Considerable time had passed since his encounter with Trina in the dream, and the Tarnished's journey continued. Along the way, he tracked down another nomadic merchant to trade supplies and stumbled upon a sprawling ruin inhabited by Demi-humans. There, he hunted down the true sovereign of the peninsula's primitives: the Demi-human Queen.
The Queen was gargantuan compared to her kin and wielded a glinting glintstone staff—a gift from some unknown benefactor that allowed even her dim-witted mind to channel basic sorceries. However, true to her savage nature, she seemed to prefer using the priceless staff as an oversized club.
Once he had dispatched the Queen, the Demi-humans of the peninsula fell into a state of absolute panic. They huddled on the ground, clutching their heads in terror. For creatures with such a rigid social hierarchy, the leader was both supreme and invincible; once the head was severed, the body lost all will to resist.
This was a common trait among many of the Lands Between's denizens. Whether dealing with mindless beasts, Misbegotten, or even certain human factions, the most efficient way to collapse an army was to strike directly at the heart of its leadership.
The Tarnished, however, stared at the fallen Queen's staff in contemplation. If a Demi-human can use magic, surely I can find a way to channel it through a simple medium?
In truth, he was curious about sorcery.
But back in the old days, the mages in his unit were insufferably elitist. Despite his fame as a warrior, they had taken every opportunity to undermine his confidence in learning the arcane. He had often wondered if he actually possessed great talent and they were simply jealous of his martial prowess.
Furthermore, most sorcerers he'd known were either arrogant eccentrics or complete lunatics prone to "eccentricities" that bordered on the grotesque. He hoped this journey wouldn't force him to deal with too many of their kind.
"Hah... if only I had a decent teacher," he sighed. To achieve his goal, he needed every scrap of power available. He couldn't be bound by steel alone; he needed to master magic, and perhaps even the Incantations that had once been his weak point, to stand a chance against the Greater Will.
He checked his map.
The Weeping Peninsula was nearly fully explored. It was a relatively small region with weak factions, yielding few treasures of historical note.
However, one landmark was impossible to ignore: the Minor Erdtree standing at the center of the peninsula. Even without the map, he could see the towering golden bough dominating the horizon.
While it couldn't compare to the original, its presence was overwhelming. These Minor Erdtrees were symbols of the Erdtree's dominion spread across the land. They served as local anchors for the "return to the roots" system, drawing pilgrims and housing catacombs beneath their shade.
The Erdtree was too vast to root everywhere at once, so it cast out these avatars—linked directly to the source. To stand before a Minor Erdtree was, in essence, to stand before the Erdtree itself.
"There ought to be something worth taking near that tree."
Heading south, he soon reached the clearing. The area was littered with shattered earthenware jars.
"Sacrificial jars I understand," he muttered, looking at the debris. "But what are these red-lidded ones?" The jars were battered, and heaps of raw meat spilled from the cracks—a gruesome sight.
"Does the peninsula have a custom of human sacrifice? You certainly demand a high price for your shade, don't you?" He shot a sideways glance at the golden tree. As if sensing his blasphemy, the leaves began to rustle violently, and golden motes swirled in the air.
The light coalesced into a massive ring above, and a bloated, bark-skinned titan wielding a golden hammer crashed into the clearing.
"Almost forgot about you. An Erdtree Avatar."
The Avatars were the natural guardians of the Minor Erdtrees. Unlike the Tree Sentinels, their power was drawn directly from the golden sap. They combined massive physical strength with the purest Golden Order incantations. They were rare, and their raw power generally exceeded that of a standard Tree Sentinel.
The Avatar didn't hesitate. It swung its massive hammer, trailing a shockwave of golden energy. The Tarnished knew a direct hit would be disastrous in his current state, but the creature was sluggish.
"I've always liked your kind. Big, slow, and predictable."
The Tarnished dropped into a low crouch—the "Giant-Hunt" stance. It was a technique he'd perfected against the Fire Giants, staying low to the ground and using explosive speed to run circles around lumbering foes.
He dodged the hammer's descent and lunged forward. Using the Avatar's own trunk as a foothold, he leaped into the air like a wolf, his twin golden swords sinking deep into the creature's ancient, weathered bark.
