Chapter 20

Lately, the new bearer of the Great Rune had been visiting the Roundtable Hold more and more often. It hadn't gone unnoticed by its usual inhabitants—be it the cheerful warrior-mage Rogier, Roderika trying her hand at all sorts of crafts, Nepheli darting from one task to the next, or the ever-present Gideon, leader of the hold.

What they didn't know, busy with their own affairs, was where the Tarnished headed first whenever he arrived.

Melina, her expression unreadable, stood directly opposite the man enveloped in the embrace of a gentle, blonde-haired woman. The woman's cheeks flushed with excitement, her breath came quick, and tears welled in her eyes as if from some twisted pleasure she derived from pressing her essence against Konstantin, trying to absorb more of his inner warmth. Warmth that was too intense, too concentrated, too alive, and too hardcore.

Recently, that warmth seemed even purer, closer, and stronger.

On one hand, Melina, as the first to touch the essence of her chosen Tarnished and to fully grasp how impossibly unique and... bizarre he was, could understand Fia's reaction.

On the other hand, Melina wanted nothing more than to grab this filthy wench—stealing his inner warmth with his permission—by the hair and...

It seemed she was far more socially awkward than she realized, having grown used to solving problems the old-fashioned way—with violence—whenever she didn't know how to handle something peacefully. Probably a family trait.

The Finger Maiden impostor took a deep breath to calm herself. She knew for certain that the Tarnished was aware of her presence here, yet he was clearly unbothered by her watching.

It was as if he were telling her, directly and unapologetically, that regardless of whether she followed him or not, he would still do whatever he deemed necessary.

This inspired in Melina both a strange sense of gratitude toward the living jar that had helped her chosen one sort out some of his insane problems (though new problems had inevitably arisen) and a desire to find said jar with a club in hand for a "friendly" chat. A chat about how Finger Maidens weren't exactly thrilled when their Tarnished were led down such a debauched path, stripped of their remaining dignity. Whatever it was they'd discussed.

The girl huffed softly before disappearing in a burst of energy. She had a new task from the Tarnished: to observe another Tarnished. One whose fate had been sealed the moment they undertook a mission contrary to the will of a waifu enthusiast.

"He's exploiting his knowledge of the future again," Melina muttered under her breath, biting her lip.

She had a hunch that his request was, once more, tied to some woman—or possibly several.

Waifus who occasionally turned into just... women.

Of course, she still believed her Tarnished had the right to do whatever he wanted, so long as he fulfilled his destiny. Yet, for some reason, his actions continued to upset her.

Unfortunately, her abrupt departure meant she missed what happened next.

"My sun…" Fia whispered. "H-have I ever told you my story?"

A pleased Konstantin blinked, momentarily freezing.

"Several times now."

"I-I see… Th-then listen…"

She wasn't listening to him.

"A story of how noble heroes gave me their warmth and indomitable will to live, and… and I lay beside the remains of a nobleman to grant him a second chance… That is my purpose…"

"I've already heard that story," Konstantin replied hesitantly.

Fia closed her eyes, tilting her head blissfully toward the ceiling, continuing to stroke the now-uncomfortable Kosta.

"B-but I could not revive that l-lord… Grace awakened me and compelled me to leave my homeland… I beg you, show mercy… I cannot a-abandon this new purpose… No matter what… Please, allow me to hold you… I won't s-scrimp on affection… My sun…"

Feeling her persistent stroking of his head, Kosta suddenly realized that this quest, too, had gone completely off the rails.

He'd barely visited her a couple of times for a quick embrace and hadn't even said much...

At the exit, he was met by the warrior-waifu Nepheli, arms crossed. Since their last encounter, she hadn't changed a bit, except perhaps for getting slightly used to the newcomer.

Nepheli glanced toward Fia's occupied room.

"You visit that strange woman?"

Kosta briefly considered denying it but thought better of it. Even he found it awkward now.

"Yeah."

