The Erdtree's brilliant radiance drifted down like a veil of gauze, bathing the vast land in gold, as though the entire realm had been wrapped in a resplendent robe.
Far in the distance, towering mountain ranges pierced the sky, their jagged cliffs rising like natural ramparts between heaven and earth. Mists coiled around the peaks, half-concealing them. Within the storm, a colossal bridge could just be made out, stretching across the sky to link the mountains on either side.
Near the bridge stood a magnificent fortress, unshaken and imposing, its walls thrusting into the clouds, its towers arranged in orderly tiers.
Across the endless sweep of emerald grassland, a quiet village rested like a jewel set in the earth.
The returned Graceless One leaned back against a tree. Nolan had already gathered a rough understanding of the situation from the villagers.
This was Limgrave, south of the Lands Between. To the north lay Liurnia of the Lakes, jointly ruled by Caria and the Academy of Magic. To the east was Caelid, where the Starscourge General's army was stationed.
As for the Haligtree, it stood even farther north. Between it and Liurnia of the Lakes, beyond the vast sea, lay the Altus Plateau and the Consecrated Snowfield. The Lord and the Saintess were separated by an immense distance.
And at present, the Lands Between were anything but peaceful.
Leyndell, at the heart of the realm, was actively preparing for war. Its intentions were clear. It was almost certainly readying an expedition to Mt. Gelmir.
Rykard's territory lay right on the Morgott family's doorstep. Until he was crushed, the Royal Capital could not extend its reach outward.
For now, the Haligtree, Liurnia of the Lakes, and Caelid remained relatively calm.
Nolan had been unable to extract any further useful information from the villagers.
As for Limgrave, where they now stood, it was mired in a brutal civil war.
The fighting had dragged on without end, leaving the common people destitute and barely able to survive.
The war was being fought between two sides.
On one side stood the Golden Lineage, led by Godrick.
On the other was a rebel alliance formed by a great lordly house that had once taken part in the Siege of Leyndell, joined by ten lesser lords.
As for what had sparked the conflict, the villagers offered two entirely different accounts.
One claimed that Lord Godrick had issued a public declaration denouncing traitors, accusing eleven noble houses of following Godefroy in attacking the Royal Capital in an attempt at rebellion. He had therefore raised his banners to suppress them.
The other version held that the eleven houses accused Godrick of secretly sending assassins to murder their patriarchs. Enraged, they had risen in arms to seek justice and resist the Golden Lineage's brutal rule.
Faced with such conflicting stories, the villagers had no way to tell which was true.
In any case, matters of that scale had little to do with them.
What they cared about was simple: surviving the chaos.
Times like these were when villains prospered. For ordinary villagers, keeping themselves alive was already a struggle.
Still, there was a small comfort. Despite the turmoil, most people still appeared much the same as before. That, at least, allowed Nolan to breathe a little easier.
Of course, not everyone in this world matched his expectations.
When Nolan first set foot in this unfamiliar land, he had encountered a group of mindless madmen.
They had lost all reason, attacking anyone they saw like feral beasts. Nolan cut them down and secured himself a place to stay.
The Tarnished did not enjoy a good reputation here. If not for that shared identity, the villagers would have avoided him like a walking plague.
The Tarnished were ancient heroes or descendants of heroes.
Most still retained a sense of honor and did not act wantonly.
But human nature was complicated. There were always those who cast aside restraint and acted without law or conscience.
With the help of the Finger Maidens of the Two Fingers Church, the Tarnished could draw upon runes to strengthen themselves without limit.
Runes came from souls.
Some, intoxicated by the pursuit of power, treated lives as nothing more than fuel for their own growth.
They swept through quiet graveyards, peaceful villages, and thriving cities alike.
Wherever they went, runes and treasures were stripped away, even the lives of the Golden Dynasty Subjects taken without hesitation.
Worse still, they cloaked their crimes in a pious excuse.
They claimed to be answering the call of the Two Fingers, striving to become the Elden Lord.
How does one become the Elden Lord?
The one with strength claims the throne.
And where does that strength come from?
It is everywhere.
The feudal lords each retained powerful armies. The Tarnished did not dare provoke them, much less run wild in their domains.
The common folk living in war-torn Limgrave became the helpless victims of this struggle for power.
And so it had continued, year after year.
"Three years since the Siege of Leyndell ended. More than a thousand days and nights. Could everything that happened in that dream have been real?"
Nolan frowned, murmuring to himself.
Wasn't entering a dream supposed to be difficult? Or was it because he had gone through the Erdtree's return process after death, giving Marika a chance to slip something in?
"The Two Fingers let them in, then simply left them alone without a care… truly…"
"The Fingers must have had its reasons."
More likely, it simply did not care at all.
Nolan gave a quiet scoff and turned at the sound of a clear, gentle voice.
A young girl walked up to him, lifting the pouch and wine bottle in her hands.
"This is your payment for today," she said with a bright smile.
Nolan's protection was not free.
One bottle of sweet fruit wine a day, along with a small sum of runes, was fair compensation for his efforts.
"Sir… are you leaving?"
The girl's face flushed red. She lowered her head, staring at the ground near her feet as she asked.
"Why would you think that?"
"I just feel like your heart isn't here."
"Someone is waiting for me in a distant place."
Nolan sighed softly and looked toward the horizon.
"But I'll likely stay a while longer."
He opened his eyes again. His ambition to become a Lord had not faded.
If he returned to the Haligtree now, he would only be blocked there by Morgott. Without strength surpassing the top Demigods, he had no way to lead the Haligtree's forces out. And if he pushed Miquella too far, that Empyrean might very well decide to have him slaughter the entire Haligtree.
Besides, there were many ways to let certain key figures know he had returned. He did not need to seek them out personally. There were too many of them, and tracking each one down would be troublesome.
Limgrave's chaos might present a different kind of opportunity.
It was becoming harder and harder for him to grow stronger. Worthy targets were increasingly scarce.
This land happened to house the weakest Demigod. And that weakest Demigod just so happened to possess a crucial Great Rune.
If Godrick had made no real progress over the years, Nolan was fairly confident he could kill him alone.
The problem was that the Golden Descendant was holed up behind Stormveil's massive army and towering walls. That made things complicated.
Should he enlist?
He was still considering how to get close to Godrick when an elderly man came running from the distance, stumbling and scrambling as he rushed over.
"This is bad, Lord Nolan! A group of bandits has entered the village!"