Throne shrugged it off. Plans gone awry? Nothing new. He'd sown seeds for the future, never expecting to stumble into chaos. Smiling, he accepted it. Eina's group, however, wasn't faring as well. They'd barely covered a few hundred meters when they hit a pool of water. Footprints vanished into nothingness.
Eina, once an assassin, knew her way around tracking. But compared to the seasoned Tarnished leading Vyke's crew, she was still green. She sprinted to the pool's opposite side, scanning the ground for clues. Nothing. Her leather armor clung to her, soaked and heavy. She stood there, baffled.
This made no sense. The earlier footprints showed no effort to conceal tracks. How could they disappear so cleanly after crossing the pool? She glanced around. If they headed south, they'd reach Fort Haight—a Tarnished stronghold. Walking into a trap wasn't an option.
"Hey, can you handle this or not?"
Tina arrived, carried by a group of Tarnished. As a Finger Maiden, she couldn't wade through the filthy pool. Her pristine white dress wasn't made for combat.
"We've crossed paths with an expert. Should've brought hounds."
"But didn't you just call them stupid thieves who can't even cover their tracks?"
"I—when did I say that?"
Eina's rose-red eyes widened. She gestured sharply.
"Spread out. Search the pool's perimeter. Report any clues."
The Tarnished, initially amused, scattered without argument.
Their initial fervor had cooled. Seeing the enemy's strength, they were eager to slack off. If they killed someone's companion and faced retribution, what then? Vyke understood their mindset. He assigned them secondary tasks, keeping them busy.
Eina regretted driving them away. Now it was just her and the maiden, standing across the pool. As a low-ranking Tarnished, she'd always been wary of Finger Maidens. She didn't approve of Vyke's ambition to become Elden Lord.
"You don't need to be so hostile."
Tina shook her head, resigned.
"I'm not interested in The Dauntless. Our mission binds us, nothing more."
"But your missions are curses. They erode us for an impossible goal."
The mention of it irritated Eina.
Over the past decade, how many powerful Tarnished had vanished pursuing lordship? How many still clung to the dream? If it were the Tina who'd just joined the church, she'd have rebuked such doubts. But she'd seen too much—joy, sorrow, the ugliness beneath holy façades.
Tarnished and Finger Maidens weren't allies. Some maidens manipulated Tarnished with schemes, even their bodies, only to die together in this endless dream.
"Do you think I'm like them? Using grand principles, schemes, or my body to force a Tarnished to become Lord?"
"Aren't you? Without me, that fool would've fallen for your charms long ago."
Eina crossed her arms and carefully sized up the other woman. Pure white robes, a slender figure, turquoise eyes—paired with her transcendent status and knowledge, it was enough to drive any Tarnished mad.
"At least I'm not."
The maiden kicked a pebble into the lake, shaking her head slightly.
"I forgot to tell you. I come from humble beginnings too. Ten years ago, I couldn't read scripture. I was fighting just to stay alive in Liurnia."
Eina's mouth fell open.
"Really? You all seem like noblewomen to me."
"Some are. Not me."
The maiden's smile turned bitter.
"The Tarnished returned too fast, too many. The church took whoever they could get."
A softness flickered across her face.
"I'd given up hope. Ready to run. I'd be rotting under some Erdtree in the wilds by now."
"Then how'd you become a Finger Maiden? I heard it's brutal."
Tina twisted a curl of brown hair around her finger.
"Someone showed me the way."
Her voice hardened.
"Did things I'd never dare. Proved miracles exist if you fight for them. So I went to Leyndell. Took every sneer, every cold stare. Became the best damn Finger Maiden they've got."
Moonlight caught her then, etching her in silver—holy, unbreakable. Her eyes held the past.
A man who refused suffering. Who stood alone against Liurnia's order. Who walked away unscathed, leaving only the memory of his straight back. That back made her believe.
Tina's hands were suddenly warm. She looked down. The Tarnished who'd spat at her yesterday now gripped her fingers, shame twisting his face.
"I'm sorry. Petty of me. You had your hero all along. Should've let you say it."
The leather-clad girl scuffed her boot in the dirt. Rising from village trash to Finger Maiden took more grit than claiming any throne.
Tina's laugh was sharp.
"You never asked."
The whistling came first. Then the Tarnished's rose-red eyes flared wide. Tina's thoughts iced over.
The girl collapsed into her arms. A black-feathered arrow jutted from her back. Screams detonated around them.
Arrows hissed from the black woods. Throats punched through. Backs sprouted feathers. Tarnished fell mid-stride, bristling like pincushions.
Tina heard none of it. She stared at the arrow. Lifted her head.
Black Keys? Round Table assassins? Why?
Leaves whispered.
The second blade filled her vision, streaking for her brow. She flinched shut her eyes.
Thud.
No pain.
Her lashes fluttered open. A shadow loomed before her. His right hand outstretched, fingers clenched around a vibrating Black Key—inches from her face.
Snap. Throne broke the arrow shaft. Tossed it aside. Clang—Steel cleared leather. Behind his mask, fury burned.
"Lost your minds? Killing a Finger Maiden now?"
Tina had saved him at the Academy. Given him purpose. These bastards had no lines left to cross.
Chaos swallowed the scene. Surviving Tarnished fought back. No one noticed the swordsman's arrival.
Ensha's bone armor clicked as he drew a shortsword.
"Interloper. Kill the maiden too?"
"Do it."
Crepus's voice was oil on ice.
"Bishop Shimlei said her blood's too cheap. Should've been replaced anyway."
Crepus cocked his black crossbow and shouted to the densely packed Round Table Assassins behind him:
"Leave no one alive. Remember, keep it clean so it's easier to clean up afterward."
No one answered, and there weren't even footsteps. Only the rustling of leaves was heard before a swarm of assassins rushed out of the forest. Here they come.
