She paused, considering. Then her eyes fell on the fanatical Tarnished and her face hardened. "Keep those filthy thoughts to yourself." Throne shrugged. Inside, he smirked—only someone twisted would assume others shared their twisted mind. But he let it slide. Teasing her was like poking a block of wood; no fun at all. "He did well. Stirred up the Tarnished's fighting spirit."
"It was a good speech," she admitted. "But what's the success rate of your plan?" The fanatical Tarnished hadn't noticed the glory on the stage was a facade, or that the mastermind stood right beside them. Throne tilted his head, thinking. "Fifty-fifty. Depends on whether my move works." "Fifty percent? That high?"
"Don't believe me? Wait and see." Throne turned, leaving the chaotic square behind. He slipped into the shadows without a sound. Melina hurried after him. "What's next?" Throne didn't answer, his gaze fixed on the Tarnished ahead.
They huddled together, whispering. Fragments of their conversation reached him—"Can't die with these fools" and "Find a way to tell Count Haight." He recognized them. They were the same Tarnished who boasted and gossiped in taverns. Some of their past claims might prove useful now. "Doing Vyke a favor.
He's too naive. The Tarnished don't have to fight him to the death." "What's the alternative?" Throne followed silently. A few Tarnished glanced his way, but they didn't raise alarms. A lone Tarnished like him wasn't worth worrying over.
They saw indifference in his eyes and missed the swordsman's whisper. "Kill a few. Take a city."
Ten years wasn't long, but it wasn't short either. Not enough for the Tarnished to dominate The Lands Between, but enough to weave a complex web of alliances. Throne hadn't been awake long, but he'd gathered intelligence with ruthless efficiency. He knew the Tarnished of Limgrave inside and out.
This six-man squad? He'd shared drinks with every one. The bearded leader, a barbarian by blood, had once worked for Godrick—the same man Throne had scared off years ago. Their eyes met. Recognition flickered in the leader's gaze. He remembered Throne's attack on the outpost, the fuse he'd lit.
"Lord Isshin," the bearded man said, his voice low. "Has 'The Dauntless' changed his mind?" His hand tightened on the great hammer strapped to his back. He knew Throne's reputation—powerful, dangerous. "Not at all. Every Tarnished chooses their own path—fight or flee."
"Then what are you saying?" "I've decided to leave. No point in clashing with Godrick's army." Throne smiled, spreading his hands to show he meant no harm. He stepped closer. "I helped before, but once I got paid, we were even. I'm not obligated to die with him."
The group hesitated. Suspicion lingered, but they thought it over. Throne frequented taverns, had no ties to Vyke. Even when the Bloody Finger attacked, he'd stood back, offering no cover. It made sense. The Tarnished were pragmatic. Friends became enemies in a heartbeat, and lone wolves were the most unpredictable of all.
The burly man lowered his guard and extended a hand. "A wise choice."
Whatever bullshit mission—what's wrong with staying alive?" "Well said. As long as there's profit to be made, everything has a price." Throne gripped his hand tightly. "Including the bonds of kin?" "Of course. The price kin can pay isn't as high as the nobility." Hahaha... The bearded man laughed loudly, causing Melina, who was following beside them, to quietly step half a pace away.
This man was truly an incredible actor, portraying a hitman without any bottom line so vividly that from any angle, he looked like a villain. When the laughter died down, Throne produced a sheet of white paper from his bosom: "I have something good right now. Do you have a connection to sell it for a good price?"
The burly man took it and carefully examined it by the moonlight, his black eyes slightly constricting. This was actually the operational plan of the Roundtable Hold, specifically to launch an attack while Fort Haight was empty, to hold and wait for reinforcements. The assault teams and diversionary forces were all arranged in detail; this wasn't just some made-up nonsense.
He immediately recalled that a few Tarnished squad leaders had stayed behind to discuss matters, which seemed to correspond with this plan. "Wait, where did you get this thing?" The burly man was somewhat incredulous. "Lord Rainer, I naturally have my own channels." Throne watched him stuff the paper into his breastplate and asked coldly: "Tell me, can this thing sell for a good price?"
