Lucian drew a deep breath. He resolved to seek more contact with those people he had just met. Without question, there was much to be gained from them—knowledge, intelligence, secrets.
Especially information concerning Miquella.
After the warnings he had already received from Ranni and Iji, Lucian knew this subject was crucial. The more he learned, the safer he would be.
The game's original story had been far too incomplete.
Yes, most of the demigods' tales and regional plots could be pieced together, but the deeper mysteries were left unspoken. Why had Marika shattered the Ring? Who exactly was Miquella? Who was the Gloam-Eyed Queen? So much remained in shadow.
In truth, for a game so popular, there should have been a DLC to patch the missing story—to make money, if nothing else. But in Lucian's former world, players waited years in vain.
Bloodborne had already come to PC. Armored Core was up to its sixteenth entry. Even Grand Theft Auto VII had a trailer. Yet for Elden Ring, not a whisper—neither DLC nor sequel.
Each time the fans asked, Miyazaki only repeated: "We're working on it."
The game remained endlessly playable, but conversation fades without new life to sustain it. No DLC, no sequel—eventually, discussions withered.
By the time of Lucian's death in 2043, the Ring Scholars had all but vanished. There was no point in waiting for what would never come. Better to play new titles and ride the wave of their fleeting discourse.
Only Lucian, strange as he was, had kept returning to Elden Ring. He even dug through old forums, scavenging fan theories and lost lore.
He thought for a moment. Perhaps a world of unknowns was not so bad.
He had always longed to unearth the hidden truths of the Lands Between. If the known stories offered no path deeper, then Miquella's mysteries certainly did.
Unknowns meant discovery. Every step would yield something new.
Through Miquella, he could at least touch the fates of Malenia, Mohg, Godwyn, and Radahn.
Malenia and Mohg had the strongest ties to him in the game. The Golden Epitaph hinted at a link between Miquella and Godwyn.
And Radahn…
If Miquella appeared after the Battle of Aeonia, then it was very likely he had sent Malenia there.
Yes. It must have been Miquella's will that drove Malenia to fight Radahn. Their relationship was certain. Whether as enemies or otherwise, Lucian could not yet say.
While Lucian pondered, Jerren too was lost in thought.
Miquella and Malenia were twins. And everyone in the Lands Between knew Malenia obeyed Miquella without question. She bore the name Blade of Miquella with pride.
Miquella's presence in Caelid, after Aeonia's bloom—did this mean Malenia had been dispatched by his hand to challenge General Radahn?
But why?
Or had Malenia simply lost control? She had spoken not a word at the time.
Either way, Jerren knew he had to uncover the truth.
Suddenly, his path after the festival grew more crowded.
At first, he had meant to leave Redmane Castle once the festival was over. Caelid was hopeless—so he thought. He would move to punish Caria's enemies, beginning with the greatest disaster the academy had ever birthed: Sellen, the Graven Witch.
After fulfilling that final duty, he would find some quiet place to die.
But Hildegard, the perfumer Lucian had brought, had changed everything. Her work hinted at a cure for scarlet rot. That possibility could not be ignored. The dream of cleansing Caelid was the Redmanes' deepest wish.
And now, with Freya's return, Jerren had yet another mystery to chase: Miquella's role in the war.
So many new tasks—yet he welcomed them.
Better to have a purpose than to wander in anguish. Even if the road was hard, if he knew his duty, Jerren would see it through without hesitation.
Thanks to Freya, both Lucian and Jerren had gained knowledge they would otherwise never have known.
Jerren remembered something and turned to Lucian.
"By the way, Lord Lucian. I mentioned this before. Redmane Castle preserves a legendary weapon—the Ruins Greatsword. With the festival about to begin, why not claim it now?"
Lucian nodded. The last time Jerren had spoken of giving it to him, he had already agreed. After all, he still needed to gather the legendary armaments, to unlock more summons of Wind Spirit Moon Shadow.
At the time, the festival was far off, so he had not taken it. Now he followed Jerren into the storeroom.
A massive stone chest creaked open, revealing an enormous greatsword.
Words appeared before his eyes: [Ruins Greatsword(+7)].
The weapon was crude, almost shapeless. Forged not by smiths, but from intact chunks of a fallen ruin.
It was nearly too heavy to wield. Even Lucian struggled to swing it one-handed. He would need both hands, or the might of a Great Rune to enlarge his frame.
But with that weight came unmatched destructive power.
Its skill, Wave of Destruction, felt lackluster to him, especially compared to the Sword of Night and Flame's Night-and-Flame Stance. So he chose to treat it as a pure melee weapon, unadorned.
Though large, it could not match the Treespear's length once extended. He doubted he would use it in the coming battle, so he set it aside.
He had other tasks—meeting Hildegard, for one.
The perfumer had been consulting with the oldest Redmanes—veteran warriors who had once tried every method they could to fight scarlet rot.
Most attempts had failed. Whether by cost, materials, or sheer inefficiency, fire had proven more practical.
But now, with Hildegard's skill, those abandoned ideas might yet bear fruit. Even one spark of inspiration could be enough.
She had shed her heavy, corrupt perfumer's cloak, working in light garb. Her hands were stained with some green, sticky substance as she processed ingredients.
So focused was she that she did not notice Lucian approach. Only much later, when she turned, did she startle.
"Ah! You—scared me."
