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Elden Ring : Godrick The Golden

Waking up as the most cowardly Demigod, the runt of the Golden Lineage, in a Land so broken and hostile that it would be greatly welcome to die peacefully than to live in pain, was not on Richard's bucket list. Could he manage to avoid becoming the prime target of the yet-to-come Tarnished, Could he manage to veer Godricks fate away from becoming the maddened, crazed, limb-hunting maniac, And the most salient question of all, could he, instead of becoming Godrick the Grafted, become Godrick the Golden... *** Support me on P @treon for extra chapters. (So far 5 extra Chapters) or Buy Me A Coffee p@treon.com/Marine0IQ buyme@coffee.com/marine0iq Replace the @ with a. . . . . . WARNING : No Harem, System Discord : https://discord.gg/SKmCb4N3

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40 Chs

Hands Of The Omen

As the small group of soldiers and the Demigod marched away from the death-blighted forest, the tension that had been gnawing at them for days began dissipating. The eerie whispers of the trees and the shadows that seemed to stretch toward them now felt less menacing.

Godrick's presence was a beacon of strength and reassurance.

He walked beside them, keeping up with the steady march of the horses with ease, a crystal spear in one hand and a Golden Order spellbook in the other. The soldiers no longer dared to strike up a conversation, addressing him only when necessary while admiring him from the side.

He felt distant yet worthy of worship.

And so, days passed, trekking through the forests of the Dectus Plateau, fighting off occasional wolf attacks that gave him a measly 10 EXP each, studying the Golden Order spellbook, and practising the spear with Earnan. No longer did his commander shout or order him, designing to merely give suggestions and demonstrations.

It was a change, but the shock he felt when seeing Godrick rapidly increase in skill was just the same. His drastic increase in stats and control over his body helped immensely, but it was mainly his increase in Intelligence. His brain's processing power was so high that he could point out mistakes in his form and instinct in real time while using the spear.

[Gained Greatspear Mastery (Passive) Level 1->2->3: Barely-> Mildly proficient with spears. Assists with wielding it and provides 1->5->10 per cent extra damage when attacking with the aforementioned weapon.]

His mind was assaulted with information as his instincts with the spear fundamentally upgraded. With this level of skill, he could beat any master of the spear on Earth with his eyes blindfolded, but the system listed it as 'mildly' proficient. It didn't help that Earnan was somehow still better than him with the weapon. If their stats were the same, he would be beaten.

Was his Knight Commander some kind of martial prodigy? His soldiers most definitely thought so, but they thought the same of him too, given that he had achieved this much in a week.

On the other hand, he wasn't as much of a prodigy in Golden Order Incantations. It was a study of the Golden Order, but intrinsically, as he continued to read, it was the study of the Elden Ring in its current form; a form antithetical to death.

It was fascinating to read the thoughts of Radagon/Marika as they detailed the Golden Order in ways that he'd never looked at, eventually distilling it into numbers and equations that were fundamental truths. Equations that could be manipulated with the energies of the Greater Will to give birth to a School of Incantation built upon the basis of Sorcery.

[Order's Blade]

(FP-50)

[Gained Order's Blade: One of the incantations of the Golden Order fundamentalists. Used by hunters of Those Who Live in Death. Enchants armament held in the right hand with holy-affinity attacks (Faith*0.75) which lasts for 60 minutes. This incantation is especially damaging to Those Who Live in Death. Any felled by it cannot be revived. The role of the hunters is to stamp out defiled reason - all for the perfection of the Golden Order.]

He brushed his hand over the Crystal Spear, golden lines emanating from his fingers, covering its entirety. It formed intricate patterns under his command, its blue turning a bright gold. He planted it into the ground, admiring its form.

As he stood on a carpet of orange-gold, his golden locks lightly blew in the wind as his resplendent eyes gazed upon his gilded spear. He looked like Apollo himself had descended to the mortal realm.

Perhaps the Greatspear wasn't so bad after all...

