[Elden Ring: My Ending] Chapter 59

Even in a fair one-on-one duel, the follower of the Godskin cult had no real chance of defeating Millicent. Their strength was roughly equal, with a slight edge leaning toward the red-haired warrior.

But once Thops appeared, the situation changed completely.

The strange bald man didn’t just assist from a distance—flinging glittering arcs of magic from his staff and pulling aggro like a pro—but also fearlessly closed the gap himself, striking with a sword in the other hand.

Millicent had never fought alongside a full-on battlemage before, so she had only the vaguest idea of how they actually fought. And yet—even she, a battle-hardened warrior raised in the wastes of Caelid—at some point found herself thinking:

He might be a little unhinged…?

Thops couldn’t boast the kind of overwhelming magical nukes others had, nor did his physical strength break any records—but he made up for it entirely with sheer skill and, more importantly, aggression. He never stopped pressing the attack.

And there was… something else.

If the cultist tried to retreat from the wild-eyed battlemage swinging his sword, he was immediately met with a ranged attack to the face.

And if the cultist tried the opposite—rushing in for a fast strike—he would quickly realize:

There was just no point.

Then Millicent saw it again.

The rolls!

Not quite as flawless, not as elegant or polished—but the battlemage rolled, and just like a certain well-known Tarnished, attacks phased right through him, defeating the enemy not only physically, but psychologically.

And with Millicent holding her ground the entire time, the outcome of the fight had been sealed the moment Thops arrived.

“Praise the Sun!!!”

Standing triumphantly over the fallen corpse of the cultist—now burning in black, unnatural flame—Thops shouted, arms raised skyward.

Had she not already known where that cry came from, Millicent might have been deeply concerned. But…

Upon hearing the familiar exclamation, the red-haired warrior simply smiled, flicking the blood from her blade.

“You helped me greatly. Thank you, brave warrior! Please, if you ever need assistance, come find me—I’ll be there. It’s the least I can do.”

“There’s no need,” Thops replied sternly. “The moment I felt the Sun, I knew I had to intervene!”

The shirtless man once again raised his arms toward the sky.

Millicent blinked, glancing downward. Somewhere deep in her mind, she really did feel a strange connection to this battlemage. Konstantin had poured no small amount of power into her, hoping only to ease her burden a little—but this outcome? He definitely hadn’t seen it coming.

Millicent hesitantly tightened her grip on her prosthetic.

“Those… rolls of yours…”

“A dog once told me it was impossible to learn them,” Thops said gravely, clenching a fist. “But I continued to believe in the Sun’s blessing. Every day, I fought—offering my victories to the Sun—and one day… I felt it!”

The battlemage executed a roll. At first glance, it looked ordinary. But as Millicent squinted at it, focusing on the strange energy stirring within her… she could tell. That was no ordinary roll.

“I-I see… You mentioned a ‘dog’…”

The battlemage flinched, slapping his forehead and flashing a sheepish smile.

“Forgive me… Perhaps it is the Sun’s will, but I’ve somehow started seeing turtles as dogs. I’m terribly sorry…”

He paused.

“…Not just turtles, really. But mostly turtles…”

Millicent still had no idea what he was talking about.

“…I think I understand… maybe…”

Seeing her reaction, Thops grew even more awkward. Unlike Konstantin, he couldn’t quite boast the same level of thick skin—at least, not yet.

“Master said if this kept up, he’d run out of celestial dew, so he sent me away…”

Turtle… Master? Millicent blinked.

Truly, the Lands Between was a strange place.

The dead dancers paid no mind to the fact that the cultist controlling them had perished. They simply kept dancing their endless, ritualistic waltz. Neither Millicent nor Thops disturbed them.

After a brief exploration of the village, and finding nothing of real value, the warrior and battlemage prepared to part ways.

“I must keep fighting!” Thops declared. “If you see Konstantin, please give him my thanks. If he hadn’t inspired me and told me of the Sun, I think… I might’ve died in the Academy, weak and spent, never achieving my dream. Ha! But now I’m full of strength and hope! I owe him everything!”

