Lucian unrolled the old parchnt and carefully read it again.
The handwriting was faint, blurred by ti. Clearly, the stone box had not fully shielded its contents from the long years of decay.
Still, the words were legible enough:
[ To the unknown one who may co after :
If you are reading this note I casually left behind, then fate has bound us, however briefly. Of course, it is far more likely that both this note and the map will remain forever buried beneath the land.
When Bernahl suggested that we hide sothing beneath the stele to aid those who might co later, I told him such a thing would be too difficult to find. Besides, under the grace of the Erdtree, what need would future generations have for help?
We are not only reconciled with the Ancient Dragons, but our war with the Academy and the Storm King goes ever more smoothly. Surely, it will soon be over. Then an era of abundance, blessed by the Erdtree, will dawn.
Yet Bernahl has always been a man of knightly romanticism. He insisted that knights, no matter the age, would always think alike.
This note is our wager. If soone finds it, he wins.
Ha, enough aningless talk.
If you truly have uncovered this ssage, I advise you to consider carefully whether you wish to explore this land. I leave behind the map I drew during my survey of this region—may it be of use.
Know this: the northern reaches of Caelid are wilderness absolute. Beyond the Divine Tower and the Bestial Sanctum, there are no other structures. Even the lesser dragons shun this place, preferring Caelid's richer grounds.
If not for the presence of Greyoll, the Elder Dragon, I too would never have co.
Should you co with the sa purpose of eting her, be warned: it is no simple matter. Only with Lansseax as our escort were we granted audience with Greyoll. Yet even with an Ancient Dragon at my side, I did not accomplish my mission.
Take heed: Greyoll is a mountain to be revered. Conduct yourself with utmost respect.
As for , I go now to join our king, Godfrey, and his host in Limgrave, as ordered.
If you should see this letter and map, you may seek in the army. I offer no special favor—but to et a friend is among life's rare joys.
May fortune guide you, O unknown one who may co after . May the light of the Elden Ring ever shine upon us both.
—Knight of the Roundtable, Vyke ]
The letter ended there.
It looked like a simple note, scribbled in passing. Yet to Lucian, it brimd with aning.
lina, reading over his shoulder, caught the na.
"Vyke…" she murmured. "And he calls himself a Knight of the Roundtable. This must be that Vyke—one of the founders of the Roundtable Hold."
Lucian nodded.
"Yes. The one chosen by the Ancient Dragons, the Tarnished who ca closest to Elden Lord—the so-called Lord Elect, Vyke. This letter must have been written before the Tarnished were stripped of grace and banished from the Lands Between."
Even then, Vyke was likely already one of Godfrey's most renowned champions, a hero in all but na. But unlike the generals, he seed more a free knight than a commander of troops.
Lucian sifted through the hints buried in the words.
The timing was clear. This was written after the end of the great war with the Ancient Dragons, when the Erdtree's forces still fought the Academy and the Storm King.
It was an age when Godfrey had not yet been exiled, when the dragons were allies of Leyndell.
Lansseax had already taken human form in the capital, serving as priestess, teaching knights the faith of Dragon Lightning. Vyke, it seed, was her favored knight of all.
So strong was he that he was entrusted with missions concerning Greyoll herself. Yet even with such aid, he had failed.
Why had Greyoll refused him? Perhaps he had sought alliance, or so ancient bargain—but she had declined. His words warned of reverence, and Lucian suspected he had suffered so chastening in that audience.
Back then, there were no lesser dragons in the Dragonbarrow. They ca later, fleeing Caelid's rot and gathering around Greyoll, as Lucian well knew.
As for Godfrey's army, Vyke's letter said they were in Limgrave, though perhaps already pressing into Caelid. And soon after, all were stripped of grace and driven out.
But one line caught Lucian's mind: Vyke already styled himself Knight of the Roundtable Hold.
That ant the Roundtable Hold had been founded long before the exile. In fact, in Leyndell itself.
Its earliest mbers?
Gideon the All-Knowing
Vyke
Bernahl
Vargram the Raging Wolf
Errant Sorcerer Wilhelm
Crepus, Chief Confessor
the Mad Tongue Alberich, and others
When the first Tarnished returned, they gathered again at the Roundtable, joining the Shattering War.
Bernahl's Devourer's Scepter, shaped like the Serpent-God who devoured all, was proof enough of his bond with Rykard—whom he must have already befriended in those years.
It was likely during that period that Vyke and Bernahl earned the title Lord Elect. Only in a ti of no gods and no lords could such a na be uttered without treason.
Yet they also discovered the Impenetrable Thorns of the Erdtree, the divine barrier that rejected all claimants.
