The ruins of the royal domain held little of worth, and Lucian had no intention of combing through them.
Even so, Selyra managed to uncover something unusual in a corner—a slender rapier, its entire blade forged from purest frost, yet never melting.
Cold mist curled from its edge, carrying a chill that could seep into flesh and cause frostbite.
Lucian recognized it at once. A weapon of War Counselor Iji's craft—the Frozen Needle.
Its war skill allowed the blade to be launched forward, only to be instantly re-formed through sorcery. Not a powerful weapon by any means, more a curiosity. But in the Lands Between, curiosities were sometimes worth more than blades of legend.
Lucian tossed it into Ranni's storage disk without a second thought. Having that disk made everything infinitely easier.
As for the supplies he'd taken earlier from Ranni's stockpile, he had already stored them within a Site of Grace. That left the disk's space free once more.
His path lay back toward Stormveil, but there were places he could visit along the way. Ahead, the silhouette of several towers rose against the mountain's slope.
The Four Belfries.
Each belfry housed a gateway; portals that led to hidden corners of the Lands Between, places unreachable by ordinary paths. All that was needed was an Imbued Sword Key.
He had no particular need of them now, but opening a Site of Grace there would be worthwhile. The more Graces linked, the easier the road ahead.
Lucian resolved to return to Stormveil by a route he had not yet taken, unlocking every Grace he could find.
With Selyra in tow, he set off along Liurnia's western cliffs.
The land bore scars of devastation—ruins of Carian settlements crushed beneath the Cuckoo Knights' relentless raids. Corpses littered the ground. Buildings lay in heaps of broken stone. It was hard to imagine how terrifying the plunder and slaughter must once have been.
Restless spirits drifted among the wreckage. None were of royal blood, and so Lucian dispatched them easily, granting release.
But the monotony of the road weighed on him.
His thoughts wandered—to Melina.
Ever since their quiet moment together at the Grace, she had not shown herself. Too shy, no doubt. And with Selyra ever at his side, conversation was out of the question. Even if he called upon the Grace, she might not appear. And if she did, she would likely stand there, blushing furiously, unable to speak.
Lucian sighed, uncertain what to do.
No one had ever taught him what came after such confessions.
In the stories he knew; the Bishōjo Games of his past life, this was the time to press forward, to seize the moment while she was flustered. Yet in others, doing so would ruin everything.
Damn it. All those games had twisted him. Especially those from Yuzusoft. Because of them, he'd been ruined in his last life, and now he couldn't figure out how to deal with a girl properly.
Still, he decided; he would go to Melina himself. She was shy, yes—but she was a girl. Waiting for her to make the first move would feel cruel.
And yet… imagining her shyly coming to him on her own, unable to resist—there was something all too sweet about that as well.
As they pressed onward, signs of the Cuckoos became more frequent.
At first, Lucian had Selyra deal with stragglers, silently removing them. He rifled through a few coffins beached along the shore, collecting weapons. Among them was a Carian Knight's Sword, no doubt taken from one who had fallen to the Cuckoos' raids.
But the closer they drew to the Cuckoo encampment, the thicker the soldiers became, until slipping through unnoticed was no longer an option.
And something was strange.
Most of the soldiers they passed were half-rotted, their minds dulled, barely more than shambling corpses. Not a single healthy soldier in sight.
Odd. Too odd.
But convenient.
Luciani cloaked himself and Selyra in Unseen Form.
Night blurred all things, and Selyra, as a Black Knife Assassin, moved with steps that made no sound. Lucian was less adept, but Torrent could carry him noiselessly enough.
So it was that two hidden figures and a spectral steed passed easily through the Cuckoo sentries, straight into the heart of the camp.
The place was crowded, filthy tents pressed close. From within came the clamor of voices, Cuckoo soldiers gambling, brawling, wasting away the night.
The half-rotted husks kept watch outside while the ones with clearer minds idled within. Lucian guessed their amusements without needing to see.
He had no interest in lingering. He only meant to pass through, reaching the Four Belfries beyond. Still, if loot presented itself, he wouldn't refuse it.