"The Ring is shattered, and you look like you're falling apart with it. Stiff and dry... reminds me of the days we had to eat bark to survive. I wonder if you taste better than a common pine?"
He rained down strikes, carving away chunks of petrified wood. Sensing its end, the Avatar raised its hammer high and slammed it vertically into the earth. Golden light erupted in a violent radius, blowing the Tarnished back.
"Is that all? How pathetic." The more he fought, the more he could feel the Erdtree's fading vitality.
Enraged, the Avatar slammed its hammer three times in rapid succession. Countless motes of light manifested behind its back, before raining down as a barrage of holy golden arrows.
"Tracking shots, eh?" He sprinted, the golden rain nipping at his heels. He didn't just run away; he circled back toward the Avatar, increasing his speed until he was a golden blur.
The confused barrage of light followed his arc, eventually slamming into the Avatar's own massive, clumsy body. While the holy-aligned creature didn't take much damage from its own power, it was momentarily blinded by the glare.
"Checkmate."
The Tarnished didn't need the arrows to kill it. He slid directly beneath the Avatar's hollowed, barky neck. "Ancient wood shouldn't be wandering around. You'll catch termites."
He unleashed a burst of raw physical power, shattering the Avatar's internal energy core. With the breaking of the golden, dew-like center, the Avatar's form flickered, dissolved into white light, and vanished into the wind.
Two shimmering crystal tears floated into his hand.
"Crystal Tears for the Physick, then." These held the distilled essence of the Erdtree's grace—rare treasures indeed.
"A pleasant surprise. Now that the peninsula is picked clean, it's time to head back to Limgrave and find that Flask of Wondrous Physick to put these to use."
He looked at the Minor Erdtree. For a moment, he considered felling the whole thing, but he checked the impulse. He didn't have the heavy weaponry for it yet, and he wasn't quite ready to invite the full, unbridled wrath of the Greater Will.
"I'll leave you standing... for now."
He turned back toward the northwest.
"Is this... a Church of Marika?" He reached a ruined structure at the edge of the plateau. In the center stood a weathered statue of the Queen.
"How the times have changed. The Eternal Queen, once worshipped by every soul in the land, and her church is a pile of rubble." No one tended the grounds; no pilgrims came to pray. Time had been ruthless to the icon of her former glory.
"If the Barbarian saw you like this, he'd probably chop the Erdtree down himself." He sat at the Site of Grace in the center of the nave, looking up at the statue's face.
"Forget him. Even I feel a bit sour seeing you like this. You were my sister-in-law, after all. I suppose I have a reason to save you."
He raised his left hand, and a sigil manifested in the air—a pattern of a hammer, a double-headed axe, and a long curved blade crossed in a pact. It was the mark of the oath he, Marika, and Godfrey had shared. The hammer and axe represented his siblings-in-arms; the long blade was the weapon he had wielded in life—a blade now lost to time.
"I don't know if you're still 'in there,' Marika. But the Erdtree and the Greater Will are going down. As for your children... my nephews... if they stand in my way, I'll have to cut them down. Don't blame me for being cold."
Many of Marika's offspring were fanatical defenders of the Order. They were obstacles. Those who could see the truth might be spared; the rest would find no mercy.
"..."
"Wait, what's that?"
He noticed a glimmering object at the base of the statue. He stepped closer and found a small chalice filled with a thick, golden liquid.
"A Sacred Tear." A fragment of the Erdtree's bounty, usually kept in the most sacred of shrines. He knew its properties: it would dramatically enhance the potency of his flasks, allowing his body to knit together even the most grievous wounds instantly.
"I'll take your grace, Marika."
He didn't hesitate, pouring the liquid into his flask and drinking a draught. A long-lost feeling of fullness surged through him. The old, lingering aches from the Badlands were gone. He felt his vitality peaking.
"The power is good. It's just the 'Manager' at the top that's the problem." He meant the Greater Will. He saw no hypocrisy in using the Erdtree's power to destroy its master. If the Order hadn't been so oppressive, no one would have felt the need to rebel. The tyranny of the Gold had sowed the seeds of its own destruction long ago.
"Alright, Marika. I'm moving on. I hope that when I finally reach the heart of the Tree, I find you still breathing."
He spared one last look at the statue, turned his back on the church, and continued his march to the northwest.