No wonder these scattered Crucible Knights have regrouped; no wonder they would intervene in the power struggle of Leyndell.
"Does Morgott also know about this?"
"Of course. He is the scion of the King; there is no need to keep it from him."
The two Tree Sentinels drew a breath; beyond their astonishment, the rest was pure excitement.
With the defeat at Volcano Manor, the destruction of The Shaded Castle, and another failure at Ordina, this mess can no longer be resolved by anyone; it has already exceeded the limits of Morgott's capabilities. The Golden Order is teetering on the brink.
At a time like this, a powerful entity needs to step forward and unite the power of the Erdtree into a single force, and there are only two such powerful entities. Radagon or Godfrey. Even though the latter has been exiled and become a Tarnished, and Marika is nowhere to be found, and even the Omen is now being conscripted—who cares about such things anymore?
Besides, the Tarnished themselves are a powerful force.
"In that case, we can rest easy."
Moras clenched his fist, his body brimming with fighting spirit.
"With King Godfrey and all the Crucible Knights, at worst, we can just launch another Golden conquest!"
"Then help me clear out the disobedient ones and keep this army firmly in our grasp."
Ordovis flicked his cloak, knowing that there were some people these two hadn't dealt with yet.
"Very well. Those who cannot be touched—I will kill them for you as well."
The Tree Sentinel raised his halberd. Times had changed; regardless, with Godfrey's personality, it would inevitably result in a bloodbath.
"May I ask, when will the King return?"
The Crucible Knight looked at the massive Haligtree before him, his mouth splitting into a grin, his face beneath the helmet filled with delight.
"Soon."
Early the next morning, Throne was wearing an apron, making breakfast in the cramped kitchen of the treehouse.
Over the years, he had either eaten dry rations or had Melina cook for him, so his cooking skills had long since rusted, but for that very reason, he was quite adept at concocting dark cuisine. He mixed a liquid from an unknown egg with chunks of meat and flour, imitating Melina's way of frying it in a pan.
It looked decent enough, but then he grabbed the box of salt and other seasonings and, without a second thought, just dumped them in. The amount was entirely up to his mood, and soon, a complex aroma began to waft from the pan.
"Is it not ready yet?"
Sellen squirmed around on the bed, wrapped in a quilt.
"Don't rush, don't rush, it's almost done. By the way, are you not getting up yet?"
"I don't feel like moving. Besides, now that you're here, whether it's killing or chores, you can do it all."
You're even worse than me when it comes to ordering Melina around; you don't even bother to cajole.
"By the way, didn't you like to get up in the middle of the night to do research?"
"There are no interesting projects. Engineering like the dual primeval glintstone implantation is too massive; it needs careful thought. Why do I smell something strange?"
Damn! Throne turned back and discovered that his "special recipe" flatbread was already charred black; he had gotten distracted while chatting and let it burn. Instinctively, he scooped some clean water from the nearby jar and poured it in.
Sizzle—
The scorching pan hissed slightly as the water hit it, and the fried flatbread immediately turned into a black, indescribable thick soup. Throne's expression stiffened as he took a look. He didn't pour it out; instead, he grabbed a large ceramic bowl and poured it in. Sellen had already gotten out of bed and was using a wooden comb to neaten her hair.
Her cascade of dark hair fell down like a waterfall, enough to make any woman envious. Throne glanced at her back, thinking that if his teacher's personality weren't so bizarre, it would be great. What a quiet, elegant woman—and yet, she was a mad scientist.
"Huh? Teacher, has your hair grown longer?"
As a hopelessly dense man, he only just noticed that her hair, which used to reach her shoulders, now reached her waist. He hadn't even noticed yesterday.
"Ah? It really has grown."
Sellen hadn't noticed either. She pulled it over to look, then immediately frowned.
"Apprentice, draw your blade and cut it off for me."
"Forget it. Long hair looks quite good; it would be a pity to cut it."
Sellen turned her head to look at Throne. She wanted to teach him not to care about appearances, but feeling that this apprentice was hopelessly dense, she sighed softly.
"You like long hair?"
"I suppose so."
"Then I won't cut it. It's not bad to let you be in a better mood, after all."
Sellen picked up a white strip of cloth, tied her long hair back, rose, and came to the table, leaning down to sniff the ceramic bowl. Throne had been feeling a bit guilty, prepared to shift the blame onto her, but then he saw Sellen clap her hands.
"Such a fragrant aroma. As expected, I prefer your cooking after all."
Throne's mouth twitched, and after a long while, he squeezed out a sentence, "As long as you like it."