Millicent smiled softly and nodded.

She shared a similar sentiment. The sense of duty and gratitude she held toward that man…

There was no point in dwelling on it again. It wasn’t just gratitude anymore. Not even close. What she felt now ran far deeper—but unfortunately, she had no way to express it. The rot never left her body, not even for a moment. Even Konstantin’s vast power had only barely managed to suppress it.

She hoped—hoped that someone like the Tarnished, whose strength defied reason, could cure her too… but for now, it remained a distant, idealized dream, no matter what Konstantin said.

After living her entire life with the rot spreading inside her, whispering of a fate worse than death, it was hard to be optimistic.

Millicent let out a long sigh, her eyes following the slowly disappearing figure of the bald battlemage.

She was just about to turn away when she suddenly froze, a warm pulse stirring inside her like a ripple across water. Before she could even process the sensation, she turned—and her eyes flew wide.

After all, it wasn’t every day you saw an enormous ancient dragon flying straight at you.

Nearly dropping her sword, she prepared to give her final stand, knowing full well she couldn’t outrun something like that—but then the warmth surged again, this time stronger.

‘Konstantin?’ the thought crossed her mind like a whisper.

Since when had his power begun to feel so… strange?

Her guess turned out to be right.

The massive dragon didn’t attack. It froze midair, clearly controlling its vast size through some unnatural force. And from its head—ignoring the ridiculous height—Konstantin calmly leapt down, slamming into the ground and leaving a crater.

“I’ve finished the other quests.”

Millicent nearly choked on the cloud of dust that followed, staring at him with the wide eyes of an abandoned kitten—or rather, one that had just been found again.

“Y-you… finished the other quests?..”

Konstantin stepped close, attuning himself to the casual energy flowing within her, silently confirming she was okay. At the edge of his mind, he thought he sensed something else, but quickly dismissed it.

“Not all of them, but their time hasn’t come yet,” he murmured, thoughtful. “Have you gotten used to your arm a bit? Are you ready to keep going?”

Millicent felt like she was melting under the golden gaze full of calm curiosity and care. Her thoughts scrambled, barely holding together.

“I… y-yes…”

She could swear he felt different than the last time they met—which was… definitely just recently. And maybe… he was taller now? Definitely taller.

What the hell kind of quests had he been running?..

But the slightly impatient man didn’t give her time to spiral further. Without warning, he swept the startled red-haired waifu into his arms, then looked up to the sky—where the dragoness stared back at him, calm as ever.

Konstantin paused, then stretched his shoulders. Casual energy burst from his body, morphing before their eyes into two massive wings(1), which he used to effortlessly take flight toward the waiting dragon.

The Mountaintops of the Giants awaited.

Melina, watching from the sidelines, stared pensively at the dragon fading into the distance… and then just as pensively down at—

Underwear(2) in her hands.

That madwoman—the companion of the dead—had tried to sneakily shove it onto her Chosen One before leaving, dropping it by the dragon’s corpse. Melina didn’t even want to know what the lunatic was trying to say with that gesture. She was so stunned by it that all she managed to do was snatch the garment up and vanish in an unknown direction.

Thankfully, it seemed like the Tarnished hadn’t noticed. Or, which Melina was endlessly grateful for, he’d pretended not to notice.

Her Chosen One was far too busy with important… quests to be distracted by the underwear of a madwoman! A truly, genuinely unhinged woman!

Melina had never seen anyone who inhaled death-saturated air with such delight.

And not just any cursed air—energy born from the corpse of her own brother!

Melina scowled and snorted, flinging the cursed thing far away. Even touching the underwear had made the Finger Maiden feel defiled.

Never. She would never speak of this shame again.

If her Chosen One had noticed her actions and simply chose not to acknowledge them…

…And there was always the possibility that that nosy witch had been secretly watching as usual…

Whether she wanted to or not, the girl began darting glances around, nervous.

