Altus Plateau – Rampartside Path – Late Evening

The outer wall was nigh unrecognizable as were its former inhabitants. Broken armour, shattered shields, and bloodied flesh littered the ground—scattered among the remnants of damaged siege equipment. The air was thick with the scent of blood and iron, a sharp contrast from the peaceful ever-present glow of the Erdtree looming over the horizon. Vergil stood silently atop the hill to ensure no signs of life remained over the barren field before he signalled for his maidens to stand down.

Melina and Millicent reluctantly lowered their guards and weapons, their hands still trembling from the exertion. They shook the dried blood from their weathered blades and exchanged a glance, both acknowledging the last battle's mental toll. Melina summoned the blue mist with a wave of her hand and gestured for Millicent to follow her. When they emerged, they found that their new campsite was awash with a golden flame that cast a gentle light over their bloodstained bodies. As they drew closer to the soothing light, they once again felt a warm energy wash over their bodies. Cuts resealed, bruises faded, and the weight they felt in their bones began to disperse. Still, their minds were filled with conflicting emotions that arose in the quiet aftermath.

In the silence of the campsite, the maidens struggled to process the enormity of their actions. What they accomplished in one night was the kind of feat recited by bards and mocked by court jesters—a story so embellished that it was entertaining but ambiguous enough to placate one's inner skeptic. Not even the warring demigods were reckless enough to attempt what they had, let alone achieve it. Yet here they were, standing in the fiery aftermath of a one-sided massacre, with only their tattered clothes and quivering breaths to show for it.

Was it at all necessary? There was no sure way to tell. On the one hand, the Golden Army, famed for its ruthlessness, would never have permitted safe passage to the Royal Capital, but on the other hand, the way they dismantled the army was nothing short of cruel. Even worse was the undeniable thrill of battle they both felt with every life they extinguished. It was almost as if their enemies were little more than playthings to be cast aside as they cleared the board.

The wind stirred, lifting the surrounding ash and dust while the maidens sat in silence, still trying to comprehend the events of the past few hours. All they did was follow Vergil's lead as the heat of battle consumed them, and the result was plain to see. A sizeable portion of Leyndell's hitherto undefeated army had been decimated like a forest caught in a raging storm.

Millicent glanced over the shattered remnants of the barren plain, her heart still pounding from excitement. She stilled her blade, her mind racing with pride and bewilderment. She had fought many times, but never with such determination. Every battle had been a struggle to overcome, an unpredictable dance with death that lurked around every corner. To think that it had only been a month since she nearly lost her life at an abandoned church—a scarlet bud destined never to bloom. Yet here she was, with purpose renewed and growing into the powerful warrior she had always wanted to become. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Millicent's reticent heart swelled with hope.

Melina's gaze was drawn toward the charred remains of the Windmill Village; the expression she wore underlined the extent of her unease. Now that the chaos of battle had stilled, she had nothing left to distract her from her earlier confrontation with the Godskin Apostle. The way he looked at her with a strange recognition sent shivers up the kindling maiden's spine, but what truly bothered her was how the Black Flame—a power feared by gods and mortals alike—simply washed over her. Just as Melina surmised earlier in her journey, the closer she got to the Royal Capital, the more powerful she became. Not only because of her connection to the Erdtree but also because of the memories that were coming back to her. Despite this, she could neither make sense of her connection to the Black Flame nor her fixation on Destined Death. She hoped to find some answers once she reached the capital, but there were some lingering doubts as to the vision of fire that had begun to cloud her every waking thought.

The visions flickered like a distant pyre amid her fragmented memories—a haunting presence that reminded her of her duty and the destiny she was called to fulfill. Her role had always been to usher in the next Elden Lord, even at the cost of her life, but the closer she came to her destination, the more she questioned her purpose. From what little she remembered of her mother, plans were never simple, and they were never prepared to only achieve a singular goal. Melina softly sighed; her eyes still fixed on the smouldering village. Millicent noticed her companion's troubled expression and placed a hand on her shoulder. Melina bristled at the unexpected coldness of Millicent's prosthetic but dropped her guard momentarily. The kindling maiden turned toward the young Valkyrie, who then commented, "You seem tense."

"I suppose you could say that."

"Is it about the Apostle?"

Melina was stunned by Millicent's directness. It was something she expected of Vergil, but not the normally reserved Valkyrie. She turned her gaze away, unable to meet the young girl, and hesitantly nodded.

"I don't know how…but he knew me, Millicent. I am sure of it. And I am sure that you've caught on to that fact as well."

Millicent paused and carefully chose her words.

"I wasn't sure myself, but I did find it perplexing how deliberately he ignored you even when you continued to attack him."

"That's exactly as I feared…and the Black Flame…it should have consumed me, yet it did not. What's more, is that it seemed to listen to me…almost as if…" Melina trailed off, afraid of what it might mean if she finished her sentence.

"Melina?"

