Among the ruined walls of Leyndell's Inner City, in what had once been a district where nobles gathered, the scene was enough to chill the blood.
Blood flowed across the ground like rivers, severed limbs lay scattered everywhere, and it looked as though a brutal massacre had just taken place.
Armored knights could be seen all around, and the floor was covered in huge craters, as if it had been hammered by some overwhelming force.
In the middle of that bloody scene, a terrified old man was struggling to climb up from the ground.
He wore magnificent noble attire embroidered with fine golden trim, clothing that should have symbolized his lofty status in the city.
Yet at this moment, he looked utterly wretched and afraid.
"Your Majesty, please don't kill me! I am willing to offer up all my family wealth!"
"Too late."
The old man's voice trembled, filled with despair and pleading. His body shook with fear, and his bones let out crisp cracking sounds.
As he looked at the powerful man before him, nothing remained in his heart but terror. Runes? Titles? In front of this man, none of it seemed to matter.
Slash!
A knight in red armor swung down his Knight's Greatsword, the blade cutting through the air with a fierce roar as it struck straight for the old noble's neck.
Blood sprayed everywhere. His head flew off along with a splash of blood, spattering across the walls and floor around them.
The old man's body collapsed limply, powerless and pitiful.
The powerful man lifted his foot and stepped on the head that had rolled to his side, casually pressing down with force.
With a crack, the old man's skull and the ground beneath it shattered together, sending brain matter and blood splashing in every direction.
"Is this how Marika governs the Dynasty? These men weren't this spineless when they followed me."
The powerful man stood in the center of what had once been a prosperous district. He ignored the cheers of the people around him and only stared at the bodies in lavish clothing lying on the ground.
Some of them were already old, while others were still young. But now they all lay lifeless on the ground, stripped of every trace of nobility and honor.
Looking at them, the man could not help feeling disappointed.
This man was also old, but he was nothing like those who had fallen to the ground.
He was a barbarian, with a head of white hair and a long white beard braided into a plait that hung over his broad chest.
His features were rugged and sharply defined, as if carved by blade and axe, giving him a wild and majestic presence. His gaze was cold and piercing.
The man's body was extraordinarily powerful, standing over three meters tall. He carried a massive golden Greataxe on his shoulder, unmistakably a mighty Warrior at a glance.
Yet the most eye-catching thing was still the golden lion on his back.
The lion was even larger than the man himself, its fur shining like gold.
The man was named Godfrey, though his original name was Hoarah Loux.
Anyone who looked closely would discover that he was identical to the First Elden Lord of the Golden Dynasty recorded in the histories, even down to the name.
"Fame and profit are like poison. They gradually eat away at a person's heart until they lose themselves. Not everyone is like you, a madman interested only in fighting."
The lion on Godfrey's back actually spoke in the language of humans.
"Besides, all the old fellows who followed us died beyond the Realm. Where would anyone who once followed us be here? Even if a few old friends were still around, I haven't noticed them. With that head of yours, could you tell?"
"Ha! Still as sharp-tongued as ever, Serosh!" The old, muscle-bound Lord burst into hearty laughter.
"But you're right. True Warriors all died on the battlefield. No wonder the people here are so dull."
Serosh shook his head helplessly and replied, "Perhaps they were once brave Warriors too. Without enough military merit, how could they have risen to such high positions? It is only that the one they followed was not you."
Godfrey snorted at Serosh's words and curled his lip in disdain. "You mean that pretty boy Radagon?"
He had no idea what was so good about that skinny pole. That woman Marika truly had no taste at all.
Thinking this, Godfrey looked down at his thick arms. Beneath the light of the Erdtree, his solid muscles looked as perfect as a sculpture.
Back then, with this body of muscle, he had conquered no small number of barbarian girls and was known as the most handsome man among the barbarians.
Godfrey scratched his head without realizing it.
"But this seems a bit different from what we agreed on back then. Marika made this mess, yet we're the ones who have to clean it up. And the one who called us back wasn't even her!"
"What does it matter who called us back? Marika promised you the throne, so all you need to do is find a way to take it back," Serosh said.
Godfrey had returned to the Lands Between as a Tarnished. A warrior of his strength was not someone even Marika could casually exile.
Unfortunately, this man's mind was not especially sharp. That despicable Goddess had fooled him with just a few words, even promising that one day she would let him return to become Lord.
Serosh did not believe Marika had made that promise out of affection for Godfrey. In his view, it was more of a safeguard.
His old friend had been made into one of Marika's pieces.
After Godfrey was exiled, that woman could finally hold all power in her own hands.
Perhaps she thought she could control everything that way. But when she realized matters were gradually slipping beyond her control, she would call Godfrey back to clean up the mess.
But this time, it was not that woman who had called them back. It was the Two Fingers.
That meant things had already gone beyond Marika's control, and Marika might not have wanted them to return at all.
Obviously, the Two Fingers who called them back must also have their own calculations and schemes.
Neither side was any good. What was an idiot like Godfrey supposed to use against people like that?
"I'll have to handle it after all!" Serosh sighed inwardly, feeling utterly weary.
"You want me to think of a way?" Godfrey pointed at himself with a blank expression. Clearly, none of these matters had ever crossed his mind.
Seeing this, Serosh said helplessly, "Your son and I will come up with the plan. We'll tell you what to do, and you just do it. That should be fine, right?"
Only then did Godfrey nod in satisfaction. "That's more like it."
Who did not know that Godfrey preferred using his hands over using his head? Asking an old man like him to come up with a plan was just making things difficult for him.
Looking at this old friend who had been by his side for a thousand years and remained exactly the same as before, Serosh could not help letting out a deep sigh.
Marika, that meticulous Goddess, truly was difficult to read.
The place they had been exiled to before was a land of endless war, with many powerful beings. Even someone as strong as Godfrey had faced life-threatening danger several times.
Needless to say, such a place held enormous appeal to a battle maniac like Godfrey. Even after centuries of exile, his fighting spirit and combat strength remained at their absolute peak upon his return.
Unfortunately, that mighty power could no longer be controlled by Marika now. All her schemes had come to nothing in the end.
"Father, if we treat the nobles this way, could it cause turmoil in the court?"
Morgott asked with concern. He stood beside Godfrey, having already removed his disguise of light and shadow to reveal his true form.
Godfrey was the one who had made him do it. Godfrey had said to him, "I remember my son is not Margit."
Morgott had worried that the nobles would oppose him, and Godfrey had answered with only four words.
"Just kill them."
"Turmoil? Who would dare?" Godfrey's expression was calm, yet just standing there, he possessed a natural authority that needed no anger. "A pack of dead weight. What's the point of keeping them? In chaotic times, harsh measures are needed."
Serosh glanced at him without leaving a trace and silently cursed Godfrey for being shameless.
He had been the one to teach Godfrey that. In the past, Godfrey had always said he could not remember it, but now he suddenly could.
This old bastard really did not blush at all when stealing someone else's words.