"Well said. A fight between friends shouldn't be calculated like war—no lives taken, no hunt made." Radahn slid his blade into its sheath and offered his hand.
"I accept this favor. Let it be. If we must clash, it'll be between you and me alone—no Redmane, no Caria."
His words carried weight, not air.
Throne could've killed him countless times. Ten years ago, he could've done nothing and walked away. Their relationship was strange—neither fully friends nor enemies, their interactions always walking a razor's edge. Throne didn't waste breath on foolish questions like Can I trust you? Radahn was a man who kept his word.
"Actually," Throne said, a half-smile curling his lips, "you should consider it."
"Defeat me first," Radahn replied, "then I'll listen carefully. For men like us, ten thousand words mean less than a blade at the throat. If I understand, I'll join you. If not, take my life."
Direct, decisive—their unspoken language spoke volumes.
Radahn was right. If you couldn't crush me, why should I kneel? After centuries of living, what hollow rhetoric hadn't he heard? If the Starscourge was so easily swayed, he'd have fallen long ago. The Lands Between brimmed with those more eloquent than Throne. Their eyes locked—this was a pact.
Throne had fought clean. Radahn would respond in kind.
"You're as naive as I am."
"Hah. That's why we get along."
Throne's grip tightened around Radahn's hand, the force making his palm ache. They said little else, just slapped each other's backs hard.
"Brother," Throne muttered, "it's good to be alive."
"I crawled out of hell. We'll settle this sooner or later."
The resurrection, the Death Eater's role, Caria's involvement—Radahn could uncover it all, turn Throne into a target overnight. But like Throne, he knew what to do—and what not to.
Let it stay veiled, like the mask on his face. Their embrace was brief, their parting quicker. The sound of battle still echoed from Sellia—no time for nostalgia.
"That's your town, your people. Go."
"Good. I'll keep the wine ready."
Radahn didn't linger. His gaze flicked to Throne's greatsword, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. Without asking about Greyoll's fight, he crouched and leapt a thousand meters away. Throne couldn't help but envy that speed.
As Radahn vanished, Ranni appeared. Her expression was complex, years of distance etched into her gaze. This was the first time she'd seen her brother so close.
"He might already know I'm here."
"But since he didn't say anything, it's an understanding."
"So you planned this long ago? Took this reckless action deliberately?"
"Yes. Heartless methods for heartless people. But for someone like Radahn, loyalty demands a different approach."
Throne had always known the Starscourge wasn't a lapdog of the Erdtree.
To say nothing more, if one used their brain during the decisive battle ten years ago, one could connect the series of intelligence reports that troubled the Two Fingers and destroy the undeveloped Caria, but Radahn had kept it hidden. If he were a cold schemer, there would be no need to hide the truth for Throne, who no longer had any utility.
"It seems my plan must be postponed again."
Ranni exhaled softly. Caria's fate was sealed—even with the Fingerslayer Blade in hand, she couldn't wield it. No one could.
"It's just metal. If you want those Two Fingers dead, I'll gut them myself."
"Arrogant." She smirked as she said it.
For something that could devour a Great Rune, killing the Two Fingers wasn't the problem. The problem was the aftermath—Caria painted a target for every vengeful hand in the Lands Between.
"We can't hide it forever. Mohg schemes better than most. He'll dig up the truth."
"Let him. This was Radahn's price."
Throne's face betrayed nothing. Mohg had already earned a spot on his list. A schemer who could twist fate but couldn't open a damn door? He'd see how long the viper lasted. Trading one threat for a promise—he didn't know if it was worth it, but at least he'd bought time and cut one loose end. Radahn kept his word.
At the very least, he wouldn't have to fight Redmanes from the south and Leyndell from the north at the same time.
"You handle the rest. I'm resting."
Ranni vanished without waiting for an answer. The princess grew lazier by the day—she couldn't even be bothered to manage her own mess.
Throne snorted and turned. Alexander the Warrior Jar stood frozen a stone's throw away, still locked in place since Throne's earlier glare.
"Quit standing there. Radahn figured it out ages ago."
The jar jolted to life, arms wide.
"BIG—BROTHER—"
Throne's expression twisted. The mud-caked idiot charged like a runaway wagon, and he was still drained from the fight.
