As Lloyd's words fell, everyone in the hall froze as though struck by a petrification spell.
In the suffocating silence that followed, even the faintest heartbeat could be heard.
When he first spoke, the stillness hadn't yet set in—at that time, none of them had grasped his meaning. They merely wondered what kind of nonsense he was spouting this time.
But a few seconds later, when realization dawned on them—
Everything stopped.
Who were they? Where were they? What were they doing?
Questions spun aimlessly in their minds until, after what felt like an eternity, a dry, hoarse voice finally broke the silence.
"You mean… that one is…"
Lloyd nodded.
"Yes."
Another long silence followed.
Then another voice—hesitant, trembling.
"Then… how strong is she?"
Caught off guard, the red-haired pony failed to cover the general's mouth in time.
And after he blurted that out, the barbarian beside him seemed to catch on, his eyes lighting up.
"Is she an Incarnation? Or some kind of projection? What kind of combat style—"
Bang!
Bang!
Before he could finish, the village girl behind him, unable to bear it anymore, swung her hammer and slammed it into his back.
At the same time, from the other side, the Queen of Caria—her magic-powered exoskeleton humming—unleashed a massive spin that landed squarely on the general's head.
"Shut up!" they shouted in unison.
Watching the two move with perfect coordination, Lloyd finally understood why they got along so well.
"No need to be so tense. She's not that petty," he said calmly.
If anything, she was unexpectedly generous—and her "taste" wasn't bad either.
But the two across from him clearly didn't believe a word of it.
Or rather, they didn't dare believe it.
One was of the Nox lineage, the other the Eternal Queen herself. Others might not know the history between the Nox and the Eternal City—but they certainly did.
Even if the chances were one in ten thousand, neither was willing to risk angering her. The last thing they wanted was for some idiot's words to bring down not just a civilization, but the entire world.
Seeing how wary they were, Lloyd dropped the subject.
After all, while he knew Alice wasn't truly a terrible creator—more like a sharp-tongued softie—for certain reasons, the programmer's grudge against a certain village girl and a certain Mother of Fingers was... rather obvious.
Especially since she'd been working overtime lately to fix that ancestral pile of code, and was currently in a foul mood—definitely not the time to bring her up.
...
After that, since everyone still had their own duties and Marika needed time to rest, they exchanged a few more words before deciding to part ways for now—to digest everything they'd learned.
But before they went their separate ways, one more topic had to be addressed.
Namely—
"So then, my new Elden Lord," someone asked, "when do you plan to hold your coronation?"
"The ceremony, the invitations to each realm, the Laws, the gods—"
"That can wait," Lloyd interrupted, shaking his head.
"The Lands Between is still in bad shape. Just spreading the news will do for now. We'll skip the ceremony."
"Besides, I've still got plenty to deal with. I don't have time for pomp and rituals."
By the standards of the Lands Between, Lloyd was already the true Elden Lord.
But as a Lord of Cinders who had fought his way up from the Dark Souls world, his ambitions didn't end with ruling a single land.
And besides…
Turning his gaze toward the Erdtree, he looked past the trunk—toward the two shards resting within.
For a moment, his eyes darkened with thought before he sighed and looked away.
The affairs of the Lands Between were nearing their end.
But his own journey was far from over.
...
After sending everyone back, Lloyd teleported to Castle Morne.
Over time, the castle had completely shed its once-ruined appearance.
Though faint traces of the past still lingered in corners and alleys, at a glance, it looked like a proper city now—save for the fact that its streets bustled with monsters and demi-humans instead of ordinary folk.
In fact, it was thriving.
Upon arrival, Lloyd's first stop was to visit Boc.
After all that had happened, Boc still worked as a tailor—but that was only his side job now. His main role was serving as Lloyd's emissary, the de facto leader of the demi-humans in Castle Morne.
These days, when he wasn't working, he spent his time preaching to the residents—praising his master's greatness, virtues, and wisdom, singing Lloyd's name to the heavens.
And as for Boc's endless flattery, the old slave—Gael—had only this to say:
"I think you're underselling him."