"…nothing. We should go. We shouldn't keep our friend waiting for much longer." Melina put on a smile that worried Millicent far more than she let on. The young Valkyrie nodded and followed the kindling maiden's lead. They walked a short distance and found Vergil facing the cliffside, his hands neatly folded over his sword's handle while its scabbard rested on the ground.

"Took you long enough," Vergil uttered without moving from his position. The maidens nervously approached, both still mentally reeling from the earlier battle.

"Melina…Millicent…"

The two maidens looked at each other in bewilderment, still surprised that the pale swordsman addressed them by name.

"Yes…?" They both asked in unison. Vergil turned his gaze to the outer wall.

"Behind that wall awaits the rest of the Golden Army. By my estimation, they should have amassed a force numbering in the hundreds." The maidens gulped. Although the golden aura of grace had healed their wounds, they were unsure if they were ready for a repeat of the past few hours. Luckily for them, Vergil had other plans.

"Unfortunately, our weapons have dulled, and I have grown tired of dealing with these gnats."

Millicent raised a curious brow while Melina asked, "So what are we to do?"

"For that, I will need your assistance. After I defeated the shardbearer, Rykard, I saw a vision of that tower off into the distance. I don't suppose you can explain why that is?"

"Oh…" Melina closed her eyes and lifted her chin to recall. "When you defeated Lord Rykard, you should have gained ownership over his Great Rune. However, its dormant power needs to be restored through its associated Divine Tower. If that is the case, then you must head there to have the Rune's power bestowed upon you."

"I see, then that shall be our next destination." Vergil flatly replied and started to walk toward the tower.

"How shall we deal with the Golden Army? You said it yourself; they number by the hundreds behind the wall," Millicent asked.

"Let's just say that I cashed in an insurance policy."

The maidens each raised a confused brow and asked,

"What's an insurance policy?"

Altus Plateau – Capital Outskirts – Late Evening

The field hidden behind the secure outer walls of the Royal Capital appeared to be in far worse shape than the surrounding villages of its outskirts. The ground was cracked and cratered in several places, each adorned by ancient banners of kingdoms come and gone. Broken spears and swords marked the barren wasteland—each serving as a grim tribute to the scores of would-be heroes thwarted by the fearsome Fell Omen. After Leyndell repelled the invasion of Volcano Manor, none had dared to face the might of the Golden Army. The capital's forces were spread out amongst the Lands Between to safeguard the Erdtree from those who sought to defile its golden light. Every ambitious revolt was silenced before it could start, and each kingdom was conquered to ensure that none could form a large enough opposition.

Now only a few encampments were stationed around the ancient ruins leading up to the capital. Each still held a sizeable number of troops and the support of gigantic stone golems, but the armies mainly served to reinforce the walled city's defenses. Messengers scrambled on horseback, each determined to relay the cataclysm that had befallen their fallen comrades guarding the outer walls. One managed to reach the tent of the knight Kristoff, a fierce warrior named after the sainted hero who valiantly fought in the First Defense of Leyndell. Like his predecessor, Kristoff was proficient with the magic of the Ancient Dragons. His mastery in the art of warfare earned him many accolades, though, like his comrades, he was never granted an audience with the Veiled Monarch, who instead relayed his messages through the lowly Fell Omen.

"Do you have any blasted idea what time it is?!"

"Y-yes sir, but the wall scouts have sounded an alarm."

"What is it this time? Rune Bear on the loose? Dragon landed near the barracks?"

"I'm afraid it's far worse than that, sir."

"This had better be worth it. Tell my men to send after my horse."

"At once, sir!"

Kristoff rode on horseback, his golden shield mounted on his armoured steed. Once he crossed over the northern gate, the seasoned warrior gasped and nearly fell off his horse. Bodies were strewn across the field, mangled and unrecognizable. The air reeked of blood and death, and an unnatural stillness permeated through the stench like a beacon cutting through the darkness. The once-golden surcoats of Leyndell soldiers were smeared with mud and gristle, stained by a sea of red that cast a dull reflection of the Erdtree's golden light. Even the windmill village, an area once deemed too dangerous to approach, had been reduced to ashes.

"What in Godwyn's name?"

Kristoff's face tightened as he surveyed the carnage before him. The sight was nothing short of a massacre. Like a storm had been set loose and wreaked havoc. His eyes scanned the wreckage, desperately searching for any signs of an illusion, hoping that the outer defenses had not been breached so thoroughly in his absence. And yet, the evidence was irrefutable. The lifeless bodies bore wounds he had never seen—clean precise cuts that all appeared to have been made at the same time. Some of his men were riddled with holes and burnt slashes that instantly cauterized their wounds, while others had their limbs mangled in unnatural angles as if they had been felled by a series of impossibly swift blows. Some even appeared to have been pierced by phantom blades, their armours still faintly humming with sparks of magic.

"Did the Carians do this? How could they have passed here undetected?"

The messenger, who had been following him close by, spoke with a low, trembling voice.

"It wasn't the Carians, sir."

"Who else but those blasted sorcerers could cause this much damage in such a short time?! Did I not receive word five hours ago that there was nothing to report in this sector?!"

