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[Elden Ring: My Ending] Chapter 29
🕑 Added 2025-01-05 02:08:11 +0000 UTCAs horrifying as it might sound to any self-respecting (and, at times, deeply self-loathing) Soulslike player, farming spots were becoming fewer and farther between.
At some point, almost every player realizes that leveling up further becomes difficult. The reasons vary: losing hundreds of thousands, even millions of runes to foolish deaths, or having a poorly optimized build that makes it impossible to survive in areas rich with potential runes due to overly strong enemies.
Kosta, however, faced a different problem: the unexpected increase in untouchable allies made farming them impossible, and other areas no longer offered runes.
The number of runes earned depended entirely on the strength of enemies. This let Kosta skyrocket through levels early on but now severely slowed his progression.
Under normal circumstances, he might have welcomed the challenge, but when waifu quests were waiting and the happiness of unfortunate waifus depended on his strength, he had to prioritize. Leveling or waifus?
As you might have guessed, the casual-hardcore player chose waifus from the start. Challenges, he later realized, could be arranged at any level.
The moral-casual questions resolved long ago, a practical dilemma remained: given the circumstances, where could he farm?
Considering Konstantin’s destination, the answer was obvious.
The Scarlet Wasteland became his salvation. Overrun by creatures afflicted with rot—feral, monstrous, and not remotely susceptible to negotiation—the area offered Kosta a carte blanche for much-desired farming.
Normally, anyone foolish enough to enter this region, a horrifying reminder of the clash between two mighty demigods, would tread carefully. Tarnished or commonfolk (or not-so-commonfolk) alike would move in groups, avoid direct confrontations, and occasionally fall victim to the pervasive rot, joining the ranks of the monsters themselves.
Unfortunately, no one had bothered to tell Kosta this.
Melina and Sellen hadn’t seen the Tarnished this happy and exuberant in ages. Where normal people would run screaming from the hordes of rot-afflicted giant crows, decaying dogs, bears, trolls, and winged dragons that swarmed the Scarlet Wasteland, Kosta joyfully sprinted toward them, stripping off his armor as he went.
Needless to say, it wasn’t long before the true predator was the half-naked psychopath, not the rot-infested beasts.
The waifus, well acquainted with their Tarnished, didn’t try to stop him. Rightfully so—runes poured to him like a river. His body visibly transformed, overflowing with power.
The runes came so quickly and in such abundance that veins on Kosta’s body occasionally shimmered with gold, and his eyes began to glow—not with the power of the runes, but with the tiny sun within him. A sun warm toward his waifus yet insatiably greedy.
Many might dislike farming, but denying its usefulness was foolish.
“Konstantin, you must be careful,” Melina said sharply. “This land is tainted. If you’re not cautious, the rot will infect you.”
Though bothered by how eagerly her chosen one indulged the exiled sorceress’s flirtations, she still worried for him, believing his recklessness excessive.
Of course, her Tarnished had a response.
“Debuffs wear off,” Konstantin said calmly.
Melina blinked.
“How fascinating...” Sellen’s illusion murmured.
There was no point in her joining him physically in such a dangerous place; it would only create complications. Having gained her freedom, she had become more independent, supporting Konstantin through an illusion while settling elsewhere.
Kosta’s claim was quickly proven right. Even the blood of the monsters, with which the half-naked psychopath began bathing himself, was tainted with rot, seeping toward him. Unfortunately for the rot—like all filth—it slid off his body.
Perhaps slower than normal dirt, but still, it left him entirely.
What struck fear into even demigods was to Konstantin a mere temporary “debuff,” barely worth noting.
It was both terrifying and awe-inspiring. At times, Konstantin, a “mere” Tarnished, resembled a demigod far more than the actual demigods, thanks to his unique body.
Rumors spread quickly across the Scarlet Wasteland. You’d think rumors wouldn’t travel in such a desolate region, but never underestimate Soulslike logic.
In these worlds, few can simply die mercifully. That would be far too easy.
Hardly surprising in a world where even the concept of death had ceased to exist.
“Konstantin of the Tarnished. I… have heard of you. Were you… searching for me?”
A hoarse voice, barely human. It was remarkable the owner, covered in rot miasma, retained even a sliver of sanity—a true feat.
