An endless storm tore into the already weakened Ulcerated Tree Spirit. The creature looked as if it had fallen into a giant razor-mill, its grotesque body shredded by the lashing winds. Finally, the gale coalesced behind it into a single, space-rending slash that cleaved the tree spirit in two from head to tail.
"What in the..." The Tarnished blinked, taken aback by the sudden intervention. As the massive carcass collapsed with a heavy thud, a silver-armored knight clutching dual curved swords emerged from the swirling mists behind the body.
"Oleg? It's you."
Banished Knight Oleg. One of the "Two Wings" who served the Storm Lord, a warrior said to be a match for ten thousand. During the ancient siege of Stormveil, while Godfrey had faced the Storm Lord in a duel of kings, the Tarnished had faced the Two Wings: Oleg of the Dual Blades and Engvall of the Halberd.
Individually, they were among the most formidable combatants in the Lands Between. Though they ultimately fell to the Tarnished's blade, their legend remained untarnished. Both the Tarnished and Godfrey were men who held great respect for true warriors; after a certain "someone" pleaded for their lives—even sacrificing a leg as a gesture of sincerity—the lives of these knights and their subordinates were spared. What had become of them after that day, the Tarnished had never known.
Now, Oleg stood tall, cloaked in howling winds. Even as a spirit, his presence was neither diminished nor ordinary.
"Fate has a strange sense of humor, meeting you here." The Tarnished sized him up. Oleg felt stronger than his own current self. As a spirit, Oleg seemed to retain sixty to seventy percent of his peak power, whereas the Tarnished was still hovering around forty or fifty. If they went all out, it would be a coin toss.
"..." Oleg stared at the Tarnished in silence. Perhaps as a spirit, he lacked the means for speech. He raised his dual blades to his chest in a formal knight's salute, and the storm around him intensified.
"Hah! Good! Very good!"
"If it's a bout you want, I'll gladly oblige!" The Tarnished's blood boiled. The silhouette of the Bloody Wolf manifested again as a murderous aura flooded the tomb, clashing against Oleg's tempest.
"Come!"
The Tarnished became a crimson blur, colliding with the storm-knight. The sheer force of their impact vibrated through the masonry; had the tomb not been built with such reinforced expertise, it would have collapsed under the combined weight of the Tree Spirit's death and this duel.
Oleg's twin blades moved like a whirlwind, striking with a speed that forced the Tarnished to guard with his dragon claws. Blood sprayed as the wind-blades found purchase. The Tarnished let out a feral, non-human roar—a shockwave of sound that momentarily disrupted Oleg's rhythm. In a duel between masters, victory is often decided by a hair's breadth.
The Tarnished lunged with a claw, but Oleg kicked off the ground, soaring into the air and coming down with a storm-enhanced plunge that shattered the floor. The Tarnished's legs were driven deep into the stone.
"Yes! This is a fight!" The Tarnished dropped his guard intentionally, letting Oleg's blades bite into his shoulders so he could grab the knight's wrists. He delivered a brutal knee to Oleg's midsection, sending the spirit flying, then leaped after him, delivering a mid-air punch followed by a heavy kick.
Oleg slammed into the wall. The Tarnished's battle-lust reached its zenith. Dropping to all fours, the blood from his wounds weaving into a phantom cloak, he lunged again. Oleg reacted instantly, bracing one sword to block the right claw while the other swung for the Tarnished's left arm.
BOOM!
The storm and the slaughter-aura collided once more. Finding themselves in a deadlock, both jumped back. The next move would decide it.
The Tarnished let out a long howl, his crimson mist thickening. Oleg's storm rose to a new height. The red and grey tempests clashed in the center of the room. Oleg's blades ran through the Tarnished's chest, but the Tarnished's dragon claw tore a massive rent through Oleg's spectral form.
They stood frozen in that position for a long moment, neither wavering. Finally, Oleg lowered his blades and offered one last salute. His knees buckled, and he dissolved into a cloud of white mist.
"...." The Tarnished slumped against the wall, fumbling for his Flask of Crimson Tears. He drained it in one go, waiting for the jagged wounds on his chest to seal. As the Bloody Wolf form receded, a wave of exhaustion hit him.
"Sss... pushed it a bit too far." He shook his head to clear the dizziness. "I need a long rest. This body can't handle the strain like it used to. I really have gotten old." In his prime, he'd fought two dragons back-to-back without feeling this drained.
"Can't die yet... haven't even left an heir." As he went to stow the flask, a Golden Seed drifted from the remains of the Tree Spirit and merged into his bottle.