Bernahl's consort, a maiden, offered herself to kindle the fire, but failed. From that failure, he turned toward Rykard's Volcano Manor, betraying the Greater Will and the Golden Order.
Vyke, too, sought another path. Perhaps swayed by a whisperer's lies, he accepted the Frenzied Fla.
Because of them, the Roundtable itself withdrew from Leyndell. With so many of its strongest gone, it dwindled into the hollow refuge Lucian knew.
Gideon, though… who knew how long he had been plotting in silence, growing ever more patient.
Lucian read the letter again and again, but no further secrets revealed themselves.
Still, for a scrap of parchnt buried for centuries, it was a treasure. A glimpse into that lost age.
He folded it away carefully into his pouch.
lina, anwhile, took the faded map of the Dragonbarrow and began to copy its contours onto their own chart.
Though many later landmarks were absent, the terrain itself remained unchanged. For Lucian, it was enough.
With a map in hand, their next journeys would not stumble so blindly as before.
While lina worked, Lucian studied the land.
"Next stop, the Isolated rchant's Shack," he decided. "Might be worth seeing what that rchant has tucked away."
He also rembered that at night, the Bell Bearing Hunter often appeared there. In the ga, it had been notorious—the most fearso foe in all Caelid. Its towering stats and relentless poise had crushed countless players.
Until, of course, players discovered the laser-firing Caelid Golems, who stole the crown as "toughest."
Still, Lucian chuckled. The Bell Bearing Hunter remained, in his eyes, the true bane of beginners. Tough, cruel, and miserly in its drops.
He put the thought aside. Once lina finished, they set out.
Torrent carried him swiftly along a narrow road, climbing the slope.
Along the way, Lucian spotted flocks of sheep grazing on grass faintly tainted by scarlet rot.
To his surprise, several Monstrous Dogs prowled nearby. Yet instead of preying on the sheep, they herded them, steering the flock away from wandering.
Lucian raised a brow. These were not wild beasts. They had been tad—trained as shepherd dogs.
When he passed, the dogs lifted their heads, eyes wary and watchful. But they did not attack.
The skill required to dosticate such violent creatures impressed him. Normally, dogs, being pack-hunters, only grew more dangerous in numbers. These "Giant Dogs" were infamous for their bloodlust—even one could tear apart a man. Yet here were four or five, disciplined, obedient.
At last, Lucian reached the Isolated rchant's ramshackle hut. Outside, on a chair, the rchant himself lounged, quite unlike the weary wandering traders of his kind.
Seeing Lucian, the man waved him closer.
"Well, now, that's rare. I can go years without seeing a soul here. Since we've t, care to look at my wares? I'm still a rchant, after all."
Lucian nodded. That was why he'd co.
"Let's see what you have. Perhaps sothing worth my coin."
The rchant chuckled, rising to lead him inside.
Though outwardly shabby, the hut was neatly kept within. A bed, so shelves—furniture newer than the building itself, though worn by use.
On one rack, a gleam caught Lucian's eye: a complete Cleanrot Knight Set, armor and helm, polished and carefully arranged. Beside it hung the knightly weapons—a sword, spear, and scythe, each in pristine condition.
The rchant followed his gaze and smiled.
"Those? Not for sale. Took years to gather that set. A collector's prize."
Indeed, the armor had been ticulously preserved, unlike the other battered gear piled below.
Lucian offered a polite nod. "Well-kept," he remarked, before moving on.
His eyes landed next on a strange relic: withered, blood-stained fingers laid on a piece of parchnt.
"Those?" he asked. "What are they?"
The rchant's smile sharpened.
"Ah… you've found sothing rare indeed. Bloody Fingers."
He picked one up. It was blackened, bloated with rot, crudely severed.
"These are not common trinkets," the rchant explained. "They are weapons ant to be used against your kind—the Tarnished."
Lucian frowned. "How so?"
"You know how Tarnished leave signs—ssages scratched with chalk, golden summons? Bloody Fingers were devised to corrupt that very system. Touch a ssage or summon sign with one of these, and it points you to the Tarnished who left it."
Lucian stiffened. "But… then you'd have no way of knowing if the target is your enemy or not."
"Correct." The rchant's grin widened. "It is indiscriminate. Most who use such things aren't seeking vengeance. They simply crave slaughter. The Bloody fingers are their invitation."
Lucian thought of Nerijus, and the twisted glee of the Bloody Finger hunters. Yes—this fit them well.
Still, the idea sparked another thought.
"If one were to use it on a ssage left by an ally…" he murmured, "…wouldn't that act as a way to locate them?"
The rchant only laughed softly, eyes glinting with secrets.
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