In the end, once Patches had been disarmed, Lucian handed him over to D, entrusting him to be escorted back to Stormveil.
As for those Tarnished who had been lured to the revenants' lair by Patches' false signs, they too had suffered misfortune. Patches' scam may not have succeeded, but to be caught up in such calamity by sheer bad luck was still bitter.
Lucian, however, chose to grant them compensation. When they reached Stormveil, they would be given small privileges—whether in trade or in joining the army, they would enjoy a measure of leniency.
But only a measure. Not enough to transform their lives, nor to make kings of them. Whether they achieved greatness or perished forgotten would depend, as ever, on their own strength.
As for D, he and Lucian made a pact. When Lucian had time, he would seek him out at the Roundtable Hold. Until then, the collected Deathroots would remain sealed under D's care.
At that meeting, D promised, he would introduce Lucian to the Beast Clergyman, Gurranq.
The gifts Gurranq granted in exchange for Deathroot were valuable indeed—powerful incantations and blessings of the Beast.
But the truth mattered more: the Beast Clergyman was none other than the legendary Maliketh, the Black Blade.
A figure steeped in fearsome renown.
Maliketh—Queen Marika's sworn brother, entrusted with the Rune of Death itself, which he bound within his great blade. By his hand, the demigods learned fear, and by his shadow, heroes were measured.
He was also Marika's shadow beast, a twin born to serve and guard her.
Yet when the Queen vanished from history, her sworn shadow too disappeared, never once emerging—even when the Shattering War raged at its fiercest.
And small wonder. Even Maliketh, loyal as he was, never understood why Marika had shattered the Elden Ring. She had betrayed her consort Radagon, her children, and even her shadow.
Lost and bewildered, Maliketh consumed Deathroot endlessly, as though to atone for his failure—his failure to guard the Rune of Death, whose theft had led to the assassination of Godwyn the Golden.
From Godwyn's half-dead body, Deathroot spread through the roots of the Erdtree, corrupting the Lands Between. Left unchecked, it would devour all, until the realm became a paradise of the dead.
And death itself was forbidden by the Golden Order—for only by removing Destined Death had the Order ever come to be.
Thus, only Maliketh, bound to the stolen rune, could devour Deathroot.
Lucian intended to meet him sooner rather than later.
Others knew Gurranq only as the Beast Clergyman, but Lucian knew the truth. That alone was leverage. Perhaps, with this secret knowledge, he could draw forth old truths.
Though Maliketh's lips were sealed, the endless Deathroot gnawed at him, bringing bouts of madness, weakening his mind. In those moments, perhaps fragments of the ancient age could be pried free.
Even your sworn brother was kept ignorant, Marika. Why did you shatter the Ring?
—
This small episode with Patches had cost only half an hour.
Lucian mounted Torrent again, pressing on toward his true destination; Caelid. They rode deep into the night.
At last, when the night was darkest and even the Erdtree's light dimmed to an ember, Lucian reached the outskirts of the Smoldering Walls.
From afar, he saw it: a thin red line burning against the horizon. The border between Limgrave and Caelid.
Torrent slowed before the barrier.
The wall was built of rough stone, yet upon its surface fire burned unceasingly, though no fuel remained. The flames were not fierce, but steady, eternal, never quenched.
No matter how the Scarlet Rot sought to creep forward, it could not pass the Smoldering Walls.
Lucian stretched out a hand, feeling its heat. Even this faint touch carried the weight of will—the indomitable spirit of the Redmane soldiers who built it.
He stood in silence for a time.
"They remain in Caelid," a soft voice whispered at his ear, "and build such walls to hold back the Scarlet Rot… they are true warriors."
It was Melina.
Even she, who rarely spoke, was moved by the sight of this endless, burning line.
Since leaving Stormveil, they had resumed their wandering journey together. Melina sat sideways against his back as he rode, her one remaining eye fixed quietly on the passing lands.
Normally, she kept her words few, unwilling to distract him. But after their night of honest conversation, they had grown close. Now, whenever thoughts stirred her heart, she shared them freely.
