[T/N: May the New Year treat you gently, reward your patience, and grant you reasons to smile when you least expect them. My very best wishes for a happy and prosperous New Year to everyone. ]
*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚✧˚ ༘⋆2026✧˚ ༘ ⋆*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚
Hakkan was utterly stunned when he saw the crowd of bizarre creatures.
He had already heard from Lucian that a shipment of new mounts was coming soon, but never had he imagined this was what the mounts would look like.
To be honest, if they were merely ordinary lizards, he could still accept that.
But these lizards… they had no scales. Smooth, silver skin gleaming under the light — that sight alone made him instinctively uncomfortable.
Lucian beckoned him over with a casual wave of his hand.
"Hakkan, from now on, these will be the standard mounts for the Drakeblood Knights."
"Oh, right, let me introduce you."
"This is Stella, the current overseer of Sellia Town. These mounts were all provided by her people."
Then Lucian turned to Stella.
"And this is Hakkan, the commander of the Drakeblood Knight Legion. Once things around Sellia are settled, they'll escort your sorcerers when you depart, your destination will be Stormveil."
Both of them nodded to each other in greeting.
Lucian continued, his tone calm but firm:
"Hakkan, the method of commanding these Dragonbeasts is rather special. Spend the next couple of days learning from Stella."
"You'll need to master the commands for directing the entire herd first. Once you've got that down, teach your knights how to control individual beasts. Make sure everyone becomes proficient, no exceptions."
"When training is complete, you'll prepare to march for Sellia."
"In addition to escorting the sorcerers, we'll also be fighting a battle there."
Hakkan gave a crisp nod.
"Understood. I'll make sure everyone learns as quickly as possible."
"Once we reach Sellia… what kind of enemy are we expected to face?"
Lucian chuckled lightly.
"I want you to reclaim the Sellia Crystal Tunnel, the one infested by the Lesser Kindred of Rot."
"Sellia Town is now part of our domain. We can't just let those things hold it. Besides, the smithing stones there still need to be mined."
Though Hakkan had never seen the Lesser Kindred of Rot himself, he'd at least heard about the scarlet-blighted creatures of Caelid. They were said to be weak individually but numerous, and their collective instincts made them dangerous in swarms.
Still, he thought, this would be a good chance to practice large-scale warfare — something the Drakeblood Knights would inevitably face in the future.
"Very well," Hakkan replied, a hint of excitement in his tone. "Then let this serve as the Drakeblood Knights' first real campaign."
He remembered the earlier clash with that lone Dragonkin Soldier. Truth be told, that fight had hardly been a challenge. A single Dragonkin Soldier was merely of hero-level strength.
The knights had even prepared ropes and nets to restrain the creature's movements. With its mobility hindered, the massed charge of the Drakeblood Knights easily overwhelmed and defeated it.
Aside from a few injuries caused by ice-lightning discharges through the water, the battle had gone flawlessly.
Fighting the corrupted followers within the narrow tunnels, though — that would prove a much greater test.
Lucian nodded approvingly.
"Good. I'm leaving this to you, make it count."
"Oh, and make sure to arrange proper lodgings for Stella."
"Learn the commands quickly. I'll return to my own quarters for now."
With that, Lucian turned and strode toward his tent, leaving Hakkan and Stella to handle their own coordination.
When he lifted the flap and stepped inside, the tent was lively as always.
The old white wolf, Hakkan's longtime companion — was there, lying near the hearth, while little Sif rested comfortably beside it.
Torrent was standing nearby, holding a branch with a bunch of Roa Fruits dangling from it. The spectral steed was nudging them toward Sif's mouth, clearly trying to teach the young beast how to eat them.
But Sif wasn't having it , the little one kept turning its head from side to side, avoiding Torrent's gentle prodding.
Lucian could practically feel the disgust radiating off its expression.
With a sigh, he grabbed the branch from Torrent's mouth, plucked off a few of the Roa Fruits, and tossed them back to Torrent instead.
After the spectral horse munched happily and finally trotted off, Lucian knelt down and rubbed Sif's head.
Soft, fluffy fur met his hand — an excellent texture, though the little spiral horn on its head was a bit sharp to the touch.
Sif yipped cheerfully, flailing its front paws as if to grab Lucian's hand. When it finally caught him, it gently nibbled at his fingers, a clear invitation to play.
Lucian laughed quietly to himself. It felt like Sif had grown a bit since the last time he held it.
