"Hawkwood."
Inside the Sein Dungeon, Darrick softly spoke the name as he gazed at the unfamiliar man within the painting.
The figure looked like a member of the Farron Undead Legion. Judging by the full suit of armor, that was almost certainly the case.
So what kind of experience was hidden within this painting?
What was his identity?
Could it be that he once held an important position within the Undead Legion—someone of high status and authority?
Darrick couldn't help thinking this way. After all, the previous painting discovered by adventurers had been titled Wolf Knight, recording the legendary tale of Artorias himself.
Subconsciously, Darrick assumed that Hawkwood must also possess a legend no less impressive than Artorias'.
That was precisely why he was here—to enter the painting and see for himself what kind of story it recorded.
The other members of the Farron Guard stood around him.
Although everyone already knew the rule—that only one person could enter a painting at a time—Darrick's previous experience, where he had remained inside for several days and emerged mentally dazed for a long while afterward measuring—left them deeply concerned. Some even tried to persuade him not to go in this time.
But someone always had to explore the unknown.
Humanity only progresses by stepping on the footprints—and sometimes the corpses—of pioneers.
And so, Darrick resolutely decided to enter the painting world.
The Farron Guard members were here to see him off.
Some harbored a bit of hopeful thinking—what if Darrick came out quickly this time? If that happened, someone would need to take care of him in case he was completely exhausted.
As a result, a few people volunteered to stay behind. While waiting, they could practice swordsmanship anyway—training on the surface or inside the dungeon made little difference.
Potions of all kinds, scrolls, and various supplies were stuffed into his backpack.
These were the supplies everyone had prepared for him.
"…I really don't need this much."
Darrick stared at the backpack piled up like a small mountain, the corner of his mouth twitching. If he carried all of this, he probably wouldn't even be able to roll.
"Just in case, okay? Please take it—this is everyone's goodwill!"
A girl named Trilly skillfully combined her voice and expressions, acting spoiled until Darrick had no choice but to put the backpack on.
He had never been good at dealing with women acting cute.
In the past, Maru had teased him endlessly about it.
I'll just drop the backpack at the respawn point after entering.
Thankfully, items didn't disappear after revival, Darrick thought.
Then, amid everyone's farewells, he entered the painting world.
Just before his consciousness was pulled in, Darrick suddenly had a strange feeling—
Why does everyone look like I'm heading off to my death?
That's some terrible luck symbolism!
The process was exactly the same as last time.
Once again, he experienced someone else's story—or rather, their memories—from a first-person perspective.
But this time, the memory was different.
He found himself sitting inside a dimly lit structure. He didn't know what this place was called—only that it was vast, with several towering thrones erected at its center.
Eh?
On one of the thrones sat a small old man with broken legs.
For no apparent reason, Darrick felt a solemn, dignified atmosphere filling the place—tinged with faint sorrow.
The perspective shifted.
He saw a woman standing not far away.
The moment her face came into focus, Darrick's breathing stopped for a second or two.
She was beautiful—beautiful beyond his understanding.
That blindfolded woman was more stunning than anyone he had ever seen in his life. Even elves paled in comparison.
Compared to her, Luluwo looked like a rustic village girl—
Wait, why am I even comparing her to Luluwo!?
Darrick suddenly found himself filled with anticipation—hoping that when free movement became possible later, he might be able to speak with her.
There was no vulgar intent in his heart. His personality simply wasn't capable of that.
He only wanted to hear her voice, to look at her face a little longer.
It was the mindset of a teenage boy seeing a beautiful older neighbor—too shy to approach, only daring to steal glances.
And then—
Crackle.
The sound of flames igniting echoed through the air.
Firelight surged throughout the structure, dispersing the darkness as warmth rushed forward.
At the center of the area, the bonfire had been lit.
And the one who lit it was a stranger wearing armor Darrick had never seen before.
The man bore clear signs of battle, as if he had just survived a grueling fight. When he plunged a coiled sword into the ashes, the bonfire immediately flared to life.
Who is this now?
Since he appeared in Hawkwood's memories, he must be someone important.
Darrick watched as the man walked toward "him."
And at that moment—he spoke.
"So you're another one who can't die, huh? Same as me.
We're the same kind—good-for-nothing, unable even to die. It's laughable.
And that so-called mission—sending half-baked fools like us to do something like that? How could it ever succeed?"
The moment he opened his mouth, Hawkwood overflowed with negativity.
Why is the protagonist of this painting so dejected?
"Oh? You plan to challenge the Lords of Cinder? Heh. Bold fellow.
Go ahead—do as you please. I'll just stay here sighing."
"What? You want to ask where the Lords of Cinder are? Hmph… fine, I'll tell you."
"Cross the High Wall of Lothric.
Reach the Undead Settlement.
If you have the ability, challenge the Cathedral of the Deep.
After that lies the fortress of the Farron Undead Legion—the Lords of Cinder themselves.
Go challenge them."
Hearing familiar terms at last, Darrick strangely felt relieved.
But Lords of Cinder—what did that even mean? It sounded like firewood.
And the biggest thing he wanted to complain about was this—
He hadn't heard a single word spoken by the other person.
The entire exchange was just Hawkwood talking to himself.