He slipped between tents, peering into those left empty. Most contained nothing. But one caught his eye.
Its flap was shut tight. Two Cuckoo Knights stood guard outside.
That alone spoke volumes.
Knights were meant to indulge themselves within the camp, not stand vigil. If they had been set to guard, whatever lay within was no ordinary supply.
Lucian resolved to see it for himself.
But killing the guards outright would draw suspicion. Though the Cuckoos were infamous for disorder, cruelty, and pillage, that did not mean they were weak. Quite the opposite—their strength was what allowed them to thrive unchecked in Liurnia.
The academy itself had been forced into an uneasy balance with them. Entire chapels dedicated to the Cuckoos existed within Raya Lucaria, proof enough of their power.
They had stormed Caria Manor, slaughtered its knights, even brought down mighty Troll Knights of Caria.
This was not an enemy to underestimate.
Best, then, not to spill blood unnecessarily.
Lucian reached into Ranni's disk and drew out a small pot; crafted by Hildegard from a Trina's Lily. A Sleep Pot.
He had commissioned four, thinking they would last him long. Yet he had never found occasion to use them—until now.
Drawing near the guards, he infused the pot with a touch of magic, releasing its haze. Pale purple powder drifted on the air, carried by a gentle wind.
Within seconds, the two knights staggered, about to collapse. Selyra darted forward, propping them upright against their spears. Their posture was crooked, but passable. No one would notice.
Lucian slipped inside.
Darkness. No lamps, no occupants. At least he was spared the embarrassment of stumbling in on someone bathing.
Weapons. Supplies. Some ritual pots, a few enchanted stones. Nothing worth guarding with knights.
No, something else must be hidden here.
A tent held no hidden walls. That left the ground.
Lucian called a whisper of wind, letting it slip between crates and barrels. There, a faint shift in the current beneath one box.
He moved it aside, dispelling a weak enchantment. A narrow passage yawned below.
Without hesitation, he descended.
Pitch dark. Silent. He murmured a spell—Starlight. Soft radiance bloomed, revealing a tiny cellar.
A few heavy chests. Their presence confirmed his suspicion; items rare, but not priceless. Things not suited for warriors, stored away.
He did not open them. Better to take all than waste time. Each chest vanished into the storage disk.
He was already climbing back up when noise erupted outside.
The chests had been warded. Their theft had been noticed.
No matter. He and Selyra were already leaving.
Moments later, a squad stormed into the tent.
They were not ordinary Cuckoo Knights. Each bore unique arms and armor—massive hammers, slender blades, heavy plate. Every one of them a leader, their strength at the level of heroes.
They kicked awake the two "sleeping" guards, cursing them for failure.
But search as they might, they found nothing. The chests had vanished without trace, as though swallowed by the ground itself.
Even at such speed, it was unthinkable.
One of the leaders finally made his way to the center of camp. There, before an unmarked tent, he paused. His face twisted with unease.
Within lay their true master.
The one none of the common soldiers knew existed.
The one even the leaders feared too deeply to betray.
He parted the flap and stepped inside.
The tent was bare, save for a stand at the rear holding a few carefully kept treasures. And in its center, a grand vessel filled with liquid silver.
He dropped to one knee.
"Our vault has been breached. The hidden passage discovered. All its contents, stolen."
The silver rippled.
From it rose a figure, reshaping itself into the exact likeness of the kneeling knight; armor, face, even voice.
"It matters not," it said flatly. "Those things were of little worth. Without a path back to Nokron, they are useless."
"But… vengeance must be taken."
The Silver Tear Mimic.
A relic stolen from Nokron long ago. One of the Eternal City's experiments—an attempt to craft an artificial lord.
Of all their creations, only two had neared success. The first, flawless, had been sealed away in Nokron, never stolen, never seen again.
The second… stood here.
It had been incomplete, soulless. But time had changed it. Armed with countless warriors' skills, it had grown. It had birthed a will of its own.
And now, with absolute power, it ruled the Cuckoos.