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[Elden Ring] Chapter 33
🕑 Added 2025-01-22 19:45:30 +0000 UTCIf anyone least expected a visit from Melina, the spectral attendant of the Fingers, it was Iji, the loyal counselor and servant of Lady Ranni.
In the Lands Between, legends had long circulated about the mysterious spectral attendant, riding a ghostly steed in search of a Tarnished worthy of becoming the next Elden Lord. Iji, having lived through countless eras, knew more about these tales than most.
He knew of the bodiless, long-forgotten daughter of a Goddess, wandering in search of her chosen one.
It seemed she had found her candidate.
“I never thought you’d reveal yourself to me, Melina,” Iji said, setting aside the massive book he had been reading. “It is an honor.”
The giant closed the tome, one he had read countless times over the years. Unfortunately, it was one of the few books of appropriate size left to him; the last time he could place an order for books suited to his stature, Godwyn the Golden had still been fathering children.
Melina removed her hood, her serene gaze meeting the giant’s.
“I have a task for you,” she said plainly.
“As a servant of Lady Ranni?” Iji asked, his tone curious.
“For Konstantin, the Tarnished,” Melina replied, her voice growing subtly colder.
Iji chuckled softly, nodding. “For Konstantin, the Tarnished. Shouldn’t this request have gone to Hewg?”
It struck him as odd that the Tarnished hadn’t come himself. Clearly, this was Melina’s initiative. As a blacksmith of no small renown, Iji knew of Hewg, the master smith working in the Roundtable Hold. It would have made far more sense for Konstantin to approach him.
“Hewg is already crafting a weapon for him,” Melina explained, her voice calm. “I want you to create a temporary substitute.”
“That explains the club, then,” Iji said, clearing his throat awkwardly. He had been trying not to focus on the massive club resting in Melina’s deceptively delicate hands, but his curiosity had been gnawing at him.
Melina, however, seemed unconcerned with his reaction. Over time, the eccentricities of her chosen Tarnished had stretched the boundaries of what she found strange.
Why should only waifus influence the Tarnished, after all?
“This will be an interesting challenge,” Iji admitted, carefully taking the club in his enormous hand to inspect it. “Let’s see here…”
The old blacksmith froze mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing as recognition dawned.
“This is…”
“A branch from the Erdtree,” Melina replied evenly. “Only it can withstand his strength for now. I want you to make it sturdier—and deadlier.”
Iji’s gaze shifted, his expression becoming far more serious.
The club was a sacrilege. It wasn’t a matter of where she had acquired it. The true question was how she had dared to do so. To wield a branch of the sacred Erdtree in this way was to desecrate the very symbol of the Golden Order.
He knew how devoutly loyal one of the queen’s elder daughters was, yet here she was, handing over this blasphemous weapon with an unsettling calm.
Had her years of wandering truly changed her so much? Or was it that this Tarnished had somehow become more important to her than the doctrines of the Golden Order?
The thought was absurd. Yet Iji, having observed this Tarnished from afar, could admit—albeit reluctantly—that Konstantin was unlike any Tarnished he had ever seen. A man whose sheer absurdity seemed capable of bending the will of not only a daughter of a Goddess but perhaps even Lady Ranni herself.
It was unsettling.
Still, the giant counselor and smith could only trust in the decisions of his lady—and now, it seemed, the decisions of the Goddess’s daughter.
“Never would I have believed a man could bring together women with such… conflicting histories.”
For most families, fratricide would create irreparable divides. But the lineage of the Golden Order was far from ordinary. The queen’s children rarely felt warmth toward one another. They didn’t feud, no, but neither did they share the bonds of affection common to mortals. How could they, given who—and what—their mother was?
Iji sighed, scratching at his helm in thought.
His little mistress had grown into a full-fledged adult. He still remembered when she was just a child, playing in the garden with Blaidd, unaware of the weight of her future. It felt like only yesterday.
And yet… how many decades, centuries, had passed since then?
“Miracles…” he murmured, glancing back at Melina. “But why a club?”
Melina pressed her lips together. She had asked herself that same question. It seemed her Tarnished simply liked clubs.
His fists were already stronger than any club, yet he still picked up random sticks as if he were a bored child. Never mind that they broke after a few swings—he enjoyed them regardless.
She could only adapt to his peculiar tastes.
And craft him a temporary gift.
Seeing her expression, Iji nodded in understanding.
“Very well. I’ll need time.”
The giant lowered his gaze to the sacred branch, his brow furrowing. To imbue even a unique piece of wood like this with the properties of metal required an entirely different process.
