Chapter 13 To Deathtouched Catacombs

Sallen nodded, her eyes holding his gaze for a long, steady moment. When he turned away, he felt her watchful presence linger behind him.

As his conversation with Sallen ended, he felt a sense of clarity settling over him. He finally knew what he needed to do and where he had to go: the death-touched catacombs. Why there?...

He made his way back to where Irina sat by the bed, her quiet form lost in thought, her face turned toward him as if sensing his approach. 

"I have to go again, Irina," he said. "And it might take some time before I return. While I'm gone, stay here. Learn under Sallen's guidance. There are things only she can teach you."

Irina nodded slowly, her hand reaching out to him as if to memorize the shape of his presence. "And when you return?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"When I return, we'll go together to Castle Morne. We'll check on your father and see what awaits us there." 

Irina's hand fell away, her fingers lingering as if to feel every part of him before he left. "I'll be here, waiting," she said.

He turned and left.

well now to death touched catacombs he knew the location but dont know how much time it will take to reach there 

Setting off.

But as he approached Stormgate, the path was blocked by a towering troll lying in ambush.

His heart raced as the giant leaped down from above with a deafening roar, and he barely had time to urge his horse into a sprint. But his steed, burdened and weary, couldn't dodge the troll's enormous blade in time. His vision blurred.

He awoke moments later, shaking off the pain and gripping his spear tightly. "Not again," he muttered, steadying himself for another attempt.

Over and over, he charged forward, his steed straining beneath him, and over and over, he was met with the troll's ruthless assault. Seven times he fell, until finally, after a narrow escape, he managed to push past the hulking beast.

The road stretched ahead, quieter but no less ominous. He pressed onward, leaving Stormgate behind as he followed the winding path through craggy hills until he noticed a small structure nestled on the cliff's edge—a weathered shack. Exhausted and curious, he dismounted and approached, peering into the dimly lit space.

Inside sat a golden-haired woman, her gaze distant, yet somehow piercing as he approached. Her eyes were soft, her face marked by sorrow as she looked up at him, her lips parting in a faint smile.

"Everyone's... been grafted," she murmured, her voice laden with pain. "Everyone who came with me. They crossed the sea for me. They fought, for me."

She laughed softly, though it sounded hollow. "Only to have their arms taken. Their legs taken. Even their heads… taken. Taken and stuck to the spider."

He listened in silence, feeling a strange pang of empathy. She looked away, almost as if ashamed. "Did you know? If you're grafted by the spider, you become a chrysalid. It's quite the lark, when you think about it."

He took a gentle step forward, his voice softened. "It must be hard to have seen them suffer like that. But you… you're still here. It takes strength to endure such loss."

She looked up at him, her eyes clouded. "You're all on your own, are you? And heading to Stormveil Castle? Enticed by the one in the white mask, I suppose. Oh, you've come to be one with the spider? That makes us two peas in a pod, doesn't it?"

She chuckled, though her laugh was tinged with bitterness. "But I don't have your courage. It's scary, you know. Having your arms cut off. Or legs. Or your head. I want to be like everyone else, but… I'm just too scared. I'm nothing but a craven."

She reached into her pocket and extended a small, glowing object—a delicate jellyfish in translucent hues.

"Here, take this little one with you," she said softly, holding it out. "The poor thing deserves someone braver than myself. The spirits look rather fondly upon you. It'll be glad of your company, I think, the little'un."

He looked down at the shimmering spirit jellyfish in her outstretched hands, its soft light reflecting in her hopeful eyes.

But instead of taking it, he gently pushed her hand back toward her, a faint smile playing at the edge of his lips. "No," he said, his tone warm but resolute. "You're stronger than you realize. Keep it with you—it suits someone with a brave heart."

Her gaze dropped, a soft blush coloring her cheeks as she closed her hand around the spirit.

The rejection left her momentarily speechless, her heart caught between disappointment and an undeniable, growing admiration for him.

After a moment, she looked back up, her eyes shining with something akin to awe. "You… you really think so?"

He nodded, his gaze steady and sincere. "If you see yourself as craven, then you haven't been looking close enough.

You've endured so much, and yet here you are. Believe me, there's a strength in you that few possess."

Her breath caught, and she hesitated, feeling as though her heart might break open under his words.

She forced herself to look away, pretending to be preoccupied with the spirit jellyfish in her hands. "Thank you," she whispered.

"If you see the little chrysalids in Stormveil Castle… tell them I love them. That, despite my craven heart, I'll join them soon enough."

He reached out, tilting her chin gently to meet his eyes once more. "You don't need to become one of them to honor them. Find your own path, beyond this place. You're stronger than you think. Perhaps there's more for you yet, something only you can see."

She stared at him, her eyes widening with a sense of clarity and possibility she hadn't felt in so long. "I… I think I'll go to the Roundtable Hold," she murmured, almost as if to herself. "Perhaps I'll find my purpose there."

He turned ready to leave, 

Rodrika stood there, still gripping the spirit jellyfish in her hand, but her eyes followed him, an unreadable expression clouding her face. She couldn't quite place the feeling swirling within her—a strange mixture of longing, admiration, and something deeper that she had never allowed herself to feel before.

"Wait," she called out, her voice soft, as though she were hesitant to disturb the delicate balance between them. "What's your name?"

But he had already left.

Rodrika let out a breath, her hand tightening around the jellyfish. "Thank you," she whispered to the empty room, as though speaking to the man who had already walked away. "For everything."

Her heart beat unevenly as she moved toward the small window, her gaze catching the distant silhouette of his form disappearing down the path.

"Perhaps I'll find my purpose in the Roundtable Hold," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. "Perhaps... we'll meet again someday."

...

"Hmm... so this was Rodrika," he muttered to himself, as he slowly rode toward his destination. His main target was in the Death-Touched Catacombs. If everything went according to plan, he would gain a very strong ally—and Margit would be truly finished. But only if things went as he hoped... hehehe...

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Can we reach 200 Powerstones for an extra chapter?