"Sir, according to the remaining sentries, this was all done by…a lone swordsman…and two maidens."

Kristoff's eyes widened. "Don't be preposterous. You're telling me that our forces were decimated by THREE PEOPLE?! Not even the demigods themselves would be this reckless."

"Yes sir…and…I think you should see this." The messenger walked toward the cliffside and uncovered a series of figures—each wearing the same golden crested helmet that Kristoff carried…their heads impaled on pikes. Kristoff felt his stomach churn in recognition of his comrades, but his disgust quickly boiled into rage upon seeing how their bodies had been defiled.

"Rykard…that bastard! Sound the alarm across all remaining encampments. I want every soldier at the ready. Send word to that Omen outcast—the Veiled Monarch must be informed of this at once!"

"Sir!"

Altus Plateau – Minor Erdtree Church – Early Morning

The trio easily breached the wall by hiding in the shadows. As always, Vergil's ability to warp across distances proved endlessly useful and helped them circumvent the pair of Tree Sentinels patrolling the southern gate.

Vergil disappointedly sighed after killing a wall sentry. His earlier skirmishes had caused his blade to dull, and he needed to resharpen it yet again. After reaching another site of grace, Vergil took out a whetstone from his pouch and inspected the frayed katana. As he feared, the fatal crack that ran along its sides had grown further along its cracked edges. He could try sharpening it, but the damage was likely to spread if he were to continue.

Melina watched with a mixture of curiosity and concern as she and Millicent similarly resharpened their weapons.

"This won't do," Vergil grunted. The slender blade, which had served him through countless battles was once again on the verge of ruin.

"Your blade is damaged," Melina observed, "perhaps you should find a replacement."

"A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees." Vergil's icy gaze met Melina's own, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Millicent softly snickered, which earned Melina's fiery glare.

The katana had been with Vergil for a long time—longer than any mortal weapon should have lasted. He knew that it could never replace the Yamato, but the connection he felt to it remained a source of comfort in an unfamiliar world. Still, in its current state, it was more of a liability, especially in the heat of battle. With a resigned sigh, Vergil sheathed the ruined blade and turned to Melina.

"We'll need to return to the Roundtable Hold at some point."

"Agreed. Our weapons are in need of repair as well."

"We can do that after we reach the Divine Tower." Vergil dusted off his cloak and started walking. He set his sights on the distant tower and reappeared at its summit in a short moment. Curiously, another site of grace shone nearby—another breadcrumb from his mysterious benefactor.

"So that's your game, huh?" Vergil reached for the golden light and felt its warmth immediately dispel the streams of energy that were bursting through the pores of his skin. The two maidens emerged shortly after.

Altus Plateau – Divine Tower of West Altus – Early Morning

At the centre of the tower's pinnacle was an unsightly thing…a large, ossified corpse that looked like a severed hand. Cradled in between the creature's two fingers was a fierce undulating light. It pulsed with serpentine movements, its fiery circle shifting and twisting while a stationary line cut across its left side like an unmoving scar. The maidens could scarcely believe that they were in the presence of a Great Rune. Like the previous night's events, it appeared that they were once again witnesses to a bard's wistful nonsense.

Vergil stepped forward; his pale eyes fixed upon the powerful artifact. Like the Ancient Dragon's aura, he felt the force of unfamiliar magics swirling within the ring, pulsing with hidden power. He reached for the fiery ring, ready to receive its ancient blessings, and felt a surge of energy coursing through his arm. A new power rippled through his body like a wave of fire and for a moment, Vergil felt like he was touching the raw essence of the cosmos itself. He may have questioned the importance of the Elden Ring at first, but after tasting its power, he could only imagine what it would be like to shape reality itself.

As the Great Rune flowed and embedded itself into the swordsman's very being, Vergil felt his senses sharpen into an almost unbearable clarity, and he was able to briefly glimpse the exact location of the other shardbearers. For a moment, he could feel the familiar distortion of time around him as his newly gained shard sought to be reunited with its counterparts.

One lay dormant, sleeping beside a great tree in the far north. The tree, like everything else in this world, was in a state of slow decline, and its withering leaves slowly fell like an endless autumn. Another aimlessly wandered across a barren plain to the southeast. The landscape was desolate and arid—a vision of endless conflict. The figure moved with feral determination, as though searching for something or perhaps waiting for something to find him.

He could also see a ruined castle, its once-proud walls crumbling and festering with an unseen blight. Here, he could see a systematic massacre. The castle's shardbearer meticulously grafted severed limbs to himself while another appeared to be a convincing magical projection. Unlike the first figure, the second was far more intriguing, as he simultaneously appeared to be sitting inside the Royal Capital.

