The high of finding a Golden Seed was short-lived, quickly replaced by the familiar irritation of the road. Just as the Tarnished was savoring his small victory, the sky bruised into twilight, and a figure emerged from the encroaching murk to bar his path.
A Night's Cavalry. Both the rider and his steed were draped in funeral-black trappings, looking every bit like reapers come to collect a soul.
"And what are you supposed to be? A Tree Sentinel fanboy?" The Tarnished shouldered his Golden Halberd and marched straight toward the dark knight.
"?" Sensing the movement, the rider turned.
"A Tarnished..." A raspy voice leaked from behind the narrow slit of the helm. The knight drew a blackened, blood-stained flail from his belt, his gaze burning with murderous intent.
"Right. Another lunatic. Fine, if you want a dance, let's go." Without further preamble, the Tarnished swung the Golden Halberd in a wide, sweeping arc. The sudden ferocity of the strike nearly unseated the rider before he could react.
"Treacherous Tarnished! You dare ambush me!?" the knight snarled through a pained grunt.
"Oh, so you can speak. How was that an ambush? You pulled your weapon first; I'm just finishing the conversation." He propped the halberd back on his shoulder with feigned indifference.
"Hmph... no matter. To bury all who dare approach the Erdtree is our sacred charge. And you are well within our hunting grounds."
The knight wasted no more words. Spurring his steed, he used the horse's superior mobility and the erratic, whipping strikes of his flail to keep the Tarnished off balance. The Night's Cavalry was far more agile than a Tree Sentinel; they weren't heavy tank units but grim executioners who struck with speed and lethal precision.
As the Tarnished parried, he looked for a weakness. He found it quickly: to maintain such speed, the knight's horse wore almost no armor. Compared to the robust stallions of the Tree Sentinels, this dark steed lacked poise.
The Tarnished reached into his pouch, pulled out a chunk of Ruin Strewn Precipice stone he'd scavenged earlier, and hurled it with pinpoint accuracy at the horse's foreleg. A sickening crack followed by a pained neigh echoed through the night. The horse lost its footing at full gallop, tumbling into the dirt and throwing the rider violently from his saddle.
"Cunning rat!" The knight scrambled to his feet, his voice dripping with venom.
"Tough talk for a man in the dirt," the Tarnished remarked, closing the distance.
"You think unhorsing me is victory? Laughable!" The knight pressed his fingers to his lips and let out a sharp whistle. A spectral silhouette—a spirit steed—began to manifest beneath him.
"A Spirit Horse?"
The Tarnished didn't wait. He lunged forward before the summon could complete and kicked the knight squarely in the chest, sending him sprawling. "Did you think I'd give you the chance? I've fought plenty of riders with spirit mounts."
"How...!" The knight looked up, only to see the Golden Halberd silhouetted against the moon. A single, crushing blow ended the knight's vigil.
"What a chore. New recruits in the middle of the night?" The Tarnished checked a few shallow welts from the flail, took a sip of his Physick flask, and watched the wounds knit back together.
He checked his map again. To his right was a marker for a high tower. According to the topography, it sat atop a plateau that currently had no visible path but a sheer rock face.
"Time to climb."
Relying on his battle-hardened physique, he scaled the cliffs with raw strength. At the summit, he found a tower standing ten meters tall amidst the trees. Its entrance was sealed by a shimmering blue magical barrier.
"Sorcerers. There's always a trick to these things." He searched the perimeter until he found a small imp statue clutching a book. The inscription read:
> Oridys's Rise. Seek three wise beasts to open the way.
"Wise beasts?" There were many candidates in the Lands Between. The wolves of the Shadow-bound, or the Lion Regent of Godfrey—all possessed intellect beyond humans. But which 'wise beasts' did this tower want?
"No, it won't be anything that grand. The puzzle must be local." The magic in this tower wasn't strong enough to project a puzzle across the whole peninsula. The 'beasts' had to be nearby.
A rustle came from the bushes. The Tarnished parted the leaves to find a spectral tortoise. The creature looked up at him with clear, seemingly intelligent eyes.
"Hah... tortoises. Of course." Tortoises were famously long-lived and held a quiet wisdom. "That's one."
He gave the ghost-turtle a playful tap on the head. It dissolved into motes of light that flew into the tower's seal.
"Two more. I hope there's something decent in that tower."