***

Another week passed by with nothing of note occurring. He continued to train in the spear and study the next incantation but didn't undergo any breakthrough. Moreover, Taraghlan and the Dragon Knights should have routed the rebellion by now. Unless something drastically changed, they would decimate Godefroy with twenty Leyndell Dragon Knights along with a large chunk of his army.

He had entrusted Taraghlan with leading the army to Stormveil, confident that their combined strength would be unassailable, but he didn't know if his small group of soldiers would make it intact, given the strength of the enemy that lay ahead. He spotted a smaller cliff, something commonplace in the Lands-Between, whose surroundings he recognized. Beyond it was the Altus Cave which, according to the lore, had something that could help him greatly.

The weight of anticipation hung heavily in the air as they neared the Dectus Lift. The dense foliage of the forest had given way to sparser trees and open land, and the looming cliffs of Altus rose ahead of them. The path was clear, yet a nagging sense of unease gnawed at him.

His hypersensitive skin picked up an unnatural drop in temperature as the leaves rustled akin to whispers of warning. The soldiers marched steadily, their armour clinking in rhythm, but even they seemed to sense the shift in the air.

Something was coming. Something bad.

"Earnan," he spoke, tightening his grip on the spear.

"Yes, My Lord!" His commander gave him a crisp salute.

"Set up camp for the night."

Earnan frowned, looking up at the sun. There were still a good few hours to sunset, but he didn't question it, stopping and ordering his soldiers to begin searching for an adequate clearing.

"I shall try to be as quick as I can, but if I do not return after three days, continue your journey to Stormveil," he announced, dashing toward the cliff, leaving his commander and soldiers worried and confused.

His giant strides, coupled with his superhuman strength, propelled him at speeds far faster than a car, kicking up clods of earth and grass. His spear remained undisturbed on his shoulder, its golden outline long gone. In a few minutes, he reached the rocky wall where he leapt with all his strength, his hand digging into the rock, shooting him upward. He scaled the cliff with one hand, his mind racing but his heart calm.

'I thought I had more time...' he frowned as he flung himself up the cliff with extremely crude methods. He knew that enemies were not confined to their in-game positions and could move around like any other being, but he thought he had more time. Why would they come for him so soon? How did Morgott catch wind of his ambition?

It took an excruciating half hour to scale the cliff and go beyond despite his blinding speed. There was another opening to the Altus Cave close to the entrance to Leyndell, which he had planned on taking, but that would now take time he didn't have.

While his large figure disappeared past the jagged edges, sounds of galloping drew closer to the base of the cliff. Whispers of death sounded as the perpetrator rode out into the light, a large figure comparable to a Demigod seated on a giant horse cloaked in deathly black. Armour as black as the night embraced the figure, a second skin that ended in clawed gauntlets gripping a terror-inducing weapon forged specifically for rending flesh.

The Night Cavalry wreathed in a cape that trailed a wispy black smoke, looked up at the intentions on the cliff face, letting out an inhuman growl that sounded akin to a cross between a gurgle and a human sigh before galloping away to the side, black smoke trailing its figure.

It would have its prey. Its Lord demanded it.

***

BOOM!

Godrick leapt down the last bit of rock, slammed into the earth, and found himself in a small grove of thick, orange trees surrounded by cliffs. Wasting no time, he proceeded forward, cutting down any stray branches and flora that stood in his path. After a minute or so, he found himself in a small clearing that had quite the odd scenery.

In the centre stood a large statue of the twin prodigies, Miquella and Malenia, cradling each other, both afflicted by curses owing to their unusual birth. At its foot was a golden crack in reality hovering above the stone. He felt drawn to it, but at the same time felt aversion... fear.

[Observe]

[An ephemeral sliver that gives off a pale amber glow. What remains of a passing flash of starlight. If the stars command our fates, then amber-hued stars must command the fates of the gods. Such is the belief that inspired the use of these shards to prepare a most special draught.]

