As an essence sharing the same "cold" nature, Ranni's Dark Moon naturally possessed "cooling" capabilities.
Though not purely cold, and therefore slightly less refined than Renna's in specialization, its power had reached the level of forming a Law. Combined with Ranni's own abilities, its overall effect was not much weaker—and could even stack with Renna's.
So then...
"Hold on a moment."
After a brief thought, Lloyd turned his head toward the chubby fellow he had dragged along behind him.
"I need to toss this guy outside first."
Unlike the Serpent, Nito might look terrifying, and as a being of death, he occasionally entertained thoughts like "filling the world with death."
But considering his abysmal motivation, he'd give up long before anyone could stop him. All things considered, his overall threat level was about the same as a rock by the roadside.
"Well, I am a god, you know—a God of Death, no less. If you think about it, I'm actually pretty dangerous, pg..."
As he spoke, the frightening figure—composed of countless bones, seeping with a miasma of death, and draped in a cloak woven from the very concept of mortality—straightened his back, trying his best to appear dignified.
Then...
"Those with ability should do more work."
"If you think you're strong, then handle more responsibilities."
After a brief silence, the straightened spine slumped again.
"I suddenly feel like I'm actually quite harmless."
Lloyd shot him a sharp, unimpressed glance.
"Harmless? Look at yourself—what have you turned into? When I found you back then, you could barely move from sitting around too long. In battle, it was your little skeleton minions doing all the work while you waddled along behind them, barely managing to send out a sword dance or two from afar."
"Later, you kept shouting about losing weight every day, but the more you tried, the fatter you got. Now, you finally get another chance at life, and you're still planning to slack off..."
"...I mean, look at me, I'm already stiff as a corpse. Don't expect too much, alright?"
"You should've just stayed dead."
After a short exchange, Lloyd led Nito out of the dungeon. Then, under Nito's reluctant gaze, he brought him to the throne of the Dead Prince.
"There. That's it. You don't need to do anything else. Just stay here and sleep. Use your death to replace the twisted death in this place—let death function properly again."
Hearing Lloyd's words, Nito paused for a moment, then lowered his head, blinking—or rather, blinking the empty sockets of his skull.
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"And after that...?"
"After that, if you want to do something—as long as it's not too much—I won't stop you. If you don't, then just stay here. Sleep, die, whatever you want."
Seeing Nito's incredulous look, Lloyd sighed and patted his bony frame.
"Alright, enough joking."
"Like I told you before, things in this world aren't as bad as they used to be. I'm not planning to handle things the same way anymore."
"I know you might not believe that yet, but that's fine. There's plenty of time ahead. Just stay here for now."
"We've got all the time in the world to adapt."
And so, half-believing and half-doubtful, Nito stayed behind.
He glanced at Lloyd walking away, then turned his gaze toward the massive, lifeless face nearby. Shaking his skull, he settled back down on the spot.
"Death in this place sure is ugly..."
...
Achoo—
Godwyn, buried in paperwork, sneezed, a sudden sense of unease rising in his chest.
Before he could think further, that premonition quickly proved true.
"Yo, Big Godwyn, what're you up to?"
The last person he wanted to see pushed open the door. After the casual greeting, the newcomer spoke bluntly.
"You looking to die?"
Godwyn: ".........?"
Godwyn: "Huh?"
Having long grown used to Lloyd's abruptness, Godwyn was startled but not alarmed. After a brief moment of confusion, he resumed their conversation, and before long, he roughly understood what Lloyd meant.
"You want me to... manage 'death'?"
"To be precise," Lloyd replied, "assist a deity who governs death in handling matters related to it."
The deity in question was, of course, Nito.
Since Lloyd knew full well how much Nito disliked working—and given that the situation in the Lands Between wasn't dire enough to demand his personal intervention—it was better to have someone else handle things locally.
Besides, the Lands Between straddled two worlds, so the rules governing death weren't entirely the same. Even setting Nito's personality aside, having a native—well, a local Reaper, so to speak—acting as a regional manager was absolutely necessary.