He lifted the small creature into his arms, weighing it with a testing bounce.
Indeed, not an illusion. Sif was definitely heavier now, its growth rate astonishing.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Lucian began playfully flipping Sif over and letting it roll back up, again and again. As he played, his mind was already at work, planning his next move.
While Hakkan and the Drakeblood Knights were busy learning to control the dragon beasts, Lucian had no intention of wasting time.
He planned to travel to Liurnia, there was something there he needed to retrieve.
Hidden within one of Liurnia's catacombs was a relic left behind by the Nox dynasty — the Nox Mirrorhelm.
Once Ranni began her grand plan, the Two Fingers would undoubtedly activate their contingency, forcing control over Blaidd.
Lucian hadn't yet handed Ranni the Fingerslayer Blade, but it would be safer to prepare the Mirrorhelm in advance.
The meteorite that fell had already stirred too much attention; if the Fingers grew suspicious before he was ready, things could become troublesome.
Besides, the Fingerslayer Blade had a history of slaying servants of the Two Fingers, they would surely be wary of it.
—
Meanwhile, far away in Stormveil Castle...
A ragged figure shuffled slowly toward the castle's towering spires. His clothes hung in tatters, his face gaunt and corpse-like.
He paused briefly, gazing up at the familiar battlements of Stormveil before proceeding toward the gate, where silver-clad knights stood watch.
This shambling figure, this mockery of life — was none other than a clone created by Morgott, the Omen King of Leyndell.
Ever since Lucian had annihilated the Night's Cavalry division in Limgrave, Morgott had halted all operations in the region.
True, he could easily reproduce more Night's Cavalry soldiers, they were not irreplaceable. But sending them now would yield little benefit.
Most Tarnished who wished to reach Stormveil had already done so. There would be no more great migrations like when Lucian first took the castle.
Only scattered wanderers remained, small parties, easily missed and hardly worth the effort of pursuit.
Dispatching elite Night's Cavalry against such groups was wasteful; they were heroic units, after all.
If possible, Morgott would have preferred to send a grand army to crush Stormveil outright.
But Leyndell, the Royal Capital, lay far to the east — too far, and Liurnia's fractured terrain made large-scale mobilization impossible now that the main roads had collapsed.
And besides, the capital's army could not be deployed so lightly. Their primary duty was, and always would be, defending Leyndell itself.
That didn't mean Morgott would sit idle.
To destroy one's enemy, one must first understand them.
Of all the Shardbearers ruling their territories, Morgott knew the least about this new upstart — Lucian.
The others were well-documented, their strengths and weaknesses known, and most were no longer real threats.
But Lucian was different — a Tarnished who had risen from nothing, claiming a Great Rune and forging his own dominion.
No one knew his past. Not even Lucian himself.
Yet Morgott cared little for his history. What he wanted to know was who Lucian was now, and what kind of power Stormveil held under his rule.
Lucian's governance, his management, his growing army — all of these could be traced, studied, and understood.
Information was the first weapon in any war.
And recently, Morgott had seen something that confirmed his suspicions: the meteor streaking through the heavens.
That meant the stars had resumed their motion. Someone had defeated General Radahn and seized his Great Rune.
And if Morgott had to name one possible culprit, there was only one answer — Lucian.
He was nearby, active, unrestrained — unlike the other Shardbearers bound by their own curses or stagnation.
Which meant Lucian now possessed two Great Runes.
Morgott wasted no time.
He created a clone using his own rune power and sent it out from the capital, traveling across the Lands Between toward Limgrave.
Using illusion magic, the clone disguised itself as a mindless Undead, a form so common that no one would question its presence.
Thus, the false corpse easily entered Stormveil's outer tower, making its way toward the inner keep.
Before long, a squad of Silver Knights stopped him for inspection.
They looked the "man" over — ragged, hollow-eyed, unremarkable and began their routine questioning.
"Name?"
"…"
"Gender?"
"…"
"…"
"Aah… Aah…"
"Turn around. Take two steps forward. Jump once."
The disguised Morgott obeyed the first command — two steps forward, but deliberately ignored the order to jump.
After all, not all undead retained coordination. Better to act believably dull.
'An old actor never breaks character', Morgott thought to himself, smirking inwardly.
The knight conducting the inspection sighed.
Another hollow who could barely mumble, nothing suspicious.
After noting the creature's appearance in their ledger, he waved his hand dismissively.
