Beyond the Gatefront Ruins lay the great thoroughfare leading to Stormveil Castle, a path winding through the treacherous heights of Stormhill.
"There appear to be many enemies ahead..." Melina observed, eyeing the dense thickets of barricades, the heavy ballistae, and the Trolls being used as glorified gatekeepers.
"A lively welcome," the Tarnished remarked. He blew his whistle, summoning Torrent in a flurry of spectral mist. "Ready for some high-stakes riding, Torrent? We're going to punch right through this blockade. Can you do it?" He patted the steed's neck, and Torrent gave a resolute toss of his head.
"Good. Let's ride!"
Without another word, the Tarnished charged.
"Intruder! Who goes there?! Halt!" a sentry barked, raising his spear.
"Excuse me, just passing through!" Before the soldier could even level his weapon, the Tarnished's blade flicked out, launching the man into the air and leaving him unconscious before he hit the ground.
"A Tarnished?! Stop him!! The Lord gave orders—leave none alive!" When the soldiers caught the distinct dull glow in his eyes, they reacted as if injected with a stimulant.
"Oh? So you aren't mindless, just desperate. That's almost worse."
The Tarnished gave a cold smirk as he sliced through the support beams of a readied ballista. "Don't worry, your Lord won't punish you for failing. Because he'll be dead by my hand soon enough." He carved a path of steel through the frontline.
"By the way—if you die by my hand now, you're exempt from Godrick's 'grafting' quotas. Limited slots available, so step up if you're interested!" The implication was clear: anyone who tried to block his path was choosing a swift death over a slow one.
"Dammit! Where are the Trolls?! Get those idiots out here!" A soldier screamed, watching the Tarnished move like a gale of death. The man on horseback fought with a terrifying lethality, and the horse itself was so agile they seemed to move as a single entity.
Just as he was about to break the final line, a massive Troll leaped down from the cliffs above. But the Tarnished had been expecting the ambush; he guided Torrent in a sharp mid-air double-jump, evading the crushing impact.
"Too slow, you oaf!" the Tarnished mocked. The Troll landed with a bone-shaking thud, staring with its singular, dim-witted eye at the streak of silver and crimson disappearing into the distance.
"Don't just stand there! Chase him!" an officer yelled, kicking the Troll's leg in frustration. That kick was a mistake. The Troll's fragile, confused mind snapped. It decided the shouting soldier was the real intruder and promptly crushed him under its massive heel.
"Useless! I knew these low-intelligence beasts were a liability!" The remaining soldiers could only watch in frustration as their "secret weapon" started a mutiny, allowing the Tarnished to vanish into the Stormhill mists.
"Well, that was entertaining," the Tarnished glanced back at the chaos. He didn't linger. Passing through the Great Stormgate, he officially entered the heart of Stormhill.
As soon as they crossed the threshold, the wind picked up, carrying the haunting howls of wolves.
"Ignore them, Torrent. Keep going!" Torrent accelerated, leaving the chasing pack in the dust as they climbed toward the higher plateaus.
"Good work, buddy." Once they reached a secluded ridge, the Tarnished rubbed Torrent's ears and fed him a handful of Rowa raisins. Melina had mentioned he liked them, and Torrent nudged his hand affectionately in return.
The Tarnished breathed in the biting wind of Stormhill. It was weaker than the storms of the old days, but it still had a pulse. If the wind ever stopped here entirely, it would mean the land's spirit had truly died.
As he explored the plateau, a familiar violet glow caught his eye.
"An Evergaol?" He checked his map. Indeed, an extradimensional prison was anchored here.
"I wonder who's rotting in this one." He dismounted and approached the stone circle. Unlike the Zamor prison, this one had no Imp statues acting as locks.
"Convenient. No keys wasted." He stepped into the center of the seal and touched the portal, slipping into the familiar, distorted pocket dimension.
"Hm?"
The moment he entered, a familiar aura wafted through the deep blue haze. It was a golden energy—not the pale, sickly gold of the modern Erdtree, but the rich, primordial gold he knew from his own era.
"A Crucible Knight... is it truly you?"
The figure emerging from the rift was massive and imposing. He wore heavy, red-gold armor etched with primordial tree patterns. His helm was shaped like a great axe, and a heavy greatsword rested on his shoulder. In his other hand was a massive, curved shield with a single prominent horn protruding from its center.
"Chierbashia. I never expected to find you here."