"Hear the winds, I don't like her much," Nepheli frowned, lost in thought. "What do you even see in her? Rogier enjoys visiting her, too. I'd advise you to be cautious with her."

Kosta shrugged.

He tried to be cautious, but the quest had derailed itself. He was used to it by now.

"Fine, it's your business," Nepheli huffed. Unlike Melina, she genuinely believed that. "Roderika said you wanted to see me?"

To Kosta's surprise, finding anyone in the Roundtable Hold had turned into a real chore—it was often practically empty. He'd had to ask another waifu, who was busy with her own self-discovery, to pass along the message while he wasn't around. That is, while he wasn't in the hub—the Hold. Thanks to her, they'd quickly arranged the meeting.

Kosta waited patiently. He allowed the waifu mentor of spirits to find her own path while he tried to guide her toward hardcore tries. She didn't fully understand him yet, though. All that was left was to bide his time until he could make the right request of the blacksmith (64). It was bound to happen soon.

"I want to show you something. But be ready—it might take a while."

The warrior tilted her head. Honestly, something about the man's tone didn't sit well with her.

It was as if he were apologizing in advance.

Was it just her imagination?

"I'm not always free, but I trust you, Konstantin," Nepheli said, rubbing her chin. "Just promise me that after this, you'll agree to spar with me?"

The warrior smiled. However, her smile faltered when she noticed the twitch in the brow of the unhinged Tarnished.

It seemed he'd just endured yet another round of moral dilemmas.

Who could've guessed that very soon, the warrior herself would face trials of her own?

______________________________________________________________

Their village, hidden under a cliff amidst poisonous swamps, had been destroyed. No one in their right mind would ever consider building a settlement in such a location, but in the Lands Between during the Age of Fracture, what place could truly be called "sane"? Did the scorned "subhumans" even have a choice in a world that was all but dead?

Sadly, it hadn't saved them. The Tarnished had razed it almost entirely, leaving it difficult to tell how much time had passed since. The few survivors who remained were in no shape to welcome new visitors.

The Albinaurics were a small and ostracized race. Many despised them, viewing them as artificial, fake, and imperfect parodies of humanity—a flawed creation of their own human progenitors.

The Albinaurics had one critical weakness that kept them from becoming a respected race despite their vast magical potential: their legs. The older they grew, the more their legs failed them, eventually crumbling into particles of energy—a prelude to an imminent death.

The ability to walk abandoned them at a relatively young age, a fate tantamount to death in the Lands Between. Few Albinaurics could rise above this crippling disadvantage, making Latenna's exceptional strength stand out even more. Her abilities were undeniable, despite her inability to walk unaided.

Latenna greeted the intruder with caution. Not only did his black-gold armor and skull-shaped mask strike a menacing figure, but the mere fact that he sought them out was troubling. No one with their wits intact would drag themselves through swamps to a nearly dead village without some ulterior motive.

At least, she hadn't encountered any hardcore Soulslike fans before now. Thankfully.

"Leave, Tarnished," Latenna said softly, her bowstring taut. "We don't welcome strangers."

Of course, she knew who stood before her.

The enormous wolf beneath her snarled menacingly. But the sound didn't faze Ensha of the Royal Remains.

An unusual name with an even stranger title. Rarely seen at the Roundtable Hold, Ensha always stayed close to the leader of the Tarnished. One of his most loyal companions, ready to carry out even the dirtiest of orders.

And he had no backstory to speak of.

"I've come for the secret medallion. Where is it?"

His cold, emotionless voice caused the pale-skinned Latenna to falter for a moment.

Her gaze flicked briefly to an older Albinauric hiding behind one of the houses. He shook his head slowly before vanishing under an illusion.

She had to buy him time—to let him crawl far enough away.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Tarnished," Latenna replied icily. "Leave. This is your last warning."

Ensha glanced at the snarling wolf.

"Perhaps you'll talk if I take away your other half?"

In an instant, Latenna's fury erupted as she loosed an arrow imbued with magic. Ensha dodged it with ease.

