Swish—
Malenia rolled and ducked, a sharp flash of sword light grazing Throne's abdomen; seeing him retreat, she reached to pull the needle again. Throne's regret had turned into disappointment. He refused to acknowledge this as Miquella's Blade, the undefeated Valkyrie; no matter how strong the instincts and experience left behind, she was merely a monster corrupted by Scarlet Rot.
Though she was a demigod, she lacked the heart of a warrior, and even more so, the indomitable spirit of a 'Sword Saint'.
"How disappointing. Let Malenia come out and fight me!"
He tossed Moonveil, which spun straight toward Malenia's forehead. She flicked her blade upward, and with a crisp 'ding,' the katana flew into the sky.
But it was too late for Malenia to pull the needle or counterattack; in a battle of Sword Saints of the same caliber, how could she afford to be distracted? Throne leaped lightly, dodging the long blade that swept past his feet. He stepped on her knee, vaulted over her head, and then tumbled downward.
Secret Sword: Great Ninja Falling Slash! Body, hand, and blade aligned into a straight line. With Dragon Heart, blood-stained weapons, and a stack of incantations, his explosive power reached its limit. This single strike was enough to cleave mountains and sever rivers.
Clang!!! Blade met blade, and even Rivers of Blood chipped. The massive force traveled from his arm to his feet, causing Malenia's body to sink.
Boom!!
Like a meteorite striking the earth, the ground within ten meters cracked, then collapsed entirely, sending countless flowers and weeds flying. Throne stared intently at Malenia, who was struggling to support herself below, then suddenly raised his hand and grasped the falling Moonveil.
Slash—
The blade slashed down without hesitation. Amidst the sound of clashing metal, the golden prosthetic arm separated from her body and floated in the air. Without the obstruction, Rivers of Blood shattered her shoulder armor and plunged into her chest. Malenia fell to her knees and spat out a mouthful of blood. Before she could raise her knee to counterattack, Throne used his long blade as a lever and launched her into the air.
In the air were flowers, soil, blood, and the Valkyrie. But Malenia, having lost her right arm, could only watch as Throne stood beneath her and twisted his dual blades.
Secret Sword: Twin Flow Vortex Cloud. Swish, swish, swish... Azure and blood-red blade lights bloomed, no less brilliant than the Scarlet Rot, enveloping the flowers, weeds, and dust in the air; there was no gap to be seen.
How beautiful. Throne glanced at the air, lowered his eyelids, shook his blades, leaned forward, sheathed his crossed blades, and slowly straightened his back.
Plop. Malenia fell into the flowerbed, covered in wounds. She looked at Throne, who stood like a statue before her, and struggled to crawl up.
She raised her left hand to pull the needle, but after moving it only a fraction, it dropped powerlessly. Dust and flower petals settled. Sunlight shone in through the hole in the ceiling, the killing intent dissipated, leaving only a quiet tableau titled—Swordsman Standing, Valkyrie Bowing.
Dust floated in the shafts of light. As the dust settled, the continuous sound of clashing metal fell completely silent. From urgency to silence, it took no more than ten minutes. The three-day-and-three-night death battles found in myths simply did not exist. Experts excel at short bursts of power; when fully focused, a single moment of difference is enough to decide victory or defeat.
Throne put away his dual blades and exhaled a long breath of stale air. He had won, but it wasn't a perfect victory. Even though that quick blade had left a deep impression, this wasn't the perfect Valkyrie, and blooming in front of Throne was just asking for trouble. But a win is a win. Even against a full-state Valkyrie, Throne now had an eighty percent chance of victory.
"At least in swordsmanship, I stand unmatched across The Lands Between."
Throne's lips curled in a faint smile. Malenia hadn't been perfect—and neither had he. That final strike could have killed her if he'd pressed the advantage. He turned to where she lay in the spreading pool of blood. The wounds looked gruesome, but demigod flesh could endure far worse.
Malenia hadn't lost consciousness. Guttural, animal sounds tore from her throat as she struggled to lift her head, left hand clawing into the soil. The killing intent still radiated from her broken form. Throne ignored it. A Valkyrie without her blade was a toothless tigress—no threat at all. He stepped closer, circling her like a hunter inspecting trapped prey.
"The golden needles suppress well, but not like they did ten years ago. The effect weakens daily."
He watched scarlet droplets seep into the earth beneath her.
"After what I've done to you, the Rot will bloom within a year."
