The Tarnished did not linger long near the headless Demigod. These fallen nobles were Marika's children; in terms of lineage and his status as Godfrey's brother, he was effectively their elder. It was only right to leave them to their rest.
He descended from the mausoleum and soon found another sanctuary: the Fourth Church of Marika. As the name implied, this was one of the most significant early sites dedicated to the Queen. Here, he secured a second Sacred Tear. While multiple tears didn't grant new powers, their rarity was absolute—there was no reason to leave such a treasure behind.
He consulted his map one last time. His exploration of the Weeping Peninsula was largely complete. He had visited almost every landmark of interest, though one location to the south gnawed at his mind. It was the area where he'd found Trina's Lilies. From that direction, he sensed a foul, dangerous aura—something chaotic, frenzied, and scorching hot.
It seems many new powers have taken root since I left, he thought. Time was a fractured concept in the Lands Between, and he had no idea how many centuries had passed since his exile. Even during the age of conquest, various factions had stirred in the shadows. But intuition told him to steer clear of that frantic energy for now. Better to gather intelligence before stepping into a bonfire of madness.
"Time to head back to Limgrave." By his count, about ten days had passed. He recalled the information from Kalé: the Flask of Wondrous Physick at the Third Church, and a mysterious individual hiding in some ruins.
The Tarnished decided to double back. The guidance of grace pointed toward Limgrave as well, suggesting something important awaited him there.
He used the Site of Grace at the Fourth Church to manifest a bridge of light—his first time using "Fast Travel" since his return. He chose the first Grace he had discovered: the Stranded Graveyard. With a surge of will, his body dissolved into golden motes and reappeared at his destination in a heartbeat.
"Functioning perfectly." He patted the dust from his armor and glanced at the Imp Statue nearby. He had the keys now, but the graveyard's depths looked massive. I'll save the dungeon crawl for later. First, the Physick.
Limgrave's geography was coming back to him. The Waypoint Ruins sat to the east of the graveyard, situated above the road leading to the peninsula. To get there, he would have to skirt the edges of Agheel Lake.
"Flying dragons..." Dragons were a chore. While he had a hand-ballista now, it was a basic tool—good for sniping soldiers, but unlikely to punch through dragon scale and wing membrane.
Putting the dragon out of his mind, he set off toward the ruins. His path was soon blocked by a creature of absurd proportions: a Great Crab. It stood two meters taller than him, its massive pincers snapping with a sound like heavy shears.
The world truly has gone mad. Crabs the size of houses? I wonder how the meat tastes. The crab scuttled sideways, slamming a claw into the mud to kick up a screen of spray, trying to blind its prey.
But a crab was still a crab. It had bulk and raw strength, but no discipline. The Tarnished charged through the water, moving by pure instinct. He sheared off both claws in two fluid motions before plunging his Zamor curved sword deep into the creature's soft underbelly.
The Great Crab collapsed, frothing at the mouth, its legs twitching as life left it.
"What's this?"
Amidst the dying crab's foam, he saw a severed arm still clutching a blade. It was an Uchigatana—a weapon from the Land of Reeds.
"Eaten by a crab. What a way to go." He examined the blade. It was light and thin, but its edge was terrifyingly sharp. It looked as though it had been swallowed the moment it was unsheathed.
The East was famous for a specific technique: Iaijutsu. It was a lightning-fast style where the user kept the blade sheathed, only to draw and strike in a single, fatal motion.
"Iai, eh? I remember the rhythm."
He held the Uchigatana. Sheath. Hand as the scabbard. Draw. A shockwave of a slash followed, seemingly splitting the lake water ahead into two distinct walls.
"Not rusty yet." He'd learned the draw from an old veteran in the crusade—a man who had spent his life trying to become a Sword Saint. That man's own blade had been a cursed thing that tasted of a thousand lives: Rivers of Blood.
"Careful, I'm getting distracted by seafood." He tucked the Uchigatana into his belt, slung the curved sword across his back, and continued to the ruins.
As he approached the Waypoint Ruins, the air turned thick with floating green pollen.