In one hand, he held a strange bone; in the other, a staff, which he raised as though summoning something. Massive black orbs of energy shot toward Latenna and her wolf like lightning bolts. The direwolf barely avoided the attack, and Latenna retaliated with a flurry of arrows, which the Tarnished evaded without effort, rapidly closing the distance between them. His hand glowed crimson.

Anyone watching would immediately understand that Latenna never stood a chance. Ensha's magic was far superior, and he outclassed both the wolf and Latenna in strength, speed, and skill.

Ensha likely intended to close in, dispatch the wolf before Latenna's eyes, and force her to reveal everything. But that wasn't meant to be.

For all his experience, Ensha hadn't anticipated what happened next.

A roll.

Frankly, Ensha was taken aback. Despite his vast knowledge of combat styles—elegant, brutal, chaotic, feral—this was the first time anyone had rolled at him. It was absurd. It was bizarre. And yet, it was so perfectly executed, so flawlessly precise, that for a moment, Ensha felt as though he were witnessing the start of a beautiful dance.

A dance of rolls.

Ensha immediately retreated, creating distance. Between the tense Latenna, bow at the ready, and the servant of Gideon, stood someone Ensha could not fail to recognize: the new bearer of a Great Rune, Konstantin of the Tarnished. Though he'd never directly crossed paths with him, Ensha had heard enough from his master to identify the newcomer.

Half-naked, performing impeccable rolls.

"What are you doing here, newcomer?" the assassin asked warily.

Ensha felt uneasy under the steady gaze of the half-naked man. It wasn't every day that someone rolled at you out of nowhere—or, rather, rolled from nowhere.

"No. The real question is, what are you doing here, Ensha?!"

A furious shout made everyone turn toward the source. Standing there, gripping her axes tightly, was the warrior waifu herself—Nepheli. She looked angrier than ever.

"Explain yourself!"

She had heard the scoundrel's demand. And she already had an idea of what was happening. No, she knew. She just couldn't fully accept it yet.

Ensha scowled in irritation.

"I'm following my master's orders. Stay out of this!"

Nepheli tightened her grip on her axes.

"Orders?!"

Of course, Melina was watching. She saw how pleased her Tarnished had become. Clearly, he intended to help yet another woman. And at the same time, he wanted to show another woman that her father was far from the pure figure she believed him to be.

No. He wasn't even pretending to be. That was just how she saw him.

The false Finger Maiden noticed yet another change in her chosen Tarnished: he didn't rush into battle. Instead, he stood behind the stunned Latenna and simply crouched beside her.

"Let them sort it out themselves," Kosta said quietly. "The warrior waifu might take offense if we interfere. She's no casual."

Somehow, the word "casual" had lost most of the hatred and disdain it usually carried in Kosta's tone. Now, it felt almost neutral.

Latenna blinked, not fully understanding the half-naked man's words. But she got the gist:

"I'll step in if I feel it's necessary, Tarnished."

For her, safety took precedence over honor.

Kosta shrugged.

Latenna said nothing for a while, soothing her other half—the direwolf, who for some reason seemed wary of the relaxed, half-naked... lunatic, apparently. Finally, she spoke softly:

"Thank you."

Kosta squinted in satisfaction.

The conversation didn't resolve anything. It couldn't have. Naturally, Ensha had no intention of explaining himself to another pawn.

The battle began. Nepheli's heavy axes clashed with Ensha's staff and enchanted bone.

The albinauric woman had heard much about the Tarnished. She knew they were far more powerful than the ordinary inhabitants of the Lands Between: not only could they sense, almost see, Grace in its purest form, but they were also favored by the Finger Maidens and, in rare cases, even the Two Fingers themselves, who guided the power of the runes into their bodies—a gift that changed everything. Beyond that, the Greater Will seldom chose Tarnished at random. Perhaps it could err, but for the most part, those guided by Grace were already skilled and formidable warriors even before becoming Tarnished.

But hearing about something and witnessing it firsthand were entirely different matters.