Throne turned slightly solemn, feeling like he was getting the boss treatment—it was time for a raid. One thing made him not know whether to laugh or cry. Why the hell do I always end up at odds with assassins? Holding his blade in one hand, he turned his head and shouted: "Get back! Heal her!"
The maiden was holding Eina, frozen.
It wasn't that she was scared witless, but rather that the silhouette in front of her felt somewhat familiar. Before she could speak, Throne pushed her into the lake with a palm. Splash. Water splashed, wetting Throne's back, as several purple light orbs flew toward him. He twisted the hilt—
Kill! Swinging his arms, he charged against the Gravity Magic and the dispersing black mist.
Just as those gravity meteors were about to hit his face, he suddenly performed a slide. Whoosh—Boom! The shockwave of the explosion came from behind. The assassins stopped and raised their hand-crossbows; even from a distance, Throne could smell the scent of rot and poison. Bloodhounds Step! His figure flickered in and out of sight as he dodged back and forth, feeling the arrows whistle past him.
At a distance of twenty meters, he suddenly made a grasping motion with his left hand. Collapsing Stars. The same magic blasted back, but his was faster and the falling meteors more powerful. With a series of dull booms, blood and dust bloomed in succession. The Round Table Assassins scattered like a black flower.
Bowstrings vibrated as poisonous bolts shot from all directions, covering every inch of space to dodge, yet Throne actually smiled. Gravity Barrier! A purple wall unfolded, and the arrows hitting it slowed down. At that moment, an even longer Black Key actually pierced through it instantly, and at the same time passed through Throne's forehead, making him freeze in place. Got him.
Crepus showed a cruel and satisfied smile. This was also the tactic of the Round Table Assassins: when encountering an expert, the ordinary assassins only serve to distract, while he delivers the fatal blow. The strongest sniper of the Round Table pulled his crossbow string, preparing to fire a follow-up shot, when the smile on his face instantly froze.
The man frozen in the distance dissipated into brilliant ice shards, like a melting snowman. An afterimage!? Without thinking, he rolled forward, feeling a sharp blade slice across his back. The pain instantly made him break into a cold sweat. Crepus turned his head. Two meters behind him, the swordsman was hunched over in a sprinting stance, and that white mask looked like a demon.
"Sniper assassination? Who do you think I am?!"
As a cautious person, Throne knew that 'invincibility' never existed in this world. So he was very careful when he saw the Round Table Assassins. He already knew Crepus's skills; without that arrow back then, Godrick really couldn't have been killed. Now it seemed the head of the Round Table Assassins was indeed capable. 'He must have maxed out his Arcane.'
Throne grinned.
If it were back on that rainy night, he might not have been able to dodge, but unfortunately, he had already updated his version. In Liurnia, he had learned quite a bit from Ranni and Milia. Sprint! The blade light reached his chest in an instant. Crepus forced a sidestep, only to have a bloody gash sliced across his chest. Before he could use a grab technique, he felt a giant beast slam into him.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
He flew out, skipping across the ground like a stone across water. Throne didn't slow—charging straight into the second wave of gravity meteors.
Starlight Afterimage.
He vanished. The afterimage he left behind exploded under a barrage of magic and arrows. Then he materialized at the crowd's center, left hand opening.
Carian Greatsword!
A ten-meter blade of light swept horizontally—a ship-cleaver. A dozen assassins didn't even scream before bisection turned them into a row of felled stumps. The survivors leaped back just in time to see the greatsword condense into a three-meter spear of light.
Magic form alteration—Professor Chelona's research.
"Go!"
Throne hurled it toward the pool's edge where assassins clustered. The spear struck. Magic destabilized.
Boom—
White light erupted, illuminating the night. A few smoking corpses cartwheeled through the air. The flash forced eyelids shut.
For sorcerers, that split-second blindness meant death. For a berserker? An opening.
Throne lunged twelve meters. His blade split a man vertically from skull to groin. Another step—black robes streaked through blood mist. He ducked under arrows. Diagonal slash.
The wet crunch of metal through muscle. The snap of bone.
Each step covered meters. Each swing severed limbs. Decapitations. Bisections. Quarterings—
"Get over here!"
Purple magic flared and died. Fleeing assassins jerked backward as if hooked, dragged toward the epicenter.
Their emotionless faces finally showed fear. Woman-like shrieks tore from throats—
Swish!
A moon of blade-light bloomed on the ground. Not Ranni's brilliance. No magic surge. Just silver flickering once—
Then spinning heads tumbled through smoke.
"What kind of monster—?"
Crepus's pupils contracted. The man under the moon was inhuman. Dozens of poisoned bolts missed. No one survived a single exchange. He harvested lives with every step—Roundtable Assassins, the Tarnished's nightmare, fell like wheat before the scythe.
Speed. Agility. Catalyst-free casting. That white mask—
"It's him!"
Ensha and Crepus realized simultaneously. The target their lord hunted. The bastard who'd toyed with Roundtable Hold before vanishing after claiming a Great Rune. Worse—he'd skipped the Divine Tower. Something unspeakable lurked beneath that calm.
"Fight and retreat."
Crepus bolted for the trees first. Cold logic prevailed—no profit in dying here. Better to deliver the warning.
"Truly calm," Throne murmured, golden eyes tracking them. "Still assessing the situation even now."
His fingers tightened around the hilt.
"But too late."
The War Ghost left no witnesses.
Boom—
Air shattered.
Throne, who had just terrified everyone, was now using his full strength. Gravity meteors streaked toward him—he deflected them with a cyan barrier. Then he moved.
Like a starving tiger, he closed the gap to Ensha in one step. The Roundtable Hero raised his staff, purple energy swirling into a Gravity Barrier—