"You want to ask me about the Farron Undead Legion?
It's not like I can't tell you."
"But be mentally prepared.
The Farron Undead Legion… they're a truly formidable group."
Nostalgia seeped into Hawkwood's voice as memories welled up.
At that very moment, the scenery before Darrick's eyes changed once more.
He realized instantly—
I'm about to witness a memory within a memory!
It could work like that?
Like a dream inside a dream?
"Hey, newbie—Hawkwood. Stop spacing out."
Feeling someone pat his face, Darrick lifted his head and saw a tall, middle-aged man standing before him.
The man wore Undead Legion armor as well—also without a helmet.
He called me Hawkwood?
At this point, Darrick had gained free movement.
But his backpack was gone—only the items worn close to his body remained.
He looked around.
It appeared to be a training ground.
The mountains were lush and green, the water clear, the air pristine—like a paradise far removed from the world. Much cleaner than the Farron Keep.
"What's wrong?" Darrick asked cautiously.
This sensation of "playing" another person was novel—but he knew he had to remain careful.
"What's wrong?"
"You don't even remember what day it is today?"
The man tossed him an ordinary longsword.
"Today's training day. You just passed the recruitment trial.
Today, I'll teach you something real."
Training? Recruitment trial?
Darrick vaguely guessed what this was.
"I'll only demonstrate once.
When you're crying on the ground after getting beaten, I'll show it a second time."
When the man performed a set of sword techniques—and those techniques were identical to those used by the Farron Undead Legion—
Even Darrick, with his steady composure, felt his blood surge.
This Undead Legion member… was actually teaching him their swordsmanship.
A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
This wasn't imitation during combat—this was genuine instruction.
Naturally, Darrick wouldn't miss such a chance.
He even thought: If clearing this painting isn't too difficult, I could let everyone in the Farron Guard come learn here.
The man kept his word. One demonstration meant exactly one.
Darrick watched, unsatisfied, desperately hoping for another.
"Got it?"
"If you did, go practice with the Ghrus."
The man clapped his hands, and a group of Ghrus wielding various weapons walked in.
"If I beat them, will you demonstrate again?" Darrick asked.
"As long as you win, you can watch it as many times as you want."
Perfect.
Motivation surged.
Battle fire burned fiercely in Darrick's eyes.
At this moment, he had no time to think about one question—
Why did this painting appear at such a perfect time, with such a perfect function?
(***)
Meanwhile…
The Sein Dungeon was being manipulated by an invisible pair of hands.
Beyond everyone's sight, those hands continuously made subtle adjustments, striving to perfect the current area.
While refining the dungeon, Wade also kept a close watch on developments in Bedford City. No information escaped him.
Why could he gather intelligence anytime, anywhere?
"Have you heard? That Darrick actually agreed to personally help the survivors of Val City get revenge!"
"Not personally—he's training them. And apparently using sword techniques he stole from the Farron Undead Legion."
"Undead Legion swordsmanship, huh… should we go check it out too? If we join them, maybe we can learn it."
"You can try. I won't stop you. But plenty of people like you have already been rejected—they have their own selection standards."
"Tch. I'm going to find the Undead Legion anyway. If Darrick can learn it, there's no reason I can't."
"Good luck."
Clinking glasses, exchanged cups—
This was where all information converged: the tavern.
By spending just two hours here each day, one could grasp nearly all the latest gossip in the city.
The tavern truly was the perfect place—relaxing, entertaining, and endlessly satisfying humanity's primal curiosity.
Naturally, Wade had learned about Darrick forming the Farron Guard.
"Very thoughtful, young man. A bright future ahead," was his evaluation.
Darrick's actions were undoubtedly beneficial to the dungeon.
Even now, Wade could list countless advantages.
More importantly—he felt thrill.
To think that people in this world genuinely revered the Farron Undead Legion, and even formed a similar organization to inherit its spirit—
It felt like watching a beloved work receive a high-quality fan creation.
Wade was both delighted and exhilarated.
It proved that the dungeon he created was truly loved.
This only made him more motivated when shaping the prototype of the Val Dungeon.
Unfortunately, from his recent observations, the Farron Guard was still far too weak—and progressing too slowly.
Wade was never stingy.
As long as it didn't harm dungeon interests, he could be generous.
So he casually converted a subspace into Hawkwood's Reminiscence, allowing every adventurer who entered to experience what it felt like to be trained by the Undead Legion.
The stage wasn't difficult to clear, and the final rewards were ordinary—white-tier items like Green Blossoms.
But being trained by the Undead Legion itself was the greatest hidden reward.
Training didn't increase numerical stats—it refined technique.
How much one gained depended largely on talent.
This was Wade secretly opening a small cheat for the Farron Guard.
"Do your best."
Watching Darrick train diligently through the crystal ball, Wade's eyes revealed admiration.
At that moment, a letter appeared on the altar.
The color scheme looked familiar—it was from the Stone Giant Dungeon.
His impression of that dungeon lord was fairly good. The other party felt like a friendly older brother. They had exchanged letters before, though not deeply.
"What is it this time?"
He opened the letter.
The very first line read:
"Brother, a lot of dungeons are shamelessly copying your ideas!"