A banner bearing a black field emblazoned with a fiery red ring was raised atop the highest point of Stormgate. The Southern Army adopted this emblem, designed by Frieren herself, as their symbol of complete conquest. Her inspiration, fittingly, came from the image of the First Flame – the site where generations of the Lords of Cinder had linked the Fire.
"Huzzah!"
Victorious cheers echoed relentlessly as soldiers embraced, the sound of shields being struck reverberating through the air. They had every reason to celebrate; they had decisively defeated the elite forces serving under a demigod. The garrison entrusted with Stormgate's defense was no third-rate militia, and defeating them head-on was a truly glorious achievement. Even accounting for various factors, like Lady Frieren's crucial assistance, it was a victory worthy of celebration.
Celebrating the fact that an army daring to challenge a demigod had actually defeated his forces! Even with the Golden Dynasty in decline, this was a monumental feat, far from insignificant and hugely symbolic. Every soldier who participated felt a surge of pride.
Before the battle, many had worried incessantly – would they cause too much disturbance? What would Godrick do? But the actual clash hadn't been as terrifying as imagined. The demigod's forces had been demystified, fostering a newfound confidence within the Southern Army, rapidly forging a rare and precious courage among the ranks.
Even the typically strict Edgar permitted the soldiers some extra time for revelry, allowing them a moment to unwind. He was keenly aware that a significant portion of his army consisted of temporary conscripts or outright mercenaries. For such troops, victories and rest were crucial; without them, morale would crumble, making the harder battles ahead impossible to win.
"Lady Frieren, what are your thoughts on the battle?" Edgar asked.
"I'm no expert in military matters," Frieren admitted, "but our numerical advantage was significant, and Stormgate isn't ideally suited for defense anyway."
"Indeed..." Edgar conceded.
"But wouldn't you agree that in terms of raw troop quality in a direct confrontation, we weren't that far behind? Their equipment was superior, yes, but their morale seemed lower than ours."
Even a layman could see that Godrick's soldiers seemed somewhat distracted, their resolve wavering, their faces etched with fatigue. The endless, seemingly interminable duty of guarding the pass had left them mentally and physically exhausted, perhaps even secretly hoping for some kind of conclusion. It's all because of that creeping undeath, Frieren thought. If they were my soldiers, a single application of soul-healing magic would have them lively and vigorous again.
"Let's rest here for now," Frieren announced, seeing the troops' high spirits and deciding to let them enjoy their celebration.
"Conveniently, a large stockpile of supplies was kept here for Stormgate's long-term defense. I'll have them distributed among you all shortly... I won't be taking a share for myself."
"Praise be to the great Lady Frieren!" came the grateful cries.
Frieren had initially planned to delegate the task entirely to the nobles, but Melina's voice whispered a reminder in her ear: she should handle it herself. Control over the distribution of spoils was essential, even if she, as a Tarnished, had no personal need for them. The two partners had already thoroughly looted Stormgate during a previous 'run,' collecting all the standard-issue gear they desired.
"The key lies in controlling resources and their allocation," Melina advised gently. "It is an extension of power itself. Frieren, you cannot rely solely on your strength; you must also learn the ways of governance."
"Mm," Frieren acknowledged with a lazy nod, already feeling drained. Though she hadn't fought on the front lines herself, she had been casting support magic non-stop throughout the entire battle. Thanks to her efforts, the Southern Army's casualties had remained remarkably low, earning her genuine admiration and loyalty from the soldiers – her visible contribution starkly contrasted with the harsh methods of some other officers.
"Just get some rest," Melina said softly, not meaning to lecture, merely offering gentle guidance. In truth, as long as Frieren possessed sufficient strength, such details weren't critical; The Lands Between operated on its own unique logic. The ultimate purpose of an Elden Lord was to gather the shards of the Elden Ring and choose a new god to establish order. They had taken a significant step towards that goal. The Great Rune they sought resided within Stormveil Castle, perched conveniently on the nearby hill. This time, they would approach it from a position of strength.
