Through the blessing of grace, Lucian returned swiftly to Stormveil.
In the days he had been away, little seemed to have changed. The city was calm, harmonious, with no signs of major upheaval. If anything, it had grown more complete—repairs to damaged buildings were nearly finished, and the infrastructure had improved.
But the most striking change was the people.
The streets bustled with far more life than before. Every race had new arrivals, yet the majority were, without question, Tarnished. Word of Stormveil had spread across Limgrave during Lucian's absence, and thousands upon thousands of Tarnished had flocked here.
The sheer number was staggering—certainly in the thousands, perhaps already over ten thousand. Even without a formal census, the surge in traffic was obvious.
Their arrival breathed new vitality into Stormveil, and to Lucian, they represented something even more important: soldiers. An endless supply of soldiers.
Not all Tarnished were willing to fight, of course. Yet they were the minority. Most, even if weak, were willing to take up arms—especially now that they would not have to face death alone. Within an army, they could fight together, not as isolated wanderers.
Curiously, those unable to see grace were the most eager to enlist. For Tarnished blessed with grace, survival was always possible so long as they were not slain outright. That hope bred hesitation. Those without grace, however, knew they had no path of retreat—only the resolve to march forward, unflinching.
If Lucian lowered his standards, he could have thrown these Tarnished straight into battle with no training at all. After all, compared to the average soldier of other factions, even an untrained Tarnished was stronger, better armed, and more seasoned in combat.
Every Tarnished brought their own weapon and armor. Soldiers of such caliber—where else could one find them? Their worth was almost absurdly high. Lucian couldn't help but think; they were an even better bargain than StarCraft's 50 Minerals worker.
Still, he had no intention of compromising. Training and discipline were essential. Every knightly order would be properly armed and drilled.
He could hardly wait to see a grand army of Stormveil marching toward Leyndell.
Yet such rapid growth also brought strain. The city guards had multiplied noticeably since his return.
Now, led by Storm Knights, the guards patrolled the streets in gleaming silver armor—each helm crowned with wing-like crests, marking them as the Stormwings. Their appearance mirrored the Silver Knights of Dark Souls, and every one of them had been handpicked and rigorously trained.
Lucian noted with satisfaction that they were elite through and through. The Tarnished already carried the bloodline of warriors; with a solid foundation, a little training polished them quickly. Combined with strict discipline, a proper fighting force was forged in no time.
And unlike the mass-produced cannon fodder of Albinaurics or man-serpent, these knights were no disposable soldiers.
Though Lucian did not manage Stormveil's affairs personally, he always cared for its progress. These small details told him much: the city was thriving, developing rapidly, and moving firmly in the right direction.
For what he could not see, however, he would need to ask Lancelot.
He made his way to the knight's office, where he found Lancelot hunched over his desk, buried in work. At the sight of his liege, Lancelot nearly jumped to his feet in surprise before hastily rising to greet him with formal respect.
Lucian noticed how worn and weary the knight appeared. He clapped Lancelot on the shoulder, urging him to sit, then took the chair opposite.
"Sir Lucian, my lord, you've returned earlier than expected," Lancelot said. "Judging by the time… the festival of combat has yet to begin?"
Lucian nodded. "I have already been to Redmane Castle, and scouted Caelid and its surroundings. I understand the lay of the land. Until the festival begins in a day or two, I am free to handle other matters."
He leaned back slightly. "Tell me, what has become of Stormveil in my absence? I noticed the streets are far more crowded."
A smile touched Lancelot's tired face. "Our growth has been remarkable. Above all, the population has soared. Over ten thousand Tarnished have gathered here, lured by our long campaign of word and reputation. Of them, six or seven thousand have joined training, preparing to serve as soldiers."
"As for the rest, we have assigned them to work in construction, logistics, and other necessary duties, easing the shortage of manpower. With this, not only are the Drakeblood Knights and Silver Knight Guard strengthened, but we can begin forming additional orders."
Lucian's own smile matched his knight's. A swelling army was a ruler's greatest reassurance.
Lancelot continued, "Under Master Iji's guidance, our smiths have finished forging arms and armor for both the Drakeblood Knights and the Silver Knights. However, Master Iji departed two days ago."
Lucian nodded thoughtfully. It was too soon to call him back.
"How many stand in the Drakeblood Knights now?"
"Five hundred," Lancelot replied without hesitation. "Organized into five companies of one hundred, each under a captain and lieutenant. They are commanded overall by Hakkan."
"Each knight has two squires assigned, and in war, they may lead additional soldiers. But truthfully, their command skill is lacking. They are strong warriors, but not yet leaders."
