JohnnyZ
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[My Ending] Chapter 11
🕑 Added 2024-11-28 10:00:48 +0000 UTCRogier cursed himself three times for agreeing to the deal with the newcomer. The castle was truly enormous, and exploring it wasn’t easy. The catacombs of Stormveil Castle, in particular, posed a myriad of challenges, forcing the sorcerer to recall why infiltrating the castle was a terrible idea unless one was either a powerful warrior or a sorcerer adept at hiding where it seemed impossible to do so.
Or, alternatively, someone entirely indifferent to the need to hide, like one certain madman.
By some fortunate coincidence, Rogier fit the role of a powerful sorcerer capable of hiding in impossible places and, most importantly, finding a needle in a haystack.
Luckily, the madman had provided him with enough hints: a red cloth, corpses, and the call of spirits. Initially, Rogier had been quite bold entering the castle alongside a warrior maiden, but his bravery waned significantly when he stumbled across countless twisted bodies—decaying, grotesque, yet somehow alive against all odds.
And his mood soured further as he sifted through these corpses to find one singular item.
The madman was lucky Rogier had an interest in “Death” and lacked squeamishness; otherwise, the search would have taken far longer.
“‘Dolls’, really?!” muttered the sorcerer, examining the trinket. “That lunatic lied to me! Who in their right mind would call the victims of a demigod ‘dolls’?!”
He grimaced at the stench of decay, feeling his boots sink deeper into the rotted, abandoned bodies. The stench was so vile it brought tears to his eyes.
It wasn’t “dolls” in the literal sense but a brooch wrapped in a blood-stained red cloth. From it, the warrior-sorcerer (but primarily sorcerer!) could faintly hear the call of unfortunate spirits—warriors who had sacrificed themselves to ensure their lady could escape.
“Wonderful,” the man nodded in satisfaction.
Time to head back. He wondered if the madman had finished his task. Somehow, Rogier didn’t doubt that the half-naked warrior wouldn’t lose.
To witness any kind of change after what might have been decades—if not centuries—of torturous stasis was exhilarating.
Rogier cursed again, almost losing a boot stuck in the morass of corpses.
The first person sorcerer encountered after finally surfacing (not an easy feat, by any means) was none other than the castle’s gatekeeper, glaring at him with a sour, angry look.
It was as though he had been waiting for him.
“You stink.”
Rogier’s smile dimmed for the umpteenth time that day.
It seemed like everyone was determined to ruin his mood.
“Come with me. I’ll take you to Lord Tarnished. Don’t worry; no one will harm you.”
Together, and without any attempts at concealment, they headed straight toward the heart of the castle. The sorcerer, passing by hunters who only moments ago had wanted to dismember him and turn him into part of some grotesque creature, couldn’t shake his unease.
Oddly enough, the atmosphere in the castle seemed... uplifted?
“Is it someone’s birthday?”
Well, why not? Perhaps they suddenly remembered, decided to celebrate, and forget all the bad...
“Death day,” the gatekeeper grinned madly. “The coward is dead! Finally dead! Ha-ha-ha!!!”
Rogier adjusted his hat, smirking.
He would forgive the madman for the slight inaccuracy. After all, he had warned him of the danger in advance, so technically, he owed him a thank you!
Remembering the enormous corpse he had barely avoided, the man shuddered.
He definitely owed him gratitude.
By the time evening rolled around, the mad Tarnished was found in one of the rooms. The gatekeeper, glancing around shiftily, knocked three times on the door. Then he waited briefly and knocked again.
“It’s open.”
The gatekeeper opened the door, flashing the sorcerer a slippery smile.
“Good luck.”
Rogier, perplexed by Gostoc’s words, was about to ask what was going on when Kosta suddenly pulled him into the room and shut the door behind him.
The great warrior, dressed in aristocratic attire, stared at the sorcerer in alarm.
“Was someone tailing you?”
Rogier adjusted his hat in confusion.