As Melina mused, she noticed Frieren had already fallen fast asleep, the surrounding clamor apparently having no effect on her slumber... Seeing this, Melina settled down beside her. Though in her spectral form, she knew Frieren's heightened Tarnished senses could perceive her presence, perhaps offering a measure of security in the unfamiliar, conquered territory.
The two rested side-by-side, while the Southern Army, their initial celebratory fervor waning, also succumbed to exhaustion and drifted off to sleep. They had expected to drink and make merry long into the night, but soon found themselves stifling weary yawns. The continuous high-intensity combat of the past day had pushed them to their limits, leaving muscles aching. Drowsiness overtook them, and the camp gradually fell into a deep, silent slumber. Good night.
But for Stormveil Castle, however, it was destined to be a sleepless night.
A trickle of survivors – a handful of soldiers and some of the conscripted Living Dead – stumbled through the main gate, their heads bowed, faces grim. They had suffered a devastating defeat, their pride shattered. They entered hunched over, defeated. They had considered themselves members of a demigod's elite army, well-equipped and superior, only to be routed in a direct confrontation by the rebellious Southern Army. It was an utter humiliation, leaving them deeply ashamed and disgraced.
Watching the ragged remnants straggle in, Margit let out a heavy sigh. "Are there any other forces we can mobilize?" he asked his attendants.
A Night's Cavalry officer replied, "The rebels hold the main approach to Stormveil now, my lord. To find more conscripts, we'd have to detour via the Stormhill Shack route, but that primarily leads towards Eastern Limgrave... which is already effectively a breakaway region."
"They were the first to rebel," Margit mused bitterly. "If only I had paid closer attention earlier."
"It is not your fault, my lord," the Night's Cavalryman insisted. "The blame lies with Godrick and his obsession with Grafting." As elite knights dispatched from Leyndell, the Royal Capital, the Night's Cavalry were worldly and had witnessed the Golden Dynasty's former glory. They held Godrick in rather low esteem. For a Scion of the Golden Lineage to be such a degenerate... it was infuriating how far he'd fallen. A true waste.
Margit remained silent for a moment before finally speaking. "Regardless, it is far too early to say the tide has turned. Stormveil Castle's formidable defenses are more than sufficient to hold off the rebels. If we guard this fortress well, we can eventually wear the enemy down." He paused, his tone hardening. "However, Godrick's army suffering such a defeat at the hands of outsiders brings shame upon the Golden Lineage. It is an affront to all the demigods, including the Grace-Given King himself. This news will undoubtedly stir unrest in other regions." He continued, "Even if the Tarnished continue their meddling, it shouldn't disrupt the larger balance. The crucial task now is to secure Limgrave."
"As you command, my lord."
"If necessary," Margit added grimly, "I myself will cross swords with this Frieren and test her capabilities." Even in his current projected form, Margit was far beyond the measure of ordinary heroes; it would be more than enough to gauge the Tarnished's true level. It would also serve as vengeance for his fallen Night's Cavalry – anyone capable of so easily defeating those night-empowered hero-killers undoubtedly possessed power touching the divine. The question was, how did she truly stack up against a demigod? Was her reputation overblown? Or had The Lands Between finally witnessed the emergence of a genuinely top-tier challenger after so long?
If the worst came to pass, Leyndell's forces might have to stage successive retreats; Liurnia of the Lakes was ill-suited for garrisoning large armies. Depending on the outcome, the entire operation on the Altus Plateau could be impacted. In the most dire scenario, they would have to fall back and secure the Grand Lifts, blocking Frieren's advance while rapidly raising and equipping new forces within the capital.
Hearing Margit speak of personally entering the fray, the Night's Cavalry felt a surge of excitement – they might witness the Fell Omen in battle once more. The only remaining uncertainty was Godrick himself: how would he react to this defeat?