“No, please…”

Melina nearly covered her face with her hands—then remembered what those hands had just been touching.

Somewhere across the village, where undead dancers had been performing an endless ritual for untold years, a faint, spectral scream echoed.

Konstantin’s request had been fulfilled: Greyoll had brought them to the Mountaintops of the Giants—the snow-covered region far to the north of the Lands Between. A place many seemed to have forgotten… though that wasn’t exactly true.

Life still lingered here.

“You may call upon me at any time, my king,” the great dragoness said flatly.

“I will,” Kosta nodded, equally flat in tone. Then, after a pause, glanced at Millicent—who had to crane her neck just to see Greyoll’s face. “Thank you.”

Kosta knew how much Greyoll despised the Scarlet Rot… and yet, she’d said nothing, simply giving Millicent and Kosta a lift without complaint.

The dragoness understood his gratitude, shaking her head slightly.

“I was wrong. She is not the source of the rot. I apologize.”

Suddenly, Greyoll loomed over poor Millicent, who had to tip her head back as far as she could just to meet the dragon’s gaze.

She hadn’t stopped looking like a rescued kitten since the ride. Strangely enough, even the dragoness seemed to sense that—and gently pulled the squeaking, proud red-haired warrior against her, patting her head. Like a stern, but suddenly regretful mother realizing she’d gone too far.

“Poor child…”

Kosta gave a solemn nod, fully sharing in the tragedy of the waifu’s fate.

Millicent’s questline—despite being half-finished—was still one of the saddest and most unfair in the game.

She had no choice but to surrender to the firm embrace of the ancient dragon in human form.

“I have a request, my king,” Greyoll suddenly said, turning to Konstantin.

“A request?”

“The Shadow Realm.”

The short reply was enough for him.

“You want me to summon you for the fight against Bayle(3)?” Konstantin raised an eyebrow.

Greyoll nodded, offering a smile.

Millicent swallowed nervously as the dragoness’s features shifted, becoming unmistakably more draconic.

Konstantin shrugged. He didn’t really care about the specifics of her desire—not yet, anyway. His inner lore scholar wasn’t strong enough for that level of theorycrafting. Not until someone gave him full freedom.

“Alright.”

He didn’t intend to waste much time on that particular DLC. He had… a plan for how he wanted to approach it. And the great dragon wouldn’t interfere with that.

But to make that plan work, he needed to level up a bit more.

Soon, the now-satisfied dragoness took to the skies and left them.

“She’s gone…” Millicent sighed in relief, feeling like she might not have survived another round of those overwhelmingly emotional hugs.

Sure, she was happy the strange dragoness had become unexpectedly friendly, but…

Better friendly at a distance. That way, the proud red-haired warrior could keep her cool.

“Where are we headed next, Konstantin?”

“Aren’t you cold?”

The question caught her off guard.

“Thanks to your warmth… I don’t feel the cold.”

And that was the truth. The energy burning inside her thanks to him had an oddly pleasant side effect.

“Good.” The Tarnished smiled.

Kosta paused for a moment, thoughtful.

“We need to find a certain fort. Its lord has a medallion that’ll let us reach the Haligtree quickly.”

He glanced around, the trident of the now-stolen corpse of the Lord of Blood forming in his hand.

“But first, we’ll need to stop by a few places. The Bloody Finger should be somewhere in this region, yeah?”

He hadn’t seen the guy among the army gathered against him, which meant either the message hadn’t reached him—or he had declined. Either way, Kosta had business with him. And more importantly, he knew how to find him quickly.

He looked at the trident.

“…”

“You don’t want me to toss this piece of metal into the Forge of the Giants, do you?.. What do you think would happen to it? Maybe I should try breaking it myself.”

His hands lit up with an all-consuming crimson flame.

He could locate the casual himself—he just didn’t want to waste the time.

And, judging by the sudden tension in the trident, it could feel how serious he was.

“…tch…”

Kosta’s diplomacy skills had come a long way since arriving in the Lands Between.

“There are a few places…” Millicent murmured uncertainly.