Having dealt with that heap of Ash long enough to know better, Old Slave Gael was well aware that the man—or rather, that thing—was far more terrifying than Boc's flattery suggested.
Speaking of Gael, after his earlier talk with Albus, he'd occasionally taken on the role of sword instructor, offering Boc some guidance in swordsmanship. The results were impressive.
Whether it was raw talent or the precision gained from tailoring, Boc learned fast—alarmingly fast.
Of course, limited by his demi-human physique and the fact that Gael's combat strength came mostly from the Dark Souls world, Boc's overall power was still nothing remarkable.
But compared to what he'd once been, the difference was night and day. To use a game analogy, he'd gone from being a low-level mob—so weak he'd lose to a random grunt—to a small elite capable of exchanging a few blows with a trained knight.
And judging by his current rate of progress, it wouldn't be long before he reached the level of a dungeon mini-boss—the kind that guards a golden fog gate.
But Lloyd's attention wasn't on that.
After acknowledging Boc's improvement and giving him some light praise, Lloyd studied the demi-human before him, then looked past him to the crowd of his kind gathered behind—among them, several demi-human queens.
"Boc, I remember you once mentioned that you weren't happy with your current appearance, right?"
"And not just you. Many demi-humans are dissatisfied with how they look, wishing they could become true 'Golden Folk.'"
Boc nodded. He had indeed said that before.
And in truth, this feeling wasn't limited to demi-humans. Other races—Misbegotten, Albinaurics, even Those Who Live in Death—often viewed themselves with disgust, yearning to look like the idealized "normal" Golden Folk.
After all, while the Lands Between were full of monsters and aberrations (including some with… unconventional preferences—like a certain finger-obsessed man-mother, a certain alphabet dynasty, or a few tragedy enthusiasts), most beings, even monsters, still held a relatively consistent sense of beauty.
You could even argue that, aside from the Albinaurics—whose bloodline inherently rejects the Erdtree's blessing—many of the races shunned and looked down upon across the Lands Between owed that rejection, in part, to their appearance.
And now...
Looking at Boc before him, Lloyd thought for a moment, then nodded.
"Then do this for me—find out how many demi-humans are unhappy with their forms. If the majority are, I'll help you reshape your race."
Lloyd could accept the demi-humans' appearance—but acceptance wasn't the same as liking it.
And if they themselves didn't like what they saw in the mirror, that was reason enough.
Boc froze, eyes widening as he realized what Lloyd meant.
"M-Master, you mean…"
"Exactly what you're thinking."
Lloyd patted him on the shoulder.
"Alright, I need to go meet with Edgar. While I'm gone, ask around and get me the numbers. Try to have it ready by the time I get back, so I can plan accordingly."
With that, and under Boc's trembling, excited gaze, Lloyd left the demi-human quarter and made his way to Edgar's office.
...
"I've become the Elden Lord."
Lloyd didn't waste time.
Edgar, busy working at his desk, nodded absentmindedly.
"Oh, you've become the Elden Lord, have you? That's… congratulations?"
His pen stopped mid-stroke.
He looked up, stunned.
"Wait—what did you just say?"
"I've become the Elden Lord."
Lloyd repeated it, calm as ever.
Silence. Then—
Smack.
Edgar slapped himself hard across the face.
Painful. Not a dream.
"...Is today some kind of joke festival?"
"No."
Lloyd's gaze was steady.
"What, you don't seem too happy about me becoming Elden Lord."
"It's not that I'm unhappy, it's just…"
Of course Edgar was glad—how could he not be? His daughter was in Lloyd's hands, and with him as Elden Lord, Castle Morne—the city of the Misbegotten—could finally have a stable future. He had staked everything on this man long ago.
But still…
It was Lloyd.
Memories flooded back, and Edgar's expression grew complicated.
He had wanted this. He had hoped for it.
But now that it was real, an unease settled in—a creeping feeling that the Lands Between might not survive whatever came next.
Still, he quickly composed himself, face hardening, tone turning serious.
"So then, our king..."
"Your tone makes me sick."
At that, Edgar's hard-earned composure instantly shattered.
"You're the king now—can't you at least act like one?"
