Even if the Haligtree Army's marching time is included, the decisive battle will erupt within ten days. This amount of time is not enough for him to pull off any fancy tricks; even if he were to twist off Mohg's head, it wouldn't change Radahn's will. What if Miquella and Malenia join forces and kill General Radahn first? Wouldn't that make me a scumbag who repays kindness with enmity?
"Is there no other choice but to go?" The pale ceiling naturally offered no response. After staring at it for a while, he smiled faintly. "Then let's go." Sword Ghost did not need much hesitation to make a decision. Besides having a clear conscience, he would also benefit from it, so there was nothing left to think about.
Just as he stood up, he caught the sound of footsteps coming from the corridor. Tap, tap. A moment later, the door was knocked. However, after opening the door, there was no one in the corridor. Looking down, two long swords, one gray and one white, were leaning against the wall. "Are you that reluctant to interact with me?" Throne poked his head out and looked left and right.
He had intended to have a good chat with the Misbegotten blacksmith about Hewg, but seeing the other party's wariness, he could only shrug and pick up the swords. Closing the door and walking to the balcony, the unsheathed long swords glimmered with a cold light in the morning sun. The blades were like mirrors, reflecting the swordsman's joyful face.
"The technique is excellent; it has almost become a work of art." He gently stroked the patterns on the blades, feeling that after being reinforced by Smithing Stones, the two swords were harder and sharper than before.
If a skilled craftsman were to combine them with Ancient Dragon Smithing Stones, these two famous swords might be able to advance further, perhaps even approaching the level of legendary weapons. Clang—
The long swords were sheathed, their sharp edges hidden.
Throne looked at the bustling crowd on the street, stretched his shoulders and neck, and amidst the 'crack' of his joints, summarized the things he had thought of in his half-awake state last night. First, cramming at the last minute—learn as much Gravity Magic as possible. This magic is very important; if one were to rank magic, it would definitely be above Glintstone and Night Sorcery.
Second, make preparations together with the Redmane Army. If he cannot stop it even after giving his all, then he should find a way to cut losses; at the very least, he cannot let the hundreds of thousands of people in Caelid be buried with them. And finally... He shifted his gaze to the Pot Person trembling beside him, and gave it a gentle kick. "You should get your affairs in order." "Huh?
Big Brother, why are you here? Where did those damn sorcerers go?" The awakened Warrior Jar sat up abruptly, rubbing its head, still in a daze. "They are all dead." Throne couldn't be bothered to explain, looking at Alexander with interest. "You have consumed the flesh and blood of too many sorcerers. Do you feel any changes?"
There were no fewer than a hundred Primeval Sorcerers who fell last night, including several sages led by Campore. Even Throne envied the racial talent of the Pot Person. If he wanted to gain benefits, he had to kill them himself; it was nowhere near as convenient as scavenging corpses afterward. "Hmm, it seems I've grown a size larger?"
The Pot Person touched its belly, and even the cracks had disappeared. "I can see that. Anything else?" The Warrior Jar jumped up at once, swinging its fists at the air, emitting a 'whoosh' sonic boom. "Huh, my strength seems to have become even greater!" "No kidding. Having eaten so much flesh and blood, even a pig would gain strength." Throne rolled his eyes and waved his hand. "Forget it.
"You'd waste too much time figuring it out on your own. I don't have the patience to babysit you right now. Follow me." Throne vaulted over the railing without hesitation. The Pot Person leaped after him. A two-meter-tall jug plummeted to the ground, scattering pedestrians in every direction.
The Warrior Jar's strength remained untested, but its sheer size was enough to intimidate. Throne weaved through the crowd like a man with a rabid dog in tow. He shielded his face from the stares. With that jar lumbering behind him, anonymity was impossible.
He glanced back at Alexander, arms crossed, looking every bit the brute. The scrutiny only deepened his embarrassment. He led the Pot Person through the town gates to an open field—a former training ground for the garrison.
The Starscourge's arrival had emptied Sellia's garrison, sending its soldiers to the border. Redmane guards now patrolled the town, leaving the camp deserted. A few militiamen trained nearby. At the sight of Throne and the Warrior Jar, they retreated to a safe distance. "What's going on, boss?"