"What is this? Things just flying into my pockets now? Unsanitary," he grumbled, though his lips quirked. "Smart seeds... I guess."
He stumbled over to the sarcophagus and picked up the Ashes of Banished Knight Oleg. "You old fool. Even in death, you had to have your duel. Stubborn to the end."
He headed back to retrieve the Erdtree Greatbow he'd left behind, slinging the massive nearly two-meter weapon across his back. It was heavy and awkward, but a prize was a prize.
"I knew there was treasure here." Between the Erdtree's Favor, the Dragon Seal, and now Oleg, the haul was worth the scars.
"You have returned." Melina manifested as he reached the surface Site of Grace.
"You... are severely wounded." Her voice, usually a flat line, wavered slightly. "Do you require aid? I can perform a few basic healing incantations..."
"So you're not made of stone after all," he panted, waving the empty flask. "I appreciate the offer, but your flask did the heavy lifting. I'll live."
"I am... not made of stone." Melina's expression turned unusually serious. Even though she knew he was joking, she felt compelled to retort, though her pace of speech remained slow.
"You say that, but do you ever look in a mirror? If I weren't looking closely, I'd miss your expressions entirely." He sat down, leaning against a stone. "You don't exactly scream 'emotional teenager'."
"..." Melina's brow furrowed. It was the most visible change he'd seen on her face yet.
"Hey..." The Tarnished looked up, breathing in the air which felt remarkably fresh compared to the stagnant tomb. "Are you lost, girl? You seem... adrift. Like you're missing a piece of yourself."
Melina lowered her head, remaining silent for a long time.
"I don't know your past," he continued, "or why you need to get to the Erdtree. But I'll tell you this: nothing in this world stays the same forever. Not even your confusion."
"Just as the 'divine and perfect' Elden Ring is now shattered, perhaps on the road to the Capital, your uncertainty will shatter too. You might find a new reason to exist."
"My uncertainty... and my purpose..." Melina whispered, tasting the words.
"People change. You're no exception." He gave her a small smile. He could feel it—Melina wasn't cold, she was empty. Like a hollow vessel waiting to be filled. Perhaps it was a side effect of her spectral state.
"Are all Tarnished like you?" she asked, her voice lacks its usual monotone.
"What do you mean?"
"Do all of you... have such clear goals?"
"I doubt it. Tarnished are just people. We have regrets, doubts, and bad days. It's just that most of the guys from my generation have lived so long and seen so much that 'uncertainty' is a luxury we grew out of centuries ago. Our goals are simpler: some want power, some just want a good fight."
"I see..."
"Want to hear a secret?"
"?" She looked at him, curious at his sudden change in expression.
"Godfrey once got his ears boxed by Marika. He was depressed for weeks. Think about it—the Chieftain of the Badlands, the Warrior King... beaten by a woman. His ego took a hit he never quite recovered from." He chuckled mischievously.
"Ha..." A soft sound, almost a laugh. "That is... quite the secret. I doubt many know of that."
"Are you very close with the first Elden Lord and Queen Marika?" she asked. He spoke of them not with the reverence of a subject, but with the familiarity of an old friend.
"Close? We used to roast meat over the Giants' Flame together."
"I... that isn't... I meant—" Melina looked at him, speechless.
"I'm joking." He laughed, then held up his left hand, where the faint, ancient mark of his brotherhood with Godfrey and Marika resided. "But yes, we were close. We were family, in a way."
"...." Melina looked shocked, then her gaze turned skeptical.
"What? You want to know more? I know plenty of embarrassing stories that didn't make it into the history books."
"It is nothing..."
"If you say so." He didn't push. He stretched his aching limbs and yawned. "I need to sleep. Somewhere that doesn't smell like dead roots."
"Do Tarnished... require sleep?"
"...." He stared at her, dumbfounded. "Where were you raised? That's like asking if a Troll is born attached to a carriage. Do you think we're machines? Just because you're a spirit and don't need a nap doesn't mean I'm an eternal engine."
"I... see. I apologize."
After resting and refilling his flasks at the Grace, the Tarnished whistled for Torrent. He began to head back toward the Church of Elleh. Melina had informed him that through the connection of the Graces he'd activated, she could sense Boc heading there. She suggested they meet him.
As they emerged from the ruins, the sun had already dipped below the horizon, painting Limgrave in shades of deep violet and blue.
"I hope the Night's Cavalry stays home tonight. I just want a quiet walk to the church," he grumbled.
But as he approached the ruins of the church, a melodic, ethereal voice drifted through the cool night air, stopping him in his tracks.
"A pleasure to meet thee, Tarnished..."