Knowing how unfairly positioned he was compared to his opponent (with debuffs sliding off him, conscious or not), Konstantin bowed respectfully to the commander.
“Yes.”
Though he knew the general direction, Kosta never hesitated to ask passing creatures—be they bears or maddened knights—if the optional boss was nearby.
Optional, of course, only if you were a heretic who didn’t want to help one of the most miserable waifus in the Lands Between.
Then again, given the genre, they were all miserable in their own ways.
“For… farming?”
Melina covered her open eye with a hand. Sellen giggled mischievously.
The Scarlet Wasteland had learned the horrifying meaning of the word “farming” in record time. Konstantin unabashedly repeated it to every creature he encountered, spreading its meaning until all—from sentient beings to mindless monsters—understood its terrifying implications.
Soulslike worlds, lacking the Internet, still exchanged information at alarming speeds. Kosta couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.
“Bosses aren’t usually for farming,” Kosta said evenly. “I need the needle of pure gold, Commander O’Neil.”
The man wasn’t surprised by the boss’s talkativeness, though he hadn’t expected the commander to retain so much of his mind.
No one knew how long O’Neil had wandered the Wasteland or how many lives he’d claimed. Most who entered prayed not to encounter him—or any of the other monsters, for that matter.
“The needle?” the rot-ridden commander frowned. “The needle… Yes… I understand. You’ll… get it if you defeat me…”
Though O’Neil had lost most of his mind, unlike the unfortunate General Radahn, he retained a sliver of consciousness.
And yet, something gnawed at the edge of his awareness. But what?
The commander squinted, trying to focus on the small figure before him. Short, though built like a flawless sculpture, the Tarnished stood as a strange white blot against the sea of crimson rot. The rot seemed to avoid him—fearful, hateful.
But that wasn’t what unsettled O’Neil. Or at least, not entirely.
The realization came too late.
“Why… why are you naked?”
The absurdly calm Tarnished wore nothing but a loincloth.
Hearing her chosen one’s opponent pose the question, Melina averted her gaze.
If the descendants of this land’s survivors ever told tales of the Tarnished, she desperately hoped this peculiar quirk would be forgotten forever.
How naive of her.
"The debuff for rot doesn’t seem to come off my clothes," Kosta shrugged, genuinely surprised by the unexpected turn of events. "And I really don’t want to deal with laundry later."
For some reason, the commander who wandered through these rotted lands—a figure whose precise title the lore never clarifies (1) —was overcome with an unexpected burst of mirth. So strong was this feeling that the commander, long estranged from joy, burst into loud laughter. It was a hoarse sound, filled with pain and madness.
He had dreamed of meeting his end in battle, as any true warrior should. But that dream had been denied. Instead, he was rotting alive, slowly succumbing to madness with each passing moment. The remnants of O’Neil’s sanity were held together solely by willpower, though he felt he could surrender at any time.
He couldn’t even leave the wasteland, bound by the rot. His only hope was that one day a warrior might come to grant him even a semblance of release.
Now, such a warrior had indeed appeared. Half-naked, stripping down in a region where the very air carried decay, simply because his clothes were getting dirty—without the slightest hint of concern. An extinguished soul, whose very presence the rot itself seemed to fear.
The commander’s laughter morphed into a battle cry. Tightening his grip on his halberd, he began to swing it, summoning a storm of rot-filled miasma around him.
Responding to the call of his cry, spirits began to gather, materializing out of the ether.
He wanted to fall surrounded by those who had stayed with him even after their bodies had long since perished. Some might have called him a coward; others might have dismissed him as a casual. But O’Neil didn’t care. The last thing bosses in Soulslikes worry about is the well-being of the unlucky souls sent to defeat them.
Konstantin remained completely unmoved, as though he had been expecting this. A sword appeared in his hand.
"I won’t break your poise. I won’t summon anyone, nor will I use any ranged attacks—no daggers, arrows, bombs, or magic."
"...but I wanted to join the fight…"
Kosta pretended not to hear Latanna’s faint, almost inaudible grumble.
She’d get her chance to hunt, just not in this battle.
The commander’s eyes widened at the Extinguished One’s indifferent words, nearly losing his balance just from the sheer audacity of them.
This wasn’t just disrespect. It was something far worse.
Konstantin, deep in thought, added:
"No rolling, either. I’ll only walk forward and backward with backward dodges. If I break the challenge, I’ll concede defeat."