Godrick's mental state was already fragile, and the side effects of his imperfect Grafting techniques seemed to be worsening, making his rationality increasingly suspect. Ultimately, however, this was a war concerning the Lord of Limgrave and his own domain. Margit gazed towards the depths of the castle, his expression laced with concern. Godrick was, after a fashion, his kin; he hoped the fool would show some backbone.
In the castle courtyard.
After listening to the report, Godrick unconsciously stroked the arm infused with Abyssal Power. Embracing strength brought him solace; even bad news didn't seem quite so infuriating anymore. So be it.
"...Currently, our garrison numbers over ten thousand, sufficient to defend the walls. Shall we requisition additional forces from the east, my lord?" an advisor asked.
"Unnecessary," Godrick declared. "We will meet them here. This will be the decisive battle."
"My lord," the advisor pressed, "we hear the rebels may possess warriors capable of challenging even a Crucible Knight. The walls alone might not suffice."
"Do not underestimate the resilience of Stormveil!" Godrick scoffed. "Even a demigod would struggle to breach these walls. Furthermore, our defense is multi-layered. We can afford to let some of their stronger fighters penetrate the outer defenses, then intercept, isolate, and—exterminate them one by one." He spoke with chilling speed.
Godrick gestured towards the massive carcass of a Flying Dragon hanging nearby. It seemed to twitch faintly, but alas, it was already earmarked as material for his next Grafting. Simultaneously, he manifested his Great Rune, which pulsed with incandescent, boundless light. Bolstered by the power of this shard of the Elden Ring, and his own noble bloodline, he feared no rabble. This rebel army was merely a temporary nuisance. He was ready to welcome the challenger. Let them not think the treasures of the Golden Lineage could be so easily stolen – they were courting disaster.
"Prepare for the final battle!"
The assembled knights and soldiers roared their assent, "As you command, Lord Godrick!" and immediately moved to their designated positions, organizing the castle's defenses.
How could they not be energized? A true, demigod-level conflict was about to unfold! To merely participate, to witness such an event, would be worth dying for. Their only fear was that this Tarnished challenger might prove to be all bark and no bite, unable to withstand a real fight, ending the spectacle before dawn even broke.
Meanwhile, Frieren, still wrapped in her blanket and sound asleep, suddenly twitched an ear. Her eyes fluttered open, scanning her surroundings. The artisans had begun their work.
A cacophony of banging and clanging filled the air as they worked on the captured siege engines, repairing and reinforcing them as best they could.
"Did we wake you, milady?" one of the artisans asked respectfully.
"It's alright," Frieren replied, sitting up. "I noticed some of this equipment seems damaged or poorly made. What's the issue?"
"They lack durability, milady," the artisan explained. "It's mainly due to a shortage of quality Smithing Stones. We're sorely lacking such materials here in Limgrave. It's difficult enough to craft weapons fit for heroes, let alone the kinds of mist-shrouded armaments wielded by demigods."
"Where can we find better Smithing Stones?" Frieren asked.
"The Altus Plateau holds the vast majority of the world's valuable materials and possesses the finest armories. It's said the Royal Capital might have more functional weapons than it has able-bodied soldiers – their resources run deep."
"Which means," Frieren murmured, "if the Royal Capital were to dispatch even a small reinforcement unit, they could be incredibly dangerous." The thought instantly dispelled her remaining drowsiness. She understood Leyndell's strategic position now. While the map might suggest a land fragmented among warring lords, the Altus Plateau clearly retained significant power and influence – it couldn't be underestimated. Hoarding the majority of high-quality weapons and Smithing Stones was indeed a clever strategy, one that had helped maintain the Golden Dynasty's dominance even to this day.
The original Elden Lord had certainly planned well for the long term.