And when it came to death, because of a certain beloved sister, a certain Golden Prince had practically become the embodiment of it within the Lands Between.
From the pus-covered faces spread across the realm, even reaching the Land of Shadow, to the way the mere mention of "death" brought his name to mind, Godwyn already fulfilled all the natural conditions for becoming death's incarnation.
If he wished, he wouldn't even need Lloyd's help. With a bit of effort, he could shed his "Golden" title and fully transform into the true "Prince of Death." In time, perhaps even ascend further—to the level of a "Death God."
But the problem was... he didn't want to.
He had truly died once. His death had brought countless tragedies, hurting not only himself but everyone close to him. Naturally, his attitude toward the power of death was far from favorable.
And now...
"You can refuse," Lloyd said calmly. "I just thought you were the most suitable candidate, so I wanted to ask. But if you truly don't wish to, I won't force you."
At those words, the Golden Prince fell silent for a long time.
Lloyd didn't rush him. He simply sat there, quietly watching, waiting for Godwyn's answer.
Time passed slowly.
"I... will do it."
After a long inner struggle, the Golden Prince finally chose to accept the role.
As for the reason...
"I think I should take responsibility."
Though death had never been his choice, though he had rejected that power—and though no one had ever blamed him for it—Godwyn still carried guilt over his own death.
If he had done a little better.
If he had found a better solution.
If he had communicated more with his family...
Perhaps none of it would have happened.
After all, unlike the others, he was the Golden Prince—born to inherit the Golden Lineage.
And compared to his siblings, he was the most cherished one. Especially when compared with those brothers who had been shunned and forced into the dark, the difference was immeasurable.
So, even without anyone asking it of him, Godwyn had always worked hard, always strived to do his best.
Not because he was loved and wanted to repay that love, but because he simply wished to love others—at least, that was how the System once described his stubborn-minded brother.
And as for how others saw him...
"Because he was loved, he wanted to give love in return."
That was how his mother had once described him.
So even though he disliked that power, even though no one would ever hold him accountable for it, he still believed it was his duty—and he was prepared to bear it.
But not just bear it.
"I want to face it," he said quietly, "to confront the past I loathe, even fear."
"And then, without running away, overcome it."
He lifted his head, meeting Lloyd's gaze.
Their eyes met.
"This is why you came to me, isn't it?"
"Who knows?"
Lloyd shrugged lightly. After discussing a few details, he told Godwyn to start preparing, then left to hand over the matter to Nito.
Nito wasn't remotely surprised that Lloyd had dragged him into something again.
But after hearing the explanation, even he was a little shocked.
No new task—just someone to share the workload?
"...Are you really Lloyd?"
"Just answer—do you want it or not?"
"Yes, yes, yes."
After that brief exchange, the matter was settled.
All that remained was for Godwyn to finish his preparations, and then Lloyd would help him become the "Prince of Death."
Once he had handled things with Nito, Lloyd went to check on Miquella.
Because he hadn't dared return to the Haligtree, Miquella had been brought to the Royal Capital by Godwyn and had remained there ever since, assisting him with various duties.
The reason he hadn't shown up during the whole Marika incident was similar—like a child who'd caused trouble and couldn't bring himself to face his parents.
As for Marika, though she knew Miquella was here after her awakening, she still hadn't gone to see him.
The reason was simple.
"That child walked the exact same path I once did."
"It's fair to say it was my influence that led him down that road. So the mistakes he made… much of that blame lies with me, his mother."
"Moreover, because of my affair with that fool"—referring, of course, to a certain redhead—"I failed to give him enough love and guidance, which led to that... that incident."
—Meaning, the matter of him coveting his own brother.
Though Marika's personality was free-spirited, even a bold woman like her found the thought of her sons being involved with each other difficult to speak of aloud.
So not only did Miquella avoid facing Marika, but Marika herself had no idea how to face her youngest son.
Still, Lloyd hadn't come to intervene in that matter.
Despite the rift between them, both were alive, both slowly recovering. Such wounds would be worn down by time.
