was already no longer used to traveling alone.
"Yeah, ten years of separation should come to an end."
In a tree hollow a hundred Miles away, Throne gripped his sword and stood up. Outside was a howling blizzard, and the light of day was piercing through the snow and wind. If those nobles didn't have a procrastination problem, the grand spectacle had already begun!
Whoosh—
The weathered sound of a military horn pierced through the snow and wind, echoing in this icy, snow-covered world. The sound of orderly footsteps rang out with the horn, a giant golden wall slowly moving forward. Cavalry were on the flanks, and in the center was a heavy phalanx. The upright golden spears reflected the sunlight, and flags painted with the Erdtree fluttered in the wind.
In the air were giant gargoyles, and in the rear were Golems over ten meters tall. These terrifying war machines were even more daunting. Boom, boom, boom... Listening to the footsteps and watching the slowly advancing military formation, a murderous aura permeated the Consecrated Snowfield. Across a small frozen river, another army was also standing in battle formation.
The Haligtree Army had not yet caught its breath. Malenia was unconscious, and no one had the authority to issue a general mobilization. Finlay, who had only brought out two thousand militia and nearly a hundred knights, had a solemn look in her eyes as she gazed at this Leyndell army, which was several times stronger in both quantity and quality.
The most troublesome thing was that Ordina had no defenses, not even a city wall to separate the two armies. Clop, clop, clop... The sound of rapid hoofbeats approached. A Cleanrot Knight crossed the frozen river, pulled on the reins, and stopped in front of Finlay.
"Ivan, what did the other side say?"
The powerful female knight couldn't be bothered with pleasantries. Throne's old friend took off his helmet, gasped for air, and shook his head solemnly: "What else could they say? They said that no matter what, we must give an explanation within today. Their patience has been exhausted."
"I've already said it: let Morgott come and talk. It's they who are staying outside and refusing to leave."
"That Miles said that you have no right to make demands."
Finlay was choked by the words. In terms of status, the leader of the Tree Sentinel was higher than her, so it seemed that saying this wasn't exactly arrogant.
"Then, did you mention my proposal?"
"I did, but his answer was very ugly. Are you sure you want me to say it?"
"Say it!"