Surrounding the statue were small Land Octopus whelps, an abomination of tentacles and eggs with a beak to top it off.

[Observe]

(Character Sheet

Land Octopus Whelp

Age: One year and three months

HP: 150

FP: 20

Strength: 4

Dexterity: 5

Endurance: 9

Vigor: 10

Mind: 2

Intelligence: ---

Faith: ---

Skills:

[Cannibalistic Heal (Passive): Consume an appendage to greatly restore HP and vital organs. Cannot heal said appendages.])

But most importantly, small plants with a whitish-brown bark and silver and red leaves grew around the aforementioned statue. The very same plant that everybody refused to part with in Leyndell.

[Observe]

[An immature bud containing fresh blood. Material used for crafting items. Believed to originate long ago from a strain of buds cultivated with youthful, sacramental blood.]

The faint sounds of a horse's hooves digging into the dirt echoed in his ears and his heart almost leapt into his throat. He did not doubt that he was severely outmatched by the Night Cavalry. They were a source of many of his deaths early game and were rumored to be even more formidable in the lore.

He crouched before a Sacramental bud, carefully pulling out Miquella's lily from his Talisman pouch, withered and wilted, yet glowing in a faint but stubborn light. Unlike the sleep pots, what he was trying to do wasn't so straightforward. He could have experimented in Leyndell if Taraghlan had managed to acquire them, but now with the Night Cavalry breathing down his neck, he had to wing it.

Rolling up and crushing Miquella's Lily, he scattered it at the foot of the plant, pushing it into its roots.

The sounds of a horse halted, replaced by heavy footsteps.

'Shit,' he frowned. There was no change in the sacramental bud.

The creaking of armour and metal grew, emanating from the cave entrance in the distance.

He racked his brain. If this didn't work, his only option was a fight to the death or fleeing. He doubted he could do the latter, nor the former for that matter.

'Sacramental blood...' his enhanced mind stretched moments into minutes. 'Sacramental means sacred or holy. Miquella's Lily was for the charm aspect...'

He grabbed the crystal spear next to him and cut his wrist, a good amount of red blood seeping into the soil before his Talisman sealed the wound. The change was quick, the whitish colour replaced by brownish gold while the leaves twisted and entwined into a sharp point, emanating faint traces of divinity.

His hands immediately brushed across his Greatspear, lathering it with gold.

[Order's Blade]

"By the gilded Erdtree, my oath doth bind"

[Golden Vow]

His figure, awash with gold, whirled around to find death himself staring back at him, standing eye to eye.

[Observe]

(Character Sheet

Night's Cavalry

Age: Two hundred and three, three months old

HP: 150

FP: 200

Strength: ??

Dexterity: 26.4

Endurance: ??

Vigor: 15

Mind: 20

Intelligence: 11

Faith: 29

Skills:

[Constitution of the Erdtree (Passive): The sap of the hallowed Erdtree flows through your veins, remoulding it into a vessel fit to protect it, removing your racial limitations. Incantations of the School of the Erdtree use half the required FP. +10 Strength. +10 Dexterity. +10 Endurance. +20 Faith]

[Blood of the Grace-Given (Passive): Assimilation of inhuman physiology has given you strength beyond mortal ken, but exacts a heavy toll. Cursed to be reborn as an Omen. +10 Strength. +10 Endurance.]

[Flail Mastery (Passive) Level ??: Mildly proficient with flails.]

[Glaive Mastery (Passive) Level 2: Barely proficient with Glaives.]

Incantations: ???)

A finger of the Fell Omen had come to snuff out yet another champion with ambition that glowed a little too bright.

***

Ciao. You guys are demolishing stone goals. There'll be another chapter this week, after which the stone goal for the bonus chapter next week will be 1600. Ik it'll be decimated but I promise, thus it remains the same.

Moreover, I'm planning on posting advanced chapters on P@treon. I haven't posted anything till now, but I'll mention it when I do. Join my discord for updates if you wish. Its in the synopsis.