"Is this... a graveyard?"
"Seems so. It's vast—much more grand than that demi-human burrow we saw earlier."
"It appears to be... toxic," Melina remarked. As a spirit, she had no cause for concern, but the Tarnished would have to traverse it physically if he intended to explore.
The Tarnished peered down from the ledge. Sure enough, a thick, stagnant pool of dark green mire filled the bottom of the initial drop.
"I wouldn't worry. As long as I don't linger, I'll be fine. I have a sturdy constitution." He bent his knees, preparing to jump.
"I understand... I cannot venture far from the Sites of Grace. I shall leave you for now." With those words, Melina dissolved back into the golden embers.
Can't leave the Grace? He wondered if it was a limitation of her spectral form. She certainly had her share of secrets. Without overthinking it, he covered his nose and mouth and leaped into the poison. The splash sent droplets flying, but he hit the ground running, sprinting across the mire and reaching a dry, quiet stone platform within seconds.
"Vile stuff," he muttered, shaking the sticky green residue from his boots.
Rumble... rumble...
A rhythmic, grinding vibration caught his attention. He looked up just in time to see a massive, six-wheeled chariot—bristling with jagged iron spikes—tearing down the central ramp toward him.
"What in the...?" He instinctively moved to retreat, but the machine performed an impossibly sharp turn, pivoting on its axis to race back down the slope toward the lower levels.
The Tarnished stayed put, carefully observing the layout. Before him was a long, smooth incline. At regular intervals along the walls, arched alcoves were carved into the stone—perfect hiding spots for a persistent intruder to dodge the patrolling juggernaut.
"Grave robbing has become quite the technical challenge these days," he remarked. "The boy who eventually loots my own grave is going to have it easy compared to this." The Golden Order's cemeteries were notoriously well-defended; from the traps to the architecture, it was clear the designers never intended for the living to leave.
"Not that I'm here for the ashes... mostly."
With another thunderous roar, the chariot reappeared, completing its circuit. After a brief, mechanical pause at the top, it lurched forward to begin another cycle of carnage.
The Tarnished seized the moment. He slid down the slope, timing his move to roll into the first arched alcove. However, as he rolled, he realized too late that this "alcove" wasn't a wall—it was a literal archway opening into a void.
"Tch." He braked hard, his heels skidding at the very edge of a precipice. "Dirty trick... this place is more insidious than I thought."
He looked down into the darkness below. To his surprise, it wasn't a bottomless pit but a lower level of the tomb. A whole new section of the architecture was visible below, though falling from this height would still be a painful experience.
He peeked back out onto the ramp. The chariot thundered past, its horizontal axle-spikes whistling inches from his nose.
"The destructive force of that thing is no joke." He ruffled his hair, waiting for the machine to clear. As it turned for its next run, he dashed for the next alcove. But the moment he ducked inside, an arrow thudded into his back.
"What?" He reached back, snapping the shaft and turning to see a skeletal soldier standing in the shadows, its bow already notched for a second shot.
"Skeletons that still move? Those Who Live in Death?" The arrow hadn't done much damage, but in a gauntlet like this, a ranged nuisance was a death sentence. If he got staggered while the chariot was passing, the "joke" would be over very quickly.
The chariot was solid iron and stone; even his newly acquired dragon incantations wouldn't be enough to shatter it outright.
The skeleton fired a rapid volley. The Tarnished batted the arrows aside with his blade, weighing his options. Finally, he decided to use the environment to his advantage. If the skeleton was one of the undying, killing it by hand would take too long. He waited for the rumble of the returning machine.
"Wait for it..." The skeleton kept firing, but the arrows simply clattered harmlessly against the side of the passing chariot like grass against a Great Crab. Yet, the mindless creature continued to draw its bow.
"No brain in that skull, I see. You're out of arrows." Sure enough, the skeleton clicked its jaw in frustration as its quiver ran dry.
To the Tarnished's amusement, the creature then threw its bow at him in a fit of mindless rage.
"Personal, isn't it?" He caught the bow and watched the skeleton charge him, its bones rattling as if they were about to fall apart. It threw a punch that landed harmlessly against his chest.
With the power of the Runes and the Dragon Heart flowing through him, he was no longer a man who could be hurt by an unarmed pile of bones. He grabbed the skeleton's arm, twisted it behind its back, and pinned the creature to the floor.
