"Huff… huff…"
Staring at the four painting fragnts laid out before him, Darrick's breathing grew heavy without him realizing it.
Excitent—far too much excitent. He had almost forgotten just how much ti he had spent grinding for these fragnts.
The souls he gained from roguelike runs alone had raised him three full levels. Three levels—that was no small number.
With every level gained, the number of souls required for the next increased. Not only that, as his strength improved through training, the cost to level up rose even further.
That fact alone was proof of just how many tis he had challenged the roguelike dungeon—and how much ti he had poured into it.
The number of Tokens he now possessed was already enough to exchange for a small, insignificant blessing.
And he wasn't the only one striving for these painting fragnts.
"Wow!"
A large crowd suddenly poured into Darrick's farmhouse, surrounding the table and shouting excitedly as they stared at the fragnts.
Darrick smiled.
These were adventurers just like him—people who had challenged the Endless Cycle day after day, all in pursuit of the painting fragnts.
They shared one defining trait.
They loved the legend of Farron Keep.
The Undead Legion of Farron, the wolf's blood, the Abyss—these elents combined into a heroic tale steeped in passion and tragedy, striking directly at people's emotional weak points.
People in this world seed particularly fond of heroic epics tinged with tragedy. Even the majority of songs sung by bards ended in sorrow, often leaving listeners in tears. Stories with perfect, happy endings weren't nonexistent—but they rarely left a lasting impression.
Adventurers had discovered that items produced by the Sein Dungeon often ca with descriptions.
These descriptions were filled with unfamiliar terms, written as if they were recounting serious historical events that no one could fully understand. As a result, aside from a handful of enthusiasts, most people initially paid them little attention.
But that indifference didn't last long.
Once people realized that so item descriptions could be connected to one another—or even linked directly to specific dungeon regions—their enthusiasm was ignited.
Exploring the dungeon while uncovering the story behind it—what could be more exciting than that?
Later, it was discovered that so item descriptions even concealed strategies for dealing with certain environnts or monsters. This revelation drew in adventurers who had little interest in lore as well.
For instance, the fact that Darkwraiths in Farron Keep were hostile toward Ghrus had been revealed through an item description. It had since beco common knowledge, allowing adventurers to save considerable effort by exploiting that relationship.
The adventurers gathered around Darrick were all lore enthusiasts.
Together, they had ford an organization known as the Farron Exploration Team, dedicated to uncovering the history of Farron Keep.
By now, the general outline of the story had largely been pieced together. Only minor details remained unresolved.
Among those unanswered details, one existence drew particular attention.
The Wolf Knight—Artorias's.
In many item descriptions related to the Undead Legion of Farron, traces of the Wolf Knight could be found. The Legion revered him as an idol. The wolf's blood appeared to be connected to him. Each new clue only deepened people's curiosity.
Unfortunately, to this day, no description focused directly on Artorias's himself. Information about him was extrely scarce, forcing people to shift their attention elsewhere—toward the Legion's allies, or the true nature of the Abyss.
That changed when Leon and the others obtained the Wolf Knight painting fragnts, reigniting everyone's passion for Artorias's.
"Darrick, hurry up and assemble it," soone urged.
"Mm."
Darrick nodded.
With solemn care, he pieced the fragnts together. Every crack aligned perfectly, and as if by miracle, the broken edges healed on their own.
A complete painting ford.
The image depicted a knight locked in a bloody battle.
Pale silver armor and a blue cloak stood out sharply against the pitch-black Abyssal monsters. Sword and shield in hand, no matter how powerful the enemy, all fell before him.
A small wolf fought at his side.
Was this the origin of the title Wolf Knight?
Everyone who gazed upon the painting felt their blood boil with excitent.
At last—they were seeing the complete image of Artorias's.
And it exceeded every expectation.
So cool, Artorias's!
[Painting: "Wolf Knight"]
[A mysterious painting depicting the Wolf Knight Artorias's. It can recreate this story within the world of the painting.]
Darrick cautiously reached out and touched the painting.
Nothing happened.
Strange.
Judging from the description, sothing magical should have occurred once the painting was completed. So why was there no reaction?
"Maybe it only works inside the dungeon?" soone suggested. "Should we try it there?"
The proposal was unanimously approved.
However, a new problem imdiately arose—who would go?
The dungeon could only accommodate ten people at a ti, while there were fifty-eight present.
As Darrick pondered this, he suddenly realized that everyone was staring at him.
"What?" he blinked.
"Of course you should go," one adventurer said with a grin, giving him a shove. "You found three of the fragnts—you contributed the most. And you're the strongest."
Painting fragnts could be obtained repeatedly. Darrick had fard Fragnt No. 1 once and Fragnt No. 3 twice. Leon and the others had already obtained Fragnt No. 1 as well.
Darrick accepted everyone's goodwill openly—and even shoved the adventurer back.
Laughter erupted, and the atmosphere grew lively and warm.
Without realizing it, he found himself feeling more and more at ease around others. It no longer felt awkward like it once had.
Outside the farmhouse, the wolves stared longingly in their direction.
Ever since Darrick started spending ti with the Farron Exploration Team, it felt like he paid them less attention.
Damn it—wolves could get jealous too!