This would indeed be a challenge.
“I’ll gather the stones,” Melina said. “You’ll receive the runes now, blacksmith.”
Iji looked at her thoughtfully.
“Rumors have been spreading lately about a Tarnished wandering the Scarlet Wastes.”
“They’re true,” Melina confirmed.
Indeed, rumors spread as quickly as wildfire.
“If you get the chance, please send my regards to Jerren. Whether through yourself or Konstantin, it doesn’t matter to me. The old knight hasn’t visited in ages.”
Iji chuckled, the sound deep and resonant. At times, he felt he might die of boredom.
Melina allowed herself a faint smile.
“I’ll see to it.”
And with that, she departed.
Her next stop was Stormveil Castle, where the demi-human seamster, Boc, resided.
While Konstantin explored the Scarlet Wastes, the castle slowly transformed. More knights bearing the Sun emblem appeared, the grounds grew cleaner, and repairs continued, despite the lingering curse that tainted the area.
Melina had been deeply impressed by Boc’s work. Beneath his modest, trembling demeanor lay the heart of a true master tailor. Unfortunately, her attempt to encourage him had backfired.
“My apologies, milady,” Boc stammered, clutching a piece of fabric in his hands.
It was no ordinary fabric. It gleamed faintly with golden light, a relic of the ancient demigods. Melina had scoured Leyndell to find such material, determined to clothe Konstantin in garments worthy of his status.
But Boc’s confidence was as fragile as ever.
“T-this is cloth of the demigods!” Boc cried, trembling. “Mother once said royal tailors could work with it in minutes, b-but I—”
Melina sighed.
The universe itself seemed to conspire against her efforts.
As she turned to leave, Boc called out hesitantly.
“M-milady… Lord Haight… he still hasn’t left. He asks for a warm bath every day…”
Melina narrowed her eyes dangerously.
“You’ll have to endure his presence a little longer,” she replied curtly. “Until Konstantin returns.”
“Of course! It is an honor to warm a noble’s bath, truly!” Boc exclaimed, though he looked like he might collapse from exhaustion. “I just thought… you should know.”
“Disgraceful,” Melina muttered under her breath.
The aristocracy had indeed fallen far.
Tracking down Konstantin in the Lands Between was never an easy task, even with her connection to Torrent. Melina had spent enough time with the spectral steed to know she could always locate him eventually.
But even then, there were limitations. She had to wander for a time, knowing only the general direction to travel, and along the way, there were always… obstacles.
Lately, however, the Scarlet Wastes had grown eerily quiet. Far too quiet.
‘’Farming’ has become terrifying,’ the thought crossed her mind again.
Perhaps one day, the term "farming" in the Lands Between would become synonymous with "genocide."
The Redmane Castle loomed before her. It had been many years since she last visited. The battle between Malenia and Radahn had devastated many beautiful places, and Redmane Castle was no exception. Once grand and reflective of a demigod’s immense power, it now stood as a shadow of its former self.
No, the entire continent was now but a shadow of what it once was.
Among the loyal servants who had survived the battle of their lords was the steadfast Castelan of the Castle, Jerren.
It was he who organized the Festival of Combat. Melina respected the old knight, who sought to grant his master the only release fitting for a true warrior—death in battle.
‘The festival hasn’t started yet,’ Melina thought, raising her gaze to the sky. The festival always began when the stars aligned. ‘So why do I feel like…’
She instinctively opened her cursed eye, realizing she had arrived just in time.
Her chosen one, not bothering to wait for the festival to begin, had already launched his assault on the castle (1). To her mild amusement, he had left an astonished Millicent standing on the bridge.
Riding Torrent—who seemed infuriatingly happy—Konstantin charged across the impassable bridge, dodging catapult fire with ease. It took him little time to reach the other side.
Melina allowed herself a small, proud smile.
Her old friend bore the title of the fastest steed in the Lands Between for a reason.
To her surprise, however, Konstantin didn’t fight the castle guards. He simply ignored them. Just as he ignored the castle’s locked gates. Instead, he patted Torrent on the mane, said something to him, and the steed, as if fueled by newfound motivation, leaped.
One jump led to another in midair, then another, and another.
Torrent quite literally soared over the walls, treating them as no obstacle at all.
Melina thought she saw Konstantin smile—broadly and with satisfaction—but only for a moment.(2) Lately, he had been showing more emotion than ever before.
At the very least, he had grown noticeably more… gentle.
Her cheeks flushed, and she decided it was best not to dwell on that.