He knew that if he just smashed it, it would eventually pull itself back together. He needed a more... permanent solution.
As the ground began to shake, he timed the chariot's arrival. Just as the iron wheels reached their position, he hurled the pinioned skeleton onto the ramp. The creature shattered instantly upon impact, and before it could even begin to reassemble, the massive chariot pulverized the remains into dust.
"Let's see you recover from that," he mocked, sprinting further down. Reaching the third alcove, he didn't wait; he jumped down to the lower level he had spotted earlier. The drop was significant, but he landed steadily.
As he straightened up, a pale, spectral figure clutching an Uchigatana materialized in the archway he had just left. It leaped down after him, blade raised.
"Ghost stories now?" He drew his own blade, parrying the spirit's strike with a sharp clank.
He kicked the phantom back and manifested a spectral dragon claw with his left hand, crushing the spirit into mist. But the victory was short-lived; more phantoms began to drift from the shadows, surrounding him. To make matters worse, the rumble returned—this lower section had a patrolling chariot of its own.
"Starting to get crowded." Without panic, he used his dragon claw to sweep the nearest spirits aside and then lunged toward the ledge of the bridge he was on, hanging by his fingertips. The chariot roared past, vaporizing the remaining spirits before turning back.
"Is this the same one or a second one?" He looked down from his precarious perch. There were even more paths further below. This hero's grave was massive.
He let go, dropping to the nearest solid floor.
This new level felt different. The chariots were gone, replaced by something equally annoying: Imps. Two of them lunged from the gloom, their jagged stone hatchets whistling toward his head.
"Compared to the Burial Watchdog and its pack, you lot are barely a workout." He delivered a devastating kick to one, embedding it so deep into the stone wall that it couldn't move. "Try peeling yourself out of that." He grabbed the second one and slammed it head-first into its stuck companion, shattering both into rubble.
He moved forward, only to find the corridor blocked by a pillar that was rhythmically belching flames in four directions. The heat wasn't quite at the level of Agheel's breath, but it was enough to char a man to the bone.
"Always with the gimmicks." He studied the fire's reach. The flames covered the entire width of the hall, and the intervals were too short to run through.
"I'll just have to break you, then." He picked up a heavy chunk of the shattered Imps. "Consider this an apology for your friends' rudeness."
During a brief pause in the fire, he hurled the stone fragment with the force of a ballista. It struck the mechanism's nozzle with a loud crunch. The trap groaned, the gears within jamming. The pillar slowly retracted into the floor, leaving only its flat top visible.
"Retractable. It has a self-defense reset," he noted.
Beyond the pillar, he found a long stone bridge leading to a massive statue. The bridge was flanked by rows of white candles, and below it lay an endless abyss.
"Something's ahead... but I smell a trap." The space was too open, too inviting. He scanned the ceiling and spotted two familiar, multi-limbed silhouettes clinging to the rafters like spiders.
"Grafted Scions?" They hadn't noticed him yet.
"..." The Tarnished stepped back silently, returning to the pile of Imp rubble.
"Help me one more time." He used his bare hands to crush the stone fragments into two dense, heavy spheres. He returned to the bridge, his muscles tensing as draconic energy flowed into his grip.
"A gift for you. Call it a tip for that 'flying' performance back at the chapel." With a cold laugh, he hurled the stone spheres with bone-shattering force.
A pair of bestial shrieks echoed through the chamber as the spheres punched through the Scions' torsos, sending them plummeting into the dark abyss.
"Perfect." He clapped the dust off his hands. After ensuring no more "surprises" were lurking, he approached the statue.
At its base lay a desiccated corpse holding an item that radiated a soft, golden light. He picked it up and smiled.
"The Erdtree's Favor..." This was a legendary talisman, an ornament blessed by Queen Marika herself and granted only to the greatest champions of the Order. It bore the Queen's likeness and offered a permanent, all-encompassing enhancement to its wearer's vitality and strength.
"A fine prize." He had owned one in the past, but it had been stripped away along with his Grace upon his exile. Reclaiming it here, in the depths of a hero's grave, felt like a poetic irony.
As he tucked the talisman into his cloak, he felt the familiar warmth of the Erdtree's power weaving back into his spirit.
"I'll say it again: the power is good. It's the arrogance behind it that rots." He stood up, looking deeper into the tomb. He knew there was more to find—the scent of treasure and the presence of a true guardian still lingered.
"Let's see what else this grave is hiding."