Chapter 4 Pumpkin Head

"Let's get going," he thought. He had a rough idea of the route to the waypoint ruins.

It would take him quite some time to reach that place, as he planned to avoid enemies along the way.

 ...

It took him a few careful hours to reach the waypoint ruins, avoiding patrols and the occasional beast along the way.

By the time he arrived, the sun had risen, casting angled shadows across the cracked stones and broken arches of the ruins. He paused for a moment, catching his breath and steadying himself, noting the twisted vines and rubble that obscured an entrance.

He pushed aside the vines, revealing a narrow stone staircase leading down into darkness.

"Huff… this won't be easy," he muttered, steadying his grip on the sword as he prepared to descend.

As he took his first steps down, he felt a strange sensation settle over him.

The room below was dim, with only faint light streaming through cracks in the stone ceiling.

Standing guard was the Pumpkin Head, a large figure clad in heavy iron with a helmet that resembled a grotesque, hollowed pumpkin.

Its weapon was a thick, spiked flail, swinging in slow, dangerous arcs as it waited.

His first attempt was cautious, and he quickly learned how the creature responded—it didn't rely on sight, instead reacting sharply to his every movement.

But even his careful approach didn't save him. After a few brief exchanges, a misstep cost him, and the heavy flail struck, ending his attempt instantly.

Moments later, he found himself back at the entrance, unharmed.

It took several tries—each time revealing more about the creature's patterns, its blind spots, and the slight delay after each swing.

He adjusted his approach, moving with slower, more calculated steps and anticipating each swing of the flail.

At last, after what felt like countless deaths, he managed to dodge a strike and close the distance.

With a final thrust, he drove his sword into the creature's exposed flank, feeling the heavy armor give way just enough.

The Pumpkin Head staggered, then collapsed, the iron helmet clanging against the floor.

He stood there for a moment, catching his breath.

"Finally!"

Standing on top of the body of The pumpkin head slowly taking his sword out of its body.

Ahead of him stood a heavy metal gate, rusted from age but still sturdy. It blocked his path to whatever lay beyond. Taking a breath, he gripped the bottom edge and heaved upward, feeling the weight resist before the hinges creaked and gave way. The gate lifted slowly, scraping against the stone as he forced it open just enough to slip through.

He stepped into a dimly lit chamber where an elegant woman in blue robes awaited. She had an air of cold intelligence, her eyes sharp and assessing as they settled on him. This was Sorceress Sellen.

As he entered the chamber, he was met by the gaze of a striking woman dressed in deep blue robes, her expression both curious and calculating. She tilted her head slightly, her eyes appraising him with an unmistakable glint.

"Well, well," she murmured, voice smooth and teasing. "A handsome Tarnished, seeking me out here in these ruins. What could you possibly want?"

He steadied himself, managing to say, "I'm here to learn sorcery."

"Hmm. A hunger for glintstone sorcery, is it?" She looked him up and down, her gaze thoughtful behind the mask. "And from what I can tell… you might actually have potential."

Her voice softened slightly, taking on a hint of warmth. "I was exiled from the Academy of Raya Lucaria, marked as a 'witch' by their standards. A fallen sorceress, cast out. Still certain you want me as your teacher, handsome?"

He held her gaze, resolute. "Yes. I'm sure."

She let out a soft laugh. "Very well, then. But I won't make it easy. If you wish to learn, you'll have to prove your worth—and more than once."

She tilted her head, the faintest flicker of amusement visible beneath the mask. "Still certain you want me as your teacher, handsome? Not everyone's cut out for the path of sorcery."

He held her gaze, resolute. "Yes. I'm sure."

A glint of satisfaction crossed her eyes. "Then we begin. But first… you'll need something essential to every Tarnished—a maiden."

He looked down, almost embarrassed. "I don't have one."

"Ah," she said softly, her voice taking on a curious mix of sympathy and intrigue. "No maiden, no guidance. No guidance, no power."

Her gaze intensified as she leaned closer, the metallic edge of her mask catching the dim light. "There's a way to gain a maiden, you know. A bond powerful enough to connect you… but it requires something pure."

He tensed, listening carefully.

"To gain a maiden," she continued, her voice rich and velvety, "you must find a woman untouched by the world, innocent in spirit and soul. She must be willing to offer herself to you… fully." She paused. "Only then will she become your maiden. It's a ritual of sorts, binding her essence to yours."

She leaned a little closer, her gaze sharpening as if she were testing his reaction.

"But… the will of the Tarnished is a powerful thing, and the choice of how to secure such a bond is ultimately yours.

Some may choose to forge the bond willingly, through trust and connection." Her voice softened, adding an edge of mystery, "Others… may seek different means. The maiden's soul only requires submission to bind—one way or another."

"This," she added, "is merely my projection. I cannot be the maiden you seek. But there are those in this realm who may… suffice."

She took a step back, her presence as intense as ever. "Do this, Tarnished, and the path to sorcery—and much more—will open to you."

"Okay… But where should I look?" he asked, uncertainly.

"That's up to you, Tarnished. How would I know where you should look? I've been trapped here for… well, who knows how many years."