He had completely surrendered to Sellen's sense of taste. Sometimes he even wondered if he truly was a master chef and ordinary people just didn't know how to appreciate it.
He sat across from Sellen, propping his head up with his hand, watching her eat the boiled, mushy, unidentifiable black substance spoonful by spoonful.
"Are you not eating?"
"I've already eaten. Just watching you is enough."
"Oh, then watch to your heart's content."
Sellen didn't care.
If it were Ranni, she wouldn't be able to swallow a single bite, and if it were Melina, she would be quietly watching Throne with vigilance, guarding against him playing a prank on her. But the sorceress just ate while pulling out her notes to read, occasionally writing a few lines.
Once she had finished it all, she set it aside, and Throne naturally took the empty bowl and ran to the kitchen to wash it. These days felt like a return to Raya Lucaria Academy. Back then, Throne was still very naive, and any magic professor was an existence to be looked up to. It was Sellen who had provided shelter and sent him all the way to Caelid.
"Apprentice, you think this kind of life is not bad, right?"
Sellen's voice came. Throne turned to look and saw the sorceress still lowering her head to write in her notes. Sunlight shone in from outside the window, leaving dancing tree shadows on the floor, while the sea breeze stirred the sheer curtains, constructing a wonderful scene together with the focused sorceress.
After a glance, Throne continued rinsing the plates and answered without lifting his head, "Not bad. It makes one feel as if time has slowed down along with it."
"So sometimes I wonder, if we didn't go and do so many troublesome things, and just found a random place to live like this, that wouldn't be bad either."
Throne's hand paused slightly, then he knew Sellen was joking again.
She couldn't abandon her ideals, and even less could she interfere with his path.
"I actually kind of want to, but you're joking again."
"It doesn't count as a joke. At least 37.5% of it is serious. The reason is currently unknown."
Throne immediately turned his head and saw Sellen looking at him with her chin propped in her hand.
Their four azure eyes met, and time seemed to slow its pace, like the gently stirring curtains. Throne saw Sellen's seriousness and thought to himself: After the iron tree blooms, is the stubborn rock also going to shatter? But he knew Sellen wasn't like that. This teacher was even more willful than he was; she would do whatever she wanted immediately.
She was a personality mixed with extreme rationality and extreme impulse.
"If we were to live in seclusion, the observational experiments you want wouldn't be possible, you know."
After thinking for a moment, Throne still made a joke.
"You can do them with me. The Primeval Sorcerer himself is also an excellent subject for observation."
Throne blinked. The ghost of Lansseax still lingered behind his eyelids, but where the dead dragon had traded barbs, Sellen spoke with razor-edged sincerity. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. The knock at the door jerked his head around—when he turned back, Sellen had already buried herself in her notes, leaving his half-formed words to curdle in the silence.
"Teacher, this proposal of yours—"
"The Cleanrot Knights are here. Open the door." Sellen snapped her notebook shut and stood. Just as Throne dismissed it as another jest, she added, "And what I said earlier? Dead serious."
Really? The word rattled in his skull. Was this about sentiment or scholarship? No time to dissect it now. He crossed the room in three strides. Finlay stood at the threshold, already armored, her gaze skipping from his face to the flour-dusted apron tied around his waist.
"Lord Throne, you—"
"Even I need to eat."
He untied the apron without ceremony and slung it over the table.
"You reached a consensus overnight?"
"We have. You'll test Her Highness."
Simple words. The debates behind them must have been anything but. Throne rarely dealt with the Haligtree's officers beyond Finlay—yet here they were, from Marais's bootlickers to O'Neil's stone-faced pragmatists, united.
Letting Malenia fester wasn't an option. If she snapped inside the Haligtree, who'd contain the fallout? With Throne here, at least they'd get an answer. And since it was his idea, the blame wouldn't stick to them.
"Fine. Wait outside."
Finlay didn't move. Her lips pressed into a seam.
"Your odds?"
"Less than one percent. This could wake the Goddess of Rot."
He let the weight of it hang—she'd fought this battle already in the war room last night.
"But you'll get closure. Isn't that what a knight does? Chase the slimmest chance with everything they've got?"
"Exactly. And with you here, if the Scarlet Flower blooms… there's still a way to stop it."
Her nod was a blade being sheathed.
"Stopping it would near kill her."
"Then let Her Highness die as herself. A hero, not a plague-bearing demon."
Something flickered in Finlay's eyes—not blame, but the old gratitude. A decade ago, this man had turned Malenia back from the brink. If the Scarlet Rot had taken Caelid, the Valkyrie's name would've been mud for eternity.
