The Dragon—a race that once defined splendor and absolute power. Even the Agheel Wyverns, whose blood has thinned over the ages, remain a magnet for warriors. They come not for gold, but for the glory of bathing in dragon's blood and the chance to claim a heart that pulses like rolling thunder.
A new challenger stood before Agheel. The dragon's massive lids retracted, revealing amber eyes brimming with primal fury. Though but a distant scion of the Ancient Dragons, the blood of a hegemon still sang in its veins.
The Tarnished met that gaze without flinching. He unsheathed the curved sword at his back, his own eyes burning with a long-dormant battle lust. Hunting dragons... it had been far too long.
Agheel reared back and let out a roar that shook the very foundation of the lake, sending ripples across the shallow water.
"Here it comes... Torrent, move!" As Agheel's massive wing-claw slammed down, the nimble spectral steed leaped, his hooves momentarily treading upon the dragon's limb. The Tarnished plunged his curved sword into the wing membrane, dragging the blade as Torrent sprinted, carving a horrific rent through the leather. Agheel glanced at the "pests" on its limb and beat its wings with a violent gust, launching man and horse into the air before unleashing a torrent of searing flame.
Torrent performed a miraculous double-jump in mid-air, landing with a grace that drew a rare word of praise from his rider.
"ROAR!!!" Agheel's eyes turned a bloodshot hue. Infuriated by the wound on its wing, it took to the sky. From on high, it rained down a breath of fire so intense the lake water evaporated instantly, leaving behind nothing but scorched, blackened earth.
Seeing the flames miss, Agheel banked sharply and dived. Its massive weight combined with its velocity created a sonic boom that trailed its descent like a mountain-sized projectile.
But Torrent was faster. He veered away just before impact, creating an opening in the split-second Agheel spent recovering from the crash. Torrent sprinted alongside the dragon's flank, and the Tarnished vaulted from the saddle, landing squarely on Agheel's back.
He drove his curved sword into the spine and twisted. Dragon blood erupted like a geyser, drenching the Tarnished from head to toe. Howling in agony, Agheel began to thrash wildly.
"Your scales are a far cry from the Ancient ones," the Tarnished muttered. The Ancient Dragons were terrifying because of their near-indestructible gravel-stone scales; these Wyverns had lost that heritage, their hides far softer by comparison.
Agheel spiraled into the sky, attempting to shake the parasite from its back.
"Easy now..." The Tarnished anchored himself by burying his curved sword deeper. With his left hand, he drew his Uchigatana and delivered a vacuum-cutting slash to the already damaged wing.
With a final, mournful shriek, the wing gave way. Agheel plummeted like a kite with a broken string, crashing into the mud.
"Gah...!" The dragon glared at the Tarnished as he dismounted, but its strength was spent. Even attempting a breath attack caused a flare of agony in its back.
The Tarnished hadn't been striking randomly. He knew that a dragon's internal pressure during a breath attack equalizes against its spine; his previous wounds had made that pressure unbearable.
"It was two against one, so you've kept your dignity," the Tarnished said, reaching out to pat Agheel's snout. The dragon's golden eyes slowly softened, accepting the inevitable.
Dragons lived for the hunt and the kill; to fall at the hands of a superior warrior was a far more honorable end than a slow, lonely rot. Perhaps it, too, had been seeking its "Honor Death."
The curved sword ended the struggle. The Tarnished reached into the chest cavity and pulled out the still-beating, scorching Dragon Heart.
"I remember after Godwyn befriended the dragons, a cult of Dragon Communion emerged. They say the heart is the key..." He studied the organ. He'd heard rumors of the practice, but never the specifics. "Do I just... eat it?"
Just as he brought it toward his mouth, Yura appeared from the shadows.
"Wait! Do not consume it raw!"
"Yura? You're still around?" The Tarnished was surprised to see the hunter.
"I have business here. I am looking for someone... though that is of no concern to you. If you seek the power of the dragon, do not swallow it here. Find the altar. Consume the heart at the Altar of Communion, and only then will the power be yours."
"An altar?"
"Yes. To the southwest of Limgrave, on a small island, lies a Cathedral of Communion. There is another in Caelid."
"I see. Thanks."
"Pay it no mind. However..." Yura lowered the brim of his hat, his eyes fixed on the Tarnished. "I must ask. Why do you carry the scent of a Bloody Finger?"
"A Bloody Finger?" That was a new term. "I don't know about 'fingers,' but I've dealt with the 'Blood Dynasty'."
"What?!" Yura's composure shattered.
"I'm not sure if there's a connection." The Tarnished pulled out the Pureblood Knight's Medal.
"That... is the scent! That foul object!" Yura's voice shook with suppressed rage.
"Met a fellow named Varré when I arrived. Killed him and found this in his robes."
"Varré... was he a Bloody Finger?"
"Couldn't tell you. They just called themselves servants of the Dynasty."
"Bloody Fingers... Blood Dynasty..." Yura's hand gripped his long blade so hard the hilt groaned.
