Chapter 3

A swordsman's first battle is never his last. But it is often his most foolish.

The Tarnished stepped forward, his silent gaze locked onto the knight in golden armor.

The Tree Sentinel sat atop a massive steed, its plated barding gleaming in the dying light. A towering lance rested in the knight's grip, and its greatshield bore the symbol of the Golden Order.

This was no mere soldier. This was a guardian.

A relic of the past.

The warrior from the Land of Reeds had fought many battles, but none like this. And yet, his hand did not waver as he drew his katana, its sharp edge whispering against the scabbard.

His first true test awaited.

The Watching Knight

The Tree Sentinel did not move at first.

It simply watched, the slits of its helm revealing nothing of the warrior beneath. The air between them was thick with unspoken challenge, as if the knight was waiting—daring him to make the first move.

The Tarnished obliged.

With blinding speed, he rushed forward, his katana flashing in the sunlight. The wind howled against his armor as he closed the gap, his blade rising—

The knight moved.

Faster than something of its size should have been able to.

The lance came swinging in a deadly arc, and the Tarnished barely dodged, rolling beneath the sheer force of the strike. The air split where the lance had been, and the ground shook from its impact.

Too fast. Too strong.

This was no mindless beast. This was a master of battle, a foe that had crushed countless Tarnished before him.

But the warrior did not falter.

He had fought against impossible odds before.

He would fight again.

Steel Against Steel

He lunged, his katana finding purchase against the knight's plated leg. A clean strike.

But it barely scratched the armor.

The Tree Sentinel retaliated immediately, its steed rearing up before stomping down with crushing force. The Tarnished rolled away, dust and shattered earth exploding around him.

Then came the lance again.

A brutal downward thrust, aiming to impale him to the ground.

The Tarnished sidestepped at the last moment, his instincts screaming. The lance buried itself into the dirt, a mere breath away from his body.

This was no battle of equals.

This was a predator toying with its prey.

But the Tarnished refused to be prey.

The First Fall

His mind worked quickly. Heavy armor. Mounted combat. A gap in speed.

If he could get close, if he could attack at the right moment—

The Tree Sentinel turned its steed sharply, faster than he anticipated.

The greatshield came next, an unstoppable wall of force.

Too late.

The shield slammed into him, launching him into the air like a broken doll.

For a moment, there was no sound. Only the feeling of weightlessness.

Then—

Pain.

The ground met him violently. His back slammed against the earth, his vision a blur of sky and dust. His lungs burned, struggling for breath.

His grip on his katana wavered. His body screamed in protest.

The Tree Sentinel did not stop.

It was already charging, its lance lowering for the finishing blow.

The Tarnished gritted his teeth. No.

Not yet.

Summoning what strength remained, he rolled—barely escaping death as the lance struck the ground where his head had been.

His muscles ached. His ribs felt fractured. But he stood.

The knight turned its steed once more, unfazed, ready to end this farce.

The Tarnished exhaled.

He was not strong enough. Not yet.

He gripped his katana tightly, backing away, step by step. Not out of fear, but out of wisdom.

This was not his fight to win.

Not yet.

And so, for the first time since he had awoken in the Lands Between, he turned his back to an enemy.

And ran.

A Warrior's Defeat

The Tree Sentinel did not pursue.

It did not need to.

It had seen this before. Countless times. Countless Tarnished, foolish enough to challenge it, yet wise enough to retreat before death claimed them.

And so it let him go.

As the Tarnished disappeared beyond the hills, the knight merely returned to its post—an immovable guardian, waiting for the next challenger.

The Road to the Castle

The Tarnished did not stop running until the ruins of the Gatefront loomed ahead.

He slowed his breath, placing a hand on his side, feeling the bruises beneath his armor. The battle had been lost, but he was still alive.

That was all that mattered.

As he approached the ancient ruins before Stormveil Castle, his eyes caught a flicker of golden light—another grace, beckoning him forward.

He knelt, touching it, feeling the warmth course through his tired body.

A voice whispered in his mind. Soft. Familiar.

"Greetings, traveler. Might I offer you guidance?"

He turned his head.

A woman stood before him, her ashen cloak flowing in the wind. Her eyes, hidden behind a black cloth, held the weight of unspoken truths.

She did not smile.

"You are Tarnished, yet you possess strength. But without aid, you will falter."

The warrior remained still.

"I can offer you purpose. A means to stand against those who would see you fall."

She reached out a hand.

"If you would accept me… then together, we shall tread this path."

The Tarnished did not speak. He could not.

But he reached forward without hesitation.

Their hands met.

And fate began to turn.