Trina said nothing. She turned slightly to the side, her silver hair falling softly as a braid slipped down from her shoulder.
She gazed quietly into the distance, her eyes filled with a deep calm and steady focus.
That gaze seemed able to pierce straight through the walls, fixing on a figure somewhere within Elphael. No one knew who she was watching, or what thoughts occupied her mind.
Perhaps she felt compassion for the soldiers. Perhaps she held a special affection for that Golden Needle Knight.
Or perhaps her sight had already moved beyond this Haligtree, extending toward every living being in the Lands Between.
The Cleanrot Knight Captain stood silently beside her, eyes slightly narrowed as she sank into thought.
Looking at the face she saw day after day, she was suddenly reminded of another Highness.
That Highness, relying on Nolan's strength, was suppressing the corruption within her body. Now she slept like a flower in full bloom, sunk in deep repose, with no telling when she might awaken again.
Her thoughts were quickly interrupted as the Saintess turned her gentle gaze back toward her.
"Finlay, do you still accompany Nolan during his training? How has he been doing lately?" Trina lifted her head and asked softly.
Today, Her Highness no longer carried the strange, captivating aura that once belonged to Miquella, yet that same gentle warmth remained.
The Cleanrot Knight Captain came back to herself at once. She drew in her wandering thoughts and looked toward the Saintess. Beneath her mask, her brows knit tightly as she considered the question with care.
"Knight Nolan's progress over the past few months has been extremely clear. It feels like more growth than he achieved in the last twenty years combined. He's already comparable to the Haligtree Knights."
Finlay spoke slowly. Only as she said it aloud did she truly realize just how far that brat had come, and her voice carried an unmistakable note of approval.
She felt her assessment was fair, nodding as she spoke, as though to give her words greater conviction.
Trina nodded as well, then listened as Finlay went on to describe the details of last night's battle.
Although the soldiers helped when the final Kindred of Rot was slain, the other two were, without question, dealt with by Nolan alone.
"In that fight, did Karo really not help at all?" Trina asked, unable to stop herself.
It felt as though a child she had raised had suddenly grown up overnight, and an inexplicable sense of comfort rose in her heart.
Finlay gave a light shake of her head, carefully putting away the treasure bestowed by Her Highness. From behind her mask came a firm reply.
"I questioned every soldier. Karo was ambushed before the battle began and fell into the sea. He absolutely couldn't have provided any assistance."
"It seems he truly has changed. Still, I can say for certain that he is the same knight of mine."
Trina lay back on the soft bed, smiling gently.
"I'm happy to see him grow through his own efforts. It's just a shame…"
"A shame?" Finlay leaned forward without realizing it. She could sense that Her Highness was about to speak of something important, something tied to her friend.
The Saintess turned her gaze once more toward the distance, toward the majestic city looming just beyond the wall.
"It's just that all of this came too late. There isn't much time left, my lord!"
...
Nolan had no idea that his recent performance had already caught the Saintess's attention, or that she had even held a kind of distant, one-sided conversation about him.
He had been through far too many brutal battles and had seen all kinds of monsters and abominations. Skirmishes like these were hardly enough to stir his emotions.
Besides, fame and accolades meant nothing to him. It was the same in Dark Souls as it was in Elden Ring. Power was the only true foundation.
One became a Lord because one possessed power, not the other way around.
"My level keeps going up. My physical abilities should be on par with an ordinary Haligtree Knight now. But the gains are getting smaller. Probably because the soul power of these little bugs is just too weak."
Even without a visible status panel, Nolan could tell from experience that his strength increased after every kill.
It worked much like in the game. The higher the Tarnished's level, the more Runes were needed to advance.
Normally, stronger enemies yielded more Runes, but the Kindred of Rot and their larvae encountered near the Haligtree were clearly on the weaker end.
He walked along the smooth stone path, lost in thought. Around him were the soldiers who had returned together last night, gathered in a lively group, insisting on dragging the Golden Needle Knight along to the tavern.
Nolan didn't refuse. After the fierce battle the night before, the Empyrean Highness had granted everyone leave. Taking the day to relax was perfectly reasonable.
Besides, the Haligtree's liquor really was excellent. He liked it a great deal.
With that thought, Nolan casually crushed a Rune in his hand.
This had become a habit over the past few months. Aside from what he kept for daily expenses, he crushed all surplus Runes.
After repeated attempts, he discovered that he could also grow stronger through Runes. They were fragments of souls, holding only a tiny amount of power, but even so, it was better than nothing.
Fortunately, he had accumulated some savings over the years. A sufficient quantity had finally brought about a small qualitative change.
Otherwise, relying only on the few Kindred of Rot larvae he had slain recently would never have been enough to raise him to the level where he could confront two Kindred of Rot head-on at the same time.
Without realizing it, Nolan arrived at the spot where he had last shared drinks with his squad. His steps slowed slightly as he glanced to the side.
Leaning against the wall was a familiar figure: Karl, the squad's sword-and-shield fighter.
After receiving the red medicine bestowed by Miquella, the leg that had once been severed had grown back. He stood quietly in the corner, eyes curved in a faint smile as he stared at the ground, waiting in silence.
Among the comrades who had fought together the previous night, only Enrique was nowhere to be seen. Nolan walked over slowly, offering no words of consolation. Nor was there much sorrow visible on anyone's face.
Returning to the Erdtree was not death, but the highest honor. At least, that was how life in the Lands Between now understood it.
Enrique wasn't dead. He had merely gone to receive the Eternal Queen's reward. They were still here only because their time had not yet come.
"Today's a good day. We're still here, and Enrique, along with everyone else, has earned their own honor. We have to drink properly to that."
A cheerful voice sounded beside him. Nolan turned his head and saw the blonde female archer, unusually dressed in a long gown, striding over and throwing an arm around his shoulder.
He didn't quite know what to say.
He remembered how, in his previous life, some people speculated that souls returning to the Erdtree might go to a separate soul realm, or perhaps be stripped of their power and reincarnated in the Lands Between.
Nolan didn't know which theory was correct, or whether both were wrong. Either way, to the living, those who returned to the Erdtree seemed little different from the dead.
Of course, everyone else clearly didn't see it that way.
According to ancient heroes, in distant ages, death was an unimaginably painful ordeal.
When people of the Lands Between died, giant birds would burn their flesh with spirit flames, melting it into sludge, while the gods used pitch-black fire to grant the dead eternal sleep.
Compared to that, returning to the Erdtree was gentle by contrast, and it naturally became the end that heroes longed for.
Customs differed from place to place, and Nolan could understand that. No matter what, it was still better than having someone's legs broken and then being thrown into a fire to burn to death.
The worst part was that the burning wouldn't even finish quickly. It could last for who knew how many years, until nothing but ash remained.
Nolan had endured that process three full times. The pain searing through the soul was unforgettable. If his soul hadn't been special, he would have gone mad long ago.
Of course, it wasn't his legs that had been broken. He had sat in the fire himself.
The one whose legs were broken was named Ludleth.