“Did something happen?”
Watching from the shadows, Melina frowned. She had been so pleased to get her chosen one to fully dress, but he clearly wasn’t prepared to deal with the castle’s numerous servants, retreating at the first opportunity. It seemed he was just waiting for any chance to flee.
Life in general—and quests in particular—had not prepared him for this.
“Never mind,” Konstantin replied with an air of feigned calm. “Did you succeed?”
Rogier smirked, pulling the brooch from his bag.
Before the sorcerer and the hidden false Finger Maiden, Kosta practically lit up.
Melina snorted.
It was... unexpected. Very unexpected. Again. The azure demigoddess knew the peculiar Tarnished chosen by the Grace and accepted by Melina would be unusual. She had realized this during their very first meeting.
What she couldn’t have foreseen was how effortlessly and nonchalantly he would storm Stormveil Castle practically alone.
Of course, she had followed him. Rennala had been powerful, but she was never a warrior. The girl almost never confronted her foes directly, always opting for the roundabout solutions. She was curious to see firsthand how he would handle the challenges ahead.
It turned out the mad warrior, reminiscent in temperament of the first Elden Lord, had no problems. The problems arose for those who dared to hunt him.
What amused the demigoddess further was how the typically reserved Melina ran after the man, fretting over his image more than he did. Equally amusing was his bewilderment when surrendered soldiers came to kneel before him, praising the sun in his wake.
Was he expecting something else? That after surrendering and losing so many men—not to mention their “lord”—they would attack again? These servants had no loyalty to Godrick, staying with him only out of fear. Everyone knew this, the demigod most of all. With his strength and fearlessness, Kosta had shattered what little remained of their “allegiance.”
A faint smile graced the demigoddess’s ethereal face.
His awkwardness in such matters only made him more endearing. For a fearsome warrior devoid of terror, such shortcomings were necessary; otherwise, instead of a promising servant, he could become one of the most terrifying threats she had ever faced.
But, judging by how things were unfolding, everything was going splendidly for her. Even as he began to awaken from his slumber, he remained a simple warrior who, by his mere presence, inspired a strange hope—a light breaking through the deepest darkness.
And most importantly, even as he stirred from sleep, he retained the one weakness that drove him forward more effectively than the prospect of ruling the Lands Between. A weakness that didn’t fade with his awakening but grew stronger.
A weakness for women.
Ranni watched curiously as the Tarnished man returned to the hill where he had left the deranged Tarnished woman.
Not by any ordinary means, of course, but through the guidance of Grace, bypassing the aid of any servant.
Her curiosity deepened as she observed him glare disapprovingly at the spirit ashes of whining wolves and a timid little jellyfish. Yet his demeanor softened immediately when he handed a treasure to the woman, hidden within her magically concealed shack, clearly pleased with the gratitude she showed as she accepted it, her expression pensive.
The Tarnished knew exactly what to give her to help her overcome her inner turmoil. How fascinating.
“All of them… believed in me,” whispered Roderika. “They all thought I could amount to something. Me, of all people—useless, unworthy…”
The sorceress Ranni allowed a sly smile to creep onto her face, shifting her gaze to Melina, who had hesitated at the doorway, reluctant to enter. Roderika’s sight was sharp enough to discern Melina’s presence even without looking directly.
How had such a talent been overlooked?
The man’s slight grimace suggested he was thinking the same.
“I think I’ll head to the Roundtable Hold,” Roderika finally decided, taking a deep breath. “Maybe there, I’ll find purpose in my life.”
She lifted her grateful gaze toward him.
“Thank you.”
Then, to his surprise, she stood, leaned in cautiously, and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. Innocent, just a brush of lips against clean-shaven skin, before stepping back with a bright smile, wiping away tears.
Ranni caught a glimmer of madness in her eyes—barely restrained chaos that still required a long journey to mend.
Did the Tarnished realize this?