She did not stop working. "Really, if you need something, just call me. No need to stand there like a ghost."
"I didn't want to disturb you. What if something went wrong?" Lucian said.
She shook her head.
"It's only material handling. Nothing dangerous. Just wait a little longer, I'm almost finished. Then we can talk."
Lucian leaned nearby, watching though he understood nothing. The ingredient she worked with was so pulverized he could not tell what it had once been.
At last she packed it into a flask, and Lucian spoke again. "I brought the Crystal Cave Moss from Stormveil."
Hildegard blinked, then remembered—he had mentioned cultivating moss in Limgrave for neutralizing perfumes.
"Already? Crystal Cave Moss usually takes ages to grow. Or… was the yield small?"
Lucian only smiled and tipped his storage disc. Piles upon piles of moss spilled out, nearly burying her.
She clawed her way free, eyes wide at the mountain of green.
"This much?! Incredible!"
—
On the eve of the festival, Redmane Castle held a great feast.
The tables bore bread, fruit, vegetables, and the cheap liquor of the Lands Between. Humble fare, but meaningful. The Redmanes had long since ceased to care for such comforts—yet tonight, it mattered.
Nearly every warrior of the castle gathered in the square.
Tomorrow, the Festival of Combat would begin.
They had come to challenge General Radahn. They all knew his terror, his power. And they had steeled themselves for death.
So tonight, they sang, danced, and reveled without restraint.
They would greet death with their spirits at their peak.
Knights of Ohga performed sword dances upon the stage, blades swirling with the wind. Warriors of the Wilds wrestled in circles, strangers turned brothers. Highland soldiers stomped and sang their homeland's war songs. Sailors raised their voices in sea shanties.
They had crossed the breadth of Caelid for this moment. Whatever their strength, they were true warriors.
From the balcony above, Jerren appeared. He lifted his flame-patterned greatsword, the emblem of Redmane Castle itself.
Fire coursed along the blade, blazing bright against the star-filled night. All eyes turned to him.
He drove the sword into the ground. Heat rippled, warping the air, illuminating his iron mask. Long ago, his face beneath had grown as aged as the mask itself.
But at last, the wait was nearly over.
"Champions!" His voice roared across the square. "You know what awaits you! The strongest general, the one who bound the very stars—the mightiest demigod of the Shattering, and bearer of a Great Rune, General Radahn!"
His tone hardened. "But hear me. General Radahn is cursed ever to wander. Eaten from the inside, by Malenia's Scarlet Rot, his wits are long gone. Now he gathers the corpses of former friends and foes alike, gorging on them, like a dog. Howling at the sky. Forgetting the glory he once bore!"
His cry grew into a near-shout. "Then let us, gathered here, reclaim that forgotten glory on his behalf! Warriors from every land! The stars fill the heavens. And tomorrow, as foretold—the festival begins! Show your courage, your will, your strength! Give General Radahn the honorable death he deserves!"
A thunderous roar shook the night. Weapons rose to the sky, gleaming in the firelight.
—
The next morning, silence fell.
The warriors gathered once more in the square, but now in grim preparation. They checked their armor, their arms, their spirits.
From above, Jerren gave the final command.
"Champions, welcome! The stars have aligned! The festival is nigh! General Radahn, mightiest demigod of the Shattering, awaits you!"
"Champions, prepare for battle! Defeat the General, claim glory, and grab that Great Rune! A celebration of war! The Radahn Festival!"
"O gathering of champions, the revels begin! The celebration of war! The Radahn Festival! You will find the field of battle past the church ahead, upon the shore under the fort. General Radahn is there, even now. Divested of his wits, devouring corpses... and howling at the sky..."
"The Festival of Combat begins! The Radahn Festival begins!"
No more words were needed. Soldiers led the way.
One by one, warriors descended the lifts to the shore below, where Redmane soldiers had already built floating bridges across the water. They crossed to the Wailing Dunes.
Mounted fighters reached the sands first, spreading wide across the vast battlefield. But for a time, they could not find him.
Not until they had ridden long across the dunes did they see—at the center—General Radahn, crouched low.
His massive frame leaned forward, hands pressed to the ground. His back bristled with rotting knight's spears. His jaws tore at a desiccated corpse.
The riders nocked arrows, loosing them from afar. Shafts stuck shallow into his back.
At last, Radahn stirred.
He rose, bellowed to the heavens, and drew from his back the Lion Greatbow. With it, he set not arrows but the very spears that pierced him.
As he pulled the bowstring taut, dread gripped every heart.
The horsemen scattered in panic.
It did not matter.
The first spear fell from the sky, impaling riders with monstrous precision. Each struck was torn to shreds.
Those who survived the volley had little time to rejoice. At every impact point, gravity spread, crushing all within its grasp. Warriors and steeds alike collapsed, blood pouring from mouths and noses, eyes bursting in their sockets.
The Wailing Dunes, long dry and pale, ran red again with blood. The first sacrifices of the festival.
Yet more warriors surged forward, stepping over the fallen, shouting, charging, hurling themselves at General Radahn.
The Festival of Death had begun.
—
[T/N: On the topic of DLC, I would be most interested to hear your thoughts on the upcoming Elden Ring: Nightreign expansion, The Forsaken Hollows, scheduled for release on December 4, 2025. ]
Also, the Radahn Festival officially commences, and its events will unfold over the course of quite a few chapters.