"So you're telling me I have to do this alone?"

The sorceress smiled faintly, her tone softening. "It wouldn't be much of a journey if I simply handed you every answer, now would it? The Lands Between hold many secrets, and the right soul may be closer than you think." Her gaze grew distant. "Many wander these lands, searching, seeking something… or someone."

He nodded, absorbing her words. "Alright then. As you say, I'll set out to find this… pure woman."

With a final glance back at her, he took a deep breath, ready to leave the ruins. As he walked towards the exit, his mind raced through the possibilities. Only two candidates came to mind: Rodrika and Irina.

Rodrika seemed like the better option. She had an innocent spirit, and while he didn't know her well, he sensed there was something genuine about her. But he couldn't shake the question: why would she ever be willing to become his maiden?

Then there was Irina, a blind girl he knew. Her fate is tragic; she had been without eyesight since birth.

From what he could remember, she seemed to be an innocent woman, caring for her family. She could be a good candidate to become his maiden, especially since he currently did not have the power to make Rodrika his maiden.

"Irina, then," he muttered as he walked out of the ruins, careful to avoid the plant monsters lurking there.

As he stepped out of the ruins, the chill of night wrapped around him like a cloak. The landscape was shrouded in darkness, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and moss.

He took a moment to steady his nerves, gathering his thoughts as he glanced around the ruins.

Finding a relatively clear space, he set to work, gathering some dry wood and kindling to make a campfire. The cold of the night seeped into the air, and he could see his breath misting in front of him.

With practiced hands, he arranged the wood into a small pyramid, striking flint against steel until sparks flew, igniting the kindling. The flames flickered to life, casting a warm glow against the cold stone walls and pushing back the shadows.

 ...

It was daytime now, the night having passed, and he was walking toward the Bridge of Sacrifice in the Weeping Peninsula. He knew that soldiers of Godrick would be stationed there, but he had a clever plan in mind.

As he approached the bridge, one soldier stepped forward, eyeing him with suspicion. The armor he wore, reminiscent of the soldiers of Godrick, served him well in this moment.

"What are you doing here?" the soldier asked, narrowing his gaze as he moved closer.

"I am here by the orders of Lord Godrick to investigate," he replied, feigning urgency. "I lost my horse along the way, and I demand you provide me with another immediately! The great cause of Lord Godrick must not be delayed!"

The soldier hesitated, glancing at the bridge and then back at him. "You're sure you're with Lord Godrick? We can't just—"

"Do you question the orders of Lord Godrick?" he interrupted, his tone sharp. "This isn't a game, soldier. If I fail in my mission, it will reflect poorly on all of us."

The soldier's resolve wavered, and nodded slowly. "Alright, I'll see what I can do. Wait here."

"Make it quick!" he barked as the soldier turned to head back, suppressing a smirk. This was going exactly as he had planned.

After a brief wait, the soldier returned, leading a sturdy horse. "Here," the soldier said, clearly annoyed. "Take it and be on your way."

Without a moment's hesitation, he mounted the horse.

Though he didn't know how to mount a horse, something instinctual guided him, allowing him to do it with surprising ease. With the horse beneath him, he rode to the end of the bridge, where his eyes caught sight of a girl with a blindfold sitting against the stone.

He dismounted and approached her cautiously, a sense of intrigue washing over him.

"Hello? Is somebody there?" she called out, her voice soft yet filled with urgency. "Might I bend your ear for a moment, please?"

"My name is Irina. I've escaped from Castle Morne to the south. The servants there… have rebelled."

"What do you mean?"

"I—I can't be sure what it is; my eyesight's been weak since birth, you see…" She paused, trembling slightly.

"But I swear I heard frightful howling from all over. My good father secreted me out of the castle but decided to stay. He says it's his duty as commander. I… I fear for his life."

"What do you need from me?" he asked, his tone shifting from curiosity to a more intimate interest.

"The servants are full of wrath," she continued, her breath hitching. "Filled with hatred for everyone. They've come for every one of the companions I escaped with.

They haven't spared a soul. I fear it's no different at Castle Morne…"

He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a soothing tone. "You shouldn't stay here alone, Irina. This place can be dangerous, and I don't want to see you come to harm. You should come with me."

Her blindfolded gaze seemed to search for him. "Come with you? But… where would we go?"

"Back to Castle Morne. I can deliver your letter to your father, but it's safer if you're with me. I'll protect you." He could see her hesitation and continued, "Trust me. You can't stay here; it's not safe. I'll keep you out of harm's way."

Irina bit her lip, considering. "But my father—"

"Your father needs to know you're safe first. Let me help you." He extended a hand toward her. "Please, let me take you away from here."

After a moment of silence, she nodded slowly, uncertainty flickering across her features. "Okay… if you think it's best."

"Good," he said, a sense of satisfaction coursing through him. "Let me help you onto the horse."

He approached her carefully, guiding her to her feet and moving closer as he helped her mount. He climbed behind her, their bodies just inches apart, feeling the warmth radiating from her.

"Hold on to me," he said softly, wrapping his arms around her waist, ensuring she felt secure.