"Alright, let him through."
"They've lost most of their minds", one of the Silver Knights muttered as he watched the figure shuffle past.
The others nodded slightly and waved him through.
After all, mindless undead like this one were hardly rare in Stormveil anymore.
Compared to the Tarnished adventurers who arrived here seeking fortune, the number of undead residents was few — yet, in truth, they represented the true norm of the Lands Between.
Even if these walking corpses had nearly lost all reason, they could still follow simple instructions, obey basic commands, and communicate in crude, broken responses.
Sometimes, they could even perform minor labor — simple, repetitive work that required no thought.
No one expected much from them, but in times like these, any source of manpower was valuable.
Before long, a Stormveil resident came forward to guide Morgott — or rather, the undead shell he had disguised himself as.
Morgott's expression remained utterly calm.
Feigning stupidity was always awkward, but he had done this sort of thing many times before.
Back during the siege of Leyndell, he had used this same infiltration tactic to great success.
When the coalition armies had advanced upon the capital, Morgott had often disguised himself as an ordinary soldier to slip behind enemy lines.
Once, he had even found the perfect chance — and pierced General Radahn's chest with his spear.
But the General's Great Rune defied all logic. Radahn had simply stood back up, as if the fatal wound had never been dealt.
They had fought each other for a long time after that, a fierce duel that ended in a draw, without resolution.
From those days onward, Morgott became a master of infiltration and deception.
After the Shattering War, he sometimes moved about disguised as an undead. It was an identity few ever questioned, especially given how many corpses now wandered the Lands Between.
Even now, the aftereffects of that war lingered like a festering wound, the population of the Lands Between was barely a tenth of what it once had been.
And after centuries of decay, the number of the undead had grown immensely.
They roamed the land freely — nobles, peasants, bandits, and deserters all reduced to the same shambling fate.
Even Patches, that scheming opportunist, once gathered a band of undead deserters to serve as his makeshift gang.
Following the resident guide, Morgott's disguised form soon crossed the bridge where Lucian had once fought.
The bridge had been rebuilt, its cracked stones replaced with fresh paving, wooden railings added to both sides to prevent anyone from falling.
Morgott trudged along in silence, mimicking the mindless gait of a true undead, while his sharp mind quietly analyzed what he saw.
'Those Silver Knights…'
He had never seen such men before during Godrick's reign.
It was clear these knights were newly formed under Lucian's rule — selected from the Tarnished, trained, equipped, and armored in shining silver plate. Their equipment gleamed, polished and new.
Morgott silently gauged their strength.
Not particularly impressive, somewhere between a regular soldier and a standard royal knight.
He wasn't sure what role they played in Lucian's army, but for guarding the gates, they were more than sufficient.
He could tell, too, that Lucian's military hierarchy had been clearly established.
The Silver Knights handled garrison and law enforcement.
The Drakeblood Knights were the main combat corps — their strength had to be superior.
It was an efficient system.
Still, Morgott thought, 'their silver armor will never rival the golden plate of Leyndell.'
That radiant gold was a symbol of the Erdtree's grace, a divine light these upstarts could never hope to comprehend.
Before long, Morgott and his guide entered the heart of Stormveil.
And the moment he crossed the threshold, he felt it — a peculiar sensation, like a set of unseen eyes watching from above.
It wasn't a literal gaze, but a powerful soul sweeping across the city through the currents of the storm — a constant, watchful awareness.
Morgott betrayed no sign of noticing it. He merely continued to shuffle forward, head bowed, following his guide.
'A fine reconnaissance network', he mused to himself.
Back in Limgrave, he had already sensed the presence of Stormhawks patrolling the skies.
Here, within Stormveil, their numbers were even greater — the birds circling endlessly above, their eyes serving as a wide surveillance web.
And not just that… Morgott could sense another presence. A mysterious figure, hidden somewhere within Stormveil, overseeing everything from the shadows.
Still, mere observation posed no real threat to him.
It only meant that his next moves would require more caution.
As they reached the outer bailey, Morgott's eyes swept over the courtyard — now filled with fortifications and siege equipment.
But most of the weapons had been moved aside. In their place were great piles of timber and stone.
He watched as Trolls lifted massive slabs and beams, carrying them toward the inner walls.
Nearby, Demi-Humans and Misbegottens were hammering smaller stones into gravel, working with surprising order and discipline.
The sight made Morgott pause.
So many Demi-Humans… were they slaves?
