"This isn't a small game I'm playing," Throne said, his voice low and deliberate. "What you see now? Just the first move." Melina stared at him, her brow furrowed. "And after you take the city? What then?" He chuckled, a soft, knowing sound. "Patience. Spoiling the answer ruins the fun."
She felt that familiar unease creeping in, the same she'd felt with Ranni. Yet the more enigmatic he became, the more she couldn't look away.
Her thoughts churned, piecing together fragments of his plan. "You're using the Tarnished," she said slowly. "Their deaths buy Haight's trust. Then you'll use him to get close to Godrick."
Throne turned, hands clasped behind his back. His gaze lingered on the distant woods, where the glint of armor flickered like fireflies. "Half right," he said. "But you're selling me short."
"I've got plenty of flaws," he continued, his tone hardening. "But trading a friend's life for my gain? That's not one of them."
Melina's head spun, as it always did when he spoke. Truth and lies blurred, but this time, she felt the weight of his words. He meant it. Every word.
"The Tarnished are here!" The shout broke the stillness.
Throne's voice cut through the chaos, calm and commanding. "All teams, silence. Stick to the plan." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "Take the leader first."
The fortress stirred. Soldiers moved like shadows, their armor clinking softly. Count Haight's strategy was straightforward: abandon the outer walls, seize the high ground, and trap the enemy within.
The Knight Commander stepped forward, his hand tight around his sword hilt. His gaze locked onto Throne, wary but resolute. "Come with me," he said.
Throne turned, silent, and extended his hand. "My sword."
The commander shook his head. "You'll get it soon enough. Follow me." He didn't wait for a reply, striding off without a backward glance.
Throne sighed, following empty-handed. He muttered to the wind, barely audible. "Next, I'll show you what it means to bloom from the center."
The torches cast a flickering glow over the ground below, their light stretching only so far before dissolving into darkness.
Moonlight filtered through the clouds, catching on armor in the distance. The sound of footsteps—soft, quick—carried on the night air. A group of Tarnished crept toward the city wall, crouching low, then flattening themselves against the earth.
Formation battles weren't their strength, but stealth? They knew it well.
Mages cast 'Cat's Steps,' muffling their movements to near silence. They closed in on the wall, their presence undetected. Vyke peered out from behind a rock, his eyes scanning the soldiers pacing above. Any closer, and the torchlight would expose them. A sneak attack could turn into a full-blown assault, but the Tarnished weren't strangers to improvisation.
Vyke clenched his fist, excitement bubbling beneath his calm. He glanced at Istvan, who stood with the poise of an ancient knight.
Haight's luck held. Both targets were here.
Istvan nodded, his grip tightening on his sword hilt. He gestured sharply. "Prepare."
Men in black leather armor rose from the ground, their movements fluid. Mages behind them lifted their staves, casting 'Unseen Form' and 'Assassin's Step.'
Their figures blurred, becoming indistinct shadows. They crouched, coiled like springs.
"Go!"
The word was barely a whisper. They darted forward, sprinting through the torchlight with the speed of a hundred-meter dash. Night Sorcery cloaked them, their forms nearly invisible. Their footsteps were swallowed by the howling wind.
Soon, they reached the base of the wall. Grappling hooks flew, catching the parapet with a metallic clink. They climbed swiftly, silencing the sentries with swift, efficient movements.
Vyke watched intently, his fists clenched. The killing was quiet, seamless.
Seconds later, the lead Tarnished gestured to those below. "It's done. Move in."
Dozens of people suddenly rose in the pitch-black night, like a black tide surging toward the light, then climbed up with agile movements. 'The Tarnished are just too good at doing these underhanded things.'
All of this was under Throne's watch. At first, even he hadn't noticed, only realizing when the sentries on the wall had their necks snapped, exposing their trail.
This was the benefit of having many skills; no legion in The Lands Between possessed such formidable scouts. Swift, decisive, professional. The Knight Commander beside him had his mouth agape, and his gaze toward Throne softened significantly. Without this traitor providing intelligence, the fortress might truly have fallen.
Once those Tarnished rushed into the city, close-quarters combat in narrow areas would be disastrous. When nearly half the Tarnished had climbed the wall and were spreading out to both sides, the knight looked at Count Haight, who was surrounded by heavy guards. "Lord Count, please give the order." House Haight hadn't fought a war in several generations.
The seemingly dignified Count was somewhat nervous, and as he was about to speak—
"Wait, I just remembered something!" The sudden outburst from Throne gave everyone a fright. The Count quickly asked, "What is it?" This Tarnished had already proven his value; it wouldn't be an exaggeration to call him a savior. The Count became much more amiable.
"It's very important; it concerns the success or failure of this battle." Throne took two steps forward. The knight guarding him frowned but did not stop him; the man had performed a great service and was unarmed. When he reached about two meters away, he finally raised his hand to block him. "Just say it from there." Overly cautious, but sufficient.
Throne glanced at the Count, who was covered in heavy armor, and hesitated. "I have a heartfelt word I'd like to say; I wonder if I should." "Speak!" If it weren't for the great service this man had performed to gain trust, Count Haight would have already thrown him off the tower. Couldn't he see what the atmosphere was like right now? "Then I will speak. Please..."
Throne slowly raised his left hand, palm facing the Count. The people around didn't pay much attention; after all, a bare hand couldn't possibly harm anyone. Then, they saw a brilliant purple sigil. "Go to hell." No sooner said than done, a wave of repulsive force slammed into the well-equipped Count. It didn't pierce his fine armor, but it pushed his entire body away.