Finally, two more shardbearers were nestled inside an eerie cocoon underground. Inside, the figures were motionless. Their forms were much more indistinct, but the vision was unmistakable. The visions were brief, each flashing before his eyes like lightning, but each was clear and distinct enough for Vergil to decipher their meaning. Most curious was an invisible barrier of gold that encircled the Royal Capital, preventing entry. Without understanding why, Vergil somehow knew that to pierce through the barrier, he needed the power of more Great Runes than he currently possessed. In this brief instant, the grace of gold sparked into being in Vergil's eyes, and Melina felt a terrifying shiver jolt through her. Much like her mysterious connection to the Black Flame, Melina had reason to suspect that there was more to her mission than her mother let on. The lingering doubts unsettled her, and for the first time since she started regaining her memories, Melina questioned her mother's wishes.

"Only a little further till the foot of the Erdtree, and the accord is fulfilled," Melina wistfully announced. Her journey it seemed, was nearly at an end. It was long and fraught with peril, but as she gazed up at the golden branches of the Erdtree, she could not help but feel a bittersweet sense of anticipation.

"It takes me back. I was born at the foot of the Erdtree. Where my mother gave me my purpose."

What that purpose was, she could no longer be certain, but as always, there was only one way to find out.

"And what would that purpose be?" Millicent asked. Vergil wore a thin line on his lips and listened intently; as ever, his expression remained unreadable. From what little time they spent together, Vergil had grown to somewhat value the kindling maiden's presence. She had proven herself to be a useful ally, and though he had shown nothing but reluctance to her aid, he felt an unfamiliar emotion stirring from within when he learned that they would soon part ways. "What is this…?" He thought.

Vergil's alliances had always been brief; merely established to achieve a mutual goal. For this very reason, he never saw a reason to let his guard down around others. Yet, with these maidens, he never once felt the presence of an ulterior motive. Their ambitions were so different from his own, yet their desire to see to his success was something he could not make sense of. "What could they hope to gain by lending me their aid? Their terms are too simple…too straightforward." Vergil's brow furrowed ever so slightly. His life, always filled with danger and constant conflict, had firmly reinforced his need for isolation. There were far too many who only sought to use him and his strength for their own ends, ready to manipulate or betray him when the situation called for it. But Melina and Millicent were different—both driven by motivations he simply could not grasp. His experiences had hardened him to always be wary of others and to only think of himself, for he had always felt like his strength had been the one constant he could rely on.

"No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings," a voice in Vergil's distant past delivered. It was an adage he lived by; a creed that defined most of his existence. For Vergil, the pursuit of power was not merely a goal, but a necessity. It was a driving force that kept him going in a world that had always hunted him down in one way or another. To rely on others was a weakness to be expunged, for alliances only needed to be maintained insofar as they served a mutual goal. His father, Sparda, had taught him as much by example when he singlehandedly opposed the legions of the underworld—a solitary warrior fighting against all odds. And yet, even as the faint hums of Rykard's rune resonated deep within him, Vergil wondered if the pursuit would ever be enough. For the first time in a long while, Vergil felt the prickling sensation of doubt not towards a potential foe, but at his understanding. His eyes slightly shifted when Melina responded.

"I cannot say for certain. I was given this life to serve a role—a duty by my mother, Marika. Though what that role entails eludes me even as we draw ever closer to the Erdtree."

For a moment, Millicent considered speaking but was awestruck by the revelation of Melina's relation to the god-queen of the Lands Between. A thick silence hung over the trio until finally, Melina added,

"What I do know, is that my accord with you, Vergil, is nearing its end. The Erdtree stands before us, and once we reach its foot, I am to accompany you no further."

Vergil nodded, his marble features reflecting the growing cracks in his thick façade. Another flicker of emotion caused his eyes to twitch, but he ignored it and carried on. "What of you, Millicent? What drives you to continue this path?"

Millicent rested a metallic hand on her chin in contemplation before answering, "My goal has always been to trace the path that Malenia took, after unleashing the power of the scarlet rot…during the battle with General Radahn." Melina nodded in agreement, as she had already drawn the connection between Millicent and Malenia in their detour to House Marais. Vergil cocked his head in surprise. Considering what Rykard's Great Rune revealed to him, he was likely going to encounter Malenia the severed at some point in the future. If Millicent's swordsmanship was any indication, then Malenia should make for an enjoyable spar.

"Very well. By now, you should both be well aware of my terms."

"Follow close, don't fall behind," Melina responded with an eye roll.

"…or get in your way," Millicent added with a cheeky grin, and a satisfied smirk crept across Vergil's face, though he was quick to dismiss it.

"It seems we're almost due for a farewell bash. Shall we see to the preparations?" Vergil asked the maidens. Melina understood his meaning and summoned a blue mist. Her companions followed close behind.

Roundtable Hold

The trio emerged in front of the Table of Lost Grace. Millicent's eyes grew at the new sights before her, her gaze particularly drawn to the large shining beacon set in the middle of the hub. Its golden light cast a calming presence not unlike the sites of grace she would seldom encounter on her solitary travels. Shadows danced along the stony walls of the hold, casting gentle shapes along the statues of heroes who once graced the hallowed halls. The young Valkyrie thought back to the stories she used to read as a child and recognized some notable figures. To her left was Vargram the Raging Wolf, a fierce warrior who sought to be an Empyrean's shadow. Another statue, whose features had been desecrated, resembled the likeness of the Roundtable Knight Vyke. Of all the Tarnished that vied for the Elden Throne, he was said to have been the closest to achieving the impossible feat. Millicent traced her fingers over Marika's statue, utterly entranced by the history of the ancient refuge.