"It's priceless. As it happens, I have a connection. Interested in making a profit together?" The Tarnished named Rainer was already tempted. "Lead the way." "Wait." The burly man called out to Throne, who had already walked ahead, rubbing his hands together as he said: "There's a rule to working with me: you can't carry weapons on your person. Sorry, but please hand over that sword."
That night, that sword had left a deep impression on him; he couldn't guarantee they could take the opponent down even if they all attacked together. Indeed, the Tarnished who manage to survive are all smart people. Throne turned to the side and said coldly: "Then how do I ensure my own safety?" "Rest assured, I, Rainer, am a man of my word!" A man of his word, my ass.
Throne sneered in his heart, yet he directly unslung Moonveil and tossed it to the sword-and-shield wielder nearby, then pointed at the quietly standing Melina: "What about her? Does she also have to follow your rules?" Rainer looked back; he could crush that slender girl with one hand, so he waved his hand, feigning generosity. "That won't be necessary for this beautiful young lady."
Throne ignored this gesture of goodwill and walked forward silently, followed by Melina. The burly man glanced at his teammate who was fiddling with the long sword and gave him a meaningful look. This swordsman was arrogant to the point of being detestable; he might as well keep this job all to himself.
Mistwood was still distributing military supplies and deploying missions; no one paid any attention to the departing kin. On the forest path, there were still quite a few Tarnished arriving upon hearing the news. Rainer still had quite a bit of face; seeing his dark expression, the Tarnished didn't dare go up to ask questions, and he didn't go to disrupt military morale either.
Earning a large sum of Runes and leaving Limgrave, this land of right and wrong, was enough for him, who was struggling desperately. They walked in silence without stopping, heading southeast. Crossing out of the forest, they saw some Tarnished heading north toward the Minor Erdtree.
That was also a way out; the Tarnished thought Godrick wouldn't be bold enough to kill people in front of the Minor Erdtree. Each with their own thoughts, the group soon walked out of Mistwood. Ahead was an open area, and they could hear the sound of waves crashing against the shore. On the coast stood a fortress.
Fort Haight loomed small but imposing, its gray walls veined with moss and worn smooth by time. Flags snapped sharply in the salty sea breeze. Positioned behind Mistwood and overlooking the ocean, it served as a strategic bulwark against Caelid's invaders, striking from the flank. "I've handled tricky matters for Count Haight before. Wait here. I'll report and be back soon."
Rainer hesitated at the forest's edge, half-stepping into the open. "So those drunken words weren't just boasts." He chuckled low, his voice rough as gravel. "The people I killed were real enough. I just don't advertise it to strangers."
Throne's voice cut through the air, sudden and sharp. "Does he know your identity?"
The burly man paused, then flashed a grin that smelled faintly of smoked meat. "Of course. Dirty jobs like these go through middlemen. Success or failure, it never traces back to the Count. Any other questions?"
"One more." Throne raised his palm toward the nearby archer, his bangs shadowing his eyes. "Tell me—does one person earn more, or do six?"
"Well, one, obviously—" The archer froze mid-sentence. On Throne's empty palm, a purple magic crest flared to life. The archer's companion, mid-yawn, was yanked toward it—no, sucked into it. His mouth hung open, wide and slack, as a hand clamped onto his shoulder.
He looked up. Throne's eyes gleamed with a faint, unsettling smile. The blade flashed—Clang!—and Throne wrenched the sword from the archer's grip. A head tumbled behind him, blood spraying in an arc. Throne raised the long sword, shaking off the crimson droplets. "Perfect. I'll take this job alone."
"Kill him!" The Tarnished reacted in unison.
Rainer swung his great hammer into position. The sword-and-shield wielder charged, shield raised. The mage's staff crackled with energy. But Throne moved faster. With a tap of his toes, he surged forward like a predator, his blade slicing toward the burly man's neck. The man vanished in an instant—Bloodhound's Step. Throne's eyebrow twitched. Interesting.