But there was something else that required Lloyd's attention—and Miquella's cooperation.
"Say, little Mi."
Looking at the barefoot, anxious blond boy before him, Lloyd spoke slowly.
"Would you be interested in becoming a teacher?"
Miquella blinked.
"...A teacher?"
"Yes, a teacher."
Lloyd nodded, then explained his plan to spread education across the Lands Between before getting to the point.
"You have a deep understanding of the Golden Prayers, and your teaching ability isn't bad either. I'd like you to oversee an academy focused on Incantations—and possibly handle some medical work as well."
Miquella didn't object. Driven by guilt and a desperate need to atone, he wanted to take on responsibility, hoping it might ease the burden on his heart.
However, while Miquella had no issue with the arrangement, someone else clearly did.
"Me... handling medical duties with him?"
In the Blood Dynasty, after hearing Lloyd's plan, Mohg's face twisted into a conflicted grimace.
Though much time had passed, the psychological shadow Miquella had left on him had never truly faded. Even now, whenever he patrolled the Blood Dynasty, he instinctively avoided the location of that blood cocoon, not daring to look that way for fear of stirring painful memories.
But now, because the Dynasty's work involved matters of blood and vitality, Mohg was naturally responsible for overseeing medical functions. And if Miquella took part too, the two of them would have to work together.
Which meant...
"Maybe you should find someone else. If not, Ansbach can take over for me."
That was what Mohg had intended to say.
But before he could, Lloyd interrupted with a strange question.
"What is it that you truly fear—the 'falsehood,' or the 'truth'?"
Mohg froze.
A long silence followed.
To anyone else, the question might have seemed cryptic—perhaps even theological.
But Mohg understood exactly what Lloyd meant. He wasn't asking about belief or ideology. He was talking about emotion.
Why had Mohg fallen under Miquella's spell back then?
To the public, it was simple—he had dropped his guard, underestimated his brother, and fallen prey to his charm.
But in truth, while that was part of it, what terrified him most wasn't the allure itself, but what came after—the "truth" that followed it.
Miquella's enchantment had never been unconditional. Godwyn had told Lloyd that long ago.
And while Mohg claimed that his ambition to use Miquella's Law to become king had been twisted into love, the truth was, if his resolve had been completely solid, that "twist" could have taken countless forms—it didn't have to become that overwhelming, consuming affection.
To be clear, Mohg wasn't interested in men—much less in his own brother.
But the problem was...
"No one has ever been so kind to you, has there?"
At Lloyd's question, silence lingered for a long time before it broke with a weary sigh.
"Yes."
Having started his journey from the Subterranean Shunning-Grounds, Mohg had felt little kindness in his life—save from Godwyn and Morgott—until the day he left the Royal Capital.
After founding the Dynasty of Blood, things seemed to change. He gained loyal followers and comrades willing to share life and death with him. His life looked brighter, his smile more frequent.
Yet, in the quiet of night, when he was alone gazing at the distant Erdtree, that strange emptiness always returned—a hollow space in his heart that no triumph could fill.
It made no sense. He had achieved the freedom he'd always dreamed of. He was surrounded by people he could trust. His days were filled with purpose, his mind and spirit constantly occupied.
So why did it still feel like something inside him was missing?
The question haunted him for a long time—until the day he brought Miquella back from the Haligtree. During their exchanges and negotiations, he suddenly realized something.
That emptiness inside him... felt a little less empty.
There's a saying: What you could not have in your youth will haunt you for life.
Though Mohg had escaped his prison and gained more than he'd ever imagined—freedom, power, purpose—there was still one thing missing. Something neither his elder brothers nor his subordinates could ever give him.
Mohg didn't know what it was. He couldn't describe it.
But Lloyd knew.
"It's a mother's love."
Absurd as it sounded—neither age nor gender matched, and they were brothers by blood, with Mohg being the elder—it was true. During that time, Mohg had felt from Miquella the tenderness and acceptance he'd never known before.
And it hadn't been an act.
