Varre, the Smarmy Bastard

He looked at the message beside the cave that dropped straight down.

Stranded Graveyard

That was what the message said, with a note following it. This place seemed to be a training ground prepared for those returning to the Lands Between, where they could regain their combat skills.

"Useful, but I don't need it. I've already warmed up." The man gripped his left wrist with his right hand and gently rotated it a few times. That grafted monster had been pathetic, but at least it had given his long-dormant body a little exercise.

"Come to think of it, what bastard came up with grafting?" The man frowned slightly. It really was a twisted practice.

He pushed open the door ahead and continued onward. Golden motes drifted through the building like a vortex, surrounding a fragment of gold that stirred like a soul.

"Oh? A site of grace?" He approached, lightly touched the site of grace, then snapped his fingers. As though answering a summons, the surrounding motes were drawn into the grace at their center. Golden ripples spread like waves across water, and the formerly wavering, insubstantial grace gradually solidified.

"What happened...? Why is this grace so much smaller than the ones in my era?" He was puzzled. Sites of grace had once stood as tall as a person, blazing with golden light. Now this one looked utterly feeble.

He stopped dwelling on it and reached into the grace. "The basic functions still work..." Those basic functions were, of course, storage and travel between sites of grace. What puzzled him even more, however, was why this site had lost contact with all the others.

There could only be two reasons why sites of grace lost contact.

First, a site of grace had been destroyed.

Second, something had happened to the Elden Ring.

"Marika, did you...?" Deliberately destroying even one site of grace was an act of profound sacrilege in this era, let alone severing connections on such a vast scale. That left only the second possibility... A thought surfaced in his mind.

"In that case, let me see what this troubled world has become." He put the two spirit-ash urns into the grace's storage space, keeping only his two Golden Straight Swords.

"I wonder if this site of grace will swallow my equipment." He poked the grace, which rippled like water whenever he touched it. To his right stood an enormous barrier formed from gray mist.

"An imp statue, huh." He looked at the little imp statue beside it, which seemed to serve as a switch. This was a kind of seal: pouring magic into the imp statue would create the massive barrier. The barrier was exceptionally sturdy, so forcing his way through was not a sensible option. Opening it required an item called a Stonesword Key.

And the imp statue before him was a special one, with two mechanisms stacked together. The upper and lower portions each required a Stonesword Key.

"Well, I don't have any." He looked down at himself, bare except for a loincloth, and was left speechless. Unbelievable. He had been a mighty warrior all his life, only to have his grave robbed after death.

But dwelling on it would do no good. He might as well keep moving; perhaps he would find a Stonesword Key along the way. He glanced at the fog gate again. His instincts told him that something dangerous lay beyond it, but that there would also be an extraordinary treasure.

That was what they called opportunity going hand in hand with danger.

After carefully checking the site of grace and finding nothing else amiss, he rode the lift ahead to the upper level. He pushed open the massive iron doors, and a breathtaking sight unfolded before him.

Golden light bathed the entire land. Above pale-gold clouds lay a dark-green sky. Countless trees bore golden leaves, but one towering tree possessed an unrivaled presence. It was the symbol of this world and this era.

The great golden tree that symbolized the Golden Order-the Erdtree.

"As I thought... the Elden Ring has shattered. So this was your choice..." His gaze sharpened. As a veteran from the earliest days of the Erdtree's era, he knew full well how different this sight was from the past. In his time, the Erdtree had been far more glorious.

The Erdtree would not weaken without cause. The only explanation was damage to the Elden Ring, the embodiment of Order. And only one person in the present world could have accomplished that: gold's emissary, Queen Marika the Eternal.

"Oh... you there." A sinister, slightly shrill voice reached his ears. Only then did he turn his attention forward, toward its owner. It was a man wearing white robes and a white mask. Dried, blackened blood stained his dingy robes, but among those many stains was one that looked relatively fresh. It caught the Tarnished's attention. That bloodstain made him feel that something was wrong with the man before him.

"You're Tarnished, aren't you...? You came to the Lands Between because you yearn for the Elden Ring."

"But alas, how tragic. You have no maiden at your side. You lack guidance and cannot acquire the strength of runes, much less reach the Roundtable Hold."

"You can only die in obscurity."

"But don't worry. Being maidenless is no problem, because you've met me-Varre."

"?" The man gave Varre, who had been prattling on without waiting for a response, a baffled look.

"Who the hell are you? You just show up and start running your mouth."

"Ah, you pitiful Tarnished. I am..." Varre continued in that gloomy voice, speaking down to him with apparent pity, but the man interrupted before he could finish.

"What a smarmy bastard. What's with that tone? Didn't anyone teach you to watch how you speak when you're out in the world?" This man named Varre made him uncomfortable. He seemed to have been waiting here specifically for him. Having weathered countless battles, the man could naturally tell that Varre had taken quite a few lives.

But Varre did not seem to be some peerless warrior. He lacked the oppressive presence a true powerhouse should possess. He was more like someone who scavenged easy kills on a battlefield, a type the man had encountered before.

His tone was irritating, too. His words brimmed with self-importance, which clashed sharply with his gloomy air. It seemed like a false nobility and arrogance cobbled together as a disguise.

And, most importantly, he was a little too prissy.

"Oh...?" Varre rubbed his hands together. Even through the mask, his complicated gaze was palpable. "Ah, there's no need to be so tense. I'm here to guide you."

"You? Guide me?" The man chuckled.

"Indeed. There is quite a bond between us. I can sense that you're different from the other Tarnished. You will receive my guidance."