"Poison..." He pulled a scrap of cloth over his face. Ahead, he saw the source: a massive, pulsing pink flower surrounded by smaller siblings. These were Miranda Sprouts—man-eating plants that could channel strange, orbital strikes of light.
"Annoying." He clicked his tongue. The flowers were slow, barely creeping toward him. He didn't want to play games. He drew the Uchigatana. In a flash of steel, the ruins and the cluster of man-eating flora were sliced clean through.
Only the largest Miranda flower remained. Enraged, it pulsed with light, summoning pillars of energy from the ground. But the Tarnished was already there. He bisected the "trunk" before the light could even reach its peak.
With the distraction cleared, he looked for the person mentioned in the rumors. He spotted a torch flickering in a cellar entrance hidden beneath the rubble. "Found you."
He descended the stone steps, only to find a Pumpkin Head madman—identical to the one in Morne—guarding the basement.
"Wait, you're the one hiding here?" He felt a headache coming on.
"AAAAAUGH!" The Pumpkin Head let out a beastly roar, but unlike the one in Morne, it didn't lunge. It simply began slamming its iron-clad head into the floor repeatedly.
Inside the inner room, a woman wearing a stone Glintstone Crown looked up from her crystal-laden desk. She heard the commotion outside and the sudden silence of her guardian.
"How interesting. Someone actually found this place." She had been here for a long time, buried in her research, almost forgetting the sound of another human voice.
"Typical. More lunatics than sane men in this age," a masculine, confident voice echoed from the doorway.
The woman paused. She listened to the footfalls—steady and rhythmic.
The Pumpkin Head is strong... for a man to finish that fight in five seconds... A small, knowing smile touched her lips beneath the mask.
"Boring. You're no better than the one at Morne," the man's voice drifted in.
"He's coming."
The Tarnished entered the chamber. After the Sacred Tear, his body felt rejuvenated. Even without the power of Runes, his raw physical strength and centuries of combat experience made these brute-force enemies trivial.
He pushed open the iron door, greeted by the sharp, ozone scent of Glintstone. Inside stood a woman. Even her heavy robes couldn't hide a graceful silhouette, though her face was obscured by a stern stone mask.
"How rare," her voice was calm, intellectual, and laced with a hint of amusement. "I did not think anyone would find me here."
"You're a sorcerer." He could tell instantly that the woman before him was a projection—a spectral form projected from her consciousness or a magical tether.
"Indeed. I am Sellen. And you, Tarnished? What brings you to this derelict hole?"
"You seem like a powerful mage."
"You have an eye for talent. I was once called a prodigy." Sellen didn't hide her pride.
The Tarnished stared at her, his gaze intense and unblinking. Sellen felt a flicker of unease. Does he have a hidden motive? Is he an assassin from the Academy?
"I want to learn sorcery from you."
Sellen froze for a heartbeat, then let out a soft, melodic laugh. "How very interesting. You may not know, but I am a 'Graven Witch,' exiled from the Academy for my crimes. Are you certain you wish to be my student?"
"Exiled? Perfect. I've never liked the Academy anyway." The Tarnished grinned.
"You are a strange one."
"Not really. Most Academy mages I met were insufferable. I'd rather learn from someone they hate."
Sellen fell silent. Then, she spoke with renewed gravity. "I will ask one more time. Are you certain you wish to study under a witch whose name is a curse?"
"I'll judge your 'crimes' for myself later. Until then, I'll be your student. I don't change my mind once I've made a choice."
"Even if it turns out I am as wicked as they say?"
"Then we'll settle the bill when the time comes. I'm not the type to repay a teacher with betrayal."
Behind her stone mask, Sellen's eyes—bright as the stars—widened.
"Heh... very well. I shall take you on. You are my first apprentice... and perhaps you shall be my last." She rested her chin on her hand, a playful lilt in her voice. "I am not a gentle teacher. My lessons are rigorous."
"I wouldn't have it any other way." The Tarnished gave a formal bow, a matching smile on his face.