The albinauric's hands lowered almost involuntarily as she beheld the scene. Winds surged around the warrior woman. Lightning crackled. Her potential killer raised his staff, summoning countless black orbs that obliterated everything in their path. The two closed the distance and began exchanging devastating blows that left craters in their wake.

When the warrior stretched out her hand and formed a spear of lightning, Latenna fully realized just how naive she had been.

"The Lightning Spear..." the man sighed, as though recalling something distant and cherished.

It seemed he harbored unexpectedly warm feelings toward it for some reason.

Still, though Ensha was strong, no one would ever call him the strongest. In some ways, he was right: he was indeed a tool, and not a particularly valuable one. Ensha would never have been sent to face a demigod, whereas Nepheli had been given that chance.

Gideon was confident that, given the opportunity, she could prevail—unlike Ensha.

Bloodied, his arm severed, the magical staff that had been in his grasp now gone, Gideon's servant cut a pathetic figure. Nepheli stood before the kneeling Tarnished.

"I saw something like this once before as a child," the warrior woman growled. "The oppression of the weak. Pillaged homes and streets soaked in blood. A waking nightmare wrought by the hands of men. Explain yourself, Ensha! I'm giving you one last chance! Did my father order this?!"

"Foolish girl," the man chuckled faintly. "Sir Gideon would be disappointed if he saw you now. Just as naive a savage as ever..."

His head fell from his shoulders before he could finish the sentence. The Tarnished's body crumpled after it. Nepheli stared at it for a moment, lost in thought, before turning her gaze to the half-naked man sitting calmly beside the giant wolf.

"Why did you want me to see this?"

Kosta shrugged, his eyes wandering over the unscathed wolf and albinauric.

"Just tying up the last threads of quests wherever I can. There's really no other way to go about it..."

Neither Nepheli nor Latenna understood what the Tarnished meant, but it didn't seem like anything bad.

Of course, the quest wasn't over yet.

"We need the medallion piece."

Kosta's unexpected words made both Nepheli and Latenna tense up. Naturally, Latenna most of all.

The albinauric had no desire to fight the half-naked man. She feared him. What unnerved her even more was the reaction of her other half, who openly trembled before the composed figure.

"We can't give it to you."

Unfortunately, Kosta gave little thought to how he might persuade the relatively able-bodied albinauric and her other half to agree to his terms.

"The other half of the medallion is in Castle Sol, to the northeast in the Mountaintops of the Giants," Kosta said matter-of-factly, shrugging. "On your own, even with your other half, you probably won't make it to where you need to go. The castle's guarded by a casual who summons spirits. I doubt you know how to skip him using poison arrows."

Once again, Kosta imbued the word "casual" with no negative connotation. He was simply stating facts.

Latenna fell into serious contemplation. She couldn't hand over something so important to just anyone, but she felt no hostility from the strange Tarnished. Moreover, he and the warrior had helped them.

The truth was, they were in a dire situation. On the brink of annihilation. They needed help more than ever.

"I'll agree, but only if you find—"

Konstantin rose abruptly and began walking somewhere with a sense of purpose. Latenna and Nepheli exchanged startled glances before following him. He didn't wander the village for long before stopping in front of... an ordinary pot?

The albinauric's lips tightened.

"It can't be..."

Kosta kicked the pot, which shattered into particles of energy. A hunched, terrified old man appeared before them.

"No, please, don't!" the old man cried out in panic. "I know nothing! I have no secrets... Not a single one... Oh, please... Leave me be..."

Latenna's mouth opened soundlessly.

Melina rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

For some reason, no one had considered how effective kicks were against illusions. It seemed like this field was still woefully unexplored.

For some reason, the maiden felt an urge to discuss this with the witch. Lately, their relationship had grown much warmer. At the very least, Melina felt more at ease leaving her Tarnished in the company of the lunar demigoddess than the banished, treacherous sorceress. The former was far more proper and reserved, after all.

Undoubtedly, there would be much to discuss...