After a bit more searching—and a frustrated curse when he found one hidden in a pond—he gathered all three 'beasts.' The barrier vanished. He marched inside, grumbling about the "sneaky bastard" who designed the puzzle.
At the top, he opened a chest to find a mysterious, dark stone.
"A Memory Stone." He recognized it immediately. Sorcerers prized these; they allowed the mind to hold and weave more complex incantations and spells. While he had no immediate use for it, its value as a trade item was immense.
"Not a total waste of time." He leaned against the window frame, looking out over the landscape. He spotted an unlit Site of Grace in the distance and headed toward it.
While exploring the cliff's edge near the Grace, he found a lone chair facing the sea. On it sat a desiccated corpse clutching a Stoneblade Key.
"Strange place to die." Curiosity and old habits kicked in. He lay flat on the cliff edge and peered down. At first, he saw nothing but shadows, but then a faint, cold aura of spirits drifted upward.
The drop was too high for a jump, so he scouted for a lower path. As he descended, the 'scent' of the dead grew thicker. He eventually found a set of heavy wooden doors embedded in the rock. Pushing them open, he was greeted by a face-full of ancient dust.
"Ah... catacombs."
Catacombs. The resting place of the common dead. Unlike the Demigods, commoners still had lifespans, even under the Golden Order. When they passed, they were interred in these underground labyrinths built near the roots of the Erdtree, so their souls could be absorbed and eventually reborn. This process was known as Erdtree Burial.
Heroes were given lavish, sprawling tombs; this place was not one of them. It was cramped, dilapidated, and functional.
"I never thought I'd end up in a place like this." If Marika hadn't exiled the Tarnished, they might have been entitled to such a burial.
What kind of burial would he have received as a half-member of the Golden Lineage? It was a meaningless question now.
"Forget it. My grave in the badlands was nice enough. If I die again, I'll just have someone wedge my tombstone directly into the Erdtree's bark," he joked to himself.
Inside, he found a new Site of Grace.
"I remember these... the Graces inside catacombs aren't supposed to connect to the outside world." This was to ensure the dead remained undisturbed. The Graces here were likely placed for the Gravekeepers.
He moved deeper. Massive golden roots coiled through the masonry like sleeping serpents. To his left was a bottomless abyss—one slip, and he'd be 'returning to the roots' ahead of schedule.
"The architects of this era were truly eccentric."
The catacombs were dimly lit by white candles. He turned a corner to find a massive stone door, seemingly locked by a mechanism. Next to it was a small statue of Marika. Unlike the grand icons in the churches, this one depicted her bound by a Great Rune arc—a sinner on display.
"Public shaming, eh? Seems the Greater Will lost its patience with you too, Marika." He felt no piety toward the Order; if anything, he felt a kinship with a fellow rebel.
As he searched for the lever, a small, verdigris-colored shape lunged from the shadows.
"Fanged Imps." These stunted, cat-headed stone gargoyles were miniature Golems, designed specifically to guard tight spaces where their larger counterparts couldn't fit.
"Annoying little pests." He kicked one mid-air, caught it by its stone head, and slammed it against the wall until the rock splintered. He finished it with a heavy stomp.
Imps were mindless automatons, driven purely by magical directives. "The people outside are starting to look a lot like these things," he mused, glancing at his Golden Halberd. The weapon was too long for these narrow corridors. He returned to the Grace to switch back to his golden straight swords.
Refreshed, he returned to the imp's haunt. A dead end lay ahead, but a lift stood to the right.
"...."
Instead of stepping on it, he tossed a stone onto the pressure plate.
The lift groaned and ascended. The Tarnished watched the gap beneath the rising platform. He saw a hidden chamber below, even as the stone he'd thrown was crushed against the ceiling above.
"Knew it. The man who built this place was a sadist."
He triggered the lift again and jumped into the hidden space below. In the damp corner, he spotted a pale, ghostly flower.
"Grave Glovewort." A flower of the soul that grows only in the presence of the dead. It was said that Spirit Tuners used these to strengthen the ashes of the deceased.
Better to have it and not need it, he thought.
He had two sets of ashes in his pack, after all. Perhaps he'd find a Spirit Tuner eventually.
"Alright. Let's see what else is down here." He stuffed the flower into his pouch and stepped into the flooded gloom ahead.