Konstantin froze, stunned by the unexpected gesture. His mental focus shattered entirely.
Ranni turned her attention to Melina, who had been lurking behind cover, her narrowed eyes betraying her irritation. The sight amused Ranni so much that she laughed aloud, intentionally letting Melina see her.
Their eyes locked.
They were neither allies nor enemies. They had far too many mutual adversaries to engage in open conflict.
But they weren’t friends either. How could they be? Ranni, after all, had played a role in the Shattering of the Elden Ring, the very thing Melina sought to restore.
The fact that they weren’t outright enemies was already a miracle of caution. Ranni might be capable of causing more trouble than Melina, but the latter had her own reasons for avoiding unnecessary interference.
Under Melina’s annoyed glare, Ranni vanished, though her observation continued.
The next morning, the Tarnished ventured back into the depths of the Weeping Peninsula, traversing the guidance of Grace with ease unmatched by even the most skilled Finger Maidens.
The more he immersed himself in Grace, the greater his capabilities grew.
This time, he arrived at an old cabin where Irina and Edgar awaited him. In recent days, they had made the place remarkably livable; the cabin now looked cozy and well-maintained, fit for living.
Surprisingly, they hadn’t moved elsewhere. The cabin seemed to meet their basic needs, and its location—relatively close to nearby settlements—was convenient.
No matter how dire the state of the Lands Between, people always found a way to survive. They had no other choice.
“Noble Tarnished,” Edgar greeted him, shaking his hand. “What brings you back so soon? Do you require my aid?”
Irina peeked out from behind the cabin at the sound of his voice, fully healed except for her sight.
“Konstantin?”
The Tarnished smiled.
“I invited you to Stormveil Castle. My offer still stands.”
Edgar’s expression froze.
“I… I don’t quite understand…”
“It’s free now.”
Konstantin shrugged, as though the matter were of little importance.
Neither Edgar nor Irina could believe what they had just heard.
“Y-you mean Lord Godrick…”
“First try,” Konstantin said with a calm nod. “Though, in a sense, you’re right. I do need your help.”
“I… I’m listening…”
The Lands Between, shattered as they were, weren’t accustomed to such swift change. Edgar struggled to process the idea that the fearsome demigod, wielder of a Great Rune, to whom he had served out of obligation, had simply fallen.
Meanwhile, the Tarnished himself, who had evidently played a major role in Godrick’s downfall, acted as though he had merely defeated a lowly local undead with a broken pitchfork.
“You’ll oversee Stormveil. Waifu-Warrior can’t manage it for long.”
Edgar’s mouth opened and closed as he glanced at the now-cozy cabin. He had been so certain they’d stay there for a long time.
“Oh… oh goddess… I… I accept your offer with what little honor I have left…”
Irina, who had been silent until now, perked up. She folded her hands in a prayer-like gesture, her blind gaze somehow locking directly onto the Tarnished’s gray eyes.
“What warrior?”
Konstantin froze.
A faint, wicked grin crept across Melina’s face.
‘Face the consequences of your actions, Tarnished soul.’
Whether Konstantin liked it or not, his world was growing increasingly complicated.
Recently, merchant Kale had noticed something strange—the Lands Between seemed unusually lively. In a world where the undead outnumbered the living, this was remarkable.
The fall of Castle Morne had been a major event, but the fall of Stormveil Castle, following so soon after, was even more significant. It changed the balance of power across the Lands Between.
And both events had involved a single Tarnished, seemingly moving through inertia, taking more rolls than elderly men took steps in a lifetime.
Now, the newly conscious Tarnished was slowly coming to terms with it all, much to the merchant’s amusement.
“I can’t help you, Konstantin of the Tarnished,” Kale said with a shrug. “You brought this upon yourself.”
The shirtless man slouched beside the fire, looking utterly dejected.
“I was just completing quests…”
Kale chuckled.
Who would’ve thought the newest Great Rune bearer would be like this? Still, he was far better than Godrick.
