The crimson longsword lashed through the air, causing the very atmosphere to tremble. Locked in the knight's blood-soaked focus, the Tarnished felt his own blood churning, as if it were straining to burst through his skin.
"Is this the 'Art' of your Dynasty?" The Tarnished remained unruffled. If anything, he felt this level of power was insufficient. If this was the best the Dynasty could offer, they were far from ready to challenge even a crumbling Golden Order.
"I'll see how long that tongue stays sharp!" The Knight Commander was no amateur; his swordsmanship was elite, and he used the superior reach of his blood-extended blade to maintain a ferocious pressure.
"Die!" The knight swung his blade in a wide, whistling whirlwind. The Tarnished drew his Uchigatana in a counter-Iai, the collision of steel sending the knight reeling back again. But this time, something was different. A spray of crimson erupted from the Tarnished's chest—a jagged wound had opened seemingly out of nowhere.
The knight let out a distorted, triumphant laugh. "Hahaha! It's useless! As long as blood flows in your veins, you cannot escape the reach of the Blood-Blade! This is the price for blaspheming the Dynasty!"
"..." The Tarnished wiped a smear of blood from his chest and stared at it.
"Scared speechless? Hahaha... wait, what?" The knight's laughter died in his throat. He saw the Tarnished's shoulders beginning to quiver.
"Heh... hehe... Hahahahahaha!" The Tarnished suddenly dropped his Uchigatana, clutching his wounded chest with both hands as he let out a wild, lupine howl of laughter.
"A fine strike. My blood is finally boiling."
When the Tarnished looked up, the knight felt a cold sweat soak his armor. He saw them: eyes that had turned into glowing, predatory scarlet orbs. From the wound on his chest, the blood didn't spill downward; it flowed upward, coiling around his neck like a crimson serpent before manifesting into a tattered cloak of pure, solidified blood.
"Impossible... how can this be?!" The knight felt a primal terror. The man before him had transformed into a starving, blood-drenched wolf.
"What's wrong? Afraid?" The Tarnished cracked his neck, dropping into a low, bestial crouch as his right hand gripped the hilt of the Zamor curved sword on his back.
"I wonder... whose control over blood is superior?" A gaze that could shatter a man's sanity locked onto the knight.
"Monster! Die! Just die!!" Panic-stricken, the knight began to swing wildly, his disciplined swordsmanship replaced by the frantic flailing of a cornered animal.
"You've lost your composure." The Tarnished gave a cold smirk. The blood-cloak trailed behind him like a streak of scarlet lightning. In a heartbeat, the curved sword was wet with fresh gore. The Tarnished stood still, his right hand holding his blade, his left hand holding the severed head of the Blood Knight.
"The Blood Dynasty... has its merits." The scarlet hue receded from his skin, and his form returned to normal.
"It's been a long time since I used that power." Feeling the sudden drain on his vitality, he took a long draught from his Flask.
This was his innate curse and gift—a primal ferocity that transformed him into a beast when his emotions peaked. Combined with his ruthless combat style, he had been feared on the ancient battlefields as the "Blood Wolf." However, the strain it placed on his body was immense.
"I suppose that counts as a job well done." Glancing at the cowering soldiers remaining in the courtyard, he tied the knight's head to his belt as proof of his deed.
Before leaving, he thoroughly ransacked the storeroom and the lookout tower. He was, in his own mind, a pragmatic scavenger—or a "brigand," as some might say—and he saw no reason to leave potential loot behind.
In the tower, he found a significant prize: a stone medallion split in two, engraved with the image of a soldier holding a Greatshield and a Halberd. This was half of the Dectus Medallion.
He knew its purpose. It was the key to activating the Grand Lift of Dectus, the gateway between Liurnia and the Altus Plateau, where the capital and the Erdtree resided.
"A lucky find." He tucked the shard into his pouch. He'd keep this as his real reward.
He walked out of Fort Haight past the terrified gazes of the garrison and used the Grace to return to the outskirts of the Mistwood. He found Kenneth Haight still standing on his ridge, looking anxious.
"Oh! You've returned, Tarnished! Tell me, how went the campaign?"
The Tarnished didn't waste words. He tossed the Knight Commander's head onto the grass.