At first, Melina thought to give her a tour of the sanctum, but she thought it better for Millicent to experience everything herself on her first visit. She turned to look for Vergil, who wasted no time in heading straight for the smith.

"Well, where've you been hiding? I took you for dead," The old smith stated.

"You'll find that I'm nothing if not stubborn," Vergil retorted.

"No matter. It's all the same with you Tarnished. Lay out your arms, then."

Vergil unsheathed his blade and laid it on the smith's anvil.

"What in Marika's name?! You've somehow managed to break it even worse than the last time!"

"Can it be serviced?"

The smith groaned in protest but readied his tools. Vergil grabbed his pouch and placed an assortment of materials he had used to maintain his blade up to that point. Among them was a slab of meteoric ore and an array of well-preserved Ancient Dragon scales. The Smithing Master's hands traced over the otherworldly supplies, his rough calloused hands feeling their unique weights and textures. The ore glowed with a purplish energy that made it especially effective with channeling gravity magic, while the dragon scales hummed with traces of magics too ancient to fully conjure. He gasped in awe.

Vergil's steel-blue gaze met the smith's with a look that conveyed "Will these suffice?".

The Smithing Master could only nod while he gathered his thoughts. "Well now…I've not encountered the likes of these in many an age…"

"How long will it take?"

"Could be days…could be weeks. Damned thing needs to be reforged from the ground up," the Smith expressed as he added some coal to his forge.

"I can't wait that long."

"Nothing I can do about it. I'm surprised it's even still holding itself together."

"Hrmm…" Vergil impatiently tapped his fingers and sighed. Reaching for his cloak, he unveiled the Sword of Night and Flame. While the blade was still in relatively pristine condition, the clash of magical energies infused into the blade needed to be rebalanced. "What about this?"

"Ah, now that's a different story altogether. Night and Flame…the legends always spoke of it, but to see it in person…"

"Can you strengthen it or not?" Vergil's impatience was clear.

"Aye, I can. But understand that this blade is bound by two opposing forces. Reinforcing it will require materials that will better focus the magics infused within the unique metal. Bring me something just as rare…like some Somber Smithing Stones, and I may just be able to draw out its powers."

"Very well," Vergil replied as he took out another pouch with a collection of the smith's requested resources.

"I know what you're going to ask next, so let me just say that this'll take about a day…maybe less if the forge is hot enough. Won't take me nearly as long to work on this as that other wretched thing. And don't forget to pay for my services. Work like this doesn't come cheap."

"I am prepared to pay it, so just get it done."

"Alright then. And since you seem to be in the business of tracking down rare weapons, rumour has it that a Sellian swordsmith once made a katana out of glintstone. See if you can bring me his blueprints and I might be able to strengthen your blade even further."

"I have been to the town but have never searched it too closely. Perhaps I should pay another visit."

"One last thing. You keep fighting like you do, and this won't be the last time your sword comes back to me in pieces."

Vergil silently nodded, paid his dues, and headed for the library to pass the time.

While Vergil spoke with the smith, Melina exchanged pleasantries with Roderika, who was more than excited to see her doing well. Since the time she had last seen each other, Roderika had taken it upon herself to learn the craft of spirit tuning. It was a gift that was nurtured and supported by the aged smith, and one that filled Roderika with a renewed sense of purpose. By the time Melina was able to reach the old smith, she found him reciting a solemn prayer.

"Your divinity, have mercy, and grant me forgiveness. The road is yet long. A God is not easily felled. But one day…without fail, you will have your wish. So please, grant me forgiveness, Queen Marika…"

When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to see the kindling maiden. Unlike the scores of Tarnished that have stopped at the Hold, Melina had never been one to engage in combat. As such, the rare times she asked for his services involved polishing her precious dagger just so she could exchange pleasantries.

"Ah, You, is it? I…didn't notice you there." Despite his familiarity with the maiden, he found himself caught in a vulnerable position. "I'll be doing my job, same as ever. Just lay out your arms."

Melina took out another pouch of Somber Smithing Stones. The trio had come across many valuable resources through their journey, and she was fortunate that Vergil had a knack for collecting valuable items such as these. "One must always have an insurance policy," she heard him say at one point. Though he explained the meaning behind the expression it still sounded strange and foreign to her. Before she left, she thought to express her concern over the smith's prayer.

"Master Hewg…about the prayer…"

"Those words were not meant for you," Hewg snapped back, "I may be prisoner to the Tarnished, but my prayers are mine and mine alone. Well, I've had my say. I'll be more careful, too."

"Did…my mother imprison you here?"

