"What 'riding people,' not being picky about species... how could I say that out loud?"
Seeing the two of them frozen, Throne, who still hadn't had enough sleep, realized there were some issues and felt it wasn't quite right to dump it all on Melina.
"How about this: you and Millicent form a group. You must be clever when the time comes, otherwise..."
"No need to change," Melina suddenly interrupted, her face full of seriousness. This Ancient Dragon was extremely dangerous and had her instinctively on guard; how could she leave her to a fool like Throne?
"I'm sticking with her. I must be the one to deal with her."
Using 'deal with' for a companion isn't quite appropriate, is it? And what's with this look of going to a heroic death?
Throne was bewildered. Just as he was about to speak, he saw Melina's fierce glare.
"Shut up!"
He swallowed hard and had no choice but to lie back down on the ground.
"This blockhead, did she take the wrong medicine?"
Throne's arrangement had no selfish motives, nor did he intend to prank Melina; it was entirely from a practical combat perspective. When looking for someone, you need a teammate proficient in scouting and stealth. Someone like Lansseax the fun-loving dragon or the stubborn Millicent didn't seem like the searching type.
More importantly, Greyoll is strong, but Melina has gradually fallen behind the power curve. When they first met in Limgrave, the girl was far stronger than Throne, even giving off a 'carry' vibe. But as the journey deepened and enemy strength doubled, the flawed Melina suddenly became weak.
Even with the Black Knife's bonus, her strength was only at the level of a second or third-tier Hero's Blade. Thus, Throne hadn't asked her for frontal cooperation lately, sticking to assassinations, fearing she might get killed if things went wrong. Like yesterday's Blood Clone or the Scarlet Red Wave, either could crush Melina.
Only by going to Leyndell and recovering all her memories would she reach her complete form; only then would she have the strength to fight a Demigod. But the problem was Throne wasn't confident about going to Leyndell yet. As a spirit, there was no way for her to increase her strength. Aside from gear, Melina's value lay more in support.
Perception, infiltration, item collection—those were her specialties. In the early morning, Throne did chest expansion exercises. The autumn rain hadn't stopped; instead, it made the air fresher and boosted his spirits. Looking back into the cave, Melina and Lansseax had fallen asleep, but they were far apart, lying in separate corners as if they were on bad terms.
"Sigh, I don't know what she's thinking. Clearly outmatched but insists on going for it."
Throne didn't quite understand Melina's shift in attitude.
"And you, eating all day long. Most of the Runes I brought out were used to buy Rowa Fruit for you."
He patted the Spirit Steed, who was chewing with eyes closed, realizing this glutton was even worse than Melina, eating from morning till night, even in its dreams. Snort snort—
Torrent nudged his hand pleasingly. Throne quickly spread his hands.
"No more, really no more. Seriously, is it okay for you spirits to be like this? One loves to sleep, the other is a glutton."
Torrent lowered its head pitifully, as if complaining that when Melina rode it, she never fed it anything and just treated it like a beast of burden.
"Alright, alright, why are you competing with a blockhead?"
Throne pulled out a cluster of red fruit. The Spirit Steed took it and immediately began chewing happily. A blockhead paired with a beast of burden.
The cave dripped behind them as Throne led the way.
"Follow me, little pony. You'll eat like royalty."
He knew how to motivate people. A glance confirmed Millicent's absence from the shelter, but the rhythmic swish of steel through rain told him exactly where she'd gone.
Autumn rain sheeted down as the girl moved between droplets. Her blade traced silver arcs, severing raindrops mid-fall. No wasted motion. No hesitation.
Her style bore traces of Throne's brutal efficiency and Malenia's flowing grace, yet remained distinctly her own. Each slash birthed three follow-ups before completion. Alexander's training showed in every elbow strike, every knee poised to shatter ribs. Throne leaned against the cave entrance, watching. Envy coiled in his gut.
Twenty years. That's how long it took him to reach such effortless mastery. From his first kill in Ashina to the blood-soaked battlefields of The Lands Between—no shortcuts, no divine gifts. Just corpse after corpse paving his ascent.