The Crucible Knights were the elite warriors who had served Godfrey during the Great Crusade. Only sixteen were known to exist. They were the masters of the battlefield, wielding the "Aspects of the Crucible"—powers that modern society now viewed as "impure" or "Omen-like." When Godfrey and his warriors were exiled, these knights were left to wander as pariahs.
Chierbashia was one of them.
"You... recognize me?" The knight's voice was steady; he had clearly retained his sanity.
"It seems your memory is a bit foggy. Allow me to clear it up for you." Explanations were tedious; a clash of steel was the fastest way to recognize a brother-in-arms.
The Tarnished drew his curved sword and dropped into a low, predatory stance. When Chierbashia saw this, he gasped. "Ba—"
"Shh. Take this." The Tarnished vanished, reappearing in front of the knight with a rising slash. But Chierbashia was a veteran of a thousand wars. He reacted instantly, slamming his shield into the ground to create a shockwave before swinging it like a hammer, sending the Tarnished skidding back.
"How are you so weak...?" Chierbashia asked, sounding genuinely confused.
"And you're as sharp as ever," the Tarnished grunted, standing up. He knew he couldn't win a straight fight. If his peak strength was a 10, and a Crucible Knight was an 8, he was currently sitting at a 5. Even with the Bloody Wolf form, he couldn't beat a fully powered Chierbashia.
"I'm not like you. I've died once already," the Tarnished said, cracking his neck.
"Dead? Who could possibly kill you?" Chierbashia found it hard to believe. The Crucible Knights knew exactly how terrifying this "War Wolf" was in his prime. Not even Marika could have subdued him easily.
"The Badlands," the Tarnished said simply. "The water there is too deep. The powers out there make the Lands Between look like a playground. Their champions might not reach Marika's level, but their rank-and-file are as strong as our heroes. Between the loss of Grace and the constant warfare, most of us fell. Godfrey included."
"So... why are you locked in here?" the Tarnished changed the subject.
"Godrick—that pathetic excuse for a royal. I couldn't stand seeing the blood of the King carried by such a craven, twisted creature. I intended to execute the runt, but I was intercepted and imprisoned here."
"That's embarrassing. You let those weaklings take you?"
"No... there was a champion among them. One who bore the marks of an Omen." Chierbashia's voice grew heavy.
"An Omen? Tell me."
"He calls himself Margit, the Fell Omen. He guards the tunnel to the castle. When I tried to break through the lines, he appeared. His strength was immense. I lost by a hair's breadth."
"Margit... interesting. What of the others?"
"Our brothers scattered after the exile. I've lost track of most. Even our two captains have vanished. I was traveling with Incaru."
"Wait, Incaru? So you were caught and he made it inside?" The Tarnished rubbed his chin.
"Yes. Margit seems bound to the tunnel area; he didn't follow. I drew his attention, and Incaru charged into the castle. I don't know if he made it..."
"Wait, isn't Incaru the one with no sense of direction? Is he going to be okay?"
"I don't know... I've been in here for a long time." Chierbashia admitted. Stormveil was a massive, confusing place.
"Whatever. I'm letting you out now."
"What are your plans? To become the new King?" the knight asked.
"Naturally."
"Then I shall lend you my strength."
"How?"
"Your current power is lacking. I shall grant you the Aspects of the Crucible. You, of all people, will know how to wield them." Chierbashia manifested golden wings on his back and plunged his sword into the ground. A brilliant, primordial gold light enveloped the Tarnished.
"The Crucible... a fine power indeed." The Tarnished smiled as the energy surged through him.
"You didn't need it in the past, but you do now. You won't stop at being King, I know you."
"Hah, you know me too well."
"Then take it!" Chierbashia increased the flow. A spectral, golden tail manifested behind the Tarnished, thick and powerful.
"As expected—you mastered it instantly!" Chierbashia marveled as he withdrew his energy.
"I've watched you guys use it for centuries. I just needed the spark to ignite it myself."
"Now, stand back," the Tarnished said. "An Evergaol can only be broken from the inside by force if the soul is strong enough."
He manifested his dragon claws, but this time, he infused them with the primordial gold of the Crucible. With a roar, he literally tore the fabric of the pocket dimension. The blue space shattered like glass.
With a sickening lurch of gravity, Chierbashia and the Tarnished were spat back out into the real world.
The Crucible Knight Chierbashia had officially broken out of prison.