Lloyd spread his hands. "It's just the two of us here. Who exactly are you putting on a show for?"
"This…" Edgar sighed, giving up. "Fine. You're right. Those who cling to formalities usually do so either because they have ulterior motives or because they lack real substance and need ceremony to prop themselves up.
"But you—you're already the embodiment of both Strength and Law. You don't need those trappings, and no one would dare question your legitimacy. There's no need to bother."
Of course, that was just talk. Out in public, Edgar would still have to maintain a certain dignity.
But behind closed doors...
"Anything else?" Edgar asked, rubbing his temples, silently praying it wasn't another one of Lloyd's bizarre errands.
"There is."
Lloyd nodded and relayed his earlier conversation with Boc, mentioning that if the city's residents were willing, he could perform a complete racial reshaping.
By now, Edgar was long past being shocked by anything that came out of Lloyd's mouth. Even hearing the casually dropped phrase "racial reshaping"—something absurd even by Lloyd's standards—he merely blinked, then nodded as if accepting another natural law of the world.
"They'll definitely agree to it. Honestly, you won't find many in the Lands Between who enjoy being Misbegotten…"
"Still, even if they all consent, this kind of thing involves a lot of variables. It's not something to decide—or act on—lightly."
"I know," Lloyd said. "That's why I came to you."
So the first thing after becoming Elden Lord is to dump work on me, huh?
Suppressing a sigh, Edgar sat down with him to go over the details. After sketching out a rough plan, he said he needed time to think, pulled out pen and paper, and began jotting notes, his expression sharpening into full focus.
Seeing that Edgar was in work mode, Lloyd didn't stay. He left the city and went to find Old Slave Gael—who, as usual, wasn't alone.
Standing beside him were two familiar figures.
One was a wolf knight clad in silver-blue armor. The other wore a white robe—Oolacile's champion brawler… or, more accurately, its chief sorcerer.
"Hm? Where's Wolnir?" Lloyd asked.
After the Caelid dungeon was finished, Lloyd had sent Gael to help the others adjust to this new world. According to his reports, aside from Artorias and Manus, Wolnir should've been wandering around too.
But the skeleton was nowhere in sight.
"Ran into a skeleton calling himself Roger," Gael said. "Wanted to study how death works in this world. Probably poking around some underground tomb right now."
"Sounds about right."
After a quick greeting, Lloyd spent some time catching up with his old comrades.
He'd handed the painting of the Young Lady to Gael the moment he got it. When Gael learned she was alive again, he was content—disappointed he couldn't see her immediately, but relieved beyond measure that she still existed.
As for Artorias...
"It's fine," the knight said quietly. "I trust you."
He hadn't asked about Kiaran or Gwyn. He didn't need to. Whether or not Lloyd found them, Artorias would never resent him.
After all, they were all born of the Dark Souls. Whether human, god, undead, or knight, tragedy and loss had long since dulled their hearts.
But still...
"As for Gwyn, I've met him once," Lloyd said. "His condition isn't great. It'll take some time."
"And Kiaran... I haven't found her yet, but there are still plenty of places left to search. When I do, you'll be the first to know."
"...Thank you."
After finishing with Artorias, Lloyd turned to the last of the three—Manus, the Fist King of Oolacile.
Being old friends, Manus didn't bother with pleasantries.
"I want to study the magic of this world."
"That's easy enough," Lloyd replied. "I've got contacts at the academy. I can take you there first. Once you and your, uh, spatial situation stabilize, you can stay there long-term."
After a brief discussion, Lloyd teleported them to the Magic Academy.
...
"DUEL!"
A shout rang out.
Before a crowd of onlookers, two sorcerers activated strange circular devices on their wrists. As they slid glowing crystal cards into the slots, their duel officially began.
Watching from the outer ring of spectators, Manus glanced at the duel, then at Lloyd beside him.
"So this... is the sorcery of this world?"
"...Part of it."
"It's your doing, isn't it?"
"A little," Lloyd admitted.
Manus didn't look surprised. "I figured as much."
Then his gaze turned back to the duel, a glint of curiosity in his eyes.
"Still… I have to admit—it's kind of fascinating."