Lucian crept silently through the undergrowth, inching closer to the unaware Godrick Soldier. Step by cautious step, he closed the distance. When there were only four or five paces left between them, the soldier finally sensed a faint rustling.
But before he could react, Lucian lunged like a shadow. One hand clamped over the soldier's mouth, muffling his alarm. The other drove his blade upward, plunging it beneath the ribs with brutal precision. Steel burst through the clavicle, soaked in dark blood. A direct hit to the heart.
The soldier convulsed briefly, then fell limp. A golden shimmer of runes drifted from his corpse, threading into Lucian's body.
With practiced ease, Lucian flicked the blood from his sword and tore a strip of fabric from the dead man's surcoat to wipe the blade clean. The golden embroidery of the Erdtreeand lion—the royal sigils—was stained crimson and discarded in the dirt.
"They react faster than in the game," he muttered to himself. "But still not quite human."
Crouching, he studied the soldier's face. It was gaunt, dry, and blackened—more like a mummified corpse than a living man.
Ever since the Elden Ring shattered, every creature blessed by the Erdtree had suffered. In the Lands Between, death once meant returning to the roots—being absorbed into the Erdtree and reborn. But now, with the Ring broken, the Golden Order no longer functioned. Those once blessed were now cursed to stagnate, unable to die, unable to live.
Their bodies withered. Their souls faded. Many, like these soldiers, had already lost their identities. What remained were husks—shadows of former selves driven only by instinct to patrol, to fight.
In time, even their last remnants of thought would fade. Then they would be nothing more than walking corpses.
Lucian sighed. What a pitiful world.
He rifled through the corpse but found little of use. The armor was old and dented—already pierced by his blade. The torch he already had. Taking more would only slow him down. The only salvageable item was the sword: a standard-issue Lordsworn's Straight Sword. Though timeworn and blackened from use, it had clearly been cared for.
Lucian hesitated. He had no shortage of weapons, and even now, this soldier—no longer conscious—had still maintained his blade. Perhaps it was best to leave the sword with him, a final courtesy.
He moved on.
The forest thickened. He encountered several more soldiers, dispatching two with stealthy ambushes and acquiring a few Kukri in the process. But not every attempt went smoothly. One soldier, still retaining a spark of awareness, detected him early. They clashed swords in a brief skirmish before Lucian landed a clean cut to the neck, ending it.
But the sounds of their battle drew attention. Three more soldiers arrived in a rush, attacking with surprising coordination. They alternated strikes with brutal timing, forcing Lucian onto the defensive. One slipped past his guard and landed two blows—one glanced off his shoulder plate, denting it; the other, more dangerous, sliced toward his head.
He raised his forearm in time. The blade shattered his vambrace and dug deep into flesh.
Grimacing, Lucian fought back harder. He quickly took out one, which staggered the other two, breaking their rhythm. They fell soon after.
Panting, he stepped back, his face pale and his left hand trembling. Blood trickled down his arm, and the pain throbbed hot and deep.
"They're little more than zombies," he muttered, "but when they group up... they fight like trained soldiers."
He stripped the ruined armor from his arm and tied it with cloth from a corpse. "Damn lucky this armor held. If that shoulder plate had cracked, I might not be moving my arm right now."
He scavenged a fresh Soldier's Vambrace—leather glove with metal plating wrapped in ragged cloth—and strapped it over his wounded arm. Fighting with exposed flesh was too risky now. Another clean hit could sever the limb.
He left the bodies and pressed onward. The path cleared. No more soldiers barred his way.
Eventually, the forest opened, and dusk fell over the land. Ahead lay a ruined outpost, the remnants of some ancient structure. A few tattered tents stood scattered among the rubble, clearly used to store supplies and rest.
Even at a distance, Lucian could see soldiers patrolling among the tents. No need for the spyglass to know they were numerous.
To the left loomed a massive gate, flanked by tall stone walls built into the cliffs. The terrain left only a single narrow passage beneath the gate—no way to scale the rocky sides.
And there, in front of the gate, shimmered a Site of Grace. Its gentle golden light flickered, calling to him.
He had to reach it. That was where Melina would appear for the first time. He had to meet her.
But there was a problem.
The world had changed. The Lands Between were larger now. And unlike in the game, the soldiers weren't deaf and blind. Stealth wasn't enough. Crawling through the camp would almost certainly get him spotted.
And a frontal assault?
Too many. Even if he went in swinging, he'd likely be overwhelmed.
Then, a spark of inspiration.
The Kukri.
Heavy, curved throwing knives. Not only could they inflict serious wounds—they made a loud clatter when they struck stone.
He licked his lips as an idea formed. Before making a move, he found a new vantage point and raised his telescope, scanning the enemy positions.
"The soldiers are spaced out... but one's holding a crossbow," he murmured. "If I get hit, it'll be bad."
Still, the plan was workable. Even if it failed, he had an escape route. It was worth trying.
Lucian crawled into a dense thicket of shrubs near the cliffside, well out of sight. He would wait for nightfall.
Then he would act.