No. Upon closer inspection, their condition was far too clean for that.
Their clothes were worn but intact, their posture steady, their eyes clear — they were educated, civilized, treated as workers rather than property.
That surprised him.
In Leyndell, only the Golden Lineage, the Oracle Envoys, and the Ancient Dragons were ever granted true status.
All others — Demi-Humans, Misbegottens, and especially the Omen-born were shunned and despised.
The cursed children of the omen were condemned from birth, their fate sealed before they ever drew breath.
Morgott knew this better than anyone.
He had lived that hatred, carried that curse.
He despised his own blood, yet could never escape it.
To rule Leyndell as an Omen was, without question, a blasphemy. But it was a burden he had to bear.
And yet… looking at this place, at these demi-humans working side by side with Tarnished and Misbegotten…
He felt something strange.
Harmony. Order. A sense of life.
Not the false, rigid perfection of the Golden Order — but a living, breathing coexistence.
Nearby, he saw Tarnished collecting crushed stones and mixing them with a kind of binding paste, chatting casually with demi-humans as they worked.
They didn't look like warriors — just laborers, civilians, builders.
Of course, not every Tarnished sought glory in battle. Some simply wanted to live, to build something lasting.
And in Stormveil… it seemed they had found a place to do exactly that.
The city's condition was far better than Morgott had expected.
Far better than during Godrick's reign, which had been marked by chaos and decay.
Following his guide, Morgott's disguised corpse eventually reached the inner city.
After weaving through narrow streets and stone alleys, they arrived at a five-story building.
The resident called out for the house's caretaker.
After a brief exchange, Morgott was quickly assigned a room.
"Same procedure as always," the resident said with a sigh.
The caretaker waved him off. "Yeah, yeah, I know. You've said it a hundred times already."
"First, give them a room. Then check if they've got all their limbs."
"After that, see what kind of work they can handle."
The guide shrugged and left.
Morgott was led to a small room on the fourth floor, a dormitory meant for four.
Four beds, one wooden table, and little else.
It was crude, but for the Lands Between, this was actually decent living.
After all, most undead had no mind left to complain about comfort.
The caretaker gave Morgott a quick inspection, checking him from head to toe.
A healthy specimen — no missing limbs, no visible rot beyond the usual undead decay.
He nodded approvingly. A good worker, this one.
Then he left, shutting the door behind him, leaving Morgott alone with his shambling roommates.
Morgott exhaled softly, letting his disguise relax.
The most delicate phase of his infiltration was complete.
Now came the waiting — quiet observation, careful information gathering.
He ignored the other undead in the room, who sat motionless in silence, and walked to the window.
From the fourth floor, the view was surprisingly wide.
It didn't take him long to locate his next destination: the training grounds and commercial district, where Tarnished gathered in great numbers.
That area teemed with life — markets open at all hours, Winged Misbegottens carrying bundles through the sky, shops lining every street, and warriors sparring in the courtyards.
Even the broad avenues seemed crowded under so much activity.
It was a sight Morgott had never seen before.
Stormveil… had become prosperous.
Perhaps this — not Leyndell, was what a true city should look like.
He thought back to his childhood, to the endless darkness of the sewers beneath the capital, where he and his brother were imprisoned.
He had never seen Leyndell's golden splendor with his own eyes.
During festival days, laughter and music would trickle down through the grates above, sweet as honey to a child trapped in the depths.
In the darkness, Morgott had listened to those faint echoes, dreaming of a radiant world he could never reach.
When he finally escaped and beheld the capital, it was already in decline — the golden age gone, only fragments of its former glory remaining.
But even those fragments, the grand architecture, the shining Erdtree — had filled him with awe.
That remnant prosperity was enough to make the Omen child feel content.
He had sworn then that he would protect the Erdtree and the Royal Capital, no matter the cost.
He longed to restore the age of abundance, to see that golden brilliance revived once more.
But now, standing here, he realized something.
Stormveil, under Lucian's rule, had become closer to that ideal than Leyndell ever was.
Here, life flourished. Order and vitality intertwined.
It was imperfect, yes — the walls were rough, the buildings humble — but the city lived.
Stormveil, the homeland of storms, had been reborn under Lucian's hand.
Morgott drew in a deep breath, steadying himself as he gazed out across the cityscape.
He had to admit it now, Lucian was a worthy opponent.
And for that reason alone, Morgott resolved to take him seriously.