"Then there's a question I'd like you to 'kindly' answer." His eyes half-lidded, the man laid a Golden Straight Sword against Varre's neck in the next instant.

"W-what are you doing?!" Varre clearly had not expected him to draw his sword outright, and immediately panicked.

"When I first arrived in the Lands Between, I passed through a chapel."

"I happened to find a dead woman there. Judging by her clothes, she was a maiden."

"W-what are you getting at?" Varre's voice trembled, perhaps from the discomfort of having a sword at his throat.

"Then, the moment I reached this place, I met you. How thoughtful of you, waiting along this road for passing Tarnished. Do you tell everyone you meet that there's a bond between you?"

"Why are you so ungrateful?! I only want to help you!" Varre grew agitated.

"Shut your mouth. I didn't give you permission to speak. Second point."

"How did you know I had no maiden? Couldn't she be resting in the building behind me? You seem awfully certain."

"You suspect me of killing your maiden? Ridiculous! What proof do you have?!"

"I'm not suspecting you. We're just having a chat. Isn't guiding me your duty?" At that, the man lowered his sword. "Still, I have to say, those spiders are a real nuisance."

"Wouldn't you agree?" he asked casually.

"Indeed... and they even have human faces... Oh, no!" Varre realized that his panic had made him let something slip. He hurriedly backed away, but the man's golden sword reached his neck first.

The pressure the man exerted was overwhelming. In all his years of preaching, Varre had never encountered such a mad Tarnished.

"Look at you. I only mentioned spiders, so why did you bring up human faces? Could it be that you've been there and seen them yourself...? That's strange. Hardly anyone goes there. What were you doing in a place like that?" Wearing a smile that sent chills down the spine, the man advanced on White Mask Varre, forcing him against the rock behind him.

"Oh, right. Let me tell you something. I'm actually quite sensitive to blood." The man stared fixedly at the Tarnished. In those faded eyes, Varre saw a dangerous gleam of crimson bloodlust.

"Lowly Tarnished, do you know who you're speaking to?! Do you think I'm some pushover?! I am a noble servant of the Mohgwyn Dynasty!" Varre dropped the act and tried to intimidate him, but...

"Are you stupid? You know perfectly well that I'm a Tarnished who just arrived in the Lands Between and knows nothing. Isn't that exactly why you came here? Yet now you're trying to cow someone with the name of an organization he knows absolutely nothing about."

"People these days really are naive." The man planted a foot against Varre's chest.

"You...!" Varre was speechless, but a moment later he sneered, "A lowborn Tarnished could never comprehend the greatness of our dynasty!"

"Listen well! Our sovereign is the great Mohg! A mighty Demigod!" Heh. Even a Tarnished knows the fearsome reputation of the Demigods. Surely a wretched, lowborn Tarnished wouldn't dare defy one? Then he'll be mine to handle however I please.

"Mohg?" The man raised an eyebrow. The image of a child covered in horns flashed through his mind. Wasn't that his little nephew?

"Heh, he's certainly made something of himself... Is that what gives you the nerve to be so arrogant?"

"You! Insolent wretch! How dare you speak of Lord Mohg in that tone?!" Humiliated and enraged, Varre suddenly sprang up, only for the man to press him back down an instant later.

"Don't use his name to intimidate me. Besides, that isn't a name you can just toss around. It could cost you your head." The man made a shushing gesture.

"Y-you...! Who are you, exactly...?!" Fear rose in Varre's heart. Lord Mohg was indeed a special case, and he often warned his servants not to draw attention to themselves, particularly to mention his name as little as possible.

"You don't need to know. You seem quite devoted to Mohg. I imagine you killed that girl so you could recruit me into your camp while I was isolated and helpless."

"Unfortunately, your master Mohg couldn't bear the honor..." The man chuckled.

"You!!"

"I'm no good man myself... I didn't even know that girl's name. But how should I put this? I still liked her better than you."

"At the very least..."

"She was more likable than you. Your tone, your voice, and your motives-I don't care for any of them." With that, he cut off Varre's head in a single stroke, killing him on the spot.

"Idiot. In this world, even one wrong word comes at a price. Don't speak with an arrogance your strength can't support, and don't provoke others... It really can get you killed."

"You caused me trouble and still wanted to recruit me... Letting you live would have been generous enough. Unfortunately, I'm not generous." He contemptuously kicked Varre's corpse, dislodging a blood-red insignia from inside his robes.

A three-pronged spear was stamped upon it.

"Well, Mohg... you really have made something of yourself. You even have such calculating servants." Feeling the frenzied agitation of blood emanating from the Bloody Finger, the man's voice turned cold. "Sooner or later, I'll settle this with you, my dear nephew."

He awakened another site of grace and reached into it again. Sure enough, this grace had connected to the previous one. "Being able to travel between sites of grace will certainly make things easier."

Then he took out the Tarnished's Furled Finger and Finger Severer he had picked up underground.

One of these two items could leave a sign. When someone else touched it, they would summon the person who had written it to provide assistance. The other, the Finger Severer, cut the connection between the two.

"They look a little different, but they should work much like the summoning tools we used to request help in the past." Such tools had also been distributed among the expeditionary forces in those days, so they could help one another and cut their losses promptly.

The summoned person's spirit would take on a spectral form while their physical body fell asleep, allowing them to fight as a spirit.

"Brings back memories." He seemed to recall the days when he had fought alongside his comrades, and the corners of his mouth lifted slightly. He had met plenty of interesting people back then.

"If fate allows it, we'll meet again." Sitting beside the site of grace, the man looked into the distance, where a huge figure in golden armor came into view.

"A Tree Sentinel?"