Noticing that Millicent was accompanied by the illusion of a certain sorceress, Melina headed into the castle herself. What she found was a battle unlike any other.
The Castlan of Redmane Castle, Jerren—an old knight and Radahn’s most loyal retainer—stood clad in colorful, eccentric armor. His face was obscured by a pointed hood that, despite its odd appearance, didn’t seem to hinder his vision.
The two men—Konstantin and Jerren—stood surrounded by knights who had parted to witness their duel.
Anyone watching could see that Jerren was a formidable and experienced knight. His movements were quick and precise, and he wielded both blade and staff with skill. The latter summoned spells faster than most sorcerers, leaving Konstantin with far less room to maneuver.
Spell-slinging swordsmen were, without question, deeply annoying opponents.
Yet Jerren’s movements weren’t without a peculiar theatricality. It was as though he were performing for an audience, savoring the attention. He sought to turn their duel into a spectacle, and Konstantin didn’t oppose him. Instead, he fully adapted to Jerren’s style, even mirroring the old knight’s techniques.
When Jerren cast spells at him, Konstantin responded with identical spells. When Jerren sent a stream of flames toward him, Konstantin retaliated with a more potent and unforgiving torrent of fire.
And Jerren loved it.
The knight understood that Konstantin could end the fight in an instant if he so desired. Yet he chose not to, engaging the Warden in a battle that had the surrounding crowd utterly enraptured.
“Enough.”
Jerren abruptly halted, and Konstantin’s massive greatsword stopped just short of taking the old knight’s head. Without a flicker of emotion, Konstantin lowered his weapon and stepped back.
He glanced around thoughtfully.
“Did I come too early?”
‘Is he joking?’ Melina thought, stunned.
Konstantin cast her a glance, a faint smile gracing his lips. The spectral maiden shivered.
Jerren, meanwhile, laughed heartily.
“Do you think we greet festival participants with catapults and locked gates, Tarnished?”
Konstantin shrugged.
“A preliminary selection process. Not just anyone can defeat a demigod.”
The Warden’s laughter grew louder.
“Yes! Yes, you’re absolutely right! Welcome to the refuge for the vanquished,(3) Tarnished!”
“Konstantin.”
“The Konstantin? The Tarnished? That explains much!”
Konstantin sighed, prompting another laugh from Jerren.
Melina had often worried about Konstantin’s position should he become Elden Lord. She feared he might be reduced to a tool of the Queen, discarded the moment his usefulness ended.
The tale of the first Elden Lord was all too telling. He had been the perfect conqueror, but not a ruler. In the short term, Melina suspected her mother would relish having someone capable of defeating even demigods, but what then? Would the Queen truly allow someone so dangerous to remain by her side?
It seemed her fears were unfounded. Konstantin’s strength was growing, but so too was his character. Where once she had been apprehensive, she now felt only pride and warmth.
The festival was nearly upon them.
Despite its grand name, the "Festival of Combat" didn’t draw many participants. This wasn’t just because there were few warriors in the Lands Between strong enough to face Radahn, but also because this wasn’t the first festival.
No one could say how many times Jerren had organized it, always with the same result.
As a consequence, those who dared come were either incredibly strong, hopelessly insane…
Or complete fools.
“Buddy!” Patches’ face contorted in dismay. “Didn’t expect to see you here! What a delight!”
‘Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut?!’ the rogue thought, his eyes darting around nervously.
The last thing he wanted was to run into the half-naked lunatic again. He had told him so! So why were they meeting again?!
The former bandit forced a laugh, patting Konstantin on the shoulder and praying the man didn’t remember his previous words.
Konstantin, for his part, had genuinely doubted until the very end that he would see him here.(4)
Fortunately, the sight of an actual friend quickly eased his mind. A friend who had helped him embrace the philosophy of casual hardcore.
“Can you believe it!” exclaimed Alexander, the living jar, clenching his clay fists. “I get to face the greatest hero of the Shattering, a demigod in the flesh… I was so hoping to meet you here, Konstantin!”
His voice remained as refined as ever.
Konstantin brushed off Patches’ hand with a smile.
“I’m glad to see you too.”
The living jar tilted slightly in acknowledgment.
“To be honest, I’m nervous. Radahn has a fearsome reputation.”
“He’s just a true souls-like player,” Konstantin replied calmly.
How many times had Radahn tried? He even embraced casual mechanics to keep going, proving himself the ultimate sweaty souls-like warrior.
Strangely enough, Kosta had a positive impression of Radahn.
“Exactly!” Alexander exclaimed, not quite understanding but agreeing nonetheless. “But fear only convinces me further that this trial is worth enduring!”
