Lucian agreed to Blaidd's request. Truth be told, he was quite interested in the Bloodhound Knights himself.
The Bloodhounds were trained in a brutal, singular style of combat—unceasing pursuit, hounding their prey until there was no escape. It was said that once a knight of the Hounds swore to a master, they would never betray them.
But was that really true?
If so, then how could Blaidd's quarry, Darriwil, have turned traitor? And if Darriwil had not betrayed at all, then surely Ranni would have stayed Blaidd's hand—she would never permit needless strife that weakened her own cause.
Yet if Darriwil truly had betrayed, why was he sealed away in an Evergaol, hidden from Blaidd's pursuit?
Lucian frowned. He had already visited two Evergaols himself, and by now had some measure of understanding. To seal oneself within an Evergaol was all but impossible. Someone else had placed Darriwil there.
In the story he remembered, there was one other who had been bound inside such a prison—Blaidd himself. Near the end of Ranni's path, Iji the blacksmith sealed Blaidd away, to prevent him from being driven mad by the Two Fingers' will and turning against his lady.
And, curiously, it was the very same Evergaol where Darriwil had once been held.
Coincidence? Lucian did not believe in such things. His guess was that Iji had sealed them both there in turn—but why, and for whose sake, remained unclear.
Regardless, Lucian resolved to see Darriwil first, to learn the truth for himself before deciding whether to reveal the man's location to Blaidd. If Darriwil spoke, perhaps some answers might yet be found.
Lucian and Blaidd left the Mistwood together. But just beyond its edge, an unexpected figure appeared before them.
Clad in a long crimson coat with a white fur collar, wearing orange-yellow trousers, and atop his head a great red, fur-lined hat crowned with strange feathers—he sat astride a thin, weary donkey. With his strange attire, he looked uncannily like the "Santa Claus" of Lucian's past life.
It was Kale, the wandering merchant, whom Lucian had not seen in some time.
"Kale!" Lucian called, halting him.
The merchant turned, eyes widening as he saw Lucian and Blaidd step out from the forest together.
"Lucian?!"
He rode up quickly, looking Lucian over from head to toe. "I heard you became the lord of Stormveil. I could scarcely believe it. And, well—your clothes are… rather unusual…"
Lucian chuckled. "Haha, I was moving about just now and hadn't the chance to change."
Kale nodded, then turned to Blaidd. "And you, Blaidd—where did you wander off to this time? Lost your way again?"
Blaidd stiffened, turning his head sharply away to stare at the great moon overhead.
Lucian raised a brow, amused. "You often lose your way, then?"
"Of course not!" Blaidd retorted at once, a little too quickly.
Kale, however, betrayed him without hesitation. "This fellow loses his way all the time. Reliable in battle, yes, but when it comes to directions, hopeless. We've known each other for years. He said he wished to meet you, Lucian, and since he heard I was acquainted with you, he asked me to make introductions. But halfway along, he suddenly bolted off on his own."
Kale shrugged. "And since I also heard you'd opened Stormveil to all folk and all races, I thought I might come see for myself—and perhaps do a little business. But as you've already met, it seems I've no need to play guide after all."
Lucian smiled faintly. So his message had spread far indeed—Stormveil's openness was drawing all manner of interest.
Blaidd, embarrassed at being caught out, muttered gruffly: "I had my reasons for leaving earlier. But in any case, I have found Sir Lucian now. My purpose is fulfilled."
He turned back toward the woods, unable to endure further, his pride smarting.
There was something almost endearing in the sight—a wolf warrior, fearsome and noble, yet undone by such a simple flaw.
Lucian chatted a while with Kale, then told him to ride on to Stormveil and give his name. There would be men to receive him there.
Even as they spoke, aid from Stormveil had already begun to arrive. Earlier, during the clash with the Night's Cavalry, Lucian had ordered the Ancient King to send stormhawks ahead to carry word. Between stormhawks and the Storm Knights, there was a deep, old bond—they had their own ways of carrying messages upon the wind, much as Edgar had once deciphered the Ancient King's words.
Soon, Perfumer Evan arrived with two Storm Knights and a squad of Storm soldiers.
Stormveil had healers of its own, but their skills were… modest, at best. That was why Lucian had summoned Evan from Castle Morne. Once, Evan had been deceived, his craft abused in the tragedy of Morne, alongside the Leonine Misbegotten Singh. Though he had sought redemption since, Morne would never forgive him. And with peace restored there, his talents had no place.
Lucian, however, had brought him to Stormveil to train its healers, to raise their skill, and perhaps form a new corps of perfumers.
Among Tarnished, few could see Grace—and without Grace to heal them, treatment by craft and medicine became all the more essential. All the more so, when Lucian's army was no longer only Tarnished, but men of many races.
Under Evan's hand, sachets of fragrant remedy were scattered across the wounded. The grievously injured, barely clinging to life, began at last to breathe easier. Some would need to remain there under care; others, maimed or broken, were borne back to Stormveil on Kaiden mercenaries' backs. The rest, able to move, were escorted home by their comrades.
The dead would wait till morning—for burial or for burning.
Storm Soldiers raised their torches high, casting light across the field as the work went on. All moved in order, under the direction of Hakkan.