The Tarnished were full of surprises. Poison arrows hissed toward him. Throne spun his sword, severing them mid-air. His gaze flicked to the advancing Tarnished. He clenched his left fist. Repulsive Wave erupted in a violet ring, hurling the shield-bearer and assassin back. They skidded to a halt, unable to close the distance.
Throne lunged again, faster this time. His blade struck once, twice, thrice—Clang, clang, clang! Sparks exploded with each clash, forcing Rainer to retreat. The mage hurled spells, the sword-and-shield wielder pressed forward, and the assassin in leather armor made a beeline for Melina, aiming to use her as leverage.
The young girl stood motionless, her expression resigned. Staying with Throne meant there was no escaping the chaos. As the assassin lunged at her, blade gleaming, she sighed softly. Then she moved. A half-step back, her hands snapping out like vipers. She grasped his wrists—iron-tight.
The assassin's eyes widened. Her slender fingers locked him in place, immovable. Then he was airborne. Bang!
Melina slammed him into the ground with a shoulder throw. A sharp twist of her wrists, and his forearm snapped with a sickening crack. She snatched his short sword and drove it into his gaping mouth.
She rose slowly, her gaze shifting to the stunned mage. Before he could redirect his firepower, she was on him, closing the distance in an instant.
"Truly formidable," Throne muttered under his breath, catching the exchange from the corner of his eye. The girl had ended a Tarnished's life in a single move. "Looks like I'll need to step it up."
The clash was inevitable. Melina's strength in life-or-death combat surpassed his own. Throne sidestepped half a pace as the great hammer roared past his face. The ground erupted instantly—boom! Mud and debris surged into the air. Throne raised his left hand, the scattered dirt hardening into stone spheres. With a flick of his forearm, he hurled them behind him.
Clang, clang, clang. The great shield shuddered under the impact. The magic was too swift, too precise. The Tarnished holding the shield strained to block it, but before he could react, a hand pressed against the shield's surface. Avalanche. Gravity merged with Dragon power, hammering the Tarnished into the ground like a nail.
Throne pivoted, his waist driving the motion. His long sword arced upward. Storm Blade! Crescent-shaped energy surged out, striking Rainer's great hammer dead-on. Even with an ultra-heavy weapon and a towering frame, Rainer stumbled back several meters—thud, thud, thud. By the time he looked up, Throne had already claimed the shield. Holding the long sword in a reverse grip, he stabbed his own companion. Pfft. The blade pierced the helmet and exited through the lower jaw.
The Tarnished froze mid-struggle.
To the right, the girl removed her hood, withdrawing a curved short sword from the mage's chest. Her movements were calm, deliberate. Two pairs of emotionless eyes locked onto the remaining Tarnished. His heart seized. Run! Get to Fort Haight now! Instinct took over. He shouldered the great hammer and bolted toward the forest's edge. A hundred meters away, the sudden brightness seemed like salvation.
"Aren't you going after him?" Melina approached, her hands clean, her tone light. "What's the rush? Let him run." Throne sheathed his long sword, watching the Tarnished flee. The man discarded his helmet, desperate for speed. The forest's end loomed just ahead. Guards on the city walls turned toward the commotion. Throne picked up the straight sword and raised his left hand.
Starlight movement. In a blink, he covered dozens of meters. Particles coalesced into his form, his toes barely touching the ground. Bloodhound Rush. From stillness to blinding speed, Throne closed the gap in seconds. He flung the straight sword from meters away. Swish—the blade whistled through the air.
Rainer wasn't blindly fleeing. Hearing the wind, he spun, countering instantly. Crushing Heavy Hammer! His body twisted like a top, the hundred-pound hammer shattering rocks and snapping trees. The force aimed to obliterate everything in its path.
Sunlight pierced the forest canopy. The guards on the city walls finally saw the full scene. The moment they recognized the martial art, the alarm bells rang.