"I don't know what your history is with them, but calm down before you burst a vein," the Tarnished advised.
"...I apologize for my lapse. I cannot abide those monsters. At the very least, I am glad you are not one of them." Yura exhaled. He had approached now specifically because the Tarnished was weary from the dragon fight; had he been an enemy, Yura intended to strike then. "Be warned: if you encounter a Bloody Finger, show no mercy. They are butchers who crave nothing but the warmth of an open wound. They have no place in this world."
"Duly noted."
"Then, farewell. I have work to do. We shall meet again if fate allows." Yura turned and vanished into the distance.
Hatred, eh? The Tarnished watched him go. He could sense the furnace of resentment burning in Yura's heart. Everyone had a story.
He returned to the Grace at the edge of Agheel Lake. Melina manifested beside him once more.
"You and Torrent make a fine pair," she said, her voice as flat as ever.
"Hah, this little 'bull-horse' is something else."
"Do you intend to seek the power of the dragon?" she asked, looking at his blood-stained armor.
"Maybe."
"The power is great, but dangerous. Do not let the hunger for it consume you."
"I know. Every power comes with a price tag." He rolled his wrist.
Silence fell between them. It was a heavy, awkward quiet.
"In all my years, I've never met anyone as tight-lipped as you," the Tarnished finally said, breaking the ice.
"I am not... gifted in conversation."
The dialogue died again. A crow cawed in the distance, punctuating the awkwardness.
"Tough crowd," he muttered.
"Please do not forget our accord," Melina said, looking up. Despite her lack of expression, her beauty was undeniable—her one golden eye fixed on him with unwavering intensity.
"You're like a stone, girl. A literal block of wood."
Melina stiffened slightly, her fingers tightening on the hem of her cloak.
"Fine, I'm done teasing." He stood up and clapped the dust off his hands.
"Are you moving?"
"The Stranded Graveyard—where we first met. There's a door sealed by an Imp Statue. Do you know it?" She nodded. "That's my next stop. I have a feeling there's something worthwhile down there."
"Understood." She dissolved into blue light.
Tsk... He stared at where she had been. We're supposed to be traveling together, and I can barely get a sentence out of her. I'm going to have to do something about that. As he reached for the Grace, he heard a rustle in the bushes.
"Is anyone there? Help... please help me..."
"What now?" He approached the shrubbery. It looked odd—reddish compared to the green grass around it. "Magical camouflage?"
He gave the "tree" a sharp smack. With a puff of smoke, a scrawny, hunched-over little figure appeared.
"W-why did you hit me? That was uncalled for!" The creature crouched, shielding its head.
"You were asking for help. You were under a spell." The Tarnished looked closer. It was a Demi-human, but one that spoke fluent, intelligent human speech.
"Oh! Oh, right! I was turned into a tree. You were helping me break the enchantment! Thank you! My name is Boc."
"A Demi-human? Why are you out here alone?"
"I... I wasn't welcome in the cave with the others. They threw me out and turned me into a tree. I am very grateful to you."
"I see."
"I'm sorry... they took everything I had when they kicked me out. I only have these to offer in thanks." Boc held out a handful of mushrooms.
"Mushrooms, eh?" The Tarnished accepted them without hesitation.
"I'm so sorry I have nothing else. But please, wait for me! I'm going to sneak back into the cave and steal back my things. Then I can truly be of use to you! Please don't give up on me!" Boc's voice wavered, near tears.
"Wait. You mean the Coastal Cave to the northwest?"
"H-how did you know? Yes, that's the place."
"It's the only settlement around here unless you go to the peninsula."
"You've been there?"
"I have. The Demi-humans there were rioting. I... cleared the place out."
"Oh... are they all dead?" Boc looked down, saddened despite the abuse he'd suffered. They were still his kin.
"What was it they took from you?"
"My mother's keepsake... a set of sewing tools. They mean everything to me."
"Lucky for you," the Tarnished grinned, reaching into his pack. "I've got them right here."
He handed the tools to Boc. The little Demi-human clutched them to his chest and burst into tears.
"Yes! These are them! Thank you! Oh, thank you, Master!"
"Don't get emotional. You said you could be of use with these?"
"Yes, Master!" Boc wiped his eyes. "I am a seamster. I can adjust and mend your garments!"
"A tailor? That works." High-quality tailoring often involved infusing cloth with subtle magics. "Alright, you're with me."
"R-really? You don't mind that I'm... well, a strange Demi-human?"
"Why should I care? Can you speak?"
"Yes..."
"Can you understand me?"
"I believe so."
"Then there's no problem. If you can think and talk, why should I discriminate? You're no different from us, just a bit shorter. I don't care about race."
"Oh... thank you! I, Boc, swear my absolute loyalty to you!" It was the first time since his mother's passing that anyone had accepted him.
"Alright, find a safe spot to wait for me. I have busine
ss at the Stranded Graveyard first."
"Yes, Master! I shall wait for your return! Safe travels!"