Although the last sentence sounded rather ominous and unlucky, Brandon Jenkins knew that this was a tragedy that could indeed happen on this land.

“Haha, I still owe you a drink, just don’t go dying in some corner before then.”

Brandon Jenkins grinned as he bid farewell to Hakann. Hakann turned back, and the two exchanged a smile.

As if remembering something, Hakann reached into his warhorse’s saddlebag and tossed something to Brandon Jenkins.

“Catch.”

Brandon Jenkins easily caught it—a metal helmet, with the back and top covered in scale armor, the face shielded by fine chainmail, leaving only the eyes exposed.

Brandon Jenkins was quite surprised. This was exactly the helmet of a Kaidan mercenary. No wonder he’d never seen Hakann wear it; it had been stowed away in the saddlebag all along.

“What will you do without it?”

Hakann didn’t look back, just waved his hand.

“A helmet is armor fit for a warrior. You happen to need one, and I happen to have no use for it anymore.”

“I’m no longer a warrior.”

Holding the helmet, Brandon Jenkins said nothing more.

“You must live to wait for the future Elden Lord to invite you for a drink. If you die first, I won’t forgive you.”

“Hahahaha! Then I’ll look forward to it.”

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Brandon Jenkins already considered Hakann a friend. Who knew if they would ever meet again after this farewell.

But neither would stop moving forward just for the other’s sake.

In the Lands Between, everyone has their own business to attend to.

Brandon Jenkins looked toward the distant ruins of the church and set out on his path.

After walking for about ten minutes, Brandon Jenkins followed the guidance of Grace and arrived at a small hilltop.

Brandon Jenkins couldn’t help but complain.

“It’s really different from the game. The map is so much bigger, but I guess that makes it more realistic.”

“In the game, riding a horse over a mountain in just a few minutes is just ridiculous—they only shrank the map for gameplay’s sake.”

A Site of Grace was burning warmly before him.

But just as Brandon Jenkins was about to touch the Grace, a rustling sound suddenly came from the bushes nearby.

Brandon Jenkins held his breath, hands on his weapons, ready for battle at any moment.

But the noise quickly subsided, as if some small animal had just passed by.

Still, Brandon Jenkins knew there was someone who would appear nearby.

“Stop hiding. I can tell the difference when it’s a person making noise.”

“Rustle, rustle.”

The bushes parted, and a figure stepped out.

The newcomer wore a white outfit and a white mask with a smiling face, his whole body stained with blood that had blackened with age.

Brandon Jenkins recognized him—it was the White Mask Varre, under the Lord of Blood.

Once a battlefield medic who released others from suffering, he was abducted by Mohg, Lord of Blood, forced to accept the curse of blood, and yet willingly began to serve Mohg.

“Hehe, such keen observation.”

His sickly sweet voice was generous with praise.

Just hearing that voice made Brandon Jenkins feel nauseated.

It was as if, when Varre spoke, he was chewing on his own tongue and mouth, his mouth full of blood yet thoroughly enjoying it, even wanting to smear that blood into the listener’s ears.

And he was effeminate, too.

Brandon Jenkins resisted the urge to cut him down and pretended not to know him.

“Who are you?”

Varre overlapped his bloodstained gloves, rubbing them together slowly like a fly.

“Oh, Tarnished, you who crave the Elden Ring, thus coming to these Lands Between.”

“But, alas, how pitiful… you have no witch to accompany you.”

“You can’t draw power from runes, nor can you be invited to the Roundtable Hold. I’m afraid you’ll just die in obscurity, hehe…”

Brandon Jenkins gradually frowned. This guy was even more annoying than in the game.

Perhaps noticing Brandon Jenkins’s disgust, Varre slightly restrained his sickening smile.

“But don’t worry, dear. Even without a witch, there’s still a glimmer of hope—”

“I just happen to know you need a little help right now, and you’re lucky enough to have met me, Varre.”

“You know about Grace, right? That golden light where you Tarnished can rest for a while. Follow the direction it points, and that’s the path you Tarnished should take.”

“Yes, Grace will guide you—where you should go, or perhaps… where you’ll meet your end.”

“I don’t know if you’re one of the few Tarnished who can see Grace, but I think the direction it points must be that castle on the cliff—Stormveil.”

Brandon Jenkins patiently listened to Varre’s explanation.

‘It seems the setting and timeline haven’t changed much from the game.’

“Why are you here?”

Brandon Jenkins asked.

Varre chuckled a few times and replied:

“I’m here on behalf of a certain lord, to guide Tarnished without witches onto the right path.”

“Well then, off you go—head to Stormveil, home of that old and ugly demigod ‘Grafted’ Godrick.”

“If you crave the Elden Ring without a witch, that’s what you must do, hehe.”

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Chapter 11: Church of Elleh

Brandon Jenkins listened coldly to Varre’s nonsense. He knew Varre was a recruiter for the Lord of Blood’s dynasty, always trying to poach people and trick them into joining the Lord of Blood.