Alexander scanned the area, confused. Throne yanked a foot soldier's spear from the weapon rack and slammed it into the ground. "Attack with everything you've got. Combat's the true test. Instinct in the heat of battle—that's where you'll find clarity." Throne had lived by this creed in Ashina.
A thousand swings in the air couldn't match a single clash with Isshin. The edge of a blade against your neck sharpens even the dullest technique. This would be brutal, but Alexander's eyes lit up. He clashed his fists together. "Finally! I've been waiting for this!"
Memories of Fort Gael flooded him. The flesh and blood inside the jar seemed to simmer. Fighting alongside this hero was a dream realized. He crouched, ready to spring, but Throne held up a hand. "Hold it." "Huh?" "Your stance. Did you forget everything I taught you?" Throne's veins pulsed.
The idiot was about to charge in swinging wildly. "Oh, right, almost forgot." The Pot Person scratched its head and dropped into a bow stance—the opening form of Senpou Leaping Kicks. It hesitated. "Aren't you a swordsman?" "The sword's just convenient.
A true master wields blades, spears, halberds—anything." Throne flipped the spear into his grip. "Now come!" The instant he spoke, Alexander slid across the ground, his feet kicking up clouds of dust. His round form flickered in and out of view. Clever—he knew how to use the terrain.
Throne narrowed his eyes. A shadow approached through the haze. He thrust the spear forward. Swish—
The tip sliced through the dust, but the Warrior Jar halted just outside its range. Its hands shot out to grab the shaft. "Too obvious. Wrong!"
The moment those hands grabbed the spear shaft, Throne released it and spun it like a bamboo dragonfly. Whoosh. The spear whirled violently, wrapped in a white current of air. Alexander jerked his hands back as if burned.
In that instant, a large piece of flesh and skin had been scraped off his palm. Seeing the sharp spear tip thrusting towards him, he hurriedly endured the severe pain and crossed his hands in front of his chest, but the long spear shook and thrust down diagonally. The Warrior Jar had decent strength; if it were a test of strength, even the Redmane Knight would not be a match.
But its movements were too slow, so it could only watch helplessly as the long spear stabbed into the ground between its legs, and then from bottom to top, slammed into its crotch. Lift! Using his left hand as a fulcrum, Throne pressed down hard with his right hand, lifting the Warrior Jar up like a lever, just enough to fly over his head.
Then, he turned around and, relying only on his senses, thrust the long spear at the latter who was still in mid-air. Swish—
The Storm Assault made the air shriek. There was no doubt it would pierce the Pot Person through and through; he truly had no intention of holding back at all.
In the split second of life and death, Alexander tensed his body in the air, hooking his foot and kicking the spear shaft, causing the passing spear to grind a series of sparks on the jar's surface. An aerial variation of the Senpou Leaping Kicks? You are truly a genius. Throne praised him, following closely behind, and raised his right foot the moment the Warrior Jar landed. Storm Stomp! Boom!
Dust rose instantly, and a ring-shaped shockwave swept around. Alexander staggered from the blast, but the horse stance he had been training during this time had not been in vain. He staggered a few steps, hurriedly steadied his body, and then kept retreating backward. Swish, swish, swish... Spear blossoms bloomed in front of him, like a large patch of stamens blooming before his eyes.
He retreated more than a dozen steps, and with a sudden series of rapid thrusts, the Pot Person jumped back several meters as if by instinct. Whoosh—
The air was drawn out with a dull sound. He watched as the long spear swept horizontally, grazing his chest. Dazzling sparks bloomed, and a shallow mark appeared on his chest. Those strong legs had already stopped. Opportunity!
The long spear in Throne's hand swept past horizontally; at this moment, he was truly wide open. And looking at the Warrior Jar counterattacking, he suddenly smiled. Naive. He spun a circle following the force of the horizontal sweep, and then, borrowing the momentum, swept it back. Slap!
This strike slammed into the left side of the pouncing Warrior Jar, just like whipping a spinning top, sending him flying, his round body rolling on the ground. His vision spun around, and cracks had appeared on his jar body. Having finally managed to stop, he saw Throne descending like a meteor, gripping the spear with both hands and thrusting straight at him. Cannot block, and cannot dodge!
