From the broken bridge near the Gatefront Ruins, Lucian made his way to the eastern shore of Liurnia.
Though his destination lay to the north, the cliffs ahead cut off any direct path. It was possible to ascend through the dense woods and reach the Church of Irith, but Lucian chose instead to cross the Gate Town Bridge. From there, he could head south, circle around, and then take the northern slope.
That route was not without interest. Along the way lay a Tibia Mariner, as well as a Leyndell Knight. In the game, one could obtain from that knight a Dragon Cult Prayerbook. Lucian planned to collect it and deliver it to Miriel, Pastor of Vows, so that he could learn the lightning incantations.
As they passed through a gorge, Lucian and Lanya witnessed a battle. The Carian spirits clashed with the sorcerous Cuckoos.
The Carian side was peculiar—none of them were living men, only spirits. The Cuckoo Knights led their soldiers against these spectral guardians. Most of the Carian spirits were weak, mere shades of nobles and foot soldiers. But among them stood one exception.
A giant of a being dominated the battlefield. His head bore a Carian knight's helm, a blue cloak billowed from his shoulders, and in his hand he gripped an enormous troll knight's greatsword. Rings of spectral blades whirled around him as he fought.
Once, the Carian Royal Family had formed an alliance with the trolls. Among them were a few of great might, who were granted the title of Carian Knight and awarded badges of honor. Fewer than twenty bore that title, each one a hero capable of standing against the Crucible Knights—elite among the elite.
The spirit of this Troll Knight was no different. His strength was overwhelming, and the Cuckoos were helpless before him. Not only did he possess the raw power of his towering frame, but he could also wield sorcery. Even his one weakness—the head—was sealed away beneath the helm.
Like a storm, the Carian Troll Knight charged through the enemy ranks. Each sweep of his massive sword felled Cuckoo soldiers by the dozen. Even when their sorceries shattered the ground at his feet, spraying him with shards of glintstone, he did not falter.
But no matter how fierce his valor, he was still only a spirit. He had died long ago upon this very battlefield. Though unwilling, he lingered as a phantom, fighting endlessly, unable to change the inevitable outcome: the Academy and its Cuckoo Knights would triumph.
Lucian invoked Unseen Form on himself, and cast it over Lanya as well. Silently, he led her along the edge of the gorge. This was not their battle, and the Carian Troll Knight was already long dead. There was no reason to interfere.
Once they had crossed through, Lucian dismissed the spell. Together they began climbing the slope along a narrow path.
It was there, in a small grove, that they came across two Tarnished.
The first was a familiar figure—Diallos, the well-bred noble with a princely bearing.
Lanya's eyes lit up at the sight of him and she moved forward, but then froze. For the man following behind Diallos was the Tarnished who had attacked her before.
Diallos, unaware of the history between them, greeted her warmly. "Lanya! There you are again—you keep slipping away. I can't take my eyes off you, can I?" He sighed, exasperated. "Luckily, I ran into this friend of mine along the road. He said he'd seen you before, and helped guide me here. Without him, I might not have found you at all."
Only then did Diallos notice Lucian. He blinked in surprise. Though he had never seen him directly, he had heard enough whispers of the Storm King to recognize the name. But since he could not be certain this was truly Lucian, he only offered a polite nod. "Greetings. Lanya tells me you have looked after her before."
Lanya trembled with fear. She forced herself to steady her voice and cried out, "Master Diallos! Get away from him!"
Diallos stopped, confused, glancing between her and the other Tarnished. The man in question showed no hostility, made no move for his weapon, and even gave a helpless shrug as if to say he had no idea what she meant. His act was convincing enough to deepen Diallos's doubt.
"Lanya… what's wrong?" he asked hesitantly. "What happened between you two?"
Her face was pale as she glared at the Tarnished. "At first, I thought he was kind, just like you do now. But he struck me when I least expected it—he attacked me from behind!"
Diallos's eyes widened in disbelief as he turned to the other man—no, the traitor.
The traitor only smiled calmly. "Diallos, do you remember what I told you earlier?"
Diallos frowned, trying to recall. They had spoken of many things, but one line in particular had lingered in his mind—the stranger's praise.
"You mean when you said I had 'the makings of a hero'?"
The traitor's smile widened. "Of course. You are without question a man born to be a hero. But not yet. Do you know what has always held you back?"
Diallos said nothing, uncertain. The man did not wait. "Look at your hands! White and soft—do they look like a warrior's hands to you?"
Diallos flushed and instinctively hid them behind his back.