The commander roared madly at Konstantin’s words, swinging his halberd. At his invisible command, spectral archers unleashed a volley of arrows toward the man.
To the cursed horror of rot, O’Neil, the man did indeed only perform a single dodge—so fluid and swift that not a single arrow, no matter how fast, could reach him.
Mockingly, the man spun in place, pulling out a bow for a moment as if taking aim in the opposite direction.
"Paying homage to the sweatiest," (2) Kosta muttered, as if that explained anything.
Then, turning their duel into an even greater farce, he began dodging toward them. The most horrifying part was that the Tarnished One’s backward dodges were as fast as the sprint of a trained warrior. Trained—and terrifyingly dangerous.
Closing the distance almost instantly, the man decapitated two archers in the blink of an eye. A wail rose, and the rot-filled miasma thickened. The commander charged at the deranged Tarnished.
The commander’s halberd swept through the air, raising a crimson cloud of rot toward the Tarnished One. But still mocking him, the half-naked Tarnished dodged backward. The cursed commander of the fallen army, sinking further into madness, tried to close the gap but failed. Kosta was faster.
Weaving between spectral arrows and avoiding the halberd’s deadly sweep, the man slipped past and impaled the roaring commander.
That was only the beginning.
Ignoring his wounds as though they didn’t exist, the rot-afflicted commander raised his halberd again, unleashing an even denser cloud of miasma.
And then, everything repeated.
It didn’t take O’Neil long to realize a simple, humiliating, yet terrifying truth: the Tarnished One’s self-imposed limitations weren’t meant to demean him. On the contrary, they were meant to make the duel fairer.
Completely unflinching and composed, the Tarnished turned absurd, ridiculous backward dodges into a graceful dance that neither the archers nor the halberd could disrupt.
The spectral archers fell first. No matter how hard the commander tried to protect his servants or keep the madman at bay, it was clear who truly controlled the fight.
Soon, they were alone. The spirits had fallen.
O’Neil gripped his halberd tightly, feeling his heart race. He was exhausted, gasping for air. His entire body was riddled with wounds that would have killed most creatures in the Lands Between long ago.
Yet the half-naked madman—whose very existence was absurd and devoid of meaning—remained unscathed. Not a single wound. Not even a scratch.
By now, he should have been consumed by the miasma of rot. He should have succumbed to the curse, turning into a monster like the long-fallen demigods.
"How... why..."
Strangely enough, the man understood the question perfectly.
"I just don’t let the status bar fill up," Konstantin replied calmly.
O’Neil laughed again, spitting out rotten blood.
He had thought himself a monster, believed nothing could be more horrifying than the moment when a cursed demigoddess let the rot consume her, dooming the entire region and condemning her opponent to a fate so terrible that even the most agonizing, humiliating death would have been a blessing.
But it turned out the true horror had a different face. A face that didn’t want to dirty its clothes.
Then again, how many fools had laughed at the sight of General Radahn, refusing to part with his long-time friend? How many were still laughing?
O’Neil felt an unexpected sense of peace. A feeling of impending rest. Reaching into his clothes, he pulled out a broken needle.
"It’s… broken…"
His mind was clearer than ever. Yet he could feel the rot spreading rapidly within him, leaving no chance of survival.
"It’s part of the quest."
Of course, the commander didn’t understand the man’s answer at all. But his calmness made O’Neil think. Reaching a decision, he tossed the two pieces of the broken needle to the Tarnished, who caught them effortlessly.
"I... admit defeat... Tarnished Soul..."
"Alright."
That simple, nonchalant reply made O’Neil cough. Perhaps it was his wounds, but who could say for sure?
"Finish it..."
The commander’s consciousness was completely consumed by madness. The rot took full control, its miasma spreading in all directions like living filth.
Konstantin, understanding that the challenge could now be considered complete, lifted all his self-imposed restrictions. The veins in his arm glowed with light, feeding into the trembling hunk of metal in his grip.
Rushing forward without fear of the all-encompassing rot, the man dove headfirst into it.
A swing of the halberd.
A roll.
A strike.
A flash.
_________________________________________
When the Tarnished told Melina he wanted to find a merchant to restock his arrows, she didn’t believe him at first. Even Sellen, who usually embraced his every word with amused curiosity, raised an eyebrow.