For a heartbeat, he considered ending her—then dismissed the thought. There was time. No need to make eternal enemies of the Haligtree. Killing Malenia might unravel Millicent's fragile existence. The Scarlet Rot seemed incurable, and Sellen wouldn't reinforce the seals—but it wasn't hopeless yet.
"Miquella, then."
His boots crunched on broken petals as he paced.
"If I drag him back from that blood-drinking degenerate Mohg, then suppress the Rot again..."
The Haligtree's allegiance would be his by right and by gratitude. The logic held. Elphael's problem wasn't numbers—Miquella and Malenia had fanatical followers to spare. Only one question mattered: What kind of being was Miquella truly? Would he repay salvation with betrayal? Unlikely. However twisted his methods, Elphael proved his nature—lawful, ultimately. Good.
"Helping them helps me. See it through."
Throne drew Lusat's staff and struck the ground. Frost spiderwebbed across the floor, crawling up Malenia's limbs, thickening into glacial armor. He'd fought without magic earlier. Now he poured everything into the spell, ensuring she stayed contained.
Minutes later, spring warmth had fled the Haligtree's roots. An ice age gripped the chamber. Breeze-tossed wildflowers stood frozen mid-sway. At the center loomed a coffin of ice meters thick, its occupant barely visible.
"Enough."
Throne exhaled, shoulders slumping. Even a demigod couldn't break free wounded like that. No formal sealing arts—just brute-force cryonics.
"Ugly solution, but she's alive. The Rot's contained. Commission fulfilled."
His medical ethics might be questionable, but results mattered. Short treatment, clean outcome. Maybe he'd open a clinic someday.
He scooped up the discarded prosthetic arm and strode through the mist. At the doorway, he glanced back—nothing visible through the swirling frost.
"Ten years ago, you made the right bargain."
With a self-deprecating laugh, he stepped onto the lift. The gears groaned to life, carrying him upward into warmer air. When the church came into view, Finlay and the others were already straining to see. Their earlier hostility had vanished. Two demigods fighting underground tended to make an impression.
The city walls still trembled from the aftershocks. That terrifying presence had leaked out, buckling the knees of anyone below hero-class. When Throne emerged, they knew the outcome was settled—yet no one could muster any joy.
"Enough with the long faces."
Throne studied the hesitant crowd and tossed the prosthetic arm at them.
"Malenia's been handled—no, treated. Her condition's improved significantly."
The moment that arm left his grip, every throat tightened—Finlay's most of all—until they saw it wasn't a severed head and exhaled as one. Their relief curdled instantly. What kind of knight celebrates their lord getting pummeled?
"Thank you. But—how exactly did you treat Her Highness?"
Marais pressed, unable to contain himself.
"Special methods. Want a demonstration?"
A treatment that could suppress the Scarlet Rot? Marais absolutely wanted to try—his bloodline had been sickly for generations. But Throne's smirk killed the question in his throat.
"Smart choice. My dosage would liquefy a normal man. Check downstairs later—you'll understand."
Throne's cryptic tone did nothing to hurry the process. The lift remained sealed under layers of ice. Concerned or not, they'd have to wait for the thaw.
"I'm resting now. Make yourselves at home."
A curt nod, then he grabbed Sellen's arm and left. Over a hundred knights bowed in unison, holding the posture until his silhouette vanished along the battlements.
"Why the rush? You didn't even collect your reward."
Sellen frowned at the scabbed gash on his neck, fingers hovering near the wound.
"That's sword-cut deep. Did you chug a crimson tear flask?"
"Drinking mid-duel with a Valkyrie is suicide. Just my constitution."
"Your healing wasn't this fast before."
"Newly acquired trait."
Sellen blinked. Then, reading nothing in Throne's expression, she quickened her steps to match his stride.
"Disciple... I want to dissect you more every day."
Throne wasn't heading straight back. He led Sellen along the twin walls, scaling watchtowers to gaze at the distant sea, explaining his abrupt exit between climbs.
"Hah! You beat their master senseless, and they still have to thank you through gritted teeth!"
Sellen's laughter bent her double, drawing guards' stares until they recognized the mad witch and looked away.
"Teacher, you're cackling like a villain. I didn't plan to thrash Malenia."
Sellen wiped tears, slapping the parapet until her mirth subsided. A yawn escaped as she joined Throne's sea-gazing—though the rolling waves held no interest for her.
"Boring. I'd rather draft my thesis."
"Not here for scenery. Look east."