"What hinders you is your heart," the traitor pressed on. "To be a true hero, you must stain those hands with blood. Heroes do not cling to pity. They walk willingly down a sullied, profane road. Even if it means killing their own kin, they feel no shame or remorse. You have been shackled too long by weakness disguised as compassion. Cast it off, Diallos! Kill that girl. Kill your own kin, your own companion. Sever your past and be reborn as a hero!"
Diallos staggered under the weight of the words. His mind reeled. Could such madness truly be the path to heroism?
He longed to be more than the shame of the Hoslow family, no longer a coward hiding behind his brother. He wanted to be a hero… yet how could he ever raise a hand against Lanya?
"No… no, that's wrong!" he told himself. But already the seed of doubt had been planted. Could it be true? Is it because I never severed my emotions that I cannot be a hero?
The thought terrified him. He wanted to deny it, yet the image of killing Lanya surfaced unbidden in his mind.
"Master Diallos!"Lanya pleaded. "Don't believe him!"
But the traitor sneered. "She would not sacrifice herself for your hero's journey. And still you protect her? Pathetic. Do you really want to be a hero, or will you let weakness chain you forever?"
Diallos froze, torn between his yearning and his heart.
At that moment, Lucian stepped forward and struck him across the face.
The slap rang sharp and loud. Diallos toppled to the ground, dazed.
"You.. why did you hit me?" he stammered. "Not even my brother has ever struck me!"
Lucian glared down at him, voice cold with fury. "Why are you hesitating? Would you truly kill your own retainer—your childhood friend? If you were a man, you'd have rejected him outright and beaten that damned traitor bloody! Do you really believe killing her would make you a hero? No—you'd only become a monster who could never forgive himself."
The traitor's eyes narrowed. He had hoped to lure Diallos into his grasp, to recruit him for the Volcano Manor. But Lucian's presence shattered his plan. He stepped closer, meaning to threaten him.
But Lucian's gaze alone froze him in place. That glare was like a storm turned to stone, and he felt as though his body itself had been petrified.
On the ground, Diallos clenched his fists, trembling. He hated his own weakness. If only he had a stronger heart, things would be different.
"I would never harm Lanya!" he shouted. Forcing himself to his feet, he drew his ornate Hoslow shield and unfurled the petal whip at his side. "Forgive me, Lanya. I hesitated, I made you worry. But I swear, I'll protect you."
Tears welled in her eyes. For the first time, Diallos stood tall, shining with the light of a hero. She placed her hand on his back and whispered, "Master Diallos… you can do it."
The traitor realized too late that the tide had turned. As he tried to flee, Lucian's storm closed around them like a cage. The winds slashed his face, drawing blood.
"Escape?" Lucian said coldly. "Wasn't this the path of the merciless hero you preached? Or was it only ever a lie? You spoke of casting away pity, yet you cannot cast away fear."
Cornered, the traitor raised his sword and shield with a snarl. But Diallos had already found his resolve. He lashed out, the Petal Whip curling around the man's leg and tearing open a vicious wound.
The traitor roared in pain. He had never seen a weapon like this, one that drew blood so cruelly. The Hoslow whip was no mere ornament of a noble family—it was a weapon famed for rending flesh and causing bleeding. "Hoslow speaks in blood," they said, and with good reason.
Diallos pressed his attack, shield firm, whip striking again and again. The traitor's insults—"Coward! Craven shield-bearer!"—fell on deaf ears. Diallos only answered, "If I cannot be a hero, then I will be a coward who protects my friends. That is enough."
Blow after blow fell until the traitor collapsed, bloodied and gasping.
Terrified, he tried to beg for mercy. "Please, forgive me! I only wanted power… to be a hero… You want the same, don't you? You can't kill me!"
Diallos raised his whip high—but faltered. His hands trembled. Could he truly kill another Tarnished? His heart balked, no matter how he tried.
He turned to Lucian, silently pleading for guidance. But Lucian did not command him this time. He would not forge a puppet, only a man.
And so, as the traitor dared to hope, a sudden gale sliced through the air and tore his head from his shoulders.
The body fell limp. Diallos stood trembling, whip still raised. He had not delivered the final blow, but he was complicit. The weight of it pressed heavy on him.
At last he lowered his weapon, bowed deeply before Lucian, and whispered, "Thank you…"
Lucian's stern face softened into a faint smile. He clapped Diallos on the shoulder.
"If you would walk the path of a hero, then go to Stormveil. Cast aside your noble title. Begin as a soldier, and forge your own road. I cannot promise you will become a hero—but even if you do not, never forget those who stand beside you. They are the most precious of all."
Diallos bit his lip, then nodded firmly. "I understand. Thank you."