Bell Bearing Hunter

Leaving the cave where Patches had taken refuge, the Tarnished had reaped quite a harvest. With the Shackles in hand, even the strongest Omen could cause little trouble. These Shackles were objects the most promising Omen children had worn since birth. As long as the Shackles existed, they could never escape their bonds. The suppression reached into their very souls.

"Honestly, I'd rather not use this thing." If Margit was the man he remembered, he truly did not want to use such a humiliating tool on him. But if Margit refused to see reason, that would be another matter...

Still, he needed an ace up his sleeve, so it was best to keep it for now. He might have mistaken Margit for someone else, after all. He also needed to gain proper mastery over the power of Aspects of the Crucible.

By the time the Tarnished returned to Stormhill, the storm sweeping the hills had begun to weaken, and night had fallen once more. Only a few Trolls remained standing there, blankly carrying out their master's orders.

Stormhill was not large, but in the past, even without any defenses in place, the storm surrounding the hills had formed a sturdy enough barrier. Many enemies had been kept outside the hills, unable even to approach the castle.

"It took us some effort to break through back then. Now look at this storm. It doesn't even qualify as a breeze." There was a trace of regret in the Tarnished's voice. This was not merely a consequence of the Storm Lord's departure. Godrick's actions had also sullied the fierce winds of this land.

In the past, the storm had symbolized fearlessness and valor. Everyone under the Storm Lord, from the lord himself down to the lowliest servants and soldiers, had embodied those qualities.

As the Tarnished thought back on Stormhill's former glory, his feet never stopped moving. He approached a ruined shack and sensed a powerful presence within. When he entered, he saw a weathered-looking man holding a greatsword, gazing toward Stormveil Castle.

"Oh... someone actually came here... and a Tarnished, like me." Noticing the newcomer, the other Tarnished slowly turned his gaze toward him. When their eyes met, the Tarnished sensed something familiar-a presence Godfrey had once possessed as well.

The presence of a lord.

Unlike Godfrey, however, the man before him had a broken "crown." That meant he was merely a would-be lord.

Oh? How interesting. I never thought someone with such potential would appear in a later age... someone who could come so close to becoming Elden Lord. A hint of appreciation entered the Tarnished's eyes as he regarded the man.

"My name is Bernahl. I'm a Tarnished, just like you." Bernahl did not notice the approval hidden deep in the Tarnished's eyes. There was merely a hint of self-mockery in his voice as he gave his name.

"As for me... I have no name. You can simply call me Tarnished."

"Haha... have you even cast aside your name?" Bernahl gave a couple of dry chuckles.

"No. The past is gone. However glorious we once were, we're all equals now. There's no point discussing our former identities or names. We've all died once already."

"...Hahaha, is that so? You're right." Bernahl deeply agreed. The Tarnished's return from death might have seemed like a new lease on life, but in truth, what they had lost far outweighed what they gained after their revival. Everything they had once cherished had become as fleeting as mist.

"May I ask you something?" Bernahl looked at the Tarnished with his own equally faded eyes.

"Go ahead."

"My fellow Tarnished, will you remain in the Lands Between and keep fighting? Even if the Elden Ring has been shattered beyond all hope of repair, will you still believe in the guidance of Grace?"

"No."

"Huh?"

"I've never believed in this so-called guidance. Not then, and not now." The Tarnished answered without hesitation. Bernahl had never expected such a response.

"Then why did you come to the Lands Between?"

"Naturally, because I have something to accomplish." The Tarnished gave a meaningful smile. "The so-called guidance of Grace is merely something offered to those who have lost their way. Besides, anyone with sense can see the flaws in gold. As for its guidance..."

"Not even a dog would want it."

"What..." Bernahl was dumbfounded by the Tarnished's unprecedented declaration. He had thought the man before him was a model Tarnished, only to discover that he was a heretic who rejected the Golden Order. But...

"Heh, hahahaha! Hahahahaha!" Bernahl laughed, with a measure of relief and a measure of sorrow. Anyone perceptive could have heard the hardships of his life in that laughter.

"Ah..." Bernahl followed it with a sigh. "If only I'd understood things as clearly as you sooner."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing... I feel we get along rather well. Would you be interested in inheriting my combat skills? I know little beyond wielding weapons in battle. I'd like to pass on everything I've learned."

A would-be lord's lifetime of knowledge... that's still nothing to scoff at, the Tarnished thought. "All right."

"Then allow me to demonstrate my humble skills. I hope you can remember them all in one go." Bernahl lifted his greatsword and demonstrated his fighting techniques. From basic slashes to thrusts, rising strikes to summoning storms, every move was simple yet held boundless power, enough to cleave a mountain.

"Beautiful." When Bernahl finished his demonstration, the Tarnished applauded in approval. As expected of someone with the makings of a lord, his strength, speed, fighting stance, and techniques were all top-tier. Though he had yet to attain Godfrey's overwhelming might, he was still an exceptional warrior.

"Hahaha, just a few casual swings." Bernahl put away his sword and exhaled. "Well? How much did you manage to grasp?"