Count Haight didn't know any martial arts. Caught off guard, he felt himself flying through the air. He blinked, feeling that there was no longer any support beneath his feet. Huh? Bang! A figure fell from the ten-meter-high tower and landed on the wall, right in the middle of the Tarnished. Amidst the dead silence, there was suddenly the sound of a heavy object hitting the ground.
Vyke, who was sneaking around, was startled. Looking closely, it was a middle-aged man in ornate armor, clutching his stomach and groaning in pain. Who is this? The young man was confused, then saw heads poking out from every high point. The soldiers also saw this scene, and their brains instantly crashed.
Arrows were nocked, swords were drawn, and then their own commander fell into the middle of the enemy. To shoot or not to shoot? The massive fortress was deathly silent. The Tarnished and the soldiers stared at each other, and everyone on the tower turned into a statue. The battle hadn't even started yet, so how did Lord Count end up surrounded?
Seeing him rolling around and vomiting blood, he was clearly badly injured. Only the Knight Commander, like a robot, turned his head inch by inch to look at the swordsman who still held his left hand outstretched, unable to process what had just happened. Without a staff, how did he cast Gravity Magic? "Sorry, my hand slipped."
Throne shrugged innocently, lifting his right leg. The Knight's eyes burned with monstrous killing intent.
"Kill him! Save the Count!"
"It's an ambush! Take cover!"
The silence shattered. Both sides erupted into motion. The Tarnished moved with purpose, their backup plan ready. The defenders faltered, caught off guard.
They did have a contingency—but not this. Not their commander seized in the opening moments. Arrows stayed nocked, untriggered. The Count was too precious, too costly to lose. The chaos atop the tower was simpler, brutal.
The Knight Commander led the charge, dozens of furious soldiers swarming from every direction. They meant to rip Throne apart, to erase the shame he'd brought them.
"Such hot tempers," Throne muttered.
Fists against blades—no contest. He scanned the ring of swords, spears, halberds. The storm around his raised leg churned, building. Thump. Thump. Thump. His heartbeat pounded in his ears.
Blades closed in. He slammed his foot down. "Let's fight!"
Wind Dragon Stomp.
BOOM. The force hit the roof like a meteor. The floor splintered, debris and bodies tumbling into the void below. Screams echoed. The ones left standing were elites, hardened.
The knights regained their footing, kneeling on one knee. They surveyed the wreckage, then looked up. Throne didn't fall with them. Gravity Magic kept him aloft, his cloak and hair rippling. He extended his hand toward a soldier pinned beneath rubble.
Clang.
The long sword he'd carried flew free, streaking toward him like a comet. "Sword, come!"
Clang.
The blade met his hand. He descended, fluid and precise. The knights hadn't even risen. From flipping the floorboards to gripping the sword, then falling to kill—it was over too fast. A soldier barely raised his crossbow before the blade was overhead.
Falling Slash.
The magical edge cleaved through helmet, skull, and chest. A flick of the wrist sent the mangled corpse airborne, skewered by arrows mid-flight. Others drew their bows, but bricks and stones erupted, smashing into them like unseen projectiles. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Not fatal, but agonizing. The men screamed. Knights rushed forward, greatswords and shields shattering the second wave of debris. They hesitated, then a spray of crystal shards pierced the dust.
"I don't just know Gravity Magic," Throne said, sprinting forward, maintaining suppression.
Magical particles drifted through the dust, hazy, mist-like. Visibility plummeted. The knights scanned their surroundings, tense.
"Careful," the commander growled. "He's charging!"
They knew Throne was coming. The question was—where? The sounds of battle seeped through the hole in the roof, amplifying their unease.
The Tarnished had already engaged the defenders, but there was no one to lead them, and even they, the reserve force, couldn't break away. This hesitation lasted for a moment, and a soldier looking left and right was sucked directly into the dust. "Ah!" The sharp scream ended abruptly, as if a demon were hiding in the dust. The commander's veins bulged as he roared to steady the morale.
"Steady! His gravity magic's weak. Keep him pinned and we take this." The words barely left his mouth when a knight lurched forward. The man jammed his short spear into the dirt, anchoring himself. Throne's gravity magic paled against Radahn's might.
The knight slid a few meters before halting. His squad surged forward. "Get him—where'd he go?" Dust swirled, obscuring vision. The counter-charge came fast, almost seamless. The enemy moved like lightning.
Gravity magic couldn't kill outright, but it made Throne faster. Pushing paper and iron with the same force yielded wildly different results. He'd already used Bloodhound's Step to vanish meters back.
Enhanced by the Night Sorcery 'Unseen Form,' his body blurred in the dust. As he landed—
Counter-thrust! "He's here!" The knight wasn't green—instinct drove his spear forward. Yet the swordsman twisted, an unnatural deflection sending the blade wide.
Throne couldn't soar like Radahn, but the air was his playground. The spear grazed his cheek. He parried the greatsword with his long blade, using the momentum to spin and kick. Senpou Leaping Kicks. The impact echoed.
The spear-wielding knight flew back, crumpling.
Throne glanced right. The Knight Commander barreled in, straight sword gleaming, hatred blazing. Ahead, a line of spears jabbed forward. In The Lands Between, facing multiple attackers head-on was always a losing game. Here, in this cramped space, speed couldn't save him—no room to pick them off one by one.