In the end, ten people were chosen.
Carrying everyone's hopes, they arrived before the Sein Dungeon's teleportation gate.
"Wait!"
Just as they were about to enter, a mber of the exploration team ran over, carrying a thick notebook.
"Darrick—everyone—don't forget this!"
He shoved the notebook into Darrick's hands.
Flipping it open, Darrick saw page after page filled with sentences ending in question marks.
How many identities did Artorias's have?
Was the wolf at his side truly the Old Wolf of Farron?
Why did he oppose the Abyss?
Where did he go after fighting it?
Did he leave behind any descendants?
These were the questions everyone had compiled together, hoping Darrick and the others would uncover answers.
"Leave it to ."
Carefully tucking the notebook away, he stepped through the teleportation gate.
.
..
...
Inside the Firelink Shrine, everyone stared at the painting, unsure how to activate it.
"How about we all put our hands on it at the sa ti?" soone suggested.
"Alright. I'll count down—everyone place your hands together."
"Three."
"Two."
"One!"
Ten hands pressed down simultaneously.
The painting erupted in dazzling light—
But it enveloped only one person.
Darrick felt as though he were dreaming.
Everything he saw was hazy and indistinct, his vision blurred—yet the sounds were perfectly clear.
He saw a towering city, magnificent beyond belief, a sight that could exist only in legend.
He heard others call him Abyss Walker.
He saw soldiers clad in unfamiliar styles of armor, all gazing at him with profound respect.
There were also three beings who felt strangely familiar—a golden lion, a massive eagle, and a blue bee.
These people… I feel like I've seen them sowhere before.
He saw an elderly man with a graying beard and a kind expression.
The old man sat upon a throne and bestowed upon him a silver necklace.
Huh? A silver necklace? I think I've seen that before too.
The scene shifted.
He set out on a journey with sword and shield, accompanied by his most trusted companion.
At the journey's end lay a nation consud by the Abyss.
Its residents had undergone horrific mutations—their heads grotesquely swollen, their bodies tainted by darkness.
He fought across the monster-infested land. No creature could withstand a single strike of his blade.
Though young, his companion was equally fierce.
Together, they carved a blood-soaked path straight toward the Abyss.
This overwhelming sense of invincibility intoxicated Darrick.
He felt every movent "he" made, insights forming within his heart with each step.
The pitch-black Abyss was filled with monstrous beings—exaggerated manifestations of human nature—as well as powerful enemies wielding Abyssal magic.
The intensity of battle far surpassed anything on the surface. Everything before now felt like child's play.
Here, he had to fight with absolute seriousness.
On the surface, he had given the silver necklace—capable of repelling the Abyss—to the survivors. Now, he could no longer deflect Abyssal spells himself.
The deeper he ventured, the stronger the monsters beca.
Injuries accumulated.
By the ti he faced the final enemy, his body was covered in wounds.
Even so, he raised his greatsword toward the source of calamity.
A crimson light appeared within the endless darkness.
A terrifying pressure descended—one that made even his soul tremble.
The master of the Abyss was about to erge.
Darrick held his breath.
Though his soul felt numb, his eyes were locked onto the darkness—
But then—
It ended.
The dream-like experience was cut off abruptly.
His vision blurred. When he regained awareness, he found himself lying in a lush, verdant forest.
Sunlight filtered through the canopy, bright and warm—just like the real world.
Prival forests always gave people a sense of closeness to nature.
Yet beneath that harmony, Darrick sensed an undercurrent of danger. Warnings echoed constantly in his mind.
"Did I just… experience Artorias's mories?"
Combining this with his experiences in roguelike mode—the silver necklace, walking through the Abyss, the Three Knights—Darrick suddenly understood.
That previous roguelike experience had unfolded from Artorias's perspective.
He had been connected to this mysterious knight long ago.
Overwheld, Darrick couldn't help but complain,
"Why would the mory blue-ball like this?"
He had been eagerly awaiting the appearance of the Abyss Lord—only to be kicked out before even seeing it.
What did the Abyss Lord look like?
What was the outco of that battle?
Where did Artorias's ultimately go?
The unanswered questions tangled in his thoughts, leaving him restless and frustrated.
This sudden interruption felt suffocating.
"Damn it… now I want to see it even more."
Not knowing the result made his skin crawl.
Artorias's was so strong—he would definitely achieve victory in the end.
Darrick believed this without doubt.
Looking around, he realized he was alone.
Where were the others? Had everyone been scattered?
Ahead, he saw a town not far away—a place he had seen in Artorias's mories.
It was called…
He took a few steps forward.
A na appeared before his eyes.
[Oolacile]
This was the nation where the Abyss erupted.
Darrick took a deep breath and tightened his grip on the Farron greatsword. The blade trembled faintly, as if sharing his excitent.
Perhaps the Undead Legion of Farron had never truly seen their idol.
Now, carrying the Legion's weapon into this painted world, it felt as though fate itself was guiding him.
Let see what the Wolf Knight truly—
The mont he stepped into the town, his excitent vanished.
The smile on his face froze.
Hearing his footsteps, the densely packed monsters clogging the streets slowly raised their heads.
The two sides locked eyes.
Silence fell.
User Comments
0 comments from readers