Melina appeared beside them, more serious than ever.

“Farming!”

And you couldn’t exactly say that the Flase Maiden was wrong.

Okina, the Bloody Finger.

Once a swordsman from a distant continent, he had come to the Lands Between with a single purpose: to hone his blade to perfection.

There had been a time when his name was spoken far and wide. A madman, consumed by bloodlust. The one they called the Demonic Swordsman. One of the greatest swordmasters the world had ever seen.

Mogh had reached Okina first, offering him a place in his service. Ever-hungry for greater heights of swordsmanship, Okina had accepted—embracing the gift of the Formless Mother, bending the power of blood to his will and becoming stronger than ever before.

Which made it all the stranger that he had not joined the Lord of Blood’s army.

And the reason was simple:

The swordsman had hidden. He chose to wait out the storm.

Okina, mad and bloodthirsty though he was, had not lost all reason. He had fought in the festival against Radahn—he’d seen what the Tarnished was capable of.

The Tarnished had emerged victorious alone… and only grown stronger since.

The Bloody Finger knew that neither his lord nor the followers he’d gathered would be enough. Fools who could not recognize their place in the world were doomed. And Okina saw no reason to warn them or stand in their way.

His homeland had taught him that lesson well.

Still… there were things even a mad swordsman couldn’t foresee.

Like the fact that he possessed something the madman now approaching wanted to borrow.

“I wonder… would this count as an invasion?”

The voice nearly made Okina jump—but he kept himself still through sheer willpower.

Some might say the Lands Between were desolate, but true silence? True emptiness? That could only be found atop the Mountaintops of the Giants. To encounter anything sentient here was rare.

Or rather—a nightmare.

He had made his home in a ruined temple, grown used to the silence, broken only by the occasional storm. For a swordsman deep in contemplation, it had been near-perfect.

“Have you come to kill me, Konstantin of the Tarnished?” he asked, voice ice-cold as he reached for his blade.

Yes, he had fled. A coward's act. But he had fled to survive. And now that death was certain—he would not kneel.

“I’ve long since stopped caring about the joys of being overleveled,” Konstantin muttered. “I want your sword. Just for a while.”

To say Okina was surprised was an understatement. He glanced down at his katana, confused why the Tarnished would even want it.

“I can’t give you Rivers of Blood unless you master it. You can take it from my corpse, Tarnished.”

“Who said I haven’t mastered it?”

That line, delivered so casually, shook Okina more than any blade. He stared at the fire crackling within the temple. The brewing storm could strike at any moment.

“If you can impress me,” he said slowly, “then the Rivers of Blood are yours. But if your skill falls short—then kill me. I could not bear the shame.”

Under the mask, the swordsman grinned manically, picturing his bloody corpse collapse, staining the snow crimson.

To die by the hand of one of the Lands Between’s strongest… wasn’t such a bad death.

Kosta gave the swordsman a strange look and shrugged.

He didn’t need to show him true parries. That wasn’t necessary.

Without a fight, he took the cursed blade—blessed by unholy blood—into his hand. Listening to its weight, its balance, its presence, Konstantin felt it could handle as much, if not more, power than the club Melina had once gifted him.

He sighed, still mourning the loss of the waifu’s broken gift.

As if he’d done it tens of thousands of times before, the man began to swing the blade. Answering his call, the sword shimmered with bloody light, its edge cutting through the air with deadly grace.

To any outsider, it was nothing—just a few idle swings. But to Okina?

It was everything.

Okina saw perfection. The very thing he had pursued all his life. Something beyond mastery. A graceful, blood-soaked dance—possible only for one who had bonded with blood, who had felt it, hated it, loved it.

In short… a casual player who mained bleed builds.

The Bloody Finger fell to his knees, tears welling in his eyes.

One of the reasons he’d once bowed to Mogh was his technique—his mastery of blood, his divine finesse. A demigod blessed by an Outer God.

But now… Mogh’s greatness seemed trivial. Almost laughable.