“Absolutely, my friend!” Patches chimed in with forced enthusiasm.
Alexander glanced uneasily at the bald rogue.
“Do you know him, Konstantin?”
“He’s renowned in certain circles,” Kosta replied calmly.
“Of course!” the rogue laughed proudly, rubbing his bald head. “Who hasn’t heard of Patches the Untethered?”
“Never heard of him,” Alexander admitted honestly.
“You didn’t have to specify that, you know?” Patches raised an eyebrow. “Were you never taught tact, you oversized clump of clay—”
Patches froze mid-sentence as an impossibly strong hand clamped down on his bald head. The pressure made it feel as though his skull might be crushed like a watermelon. The rogue chuckled awkwardly, shifting his gaze to Kosta.
“I-I was just joking, you know…”
Nearby, Millicent stood slightly apart, gazing around with childlike wonder. The sky glittered with bright stars, she was surrounded by warriors so unique they felt otherworldly, and her heart raced with excitement.
A silent warrior in peculiar, rounded armor and a sharp hat stood a short distance away. Beside him was another man, carrying an enormous hammer on his back. Despite his unusual weapon choice, he radiated a surprisingly friendly aura. That was more than could be said for another participant further down the line—a swordsman from the Land of Reeds.
The masked warrior bore a visage resembling an unseen beast, unsettling but oddly captivating. Millicent thought she heard him call himself a “Bloody Finger.”
Standing further away was an actual Finger Maiden. Dressed in concealing robes and making no effort to interact, she was vastly different from the companion following Millicent’s benefactor. Yet, for some reason, this maiden seemed… strange.
No, that wasn’t it. Of course, Finger Maidens weren’t ordinary by any measure, but this one…
She resembled some kind of… doll? No matter. (5)
And then there was the peculiar bald rogue and the towering, living jar who seemed to be on friendly terms with her benefactor.
‘I never thought I’d have the chance to be part of something like this,’ Millicent’s heart beat faster.
She vaguely recalled a dear person telling her tales of lords who fought alongside loyal warrior maidens.
The more she reflected on her journeys with Kosta, eradicating the creatures afflicted by rot, the more she saw echoes of those stories.
Millicent no longer wanted to leave the man who could destroy more monsters in a single day than she had in months of hunting.
She wanted to watch Konstantin’s rolls and the rare parries with his shield until her very last breath.
“How peculiar… Your expression doesn’t match the occasion.”
The gentle, resonant voice startled Millicent, making her turn her head toward her shoulder. A faintly visible figure of a diminutive sorceress appeared there, wearing a crown resembling the heads of sorcerers.
Noticing how flustered the otherwise composed warrior maiden seemed, the sorceress giggled playfully.
Unfortunately, her mood was far from joyful.
Selen turned her gaze toward the festival’s organizer and the one who had once vowed to claim her life. The doom that would seek her out once fate began to stir.
The show was about to start, and everyone knew it: the festival participants, the illusion-disguised sorceress, Melina, and even she who was supposed to rest.
Bodiless, lacking even the semblance of a spectral form, Ranni couldn’t ignore what was about to unfold, observing from the edges of her consciousness.
“Champions, welcome!” Jerren’s voice rang out. “The stars have aligned! The festival is nigh! General Radahn, mightiest demigod of the Shattering, awaits you! Champions, prepare for battle! Defeat the General, claim glory, and grab that Great Rune! A celebration of war! The Radahn Festival! Are you good and prepared, young chum? The festival begins!”
The scattered participants let out fierce war cries.
Kosta, however, remained silent.
He was thinking about something else entirely.
‘Would he postpone the festival if I told him ‘Not now’?’ (6)
Kosta allowed himself the faintest smile, brushing aside the idle thought.
Just another unheard joke.
_______________________________________
(1) Redmane Castle can be accessed via two routes: the bridge or a portal. Until a specific point in the game, no one is waiting to welcome the player with open arms.
(2) In the game, Torrent can perform no more than two jumps in midair.
(3) Jerren genuinely refers to the castle as “a refuge of the defeated,” clearly not considering Radahn the victor in his battle with Malenia.
(4) Patches can be summoned as an ally to fight Radahn, provided the player hasn’t killed him earlier. However, with one small catch: after the first hit, Patches will flee.
(5) Seluvis sells “puppets” as part of his questline. One of them is a Finger Maiden participating in the festival.
(6) To start the fight with Radahn, the player must speak to Jerren and choose the corresponding option. If there are unresolved matters, the player can opt to delay the battle.