Lucian understood. By strength alone, every Drakeblood Knight was at least of knightly caliber, with some brushing the threshold of hero. But training as commanders was another matter entirely.
The meat of Agheel, the flying dragon, had been a tremendous boon. Even a lean drake carried vast reserves of flesh, and Agheel, at thirty to forty meters, was titanic. His blood and flesh had produced knights aplenty. If Lucian had rationed the meat lightly across his soldiers, he could have doubled their number.
But he had chosen quality over quantity. He concentrated the dragon's essence into these five hundred, shaping them into a single, formidable core.
This was no method for long-term growth. Lucian had no intention of raising future knights on dragon flesh. But for now, the Drakeblood Knights had one duty; to grow strong as swiftly as possible, to stand ready where Stormveil needed them most.
Five hundred full-plated knights infused with dragon's blood—before the Shattering, they would have rivaled the armies of great realms. Now, in the fractured Lands Between, they were a force few could challenge.
Yet pride was dangerous. Wars were not won by knights alone. Even the greatest heroes could be overwhelmed, and above them loomed the demigods. Siege weapons, disciplined infantry, and strategy could outweigh raw knightly valor.
"Good," Lucian said at last. "You've worked hard. Stormveil owes you much."
But Lancelot's expression dimmed at the praise. Lucian quickly noticed. "Something troubles you? Speak. Ignoring bad news only invites ruin."
The knight nodded solemnly. "Since your departure, we have faced certain… harassments. Nothing dire, but troublesome nonetheless. We have addressed them in turn."
"The first," he began, "is the Night's Cavalry. They still roam Limgrave's roads. After the slaughter you dealt them, they grew cautious. No longer do they strike en masse. Now they split into pairs and trios, preying on small groups of Tarnished."
"We have lost many to their raids. The Crucible Knights hunt them now. Stormhawks relay their movements, and the knights swoop down to engage. In this way we have slain thirteen or fourteen already. But both Andre and Redd have been injured—thankfully, not gravely."
Lucian considered. The Night's Cavalry were indeed troublesome—swift, strong, and cunning. Yet against the Crucible Knights, they were outmatched. The Crucible Knights were heroes at the pinnacle of their kind, heirs to the power of the Erdtree's primeval age. Even without their two mightiest leaders, Andre and Redd were more than enough to crush scattered raiders.
Still, the frequency of battles meant near-constant clashes, perhaps two or three a day.
"And what of Elyssa? Why has she not joined them? Her mobility and strength are no less than theirs."
Lancelot grimaced. "That is the second matter. From the north, in Liurnia, the Academy has begun harassing us. They have unleashed their Marionette Soldiers. Individually weak, but the flying avian puppets and hot-air balloon constructs can bypass the cliffs behind Stormveil."
"Elyssa now holds the border with the Stormhawks, keeping them at bay. Unfortunately, both these threats require speed and wide-ranged force. The Drakeblood Knights cannot contribute there, nor can the bulk of our soldiers. Thus we rely on them."
Lucian's brows arched. So. Not grave threats, but annoyances nonetheless. Even without his return, Stormveil could have endured them.
Morgott's hostility was expected. Their enmity had been sealed from the start, and as Elden Lord aspirant, Lucian knew the Omen King would resist him at every turn.
But the Academy?
A force with no demigod to its name now dared to test him? Did they believe their turtle shell impregnable, that he could not reach them within their wards?
Fools. The Academy had already chosen the path of death.
Still, the Night's Cavalry came first. Their shadow had lingered too long. It was time to finish what he had begun. He would show Morgott that his flame of ambition still burned, a fire unquenchable by shadow nor by "night". That flame would remake the Lands Between—and Morgott, blind to its meaning, would never understand.
Lucian tapped his fingers lightly on Lancelot's desk. He had heard enough. It was time to decide.
"Where are the Drakeblood Knights now? Still in training?"
Lancelot pointed to the map on the wall. "They are beneath the Mistwood, in the underground region you and Lady Ranni began exploring. Our Tarnished scouts encountered strange draconic creatures there, beyond their ability to handle. To train the knights—and because it was dragon-related—I sent Hakkan with them. By now, they should be deep inside."
Lucian thought for a moment. Strange draconic creatures beneath the Mistwood? That could only mean Dragonkin Soldiers.
A smile tugged at his lips. "Good. Then it is fate. Their path spares me much effort."
Near the Dragonkin Soldiers lay a path through a well that led directly into Caelid, emerging near Sellia. This spared the knights the long march from Stormveil to Caelid. The exit was a sheer cliff, but Sellia's living constructs could climb walls with ease. They could haul the knights up without trouble.
Already, Lucian was plotting. In one stroke, he would resolve Stormveil's affairs and set his forces on their next move.