However, it didn't change the immediate reality: the Southern Army was assembling a massive siege contingent, equipped with catapults, battering rams, scaling ladders, and more. They were even brainstorming unconventional tactics like digging tunnels or undermining the walls – a diverse array of methods, all aimed at cracking this fortress. They knew full well that if they couldn't conquer Stormveil Castle quickly, they would inevitably face a devastating counterattack.
They had to win. Having come this far, they were now in direct opposition to a demigod. To avoid annihilation in the inevitable reprisal, their only path forward was to place Frieren upon the throne as a new Shardbearer. And so, from early morning, the entire army threw themselves into preparations, sweat pouring as they worked. The previous night's revelry, seemingly carefree and undisciplined, was understood by all to be their final chance to relax. Ahead lay the daunting task of assaulting a world-class super-fortress – a meat grinder where multiple lifetimes wouldn't suffice.
In contrast, their commander appeared relaxed, almost sleepy-eyed. Under normal circumstances, this might be seen as dangerously complacent, but the soldiers who knew her found her calm demeanor strangely reassuring. If even their perpetually optimistic leader seemed tense, then they'd truly be worried.
Frieren performed her simple morning ablutions. Even within the 'game,' she adhered to her daily routines; finding normalcy amidst chaos was a trait admired by elves.
Come to think of it, it's been a while since I last visited the Elf Village, Frieren mused. If I manage to acquire that Cloud Save Mod this time, it would be perfect for popping back for a visit. Ideally, I could find a skilled Elven Sorcerer to collaborate with on soul magic research...
"Milady, greetings." Edgar approached, offering a respectful bow before delivering his news. "We've just received intelligence confirming Margit's presence supporting the castle."
"Who?" Frieren asked, momentarily drawing a blank.
"He is the Fell Omen, serving the Grace-Given King. During the Shattering, he caused rivers of heroes' blood to flow."
"That sounds rather vague. Do you have any more specific intelligence?"
"Margit's swordsmanship is formidable," Edgar reported grimly. "He can also employ magic, including a devastating rain of spectral blades. During the defense of Leyndell, he wounded Starscourge Radahn himself – some accounts say he even pinned Radahn down for a time. In short, the power gap between those two may not be vast."
Even the typically fearless Edgar looked grave, his eyes filled with apprehension. They now faced another demigod-level opponent. Granted, Margit might not commit his full strength to this particular battle, but his reputation alone demanded extreme caution. To be frank, Edgar didn't rate Frieren's chances ('the Magic-Slaying Swordstress') against the Fell Omen highly. Margit seemed superior in every aspect, a master of both swordplay and sorcery, truly among the Lands Between's elite. What rotten luck.
Nevertheless, as a knight, he would fight to the bitter end. Edgar steeled himself. Having chosen to follow Frieren, he would not waver simply because they faced a powerful foe. Looked at another way, defeating such a valuable enemy would only strengthen their claim and stabilize their future rule. Steeling his resolve, he said formally, "We are prepared to engage Margit and his elite forces. We also request that you deploy the Undead Legion of Farron to provide support when the time comes..."
Frieren showed little outward reaction, merely shielding her eyes with her hand as she gazed towards the distant castle walls. "Strange," she murmured. "His aura shouldn't feel so... diffuse. And I don't sense the distinct presence of a Great Rune... Perhaps it's an avatar, or some kind of projection? Does technology like that exist in The Lands Between?"
"I have heard rumors of such things," Edgar admitted, "but having never witnessed it myself, I cannot say for certain."
The possibility seemed to ease Edgar's tension slightly. Since worrying was pointless, he decided to get back to his duties. Whether Margit was real or a projection, any fight involving him would be beyond Edgar's ability to influence directly. His priority remained organizing the siege troops, ensuring they were ready to strike decisively at any moment. With a nod, he departed.
Frieren couldn't afford to remain idle either. Caution had always been her guiding principle in this 'game'; she'd encountered far too many ambushes and traps. Knowing a powerful enemy lay ahead, reconnaissance was essential, especially since she bore responsibility for the twenty thousand soldiers of the Southern Army. She couldn't risk leading them into a snare.