"Ah! Magnificent! Splendid work! My judgment was correct after all!"
"Now, about your reward..." As Kenneth reached for his purse, the Tarnished pulled out the Dectus Medallion.
"I'll pass on the coin. I'm taking this instead."
"Oh... the medallion..." Kenneth paused, looking thoughtful. "It has been kept in the fort since long before my time. Ah, but of course! You Tarnished seek the capital, do you not? You shall need such a key. Very well! I shall graciously bestow it upon you!" Kenneth made a grand, sweeping gesture, as if he were a king rewarding a loyal vassal.
"Pleasure doing business." The Tarnished tucked the shard away.
"I must return to the fort now. There is much to be done," Kenneth said, his tone turning serious. "It is time to reopen the dialogue with the Demi-humans."
"Oh?" The Tarnished found this surprising.
"You look skeptical. But as long as they dwell beneath the Erdtree, even the Demi-humans are our neighbors. Those savage creatures should not be excluded from the proper Order. This is the duty of a true heir to Limgrave—my duty."
"Hah, I'm starting to like you, Kenneth." The Tarnished hadn't expected the man to be so earnest about establishing a just order. He was a zealot, yes, but a surprisingly noble one.
"Watch closely, and see how I restore Fort Haight. And perhaps, when the time is right, you might consider entering my service? Together we shall rebuild the Order, and perhaps one day, the Light of Grace will return to your eyes."
"I'll pass. I've got my own path to walk." His opinion of Kenneth had improved, but he had no intention of becoming a noble's foot soldier.
"A pity. Your strength is considerable. But perhaps you could do me a favor on your journey?"
"I'm listening."
"Find me a true candidate for the throne of Stormveil. I cannot abide Godrick's atrocities. He is a stain upon the Order and unfit to rule!"
"Godrick, eh? No problem. He's already on my list."
"You intend to challenge him? You are strong, but remember—Godrick is a Demigod."
A Demigod? The Tarnished blinked. Is that runt truly Marika's descendant?
"He's a Demigod?"
"Indeed. Despite his wretchedness, he is a true scion of the Golden Lineage. Which is why his crimes are so unforgivable! To possess the blood of kings and behave like a common butcher... it is a disgrace."
"Understood. I'll keep an eye out."
Kenneth laughed and used a Memory of Grace to vanish, returning to the fort in a swirl of golden light.
The Tarnished returned to the Third Church of Marika to plan his next move.
"No more distractions. Stormveil is where the Grace points." To reach Liurnia and the Altus Plateau, he had to pass through the castle.
Stormveil... That place was the turning point for all the Tarnished, including Godfrey. It was where the King had faced the Storm Lord in single combat. Once victory was won, the light had faded from their eyes.
"After the Storm Lord fell, our Grace was stripped. But the actual exile happened at the border of Limgrave and Caelid."
Thinking of Godrick's "Grafting," he felt the name "Limgrave" was too polite. A graveyard of limbs was more accurate.
"If you're a scion of the Golden Lineage, Godrick, I suppose I'll have to teach you some manners."
A cold glint flashed in his eyes as he used the Grace to travel back to the Church of Elleh. Kalé was nowhere to be found, but that was the nature of nomadic merchants. He looked at his battered chainmail and sighed. He needed better gear.
He walked toward the Gatefront Ruins. The world felt stagnant. Sallow-skinned soldiers with glazed eyes patrolled with torches. The shattering of the Elden Ring had clearly caused a psychological "withdrawal" in those conditioned to live by its light.
"I don't feel a thing," he mused. He had been strong before the Grace, and he remained strong without it.
He approached the ruins cautiously. He could sense a large contingent of troops ahead. Charging in blindly would be a waste of energy. He decided to use the tall grass to thin their ranks.
The camp was well-fortified, with dozens of soldiers and a heavy-armored knight—similar to the one at Fort Haight—patrolling the perimeter.
"Quite the crowd." He observed them. Most were nearly mindless, driven only by lingering shadows of duty. "Best to take out the rational ones first."
There would be no talking. Godrick's men were hunters of Tarnished, and the Tarnished was a hunter of
kings. Only one side would be walking away from these ruins.