Lucian sat on the roadside, weary at heart. So many Tarnished, waylaid and slaughtered by Night's Cavalry upon the road. And not only Tarnished—newly mustered Kaiden Sellswords, too. It was a heavy price.
This, too, was reality. His movements drew Morgott's countermoves. The Night's Cavalry could not be everywhere in such numbers—ten together was no accident. Most were concentrated here in Limgrave, where Tarnished were thickest.
He thought of the Altus Plateau. At the Grand Lift of Dectus, there were surely troops in waiting. Perhaps it would be wiser to seek the hidden path instead, and test the heights before ascending openly.
Hakkan, his orders given, slumped down beside Lucian. "…Thank you. And… forgive me."
Lucian clapped his shoulder. "This was not your fault. On the contrary, thanks to you, some still live. Without you, none would have survived."
It was true. To pit them against the Night's Cavalry had been near-impossible. That they had even slain one rider was no small feat.
But Hakkan only lowered his head further. "Because I was not strong enough… they died. If I were stronger, none of them would have fallen. Lucian... I want to grow stronger."
Lucian fell silent. He thought of Hakkan not as a subordinate, but as a friend. Giving him command of the Kaiden Sellswords had been a way to give him purpose. Lucian himself had little need of them in battle—better that they live, than throw themselves against foes beyond them.
For Tarnished, there was always Grace, always Runes to strengthen them. But for ordinary men—what limit could they surpass by mere training? At best, the strength of a Tree Sentinel or a Night's Cavalry. Beyond that lay only ruin.
There were ways. Grafting. Dragon Communion. Frenzied Flame. The Volcano Manor. But each was a path of corruption and self-destruction.
Still, Lucian could not deny Hakkan's wish. He was a warrior—if he chose to seek strength, Lucian had no right to chain him.
Hakkan met his eyes, desperate, pleading. Twice now, his comrades had perished before him, while he alone lived. "Lucian… how did you become so strong?"
Faces flashed in Lucian's mind—Melina, Ranni, all those he had come to know in this land.
"I have those I wish to protect," he said at last. "And reasons I cannot set down my blade. Perhaps it is that which drives me forward, again and again, leaving me no choice but to grow stronger."
Hakkan searched himself, but found nothing so firm to cling to. Only emptiness behind him. He sighed.
…
By dawn, Lucian had changed into the fresh garments brought by the Storm Knights, and set out again with Boc at his side.
Seated before him, Boc described the place from memory. "The cave was on a beach, I think. There were giant octopuses there—and smaller ones too, like their young. I don't recall much else…"
The description was vague, but Lucian already knew the place. They reached it swiftly.
"That's it! Amazing—how did you find it so easily?"
Lucian gave a wry smile. "Instinct."
On the sand outside, demi-humans clawed at the ground, snatching up wriggling creatures to chew raw. At sight of Boc and Lucian, they leapt up, brandishing weapons, shrieking.
Boc rushed forward, speaking to them in their tongue. Lucian stood aside, listening but understanding little.
The demi-humans laughed at first. But when their eyes fell upon Lucian, their mirth died. After a hasty argument among themselves, they beckoned the two to follow them inside.
Boc turned, delighted. "They said they'll give me back my things! We're to follow them in."
Lucian doubted it would prove so simple. But he nodded—whatever they tried, with him here, there would be no danger.
They entered the cave.
It was dark within. Lucian lit a torch, its glow spilling across mossy stone. Luminous moss clung to the walls, faintly glowing. Useful stuff—key to many antidotes. If the demi-humans could be made to yield it regularly, it would be no small resource.
He resolved, there and then, to bring them under his banner as well. He had no use for them yet—but someday, he knew he would. And this cave, leading toward the island of the Church of Dragon Communion, was too important to ignore.
The tunnels twisted deep, branching in every direction. Without a guide, one might wander lost forever. It felt like the lairs of goblins from tales—dark, tangled warrens filled with menace.
Then—sudden movement.
A great net dropped from above, aiming to snare them.
"Ah!" Boc cried, stumbling back.
The demi-humans laughed, certain of their catch—until the net fell to tatters upon the ground, shredded to pieces, and Lucian stood unmoved, torch steady in hand.
Their laughter froze. Then, with shrieks, they turned and fled.
Boc groaned, rubbing his back where he had struck the wall. "They're always like this, playing tricks and bullying. Scared me half to death…"
"You've suffered plenty of it, I take it," Lucian said.
"…Yes," Boc admitted softly. "They're about my age. Because my mother and I never fit in, they tormented me often."
"Then do you hate them? If you wish, I can deal with them for you."
Boc shook his head frantically. "No, please. Don't kill them. They may have tormented me, but in truth… I was the outcast, not them. They are still my kin. I beg you, spare them."
Lucian sighed. What a gentle soul Boc was. Very well—punishment would be enough.
But before he could act, more shapes thundered from the depths. Two massive demi-human chiefs, urged on by their fellows, lumbered into view.
The smaller ones jabbered, pointing at Lucian and Boc, their shrieks echoing.
Boc's face paled. "They say we're intruders! Should we run—?"
But Lucian only stepped forward. With a single hand, he seized each chief by the throat, lifted them high, and slammed them down into the earth.
All the demi-humans froze in stunned silence.