Unseen by anyone, the silver-haired girl waved her staff. A shimmering light washed over her, rendering her body transparent and suppressing her aura. Combined with her usual habit of minimizing her magical signature, she achieved near-perfect stealth, undetectable by ordinary senses. The Hidden Body spell.
A spell from Dark Souls. As such, its effect was limited by this world's rejection of foreign magic; she'd have to race against time to scout the path ahead.
"You possessed such a technique all along?" Melina sounded slightly taken aback.
"A mage always keeps a few tricks up her sleeve," Frieren replied lightly. "Especially non-combat spells; they often prove surprisingly useful. Right then, let's go. Quick trip, in and out." With that, Frieren headed towards the outer walls of Stormveil Castle.
As expected, the area was heavily fortified. Stormveil Castle itself was daunting enough, but an additional outer wall had been constructed, funneling any approach through a narrow tunnel. This wasn't an act of convenience, of course, but a deliberate choke point forcing attackers down a specific path. Sure enough, the tunnel was riddled with barricades every few steps, with ballistae positioned behind them to create deadly crossfire zones. Anyone attempting to force their way through here would be riddled with bolts in seconds.
Nasty. Frieren didn't even need to see it to imagine countless 'players' meeting gruesome ends mid-roll in this deathtrap. No, perhaps even they hadn't faced such a brutally efficient, layered defense. It was hard to fathom how many soldiers it would take to overcome just this outer wall. Would they have to literally fill the tunnel with corpses? She suspected the defenders intended exactly that – using the attackers' own dead to block the passage and stall the assault, while they themselves could charge down from the high ground above. Passing through the kill zones, even while invisible, Frieren felt a knot tighten in her stomach. The design was wickedly clever. A direct assault would cost an unimaginable number of lives.
She encountered no resistance along the way; the soldiers were completely oblivious, unaware of the invisible figure slipping past them. Hidden Body truly is an essential spell for exploration. The defenders were too preoccupied to pay much attention to their surroundings anyway, busy with their assigned tasks. Under officers' orders, numerous Godrick Soldiers, Kaiden Sellswords, Exile Soldiers, and Living Dead were constantly reinforcing the tunnel defenses, clearly intending to create a kill-box designed to swallow countless lives.
The preparations were so thorough that Frieren began to seriously consider a drastic option: Should I personally lead the charge and carve a bloody path through? Otherwise, the Southern Army's losses will be catastrophic...
Suddenly, light appeared ahead.
She emerged into the open, and the full, staggering view of Stormveil Castle rose before her. It stood immense and defiant against the howling wind, exuding an aura of ancient power – majestic and imposing. Truly worthy of being the former seat of the Storm Lord. The air itself seemed to crackle and roar around its ramparts, perched high on the cliffs overlooking Limgrave, proclaiming its indomitable majesty upon the wind. It evoked a striking sense of déjà vu, reminiscent of the High Wall of Lothric.
Viewing it merely from a distance hadn't conveyed the sheer scale of this world-class fortress. To call it a castle felt inadequate; it was more akin to a sprawling citadel, an entire city fortified atop the Limgrave highlands. No wonder the first Elden Lord himself had reportedly expended considerable effort to conquer the Storm Lord's seat. It was indeed a formidable stronghold.
"Hm?"
Suddenly, atop a high tower within the castle, an Omen clad in rough sackcloth appeared, its face marred by a look of confusion. It scanned its surroundings warily, as if sensing something amiss. Its gaze swept over the exact spot where Frieren had been standing moments before, but ultimately found nothing. An illusion?
Just as the Omen's gaze passed over her location, the invisible silver-haired girl had dove behind a massive boulder.
Could that be Margit? she wondered. Unfortunately, the Omen's intense scrutiny prevented Frieren from peeking back out for now. A single glance in her direction might be enough for it to pinpoint her location.
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