"Oh... my turn now, is it?" The Tarnished gestured for Bernahl to lend him the greatsword. The instant he took it, his aura changed so abruptly that Bernahl momentarily froze.

What happened before Bernahl's eyes next surpassed everything he had witnessed in his life. The Tarnished wielded the sword with the bearing of a conqueror. Though he held only a single blade, its killing intent gave the impression of being surrounded by ten thousand swords. Even basic movements like slashes and straight thrusts were extraordinary.

"..." Bernahl stood rooted to the spot. When the Tarnished raised the greatsword high and gathered a storm, every wind on Stormhill converged upon him. One downward swing swept the clouds away, leaving the night sky exposed above the ruined shack.

"Well?" The Tarnished turned toward Bernahl, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.

"Who are you, really..." Only after a long silence did Bernahl manage to force out those few words.

"Just a nameless Tarnished..."

Afterward, Bernahl bid the Tarnished farewell with mixed feelings. He did not say where he intended to go, only that he wanted to seek a new purpose for his existence. The Tarnished continued roaming Stormhill.

He had to admit that Stormhill had gained quite a few wooden houses. Though they were now dilapidated, he could tell people had lived here, which was rather unusual. In the past, fierce winds had raged across this place, and hardly anyone had wanted to live here. They had all settled inside Stormveil Castle or nearby.

The Tarnished had no intention of passing these houses by. Since people had lived in them, they ought to have left something behind. He had barely stepped into one ruined shack when a needle-sharp killing intent pierced him from behind. Its source was a tall figure wearing rust-colored armor entwined with thorns.

"This killing intent... oh... now that's interesting." The Tarnished studied the murderous aura coming from the figure who had appeared out of thin air. He knew that feeling well. It was the killing intent of someone whose hands had claimed countless lives. Those who possessed it were either kings and warriors who conquered lands, or butchers.

The tall man before him was clearly the latter.

"An Executioner from that place?" Facing the silent Executioner, the Tarnished wasted no more words. He drew his curved sword and prepared to fight, only for the Executioner to shake his head, muttering under his breath.

"No Bell Bearing... no Bell Bearing." Then he vanished from the spot just as eerily.

"What the hell was that?" The inexplicable encounter left the Tarnished utterly bewildered.

"Wait, did he say Bell Bearing?"

Bell Bearings were special storage items, usually carried by merchants and the like to hold their wares. Ordinary warriors had no need for them, since having one stolen meant losing everything stored inside it as well.

Convenient though Bell Bearings were, they came with risks. Warriors would never store the things they relied on to stay alive in one. As such, only those who needed to store large quantities of goods resorted to using them.

"Was he here to steal Bell Bearings?" He truly had not expected anyone to engage in such banditry in this shattered age. If they wanted to rob someone, they ought to steal runes instead. Runes were worth far more than assorted junk. The Tarnished shrugged.

That fellow had been quite strong. He was probably a butcher employed by some great family. Though his equipment was covered in rust, the quality of its materials was still apparent. An ordinary family could never afford to hire a butcher like him.

"Looks like he's gone solo, though." If he really was some family's butcher, he must have discarded whatever insignia identified his allegiance. Unless the Tarnished's guess was wrong, and he was simply a murderous lunatic.

"Well, it doesn't matter." The Tarnished thought little of people like that. As long as the man did not target him or interfere with him, he could do as he pleased.

"Still, I hope he doesn't kill Kale." If that fellow really was after Bell Bearings, weak Wandering Merchants like Kale would be the ones most at risk. All he could do was pray. He had no idea where Kale had gone.

After inspecting his surroundings and confirming that it was safe, the Tarnished decided to rest in the ruined shack for a while. He closed his eyes and recalled everything he had experienced since coming to the Lands Between. Eventually, his thoughts turned to some of the basic sorcery theory Sellen had taught him.

"Sorcery really is a bit difficult." Unlike combat skills and the two types of incantations he had learned through his unusual circumstances, he had little experience with sorcery. Nor did he have a catalyst to experiment with, so he had made no progress in that area for quite some time.

"If I fought some sorcerers and bathed in their blood, would it work the same way dragon blood did?"

"Forget it. Just kidding. I'm not that depraved yet. Besides, dragon blood is inherently extraordinary. A sorcerer's blood might not contain the primeval current Sellen mentioned."

That thought left the Tarnished somewhat troubled. No matter how he considered it, the sword Sellen said could channel sorcery did not sound like something he could obtain here in Limgrave. He would probably have to visit its place of origin, Liurnia. Still, he needed to build a solid foundation in the theory. Once he dealt with Godrick, he would have to see Sellen again. It really would be embarrassing if he failed to grasp even the basics.

With that, the Tarnished glanced up at the cloudless night sky. It was the result of his storm-sweeping sword strike. Even now, no clouds had managed to gather again.

"There aren't many stars..." Only a handful of stars dotted the deep night sky. How was he supposed to understand the nature of the stars under these conditions?

"I suppose I'll just imagine it." The Tarnished slowly closed his eyes and began exploring the mysteries of sorcery.