Okina removed his mask, head bowed, wiping his tears.

“My lord… I’m so sorry for my blindness…”

Millicent and Melina, watching from a distance, exchanged baffled glances, both staring at Konstantin—who was staring blankly back at the swordsman now kneeling before him.

“Okay, look, I’ll admit I used Rivers of Blood a lot, but this is a bit much…”

“How may I atone?”

Konstantin raised an eyebrow.

“Praise the Sun. That’ll do. I’ll try not to break the thing, but if I do—I’ll pay you in runes.”

And with that, he turned from the kneeling swordsman and walked back to his waifu, calling upon the Torrent once more, already forgetting about Okina entirely.

He still had business to finish before Ranni completed her questline.

Their journey pressed on—inevitably drawing closer to its destined conclusion.

“You lowborn scum… haven’t you gotten a bit too full of yourself?..”

Morgott still felt a little awkward. Technically speaking, he was a hostage. A willing one, sure—free to move about the area as he pleased—but still, a hostage.

Not that it bothered the demigod much.

He’d gotten a chance to see just how much Stormveil Castle had changed. Met a ridiculous number of sentient beings. And, for the first time in what felt like an eternity… he felt something close to—

Freedom.

With a few caveats, anyway.

The tailor Boc spinning all around him froze, his tear-filled eyes locking on the demigod.

“Is it because I’m ugly?!”

Morgott blinked in pure confusion.

“I… what… Never mind,” the demigod sighed. “What exactly are you doing?”

“Taking measurements! By the way, you’re not going to grow anymore, right? That’s important!”

Morgott looked even more lost.

“No… Why are you asking? What do you need my measurements for?”

“His Majesty didn’t warn me he was going to grow! Now I ask everyone! Your clothes are disgraceful,” Boc snorted. “What kind of proud demigod wears rags like those?!”

“…W-what?!”

What was wrong with his outfit?! Sure, it was old, maybe a little torn—but so what?

Who even cared?!

And since when did this rootless Tarnished have the right to be called His Majesty?! He hadn’t even earned that title! Not yet!

“I’ll make you something worthy!” Boc assured him. “U-unless you think I’m too ugly to…”

What does that have to do with anything?! Morgott clutched his horned head mentally.

He didn’t care about appearances. His own mother had called him a cursed freak!

Honestly, the demigod was more surprised he wasn’t being tightly restricted. The Tarnished had defeated him, yes, but hadn’t actually caused any lasting damage. The Omen King had recovered quickly enough that—if he wanted to—he could level Stormveil Castle to dust, along with everyone inside.

Of course, there was a good chance the Tarnished had been watching the Castle the entire time and would show up the second he acted out, but even so…

Who cared if it was reckless? Who cared if he could’ve attacked long ago?

They were still enemies, and—

And…

Were they even still enemies at all?

“Damn it…” Morgott muttered, lifting his gaze toward the clear sky—where the Sun now shone brighter than ever.

He felt like he could reach up and touch it.

It really did feel like a trap.

And judging by how things were going… he really would have to attend his sister’s ceremony.

The fallen Omen King caught the scent of fresh seafood on the breeze. Blinking in surprise, he turned and wandered toward it at a leisurely pace.

It had been ages since he’d had a proper feast—probably not since before the Shattering—and along the way, maybe he’d learn a few things. The warrior woman managing the Castle now was surprisingly open, unafraid and unprejudiced toward him. In a way, it was…

Refreshing.

…she reminded him of someone.

(1) Ash of War: Crucible: Wings.

(2) No, I didn’t lose my mind more than usual by randomly inserting Fia’s questionable(?) underwear into the plot. It’s a real cut item that used to exist in the game but was removed. Modders later found it in the game files and could re-enable it via cheats. Ref: https://youtu.be/watch?v=cU8uzqRWYJo

(3) As you might guess, a boss from the DLC—said to be the oldest and most devious of all dragons. Once challenged Placidusax, but ultimately lost and disappeared into the jagged mountains of the Shadow Realm.