Elden Ring: 2,000 Hour Speedrunner Becomes a Dragon Chapter 6 6: The Shadow of the Noble

Target: Godskin Noble Samuel

Race: Human

Level: 215

Stats: Vigor 45, Mind 50, Endurance 40, Strength 40, Dexterity 40, Intelligence 13, Faith 56, Arcane 10

Skills: War Cry of the Giants (Master), Black Fla Incantations (Master), Aspects of the Crucible (Master)

Legendary Ability: Destined Death (Disqualified)

Analysis Progress: 17.8% (Rembrance Unlocked)

Next Node: 20%

Enter Rembrance Battle?

Lucia stared at the shimring screen, a thousand theories racing through his mind.

Just as he had summoned his own data, concentrating his will on the star representing the captive Noble had rendered Samuel into a quantifiable form. The sheer volu of information was staggering. Samuel possessed strength that dwarfed his own in every tric, yet he was "only" Level 215. This confird Lucia's suspicion: in this reality, the "soft caps" that plagued his gaming experience—where gains diminished after hitting 60 or 80—didn't exist. A gap of a hundred levels was a chasm between dinsions.

Then there were the skills. War Cry of the Giants—and a "disqualified" Destined Death?

Lucia recalled the legends of his previous life. He rembered the Tibia Mariners, those harbingers tasked with guiding lost souls before the Golden Order established the Erdtree as the only "correct" path for the dead.

"So the Mariners, the Godskin Apostles, the Deathbirds... they are all limbs of the sa body. All servants of the Queen of Death," Lucia murmured.

He recalled Guilel's report. The assassins hadn't claid to serve a "Gloam-Eyed Queen"—that was a na given by scholars. They served the Queen of Death. It was a title that mirrored Marika's own: the Eternal Queen. The war between these two goddesses had defined the age following the Forbidden War, and the echoes of that conflict were still vibrating today.

He thought of the future—the era of the Tarnished. Even with Marika sealed and the demigods broken, the Apostles and Deathbirds remained. They haunted the ruins of Liurnia and the frozen wastes of the north, moving through the lands of major factions with impunity. A cold dread settled in his chest. The goddess who had just brushed past his soul was a nightmare that even ti could not bury.

As for "disqualified" Destined Death, the logic was sound. The Queen had been defeated by Marika's Shadow, Maliketh the Black Blade. When he sealed the Rune of Death, the black flas of the Apostles lost their lethal edge. The fire had regressed from the god-slaying black-and-red to a re black-and-white.

He was lucky. If he had faced Samuel in the Noble's pri, a Sleep Pot wouldn't have been enough to save him.

But there were no "ifs" in this world. He needed power. He looked at the final prompt.

"Yes."

The sound of rising flas filled the void. A Black Fla Sigil, shaped like a slit pupil, manifested yards away. The massive form of Samuel stepped out, the Godskin Stitcher vibrating with a predatory hum. Without a word, he lunged.

Lucia t the charge. He gripped the air, manifesting twin dragon-scale blades. His semi-dragonized body surged with a violent, primal strength. Ten paces away, he slamd his foot into the mirror-like floor, launching himself like a silver bolt. His blades carved a cross through the air.

Clang!

The collision rang out in two sharp, tallic bursts. Samuel's arm shook, and he retreated half a step, a flicker of surprise crossing his hooded face. The "fledgling" before him had just erupted with a force that rivaled his own.

On the other side, Lucia was sent reeling. He slid back three full steps, his heels carving lines into the dark floor. He swallowed hard, tasting the tallic tang of blood.

It looked like an even exchange, but Lucia knew better. He had used every ounce of his draconic physiology to survive that clash, while Samuel had barely exerted himself. At the mont of impact, the Noble had utilized an Aspect of the Crucible, his wrist extending like coiled rubber to strike the weakest point of Lucia's guard. Samuel was unscathed; Lucia's heart was hamring against ribs that felt like they had been struck by a sledgehamr.

"Heh, not bad!" Lucia spat a mouthful of blood and charged again.

He knew he couldn't win. This wasn't about victory; it was about tempering. He fought with a reckless disregard for his own safety, ignoring the growing tally of wounds to force Samuel to reveal more of his techniques. He needed to push that "Analysis Progress," whatever it ant.

On the nineteenth move, Samuel found the opening. The Godskin Stitcher pierced Lucia's heart. Black and white flas erupted from the blade, consuming him.

An instant later, Lucia was standing before the screen again, his body whole and unscarred. Samuel's data remained the sa, but the progress had crawled from 17.8% to 18.1%.

"That's it?" Lucia's eyes widened. "Where did the first 17.8% co from? Was it just because I knocked him out with the incense?"

He gritted his teeth and re-entered the fight. This ti, he manifested a sleep burner and tried to replicate his victory. He caught Samuel off guard, put him to sleep, and executed him.

When he erged, the progress stayed at 18.1%.

Cheating wouldn't work. The system demanded genuine growth. Over the next hour, he tried different tactics, environntal hazards, and ntal projections. If he died quickly, there was no gain. If he used a trick, the progress remained stagnant.

He had no choice but to grind. In the next three duels, the longest he lasted was twenty-two moves. The shortest ended in three, when Samuel vaporized him with a Black Fla Vortex.

The progress ticked up to 18.3%.

Without a fundantal increase in his own stats, the returns were diminishing into nothingness.

"Sigh..." Lucia let out a long breath. It was like trying to find an exploit in a ga, only to realize the developer had patched every single one, leaving him to beat the boss the hard way.

Seeing no further gain for the day, he dispersed the star. He took one last look at the silent, starry graveyard of his mind before withdrawing his spirit.

The rumble of wheels returned to his ears. Lucia pushed open the carriage window. The morning light was a pale, pre-dawn white in the northeast. Barely any ti had passed in the physical world.

He inhaled the crisp, cold air. His mind felt lighter. He had a training ground and a way to level up. As long as he could keep getting stronger, he could survive the madness to co. He was already a dragon with his back against the wall; it was ti to gamble.

"Your Highness, do you have orders?" Aegis rode closer, noticing the window open.

"How much longer until Caelid City?"

Aegis glanced at the horizon. "At this pace, four or five hours. We'll arrive by noon."

"Good," Lucia said, stretching his stiff spine. "Everyone is exhausted after last night. We'll take the rest of the day in Caelid to recover."

He looked out as the Storm Knights galloped along the winding royal road. At the edge of his vision, the massive, cloud-piercing plateau of Altus was already beginning to loom like a silent promise.