Though his mind was still young, Miquella—who had raised his sister alone in their parents' absence—had long played the role of a nurturing caretaker. Combined with his gentle and compassionate nature, and his empathy for Mohg's buried pain after arriving there, that affection had been genuine.
True, Miquella had also come to the Dynasty of Blood seeking a powerful Hornsent corpse as a vessel for spirit descent. That intent had always been there.
But back then, Miquella was still lost, still struggling against the essence of his own enchantment, uncertain if his path was right.
Otherwise, considering how completely Mohg had fallen for him—to the point where even a single severed hand could drive him into obsession—it would have been easy for Miquella to destroy him. Perhaps not by direct command, but by subtle means. In a realm like the Dynasty of Blood, where extremes were common, it would not have been difficult.
Yet in the end, Miquella left behind only one hand.
The exact reasons—neither Lloyd nor even Miquella himself could truly explain.
But one thing was certain: Miquella's feelings toward Mohg had never been entirely false. And they weren't the feelings of lovers, either. If anything, they were more akin to the pity one might feel for a stray cat taken in from the cold.
And that—was the root of their conflict.
It wasn't easy to resolve. Not after everything that had happened.
For Marika, such wounds could be weathered with time. Her distance from Miquella was emotional, not born of direct confrontation.
But for Mohg...
"Actually, it's not so hard to fix," Lloyd said, watching the still-troubled Mohg with a calm, steady gaze.
"I know. Even if you understand there's nothing romantic between you, what happened before still leaves you uneasy. It makes you feel like he's... still thinking of you that way."
"But I'll tell you this—there's no need to worry."
"Because even if he did harbor feelings like that, his affection wouldn't be directed toward your... situation. It would be toward—"
Lloyd went on to explain the matter between Miquella and Radahn, and afterward, brought up Godwyn's case as well.
Visibly, Mohg's expression shifted.
"You mean..."
"Exactly. If he truly had those feelings, they'd be for Radahn. It has nothing to do with you—or your older brother."
"From that perspective, the reason he's been looking after you isn't really about you at all. It's more about earning your big brother's favor..."
As Lloyd's words sank in, Mohg's tense brow gradually eased.
Yes. It made sense. And thinking about it carefully—if there had been something between them, it would've happened long before Miquella left.
As for his other brothers...
Radahn? He didn't care about that one.
And his eldest brother...
"My brother makes his own choices. I've no right to interfere," Mohg said flatly.
But what he truly thought—only he knew.
The talk had loosened his heart, but the scars of the past ran deep. Habitual fear and guilt would take time to fade.
Fortunately, time was something he had plenty of—and the upcoming preparations for the academy gave him both purpose and space to adjust.
"I'll get to work, then," he said. "Once there's a plan in place, summon me with the golden branch."
And with that, Mohg departed.
Watching his retreating back, Lloyd thought of their conversation—then of Godwyn's quiet guilt for failing to do better, of Morgott's lonely resolve. He shook his head, sighing softly.
As expected of Godfrey's sons. The one who grew up "normal" became the perfect Golden One. The two who started out in the sewers—somehow, they hadn't turned out bad either. After what they'd suffered, wanting to destroy the world would've been understandable.
Yet these two—one still guarding the Erdtree, the other secretly supporting his brother. In contrast...
"...What?"
The blue-skinned witch noticed his gaze and raised a brow.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Nothing," Lloyd said truthfully. "Just thinking—you really are a natural-born witch."
Ranni blinked. "......"
"Well, I'll take that as a compliment."
She could tell there was more behind his words, but whatever it was, she didn't mind. She accepted it without hesitation.
Just as she had long ago, Ranni never shied from her identity as a witch. She didn't care if others called her wicked. She accepted it—claimed it.
She was bad. She was selfish. She was a witch.
Even if no one else said it, she'd always admit it herself.
And now...
"What, are you planning to strike down this 'wicked witch'?" she asked half-jokingly.
But across from her, Lloyd nodded.
"Yes. I plan to strike you down."
Ranni froze.
Before she could react, Lloyd took her hand, his voice steady and serious.
"And it starts now."