Sellen squinted. Erdtree banners snapped on the cliffs, tiny black dots staring their way.
"What's to see? Even if they sprouted wings, they'd be arrow pincushions halfway here."
"Aftereffects of my bout with Malenia. They'll sense that aura."
Sellen's eyes sharpened.
"You wanted them to witness it."
"Call it incentive. They don't know Malenia's state—just sensing that edge is enough."
Throne's fingers dug into the stone, his smile darkening.
"Once they confirm she's awake... let's see how long those vultures dare to perch."
One Throne was manageable, but with a Valkyrie added, they'd need to retreat fast unless they wanted their entire army slaughtered. Sellen glanced at the cliff, then back at Throne, shaking her head.
"You don't look relaxed. Worried about Melina?"
"Damn right. Without her, I'd have all the time in the world to grind these bastards down."
Throne massaged his temples, the tension draining from his face as his usual smirk returned.
"Wind's picking up. Let's head back. If they're still here in seven days, we go out."
"That won't be easy."
"With the two of us together—" Throne whirled, cloak snapping, eyes blazing.
"—name one place in these lands we can't go."
---
"It's Malenia's aura."
The sea wind howled across the cliff, whipping robes like war banners. Ordovis stood watch daily, scanning for sails. Siluria would intercept any ships long before they reached shore. But today, no vessels darkened the horizon—only the crushing weight of two colliding presences.
One belonged to that damned knight. The other? Razor-sharp, undefeated—Miquella's Blade herself.
"She's awake."
Cabine-Ivus spat the words, fresh from his grueling trek from the Shaded Castle. No one argued. They'd turned Ordina into a slaughterhouse. Did they expect flowers and tea from the Valkyrie?
"What I don't get," Ordovis muttered, "is how he pulled it off."
When no answers came, he waved a gauntleted hand.
"Stop racking your brains. If our King took notice of him, miracles were always on the table."
The Crucible Knights didn't waste breath on whys. Malenia was awake. Malenia wanted blood. That was all that mattered.
"Call Siluria. Bring every last Crucible Knight. We'll match them two-for-one."
Ordovis' fingers froze mid-tap against his knee. He weighed the idea for three heartbeats before shaking his head.
"Our King's still waking. We've lost two already. Every sword counts for Leyndell."
Power wasn't given. It was taken—by drowning your enemy in their own despair.
"So we retreat?"
A chorus of growls answered. These warriors had carved their names across the Lands Between. This? This stung.
Ordovis exhaled through his teeth.
"Not yet. Give it a few days. Those Godskins are bound to make their move."
---
Time crawled.
Elphael's jagged cliffs mocked the Leyndell army. After sensing Malenia's awakening, they abandoned plans to besiege Castle Sol. Advancing now meant suicide. One sortie from Ordina, and she'd butcher their retreat. Not a single soldier would leave these mountains alive—just corpses frosting over in the snow.
They didn't even dare lob fireballs at the Haligtree. One stray shot might drag the Valkyrie out, blades singing for vengeance.
So they waited. Camped on Ordina's heights, staring down Elphael's unbreakable walls. A standoff with no end.
However, while the latter was impregnable, it was also a large cage; the portal could only send out a handful of troops at a time. Malenia might be death incarnate, but she couldn't lead an army. No one was fool enough to charge into that meat grinder.
The war froze solid. Two forces glaring across the strait, tension thick enough to choke on. If not for the looming threat of violence, you might mistake it for another quiet day in the Lands Between.
"Still not gone?"
Throne leaned against the balcony railing, fingers digging into cold stone. The same damn banners flapped on the cliffs across the strait, their gold threads catching fire in the Erdtree's glow. The sight pressed against his ribs like a boot. Weeks of waiting. Not a single signal from the other side. And here he stood, trapped in Elphael with nothing but salt wind and bad memories.
He cracked his neck left, then right. The bones popped like dry kindling. Rest—what a joke. Last night's "break" had been scribbling fiction until midnight, then drafting academic drivel until dawn. His ink-stained fingers twitched. Some vacation. Some life.
The new magic patterns still burned under his skin, fresh-carved and angry. Pain he could handle. But this? Becoming some scholar-rat scrambling for approval? He flexed his sword hand, calluses scraping against air. Executioners weren't meant for libraries.
Throne looked up, feeling the sky was dim, and became even more certain—Malenia's war or Melina's schemes be damned—he needed to get the hell out of Elphael. Today.