Hewg's resolute silence spoke volumes, and Melina found herself questioning her mother's designs once more. It would take some time before Melina could take back her dagger, so she opted to join Vergil in the study. The two sat in an unexpectedly comfortable silence until Vergil turned to her and asked, "What exactly is a Tarnished, and why do I keep getting called one?" Melina was caught off guard, but she answered as sincerely as she could.

"In Marika's own words, My Lord, and thy warriors. I divest thee of thy grace. With thine eyes dimmed, ye will be driven from the Lands Between. Ye will wage war in a land afar, where ye will live, and die."

"I see. And the reason everything seems so hellbent on getting in my way is because…"

Melina nodded, adding, "It's because your eyes lack the grace of gold unlike Millicent, myself, and I'm sure many others with whom you've crossed blades. Without it, you are seen as no different from the Tarnished, who are destined to fight, struggle, and die, until one of them takes the throne."

"You say these Tarnished are unable to die?"

"To an extent, yes. The process takes some time, but once their bodies are returned to the Erdtree's roots, their souls are repurposed and brought back to life near their burial ground."

"What of the ones who are not put to rest?"

"They are all destined to come back in some form or another. Erdtree Burial simply has the benefit of ensuring that once resurrected, the body returns in a form like its living self."

"Ridiculous. How can a world possibly function without death?"

"That is a question I myself am trying to answer."

Vergil found himself pondering the vast implications of the information Melina shared. This was a world where death was denied, where suffering and struggle were a fundamental law of existence, and where decay festered like a rot that needed to be burned away. Vergil felt a pang of sadness when he thought of his family. Had they entered this world instead of his own, there was a chance that both of his parents could have returned someday.

"How many times have I thought of that day? Back then…if I could have saved her…saved Dante…if father had never disappeared…How many times have I vainly dreamt of that outcome?"

Vergil's stony expression began to crack, and for the first time, Melina saw Vergil frowning not out of frustration, but sorrow.

"That's a dream that will never come true…I know that better than anyone. But how many times…have I wished for that dream to come true anyway?"

"Vergil…?"

"It's nothing." He averted his gaze and hardened his expression. "It all makes sense. This world is like a cage…no true death or escape…only stagnation."

Vergil thought of the countless battles he had waged since his arrival to the Lands Between. He had seen the hollow gaze of too many husks, their minds stripped of purpose and their bodies merely going through the basest motions of life. Some were able to retain their cognition and sometimes even faint traces of humanity, but most did not. When he thought of his mother being reduced to such a state—lacking her will, her warmth, her fire—he was almost glad that she had never befallen such a fate. It was a punishment that not even the cruelest demons could conjure, for such an outcome could only be brought about by a human heart—though in Marika's case, Vergil was willing to make an exception. It was a cruelty borne not out of pure malice, but from a misguided desire to instill perfect order. No matter how perfect the ideal is, a plan enacted by an imperfect being is damned to imperfection.

This explained why every kingdom was conquered, from the fire giants who inhabited the snowy mountaintops to the avian keepers who cleansed each soul encountered with ghostflame. Any source of magic that threatened the Erdtree's existence was anathema to the Golden Order.

"To live like this…is an affront to all living things," Melina chimed, "when death has been denied, life itself becomes a cruel imitation."

"Earth raised up her head

From the darkness dread and drear,

Her light fled,

Stony, dread,

And her locks covered with grey despair."

"Blake again, I take it?" Melina noted.

Vergil smirked and replied,

"We should return to the smith. With any luck, his work should be complete."

"Lead the way."

The two companions turned back to the smith, who was preoccupied with constructing another weapon.

"No, no, no, no…I need to do better than this! This'll never kill a god."

Without lifting his head, Hewg pointed his hammer to the weapon rack behind him, where both the Blade of Calling and Sword of Night and Flame were neatly hung. The two grasped their respective weapons and felt them both lighter and more balanced than they were previously. The smith had started his work on Vergil's slender blade, but the closer Vergil looked at it, the more he recognized its need for extensive repair.

"Will you be able to leave without your katana? I know how much you value it."

"I'll be fine. It's only a minor inconvenience."

Melina turned her attention to Millicent, who had been conversing with Roderika while sharpening her Shamshir.

"Why didn't you take that to Master Hewg?" she inquired.

Millicent glanced up, pausing her movements along the curved blade. "I didn't want to burden him any further," she said with a smile. "Not when he seemed so preoccupied with fixing your weapons. Besides, I've grown accustomed to maintaining my blade. I find it rather…therapeutic."

Roderika, who had set up a small shop of sorts, moved a crate of ghost gloveworts aside to make room for the kindling maiden. "Please, do join us, Melina. Millicent has told me much of your adventures so far." Melina turned her head to find that Vergil had vanished. She hoped to see him still in the Roundtable Hold, but she was also familiar with his predisposition to leave without a word…something she had never been used to.

Caelid – Sellia Backstreets – Noon

"Speak. Where can I find the swordsmith?"

"Long…gone. Urk!"