BANG.
He flew back, skidding across the half-thawed earth before staggering up, armor caked in filth.
Alexander scratched his head.
"Brother, you've gotten weaker."
"Idiot. Look at what I just killed."
Throne brushed dirt off his battered armor. Another repair bill—Caria's coffers couldn't take much more of this.
"Hahaha! My bad, my bad! Got distracted, showed up late."
Alexander's laugh rattled the air. He clenched his fists.
"Let's go slay a dragon!"
"Scaring off Greyoll would be victory enough."
Throne grimaced. He'd seen the beast—its sheer size was a nightmare. No wonder it had stalemated Radahn for years.
He wasn't some storybook hero. Willpower didn't refill stamina. Every scrap of strength had to be measured.
"Then what's the plan?"
"Waiting for—"
"No need."
Mud splattered as the wolf-man materialized behind him.
He carried a greatsword on his back and was drenched all over, his fur matted, his expression colder than the Mountaintops.
Throne sighed. "Why does everyone love dramatic entrances?"
Blaidd's glare could freeze flame.
"You seem pissed."
"Would you be happy," Blaidd growled, "if you'd been holding off a dragon single-handed since dawn?"
Blaidd's golden eyes flicked to the fresh sword marks scarring the earth. His sigh carried the weight of years.
"You've grown stronger again, Throne."
How many moons had passed since Limgrave? Now the man stood half a step ahead. Was he human or some eldritch thing wearing flesh?
"Not even close."
Throne shook his head, but the denial rang hollow.
"Spare me the modesty."
Blaidd's claws flexed.
"Answer me one thing."
The wolf-man's nostrils flared—Ranni's scent still lingered in the air, though she'd vanished like morning mist. His fangs gleamed as his muzzle twisted in confusion.
"What madness binds you to Her Highness? She burned through enough power to level a garrison just to project herself across continents. That's not her way."
Throne's throat tightened. How do you tell a wolf his mistress picked you for a consort?
Blaidd's ears flattened. The Two Fingers had bound him to Ranni as her shadow, her protector. He'd watched her grow from a girl chasing fireflies to a woman who carved her fate in starlight. Radahn and Rykard might share her blood, but he'd been the one sharpening her daggers and mending her cloaks. The jealousy wasn't sharp—just the dull ache of a favorite cup suddenly gone cold.
Their silence stretched like a noose. From where Blaidd stood, the princess's favoritism stank worse than week-old carrion. He'd bled across battlefields for her, yet never earned more than a nod. And now this upstart carried her gifts like trinkets?
The greatsword's hilt peeked over Throne's shoulder. Blaidd's pupils shrank to slits. So that was it. The Dark Moon blade—a relic steeped in lineage, gifted to an outsider. What made this man worth such trust?
He gnawed the question like a bone. Strength? Throne had that in spades. Cunning? The scars on Leyndell's walls proved it. The wolf exhaled through his nose. Even merit couldn't be denied—Caria's banners flew higher because of this man's campaigns.
"My mind won't hold forever."
Blaidd's claws drew blood from his palms.
"When the Two Fingers' curse takes me, she'll need someone at her side for the long night. I see why it's you."
His growl deepened.
"Doesn't mean I like it."
The wolf-man's shoulders tensed like a father watching some farmboy trample his daughter's prized roses. Throne almost pitied him—this wasn't rivalry, just raw, helpless resentment.
"You know what that blade means."
Throne turned, playing dumb.
"Her Highness gave it as a reward. Problem?"
"She didn't explain its significance?"
"Just told me to get lost after handing it over."
Typical Ranni. Gifts wrapped in barbs. Blaidd's tail lashed like Iji's when the old counselor hit a dead end in his star charts.
"You're capable enough."
The admission cost him.
"But cross certain lines, and not even her favor will save you."
"What lines?"
"Some personal, uh, emotional matters."
The wolf-man's ears flattened. Each word tore free like a rotten tooth. His hackles rose as he forced out the rest: "I'll be watching. Test me, and we'll see whose fangs run deeper."
Throne almost laughed. Caria's loyalists were herding him toward the throne like sheepdogs nipping at a stray's heels.