Merchants. Here. They were literally in the equivalent of hell! Though neither of the women had ever heard of hell, if someone described it to them, they would have immediately compared it to the Scarlet Wasteland.
A region bathed entirely in red. Devoid of life, twisted beyond recognition. Overrun by creatures so terrifying that even the bravest knights would turn and flee rather than subject themselves to the soul-eroding rot.
Merchants? Here? The very idea was absurd!
That’s what they thought—until the Tarnished stumbled upon a merchant calmly resting by a fire, completely unbothered by his surroundings.
“N-no way…” Melina whispered.
Sellen rubbed her illusory eyes, convinced she was seeing some elaborate illusion.
But the truth was far worse.
“You’re the first Tarnished to react so casually to me,” the merchant noted with an air of nonchalance.
“After seeing a merchant in the Ainsel River, nothing surprises me anymore, (3)” Konstantin replied, just as calmly.
‘AINS- WHAT?’
The question, filled with genuine horror, seemed to echo simultaneously in the minds of both Sellen and Melina. They stared blankly into the void.
The merchant, however, merely chuckled proudly at Konstantin’s comment.
“Our brethren are everywhere, Tarnished one.”
“Kale mentioned that.”
“So, you know Kale?” The merchant’s demeanor warmed even more. “Small world, Tarnished one.”
“Konstantin.”
“Konstantin the Tarnished!” the merchant exclaimed. “Yes, yes, I’ve heard the name… Are you here to try your luck at the festival?”
“That’s part of it.”
“Business has been booming lately,” the merchant said with a satisfied squint. The mule behind him let out a mournful whine, having long lost faith… in everything. “Buying or selling?”
The trade went off without a hitch. Kosta had gotten used to farming birds with his bow—it didn’t consume much energy, and what little it did was easily replenished over time.
Soon, the contented Tarnished bid the merchant farewell and resumed his journey.
“What… what was that?”
Melina was so dumbfounded that any trace of irritation evaporated from her voice. Whatever differences she might have had with Sellen, who had gained a peculiar sort of favor from the Tarnished, could wait.
THEY COULD DEFINITELY WAIT!
“A merchant,” Kosta replied, utterly indifferent.
“A malevolent entity disguised as a merchant,” Sellen muttered suspiciously.
There had to be a rational explanation.
“Lack of competition. Stable climate,” the Tarnished said nonchalantly.
That explanation made no sense!!!
…then again, if the Tarnished really had encountered a merchant in the Ainsel River…
No, no, this was…
They could grow accustomed to Konstantin’s eccentricities. But a merchant?
That merchant was beyond good and evil.
Their journey continued until they came across an old, unremarkable shack. Remarkably well-kept for the surrounding devastation, it still barely caught any attention.
It might have gone unnoticed—if not for the elderly man sitting in a worn chair at the shack’s entrance, clad in red robes.
The old man, noticing the approach of the half-naked Tarnished, showed no sign of surprise. He merely smiled.
Suspicious. The old man was, at the very least, suspicious. And undoubtedly dangerous.
Unfortunately for him, such suspicions were useless against Kosta, who had been specifically seeking him out.
“Oh, a pleasure to see you. a pleasure indeed.,” the old man said, smiling even wider. “I am Gowry. A great sage.”
Konstantin stopped in front of Gowry, glancing around. He seemed to be expecting something, but…
He didn’t see it.
“Where’s the dog?” he asked. (4)
Gowry’s smile froze.
“What?”
The Festival of Combat was drawing near.
_____________________________________________
(1) There’s significant debate online about which army O’Neil belonged to—Malenia’s or Radahn’s. Additionally, it’s unclear where he got the needle. If we assume he served Malenia, he might have been issued one as a commander, though a thousand other explanations could be concocted.
(2) Without using the movement stick, turning in the desired direction requires certain tricks. One such trick involves aiming with a bow.
(3) Merchants can be found everywhere. Whether it’s the Siofra River in some ancient cave where the last customer came during the dawn of humanity, or the Ainsel River, there’s always a non-zero chance of encountering a merchant resting just around the corner.
(4) Near Gowry’s shack, there’s always an unfriendly dog waiting for the player. Unlike minibosses and bosses, it respawns every time the world is reset.