Vergil could feel the burning sensation of rot filling his lungs as soon as he stepped out of the mist. Curiously, his wounds seemed to heal faster the more pain he inflicted on others. Considering Rykard's affinity for torture, it only made sense that he would gain a similar ability from the madman. The town of Sellia had become overrun by rot-infested beasts since he last unlatched the magic seals protecting the near-deserted town. The few mages who remained were less than cooperative, which meant that Vergil needed to be more creative to get the answers he sought. Thankfully, the giant's flame that enchanted his Sword of Night and Flame made his arguments more persuasive.

"Tell me what I need to know, and I'll make your death quick."

"Death? None have power over death, Tarnished." Vergil rolled his eyes while the tortured mage winced in pain.

"Put up a decent fight before you throw witless insults." Vergil pressed his flaming blade deeper. His prisoner screamed. "None may die in this place, but I'm sure that you experience pain all the same."

"Okay, okay, enough! I'll tell you what you need to know." Vergil released his hold on the man's shoulder and simmered down the flames coating his enchanted blade. He gave the man the smallest sip from his crimson flask to speed up his healing—enough to speak, but not enough to put up a futile resistance.

"…small cave…to the west. Smithing Master Selkirk…lies imprisoned. Haven't seen him in years, but that's where last we heard of him."

"You'll need to be more specific. Where exactly is this cave?"

"…b-beneath Fort Gael…to the north of a small ruin beside th-the southern…highway." Vergil raised the intensity of the flames from his blade as he pulled it out of the man, cauterizing the wound as the blade exited him. He poured a few drops of sap from the crimson flask which healed the man but left him a cripple.

"Pray to your gods that I don't come back."

"You're not human…What kind of…monster…are you…?"

"A demon. Remember it well." For a moment, Vergil's icy blue eyes glowed with a bluish-purple energy that terrified the sorcerer.

Caelid – Gaol Cave – Early Afternoon

As expected, Vergil was met with resistance before he even entered the cave. Judging by their crests, a small battalion of Redmane Knights was stationed outside the cave's entrance. One happened to have a curious stone key that opened the underground prison. Several jailers and burnt corpses occupied the prison, but aside from the jailers, only legions of burning hollows were contained within. Vergil grunted in frustration, as the likelihood of tracking down the swordsmith was bordering on impossible given the state of the prisoners he encountered. Not even the copper-shaded short sword he found at the end of a tunnel made up for it, but curiously, one of the cells appeared to lead to a poorly concealed tunnel.

Vergil cautiously stepped into the dusty burrow; his senses attuned to the smallest movement or sound. His eyes narrowed when he examined the scorch marks lining the jagged edges of the stone walls. Curiously, it lacked any traces of ash or residual heat, but the burrow marks looked rough and unfocused, nonetheless. "Sorcery. Has to be…" the pale swordsman surmised and confirmed when he felt the faded aftershocks of cosmic energy with his fingers.

The further he ventured into the hollow, the less consistent it became. It became steeper, rougher, and more serpentine, the magical residues gradually fading and giving way to a wider maze of enclosures. By the time Vergil emerged from the tunnel, he no longer needed to crawl to gain passage and found himself inside an abandoned mine. Crates of precious stones were gathered close to a wooden lift that led deeper into a flooded pool, which then circled another series of passageways. By this point, Vergil's eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he found that the further he travelled, the more the walls were lined with glintstone scraps. Several tunnels presumably led to dead ends, but the pale swordsman was able to navigate them using the scattered trails of dusty tools and the faint smell of dried blood. Eventually, he came across a large wooden barricade at the end of a collapsed walkway.

Vergil eyed how hastily the barricade had been erected. Wooden planks jutted out of the walls in unnatural angles, as though something had been trying to escape as a wall was being built. Thick strands of rope revealed stress marks that frayed at the edges, which hinted at the strength of whatever creature the builders had tried to seal off. He cautiously approached, sensing the resonant hums of the glintstone scraps growing along the walls—each crystal casting a dim bluish light on the passageway. The pale swordsman drew his weapon and struck a wave of flame on the loose planks, prying them loose and cracking open the barrier until it created an entrance large enough to pass through.

He stepped inside weapon in hand, and listened to a low grumble that shook the large cavern before him. It seemed that Yura's warnings about Dragon Communion were not unfounded, and Vergil had finally found the Sellian swordsmith. Unfortunately, the swordsmith did not look too cooperative, nor was he in any position to negotiate.

"After all that…it's just another one of you…" Vergil placed a finger on his forehead and scoffed, which stirred the Magma Wyrm awake from its restful slumber. It clumsily swung its blade—a slender and visibly damaged katana that glistened with the splendour of the night sky—as it crawled along the ground. Fire erupted from its nostrils as it roared in attention. The pale swordsman sighed as he ignited his sword and ducked under the creature's blow. With a quick backhand swipe, he deflected the dragon's weapon and slid his sword along its length, meeting its cracked handguard and deepening the damage that already existed on it. He summoned a volley of spectral swords to pierce the beast's hide and angered it further by aiming one directly at its left eye. The scaled beast howled in protest and created some space by repeatedly slamming its sword on the ground, sending forth vertical waves of light that sliced effortlessly through the terrain.