In the end, if they really can't stand it, they wouldn't go so far as to offer a death remonstrance to Ranni, would they? Throne imagined a scene: in a magnificent palace, a group of Carian Knights kneeling on one knee before the Princess on her high-backed chair, crying out things like, "Please, Your Highness, get married right here!"
Truly, dignity is swept away. Dignity is swept away.
Just as Throne was thinking about how to answer, he suddenly felt something was wrong and realized one thing. Ranni had returned voluntarily earlier, but the mental connection had not been severed. That meant everything Blaidd said had been heard by the Lunar Princess. He even sensed that this mental energy was very complex.
Shame and anger mixed together, along with a touch of majestic fury; she was just short of jumping out to smack that wolf head hard. Telling you not to talk nonsense, telling you not to meddle. Throne's gaze immediately became pitiful, thinking to himself that Blaidd was definitely done for.
"What kind of look is that? Do you look down on me?"
The wolf-man clearly didn't know and still felt he was being looked down upon.
"Not at all, this is a look of concern. You must have misread it."
Throne was serious. At a time like this, one had to play dumb; otherwise, that mix of shame and anger would surely be vented on him. Just as Blaidd was about to press the issue, there was another dull thud. Clearly, another person had fallen from the sky.
Because it couldn't understand a single word, Alexander, which had been in an AFK state, immediately reacted. It saw a woman land in front, the airflow causing her pink hair to flutter like a waterfall.
"Dragon?"
It stepped forward, shielding Throne behind it, but was gently pushed aside by the man.
"Don't panic, she's on our side."
Throne's head swelled instantly.
He didn't expect this fun-loving dragon to actually come here. Wasn't she afraid Radahn would make a comeback? This wasn't the worst part. The key was that Ranni was still watching. If he severed the mental connection now, wouldn't that prove he had been watching the joke all along? He didn't know what adjective existed beyond "super humiliated."
"Yo, here's a Warrior Jar. Looks quite spirited."
Lansseax brushed the mud off her hands. Her robe was completely shattered, revealing the black, gold-trimmed clothing underneath. It looked very luxurious, but it was too short, revealing her slender waist. She didn't care about Blaidd's scrutinizing gaze. She looked around and whistled: "Not bad, not bad. You took out Red Wave and the Mohg projection, didn't you? I thought you were dead for sure."
"Since I was dead for sure, why did you jump out to help?" Throne said, biting the bullet. This fun-loving dragon was also someone he had to face.
"If I didn't come out, you would have had zero chance of survival. With me coming out, you could at least fight for a one-in-ten chance of survival. Isn't that more interesting?"
The dragon woman walked up in a few steps, very casually placing her hand on Throne's shoulder, then turned back to look at the fierce-looking Blaidd.
"This friend of yours is too unreliable. He wandered around in the mountains for ages and couldn't find the road to Sellia. I had to deliberately release my aura to make him come over. If you relied on him to escape, you'd be dead, you know~~"
Throne immediately looked at Blaidd. In his backup plan, if Lansseax had fled, the wolf-man had to come to cover him so they could break out. Was this guy really that incompetent? Fighting three against one—even if he called Ranni out, he wouldn't be able to hold out until Radahn arrived.
The Dark Moon's power meant nothing against Greyoll. That massive bulk could tank Red Wave without breaking stride. Blaidd's furry face hid any flush, but his neck muscles tensed as he forced out: "I was scouting the best angle of attack."
His voice tightened.
"What's your connection to him?"
Lansseax bared her teeth before Throne could process the question.
"What do you think our relationship is?"
Her wings flexed, scattering embers across the stone.
"I risked my neck saving you."
Blaidd had clocked the Ancient Dragon's injury the moment she landed. No scales meant no protection. One solid hit would finish her. Radahn's late arrival had saved them—another hour, and Greyoll would've summoned a storm of wings and teeth to shred them both.
Throne's hand found his sword hilt. Ranni didn't need this liability. His glare could've melted steel.
Lansseax dipped her head in mock courtesy, tail flicking like a whip.
"Hey, I did you such a big favor, aren't you going to even say thank you?"
Her voice dripped venom.
"I thank your ancestors for eight generations."