Millicent spun, blade halting mid-swing. Water droplets flew from her hair as she shook herself like a wet hound.
"Teacher. You're awake."
Red strands clung to her cheeks as she approached, fingers combing them back into a loose side ponytail.
"Earlier than you, apparently."
Throne eyed her hairstyle.
"Don't wear it like that. Gets you killed."
She blinked but obeyed, retying it into a practical tail. Strange creature—reeking of Scarlet Rot yet vibrating with life, like a spring fighting through poisoned soil.
"Do you have corrections for my forms?"
"Trust your instincts. You surpass me in raw talent."
He tapped his temple.
"But think beyond the blade. If it kills, it's valid technique."
"You didn't use tricks against Radahn."
"Radahn wasn't the enemy."
Throne watched understanding dawn in her golden eyes.
"The Starscourge was."
A pause. A slight nod.
"I see."
"Quick study."
His calloused hand ruffled her damp hair. No need to explain further. In some ways, she grasped truths faster than Melina ever had.
"Let her sleep. She'll need it for the days ahead."
"Why?"
"That dragon outmatches her. Pride won't change that."
Millicent fell into step beside him.
"Nothing will go wrong, though."
Throne halted.
"How so?"
Her lashes lowered, hiding a smile.
"Because dead men don't keep promises. And you'll keep yours."
A bark of laughter escaped him. The flattery warmed his chest—but she wasn't wrong. Without him, Ranni's schemes would lack teeth. Melina's pilgrimage would end in some ditch. Sellen's ambitions would rot in Lusat's shadow.
Damp leaves whispered underfoot as they wandered the forest. No need for pretentious poetry here. Their conversation meandered through shared history, though Millicent's memories began with Alexander's gravelly voice and ended shortly after.
Of course, since Millicent had been with the straightforward warrior since awakening, her stories were few. Soon it was just Throne talking, his voice weaving tapestries of fallen ages—from Chaos to Stars, from Moon to Erdtree's gilded tyranny.
Millicent wore a faint smile and didn't interrupt, quietly listening to her teacher boast as if he had lived through it all. Throne hadn't been in The Lands Between that long; he had just met many people and read many books. It wasn't usually useful, but it was great for bragging. Mentioning the Scarlet Rot, he glanced at the girl again.
"The Rot in you is still worsening. We must find a way to treat it."
"Alexander tried. He even found a monk traveling in Caelid, but it didn't work."
Millicent didn't look bitter, as if speaking of someone else's business.
"A monk? What kind of monk?"
"A Fire Monk, I think his name was Adam."
Throne felt the name was familiar. After a thought, he soon had the answer.
"Thief of Fire?"
In The Lands Between, fire is the power of the Giants, but they had been exterminated by the Erdtree, leaving only one Fire Giant and a Flame Cauldron that never goes out.
Originally, the Erdtree left part of its army to guard the Giant's ruins in the Consecrated Snowfield, but over time, they were instead seduced by the flame. 'Adan, Thief of Fire' was one of them, except he stole the Giant's Flame Incantations and became a traitor. By the time the Tarnished arrived, he had already been sealed in Liurnia.
There certainly couldn't be an Evergaol for him in Liurnia now, so it was normal for him to run to Caelid.
"I see."
Throne felt a bit regretful. He had been thinking of going to the Consecrated Snowfield to 'learn' some fire techniques. Fire Incantations could also burn away the Rot, but if the 'Thief of Fire' couldn't do it, there was no need to waste the effort.
"It seems your Scarlet Rot is much stronger than average. I will find another way."
He was stating the obvious. As a clone of the source of the Rot, even the Erdtree had no solution.
"Teacher, you don't need to take such care of me. Although it's painful, it doesn't affect my combat strength."
Millicent clenched and released her fist, as if loosening her joints.
"Aren't you afraid of death?"
Throne glanced sideways.
"I am, but I will not bow or scrape even in death. The Scarlet Rot can destroy my body, but it cannot crush my soul."
Resolute, without a hint of bravado. To her, pain was a form of tempering. Throne was silent for a moment, then rubbed her red hair: "Don't think too much. I have a way to solve this."
