After dealing with the man who appeared to be a noble of the Blood Dynasty, the Tarnished prepared to leave, only to notice a Teardrop Scarab scuttling toward him—or rather, toward the sparkling ice-dust that remained of the Blood Noble.
The Scarab used its forelimbs to frantically gather the frozen shards. The Tarnished watched in silence. As the Scarab's movements quickened, the light emanating from its shell grew more brilliant. Finally, with a sharp, crystalline ting, a blood-red script manifested in the air.
"The power of the Blood Dynasty? These Scarabs truly are the darlings of the Erdtree... extracting treasure even from remains that barely exist."
The Scarab ignored him, rolling its mud ball with singular focus until the red script was sucked inside. The Tarnished turned away. "Let it take it. I've no interest in their 'dynasty' or their blood-play. Compared to the real thing... they're amateurs."
As he neared the location marked on the sorcerer's map, the atmosphere shifted. Unlike the oppressive gore of the Rose Church, a thin, pale purple mist began to swirl through the trees. It was light, ethereal, and carried a scent that brought an immediate, profound sense of peace—much like Trina's Lily.
The mist seemed to recognize him, coiling affectionately around his neck before drifting further west as if beckoning him. Following the trail, he finally found his target: Smarag, the Glintstone Dragon.
Its body was a deep, translucent blue, encrusted with jagged glintstone crystals. It was similar in scale to Agheel, but the sheer magical pressure emanating from it was far greater. However, the Tarnished smiled for a simple reason: Smarag was enveloped in the purple mist.
The dragon was fast asleep.
"A gift from the stars," the Tarnished whispered. He approached the slumbering beast, pressed his hand against its crystalline snout, and drove his blade deep into its skull. Ice and Golden Grace erupted simultaneously within its brain. Smarag died without ever waking up.
"Incredible energy..." He withdrew his blade, which was now stained with glowing blue blood that hummed with mana.
Using his left hand—transformed into a dragon's claw—he tore open the dragon's chest and pulled out its massive, pulsing heart. Unlike Agheel's fleshy organ, Smarag's heart was hardening into something resembling a Primal Glintstone—the core of a sorcerer. This confirmed Sellen's theory: Smarag had once been human.
"So, why is Trina's mist here? It can't be a coincidence."
"Ah... the Tarnished favored by the Saint... I have finally found you." A raspy, joyful voice called out. An old man in tattered clerical robes emerged from the shadows.
"And who are you?"
"I am Rico... a humble servant of the cloth, and a devoted follower of Lady St. Trina."
"Trina? I see."
"I have been searching for you, traveler. I felt the Lady's scent upon you. You have dreamed of her, haven't you?"
"I have."
"Then it is as I thought. The Lady has chosen you. I shall follow you until we find her once more."
"She told me where she's going," the Tarnished said. "To the Miquella's Haligtree."
"The Haligtree...?" Rico paused, his expression turning thoughtful. (Strange... wasn't Lord Miquella... no, perhaps my suspicions were wrong.) "If the Lady said it, then the path is clear. If you journey there, please, take this old man with you."
"I'll be going, but not yet. I have other business in Liurnia first."
"No matter. Such things cannot be rushed. Tell me, Tarnished... do you have a taste for spirits?"
"Occasionally."
"Have you heard of Dream Wine? The nectar of the demigods. It was once forbidden for mortals."
"Never heard of it." The Tarnished had shared drinks with Godwyn the Golden back in the day, but "Dream Wine" was new. It clearly related to Trina. Is she truly a demigod? And whose child is she?
"I can brew it," Rico said proudly. "If you gather the materials, I can refine the 'Dream Fog' into wine. I am too old to scavenge the battlefields myself, so I must rely on your strength."
Rico handed him a crystal ball. It was beautifully crafted, engraved with the image of a Trina's Lily and a girl embracing the sphere. "This is St. Trina's Crystal Ball. It can capture and replicate the purple sleep-mist."
"So the mist is the raw material. Interesting."
"Sleep is the Lady's gift," Rico sighed. "A quiet peace that falls equally on all living things. Bring me the mist, and I shall craft you a nectar to soothe the soul."
After Rico departed to find a safe camp, the Tarnished reached the exact spot on the map. He found the body of the second sorcerer, torn to shreds by dragon teeth. In the corpse's hand was the Academy Glintstone Key.
"Poor bastards. Both died before they could meet up."
He looked at his curved blade. The steel was vibrating violently, reacting to Smarag's blue blood. It was in the process of becoming a hybrid catalyst, but the energy was unstable.
"The Academy isn't going anywhere. I'll temper this weapon before I face those wizards. Let's give them a little surprise—a 'melee' sorcerer."
He traveled back to Stormveil Castle, using the empty fortress as a makeshift forge. He bathed the blade in the remaining dragon blood and thrust it into the ground at a nexus of Grace, allowing the glintstone to bond with the metal.
While waiting, his mind wandered. Kenneth Haight wanted a new ruler for Limgrave... A silhouette crossed his mind—the fierce, dark-skinned warrior woman. Nepheli Loux. She might be the one, if she's willing.
Meanwhile, at the Roundtable Hold:
"Ensha... did you find it?" Gideon Ofnir asked. The man in the royal remains armor remained silent, merely shaking his head.
"Hmph. Interesting. Something the All-Knowing cannot find... keep searching. Remove anyone who obstructs us." Gideon's voice was cold. "The newcomer has reached Liurnia. He hasn't come to me for information. Strange."
Gideon closed his book. "He moves as if he already knows the way to the Capital. This isn't just the guidance of Grace... Oh... I see."
"A Returner. It seems our roles are reversed... Senior."
Elsewhere in the Hold, Rogier looked down at his legs. The black rot was receding. "My curse is nearly cleansed. I'll be able to join him soon." He smiled, though he knew he needed to be more careful. Death-roots and Black Knives were not to be trifled with. "Perhaps I should learn some Fundamentalist incantations... D, I wonder how you're faring."
Back at Stormveil:
The Tarnished couldn't wait any longer. He gripped the hilt and pulled the blade from the earth. A blast of azure wind shattered the nearby stones. The weapon hummed with a deep, crystalline resonance.
"Let's see if I understand this 'glintstone' business."
He closed his eyes, visualizing the stars not as distant lights, but as a map of power. He felt the mana in the blade align.
"There...!"
He swung. A massive torrent of blue energy—a Comet Azur-like stream—shot straight into the clouds, exploding into a shower of starlight.
"Beautiful," he whispered. "But I think the Academy is going to hate me for this."
•
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