For a moment, Alexander was not shocked that Throne was ruthless, nor did he resent why the other party wanted to kill him. He didn't think about anything; he just stood straight, and like the Starscourge he saw that night, he punched towards the 'meteor'. Fist like a rising dragon! Boom!! Throne watched as the fist peak collided with the spear tip.
Despite being flesh and blood, it was not pierced. A surge of energy poured out from inside the Pot Person's body, causing the spear tip to spark, blocking the sharp spear head. That energy spread, causing the hardwood spear shaft to crack rapidly and shatter into wood chips flying everywhere. Throne stopped his steps, looked down, and found that all he was holding was air.
The long spear had actually been blasted apart by force. Throne looked at the Warrior Jar, which was frozen in place, and slowly revealed a smile:
"Congratulations, you have taken another step towards becoming a strong fighter." Alexander still maintained the posture of throwing a punch, not recovering for a long while: "I just now, just now..." "You just blasted out magic power.
Pot People can't cultivate martial skills. Reaching the peak through brute strength alone? Nearly impossible." Throne's fist glowed white, air swirling around it like a miniature storm. He crouched, drove his fist into the earth—
The ground erupted. Dust billowed upward as the impact carved a shallow crater half a meter deep. Throne rose, dusting his hand. No injury. No strain. He clasped his hands behind his back, voice calm. "Energy amplifies lethality. It shields your body. Master this feeling. Combine it with precision, and you'll stand among the strongest."
He wasn't treating Alexander as fodder. He was investing in him. If Alexander could channel magic power now, who knew what he might achieve someday? Lava surges? Explosive eruptions? Not just Iron Fist anymore. Magic Fist Alexander, with a full arsenal of techniques. "A top-tier powerhouse?"
The Warrior Jar laughed, deep and resonant. "Hahaha, thank you!" "Don't celebrate yet. You can't even take down a Redmane Knight." Throne tapped the jar's 'head' and shoved a book into its grasp. "What's this?"
"Senpou Temple fist techniques. The ultimate moves, adapted for Pot People." Throne crossed his arms, his scarlet cloak flapping in the autumn wind. "Take Boar. Head north to Caelid. There's a powerful Warrior Jar there. He might teach you something I can't."
"Brother, are you sending me away?" Alexander hesitated. Throne was his first teacher—a mentor, a friend. "Heroes walk alone. You won't grow by staying here. We'll meet again. When we do, make me draw my sword."
Throne smiled, patting the hilt at his waist. He pulled a letter from his robe, voice low. "Keep your chin up. Open this when you're ready. If you're willing, finish what I've started." Alexander clutched the envelope, fingers tightening until the paper threatened to tear.
He wasn't naive. Throne was stepping into something dangerous. But as a warrior, hesitation wasn't an option. "I'll see it done." "Then go. Show me what a true Warrior Jar can be." Throne turned away. Their time together had been brief, but their bond ran deep. "Yes..."
Footsteps faded into the distance, Alexander's voice carried on the wind. "We'll meet again, Teacher." Teacher? Throne, the lone master, arched a brow. A smirk played on his lips. He accepted the title without protest. "The worries are gone. The pit's dug."
He exhaled softly, gaze fixed on Limgrave. With this, I can face the final battle without distraction.
The Pot Person and the demi-human were gone. Throne stood alone now, save for a 'Ranni-type grenade', a spirit ash, and two long swords. Yet his heart felt lighter. He led a group of Redmane Knights out of Sellia town.
He fetched specially made firewood from the main camp, used the swamp as the center of a circle, and laid out several concentric rings, firmly covering Caelid's central area. Only an eastern gap remained—a passage for both sides to advance.
The moment the final clash erupts, the militia concealed in the mountain peaks will surge forward to seal the breach. A single signal will unleash the Redmane Flame. Throne's relentless trials proved its potency—Scarlet Rot falters before it. Prevention, always better than cure.
A cautious man plans for every outcome. The Scarlet Flower operates like a living weapon—its core devastates, stripping even the Starscourge of reason. Yet the fallout proves worse. So long as the flower endures, it gnaws at the land, relentless and insatiable.