Millicent was about to say there was no need to comfort her when she remembered what Melina had told her:
"If Throne wants to kill someone, they will die; if he wants to do something, it will be done; and whatever he says will surely come true."
"Alright, I believe you, Teacher."
The two returned to the cave. Melina was already up, teasing the indifferent Torrent.
The Spirit Steed turned its head away, and she would pull it back to force a head pat, gritting her teeth and scolding Torrent for being ungrateful. Only when she saw Throne return did she put on a cold expression.
"Why do you look upset again? How did I offend you?"
"In many ways. For instance, Torrent, and Lansseax."
"Torrent is because of your own stinginess, and Lansseax has nothing to do with me—you were the one who insisted on being in a group with her."
Throne was a bit depressed. As Melina became more vivid, she also became harder to deal with. After all, a blockhead could be seen through at a glance, but an ordinary girl was fickle.
"Neither of those things is my fault."
"How is it not your fault? Do you know how much determination it took?"
Melina was fuming and complained:
"Without you, none of this mess would exist. For the next few days, I'll have to live a hellish life. That stinky dragon..."
"Hey, it's very impolite to speak ill of someone behind their back."
The dragon girl walked out, disheveled, revealing her cleavage.
Her hair was a tangled mess. One hand rubbed her stomach, the other absently tugged at the knots. Melina lunged forward, snatching up a cloak and trying to drape it over her. The wings got in the way—too broad, too unyielding. Fabric snagged on scales. She cursed under her breath.
"Disgraceful. You've got the dignity of a stray dog, not an Ancient Dragon."
"Alright, alright. I'll do it myself."
Lansseax yanked the cloak into place, swallowing her figure in folds of cloth. Shadows pooled in the hollow of her throat.
"Enlighten me then. How should an Ancient Dragon act? Huddled in some cave counting gold? Tearing through villages for sport? Perched on a cloud looking constipated?"
"How the hell would I know?"
"Then stop judging us by your little human rules."
Lansseax's tail lashed once.
"Your kind has saints and sinners. We're not all stamped from the same ore."
"Hmm. So Ancient Dragons are thick-skinned. Ballista bolts just bounce right off."
Lansseax's head snapped toward Throne. He threw up his hands—not my influence.
"Tch. Waste of breath."
The dragon girl's mood flipped like a coin. She sauntered toward Throne, all playful sway, but Melina planted herself between them. Lansseax rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful. This girl guarded him like a jealous wife.
Fine. She straightened, all business.
"Moving out?"
"Yeah. You two take the east. I'll loop west. Meet north. Keep the line open."
Throne whistled. Torrent materialized in a swirl of mist, which only deepened Melina's scowl.
"Didn't peg you for the chivalrous type."
Lansseax got it. East meant Fort Faroth—Redmane territory, safer ground.
"Call it a favor. But pull your weight when the blades come out. I want to see what a real Ancient Dragon can do."
"Don't hold your breath. And watch your back with her. Marika's sharper than you think."
Throne swung onto Torrent's back. Of course Lansseax saw through everything. He gave a grim nod.
"I never wrote her off. But she's got bigger problems than me."
"Maybe. You're gutting her favorite piece on the board. Either way, paranoia keeps you breathing."
She smacked Torrent's flank. The steed shot forward like an arrow. Throne twisted in the saddle, catching Lansseax's smirk over his shoulder. What the hell was that?
He hated riddles. Hated them. That overgrown lizard knew something and refused to spit it out. Marika was a corpse nailed to the Erdtree—shouldn't even be conscious. Her Black Knives were bleeding out chasing Ranni. What else was there?
He'd covered his tracks. The Two Fingers had no reason to interfere. Even if they knew, pitting him against Greyoll served their purposes.
Something prickled at his neck. Wrongness without a shape.
Two questions gnawed at him:
First—where was Godfrey? That lion didn't wait in the shadows. He made the shadows.
Second—Iji died to black-and-white flames in the old timeline. Destined Death burned red and black. The Black Knives didn't grab the wrong weapon.
Given his character, he didn't seem like the type to wait around for a cheap advantage.