"Interesting…"

The pale swordsman deftly weaved from side to side while gathering energy from his blade's secondary enchantment. The dragon lunged forward, aiming to crush him with its weight, when Vergil distracted him by firing another trio of spectral swords into its injured eye socket. The attack caught the beast off-balance and caused it to drift slightly aside. Vergil slid down the ground and aimed the tip of his sword into its mouth, but before he could let loose the torrent of energy accumulated within his blade, the Magma Wyrm slashed its weapon in a last-ditch effort to create some space. Vergil redirected his aim and unleashed a concentrated stream of glintstone and demonic energy toward it. The purplish-teal beam ripped effortlessly through the dragon's sword arm and shattered its weapon, but the dragon was undeterred. Its tail lashed out in a wide arc that sent dozens of jagged rocks flying as it tried to swat the swordsman away.

Vergil anticipated the move, having encountered many like the scaled beast, and warped behind it in an imperceptible blur. The dragon's tail smashed into the ground where Vergil had been, sending a heavy tremor that shook the foundations of the already unstable cavern. It twisted its head, trying to search for its missing foe when it turned its head and found Vergil with an empty hand outstretched, not even looking at it. Crimson lightning gathered around the swordsman's palm and exploded into another stream of energy in the shape of a glaive. The magical construct pierced through the dragon's neck, causing it to violently tremble in pain, but another slam of its mighty tail shook the ground and momentarily knocked Vergil off balance.

He flipped back, regained his footing, and immediately found the dragon lunging forward. The beast opened its mouth wide, prepared to fire a stream of roiling magma. Narrowing his eyes, Vergil saw an opening and darted forward, closing the gap in a quick instant. Before the wyrm could unleash its final attack, Vergil thrust his sword into its mouth and devilishly smirked.

"Now…perish!"

Another stream of demonic glintstone erupted from the sword, causing the wyrm's head to burst in a brilliant display of light and fire as the creature's roar was cut short. The cavern groaned and shook as it announced its imminent collapse. Vergil cackled while covering his eyes, for in his folly, he managed to destroy the object he had been searching so hard for.

"How careless of me…"

Vergil instinctively shook the blood from his sword and noticed that like his slender blade, his current weapon now possessed a fatal crack with the same demonic energy that his body constantly expelled. He sighed and gathered as many fragments of the dragon's broken sword as he could before he returned to the Roundtable Hold, narrowly dodging a boulder falling from the collapsing ceiling.

Roundtable Hold

"You must be joking," the old smith objected. "I asked for a blueprint, not another sword to remake!"

"It was already damaged by the time I encountered it. Its former wielder wasn't too delicate with it either."

The Misbegotten smith shook his head and relit his forge; even if he couldn't recreate the sword, he could at least study its construction. As much as he grumbled, some part of him was grateful for the small periods of respite he would get by working on repairs. He had to admit that as irritating as the warrior was, he had a knack for bringing in interesting weapons and artifacts—truly the stuff of legends. By studying these items, Hewg hoped to one day come across one that could help him finally accomplish his goal. Until then, he had nothing but time to toil away.

Vergil regrouped with the maidens and discussed the barrier of gold that surrounded the capital. He described the dimensional anomaly that he "felt" when he claimed Rykard's rune for himself and tasked the maidens with searching for possible points of entry so they could slip through the barrier undetected. Meanwhile, Vergil had another Great Rune to collect, and he knew exactly where to look. By the time all preparations had been made, Hewg was able to completely reforge Vergil's sword. It was a unique creation—a fusion of glintstone and meteoric ore. Perfectly balanced and reinforced with hardened dragon scales and magical flame. A dormant energy thrummed within its core, uniquely attuned to its wielder's otherworldly essence and crafted to better draw out its power without breaking. All it needed was one last detail.

Roderika shyly approached the pale swordsman from his study and called him to the smithing master. The old man presented the slender blade to its wielder, who was pleasantly surprised with how well it was constructed.

"I'd wager that this is one of my finest works so far, so treat it with care. Took just about everything I have in the shop to bring that thing to life, and now all it needs is a name. Got any ideas?"

The pale swordsman grasped the new sword and observed it with a critical eye. Using familiar motions, he studied its balance and felt how smoothly it responded to his magical pulses. While incomparable to the Yamato, it was far more comfortable than anything he had used in this world so far. He sheathed it slowly, and a pale blue light enwreathed the blade, casting a distinct flash that briefly danced across the stone walls. It sent him back to a simpler time when he first entered an old man's library and discovered a stray passage from a dusty tome.

"The moon, like a flower

In heaven's high bower,

With silent delight,

Sits and smiles on the night."

He closed his eyes and unbeknownst to even himself, let out a wistful smile as he declared,

"Moonveil."