Lucian, if others were near, would not reply aloud—only remember, to answer later at the Sites of Grace they shared. Such was their pact.
"Yes," Lucian murmured at last. "They are worthy of respect."
Even after their commander, General Radahn, had fallen to madness, the Redmanes never abandoned Caelid. Day after day they stood against the Scarlet Rot, enduring what no ordinary man could.
They fought, they cleansed, they burned—yet the Rot always returned, and so they fought again.
In this endless struggle, they raised the Smoldering Wall, sealing Caelid from the rest of the Lands Between.
If Lucian had to name the soldiers he most respected, it would be these. "In the Redmanes' ranks, there are no cowards." The words rang true.
Were it not for the curse of the game's world—that Tarnished were forever treated as enemies—he would have gladly called them allies.
A sudden barking broke his thoughts.
In the distance, two wild dogs slunk from the shadows. Gaunt, riddled with tumors, their skin split and bleeding, flies buzzing around the wounds.
They crouched over a mangled corpse, gnawing until Lucian's approach disturbed them.
The dogs bared their teeth, growling low.
Ordinary beasts would have fled before the draconic aura that lingered about him. But touched by Scarlet Rot, these creatures knew no fear.
"The Rot changes even instinct itself…" Lucian sighed. He raised his hand, shaping his fingers into a mimicry of a gun.
With a flick, compressed wind bullets flew. In an instant, both beasts were corpses.
He turned to leave—but a coppery scent lingered in the air.
Blood. Fresh blood.
Frowning, he glanced back at the half-devoured body.
That was strange. In Caelid, few normal folk dared tread. And those who came now—on the eve of the Festival of Combat—would hardly fall prey to mere dogs.
He knelt to examine the corpse.
Its head had been shattered like a melon, fragments scattered and chewed. Only a ruined jaw clung to the neck.
The robe upon the body was unmistakable: the garb of a Finger Maiden.
Lucian froze. Why a maiden?
The Festival of Combat did feature one—Finger MaidenTherolina—but no. Therolina was safe in Stormveil now, running her little shop, helping Tarnished channel grace. She no longer obsessed over finding a champion. As long as Lucian claimed the Elden Throne, it mattered little to her who did.
So whose body was this?
Unless… not a Finger Maiden at all. Merely wearing the robes.
Could it be Anastasia, Tarnished-Eater? But no—her weapon was a massive cleaver, not the bloody dagger lying nearby.
Lucian checked again. The body was male. The Adam's apple still faintly visible. The frame was slender, feminine—yet not female.
A cross-dresser. A boy disguised as a maiden.
Lucian searched further, but found nothing of value. No name, no clue.
After a moment's thought, he abandoned the corpse. The Lands Between devoured lives by the thousand each day. One more changed nothing.
Better to rest for the night.
He sought shelter—and soon found it: the ruins of the Smoldering Church.
To his surprise, someone was already there.
The figure was swathed in filthy, blood-soaked bandages, even the head wrapped tight, leaving only two clouded eyes exposed. The body beneath was clad in a Finger Maiden's robe.
Hearing him enter, the figure turned.
Melina's spectral form appeared at Lucian's side. With her one eye she gazed upon the woman—and felt a sudden pang of sorrow.
Strange sorrow, heavy and inexplicable. A sadness that felt like prophecy.
"Her body is covered in burns…" Melina whispered.
Lucian nodded.
The bandaged woman raised her gaze, searching clumsily for his outline. Her voice rasped, hoarse and broken, as though smoke had scarred her throat:
"You there, good sir… are you Tarnished?"
Her vision was poor; she could only approximate his shape.
"Yes," Lucian answered.
"Ah… thank goodness…" Relief softened her ruined voice. Then, timidly; "I was long ago separated from my lord, a Tarnished I once served. I have waited for him ever since."
"Have you perchance seen him? A man clad in bright silver armor. His name is Bernahl. A true hero among Tarnished."
"Not long ago, I felt him… near. But my sight is failing. My body broken. I searched as best I could, yet never found him…"
Lucian's eyes widened.
Bernahl's maiden.
Yes. He should have realized sooner. This was her.