And perhaps better than the other demigods too.
The merchant squinted, recalling the names of the women the Tarnished had mentioned helping. Some even seemed vaguely familiar. It was surprising how honest and open the madman had been, but even if Kale had ill intentions, he wasn’t foolish.
Who in their right mind would attack someone who defeated a demigod single-handedly? Godrick the Grafted might have been a pathetic coward, but his title as a demigod couldn’t be denied.
It seemed the Tarnished didn’t care much for titles—or for the significance of holding a Great Rune.
But then, what else could you expect from a madman?
“It shows,” Kale chuckled softly. “I trade here often, so feel free to come by whenever you like. I don’t mind your company, Konstantin. I have a feeling you’ll have plenty more interesting stories to share in the future. You’re not giving up, are you?”
Konstantin frowned, straightening his posture. The aura of a powerful Soulslike player surged around him anew.
“There are far too few waifus in this cursed world to abandon them now.”
“That’s the spirit!” Kale clapped his hands in approval. He didn’t entirely understand what the Tarnished meant, but the general idea came across. “I’m sure this is only the beginning, heh-heh…”
For some reason, that laugh didn’t sit well with Konstantin. Perhaps it had something to do with the cold, unseen hand resting on his shoulder—a hand that belonged to an invisible waifu.
An invisible waifu who, as of late, had been appearing far too often.
Konstantin didn’t know whether to be pleased or unnerved by it.
Thanks to the danger-sense and awareness of life and death he had honed by tryharding through various areas, he knew Meli-Meli was nearby. But he liked less and less the way she seemed to eavesdrop on him so casually, without any shame.
If he didn’t start perceiving her—or them—in a spiritual form soon, it seemed the waifus would continue taking advantage of his blindness to their presence.
As it turned out, waifus weren’t just waifus—they were also women. That was… unexpected, to say the least.
Even so—even so—his resolve would not waver. No matter what obstacles stood in his way.
Bidding the merchant farewell, Konstantin mounted his spectral steed and galloped into the depths of the Weeping Peninsula. He stopped at the nearest Site of Grace, its light guiding him even through the darkest of nights.
Next to him, Melina appeared in a burst of starlight, immediately kneeling before him. For the first time in days, they had a chance to talk alone.
“Forgive me,” the girl said, bowing her head. “I… was testing you. I wanted to see if you would serve the Elden Ring faithfully. If you had the courage to endure such a long and arduous journey. Now I see my doubts were unfounded. Grace trusted you from the start. But I only pretended—until the very last moment.”
Her final words carried a palpable sense of guilt. Konstantin stared at her in surprise.
“It’s fine. I appreciate your faith in me. Thank you, Melina.”
The girl nodded briefly.
“I can offer you another service—to take you to the Roundtable Hold… It’s a place where—”
“—where Tarnished champions guided by Grace gather.”
Melina pressed her lips together.
He knew. Of course, he knew. He had just been waiting for her to say it.
Perhaps she was the only “Finger Maiden” who had forced her Tarnished to defeat the illusion of one of the most powerful demigods and the demigod it protected—claiming his Great Rune in the process—before granting him access to the Roundtable Hold.
And he had done it back-to-back.
“Forgive me.”
This time, she was apologizing not for the test itself, which should never have happened, but for taking it so far.
The man’s demeanor shifted suddenly—deadly serious. Not even the waifu’s apology could shake his spirit.
“I’ll forgive you if you let me fight the way I see fit, Meli-Meli.”
Melina’s cursed eye nearly opened in shock as she stared at him, a chill running down her spine.
And not without reason.
The tryhard, the Soulslike player, and the unapologetic waifu enthusiast was doing what every tryhard and Soulslike player did. And perhaps what every waifu enthusiast did, though that wasn’t certain.
Through pain and suffering, through the necessity of overcoming—or rolling through—his own limits, he was adapting to the world.
In a twisted sense, their true journey began from that moment on.