"You're a good knight, Finlay."
Throne inclined his head. Loyalty without blind obedience—Malenia was lucky to have her.
Finlay clicked her heels, turned on her heel, and shut the door softly behind her.
Sellen slammed her palm on the table.
"Apprentice. This habit of yours—" Her voice was vinegar and steel.
"Why make deals where the risks eclipse the rewards?"
She'd parsed it cold: even if Malenia recovered, she might spit in his face. And facing her blade unrestrained? Suicide.
"If I demanded fair trades, I'd have died young. Opponents like the Valkyrie are rare."
"And if you win?"
"Surely you wouldn't dare to kill her?"
"Of course not. I don't want to slaughter the entire Haligtree."
Throne rested his hand on the edge of the table, showing his pale teeth.
"But a battle with such a strong enemy will make me feel great!"
Incomprehensible, unreasonable, but isn't this madness just the personality of his foolish apprentice? Sellen supported her forehead, remembering their first meeting at the Academy. She couldn't see through him then, and it was the same after all these years.
"I really don't know whether to call you a genius or an idiot, a calm hunter or a mad butcher."
"Then call me a mad genius. Just like when I first arrived at the Academy and dared to burn the archives, or like when I was being hunted by the Death Hunter and wanted to chop off the 'Black Blade's' head."
Throne put on his helmet, slid his twin blades into their sheaths at his waist, walked toward the door with large strides, and gripped the handle.
"Are you coming with me?"
As the words fell, Sellen had already slapped the table and stood up, "Of course I'm going. It's been a long time since I accompanied you in your madness."
Actually, there was no need for Finlay to lead the way; Sellen had already seen the Valkyrie many times. They followed the branches all the way down, and the complex path made even Throne feel spatially disoriented. The terrain was too complex. One moment they were going down wooden stairs, the next they were taking a lift, then passing through a prayer room and entering the interior of the city walls.
Throne didn't even have time to look at the exquisite murals and sculptures; he could only feel himself constantly descending toward the ground. Heaven knows how big this Haligtree was, or how the city was built using it as the main trunk. When they walked out of a gate guarded by two rows of knights, the morning light shone on Throne's face. He looked around, and even with his extensive experience, he was filled with emotion.
The view ahead could be called spectacular. To the left was a towering tree; looking up, one could only see dense leaves. Thick walls were built around the trunk, covered in moss. Over a dozen high spires spread out with the trunk as the center, overlooking the sea like lighthouses. Upon them were either bronze bells or ballistae and catapults. Outside the city walls was another ring of walls, connected to each other by stone bridges, and the tops of the walls were wide roads. Various buildings were scattered in a well-ordered manner, creating a great sense of layering.
This was a fortress hanging alone overseas; in any case, Throne couldn't imagine how to conquer it.
"Spectacular, isn't it? I was the same when I first came. In any case, it's more impressive than Raya Lucaria." Sellen said with a laugh beside him.
"In any case, it's not a city that can be built by humans. They say Stormveil is the strongest fortress in The Lands Between, but what I see is completely different."
"Perhaps Elphael doesn't seem like a military fortress."
Throne looked at the magnificent scenery all around, listening to the faint singing and the vibrant Haligtree, and nodded subconsciously. There was not much of a murderous atmosphere here; it was more like a city of art.
"Let's go. If we keep looking, people will laugh at us for being ignorant."
Throne stepped forward and walked along the wide wall top. At the end of this road was a huge cathedral, with extremely strict defenses. The roof was filled with Albinauric archers, and dozens of knights stood on horseback at the entrance. On such a narrow road, one would either be trampled by iron hooves or have to jump into the sea to survive, only to be subjected to three-dimensional attacks from all sides. And inside the cathedral were even stronger members of the Haligtree Army.
No wonder Tarnished say the Two Fingers are full of it. With this kind of impenetrable fortress, they expect us to kill a demigod and take their Rune? The formation alone could stop a man's heart.
Only a handful of crimson Aeonia butterflies stirred the air—no trace of the Kindred of Rot. The cavalry parted like a living wall, revealing a contingent of Haligtree elites marching forward. Loretta at their helm wore recognition in her stance; the rest clenched their jaws, fists tight around weapons. After all, from their perspective, it was no different from throwing open the gates to a blade in the dark. But protest died on their tongues. If Throne walked away now, what hope remained?
No words needed. Finlay stepped forward, murmured low—the cavalry split silent as grave soil.