The mist of night is my only companion as I traverse the Lands Between, a tapestry of sorrow woven by gods and demigods. In these quiet, shadowed hours, when the guidance of grace seems but a faint memory, they come. They are the silent sentinels of the dusk, the Night's Cavalry. Ten dark riders, bound to specific stretches of road, emerging only when the sun abandons the sky. I have sought them all, not merely for the unique Ashes of War, the formidable weapons, or the ancient armor they guard, but to understand the silence that rides with them. To defeat one is a dance of death; to unhorse its steed is to glimpse a moment of vulnerability, a chance for a critical strike before the shadowy mount is summoned once more. This is the chronicle of my encounters, a map written in moonlight and spilled runes.
My first meeting was in Limgrave, a place that once felt almost welcoming. From the Agheel Lake North, I followed the road east to a lonely bridge. There he was, a silhouette against the star-dusted sky, his Nightrider Glaive a sliver of obsidian promising a swift end. The lesson was immediate: his reach is a liar, stretching farther than the gloom suggests. I learned to respect that distance, to chip away at his resolve with arrows before closing in. His fall granted me not just 2,400 Runes, but the Ash of War: Repeating Thrust—a promise of relentless offense.
The Weeping Peninsula held the second. South of the Castle Morne Rampart, he paced amidst crumbled stone, a restless ghost. His weapon was different: a Nightrider Flail that spun with a ferocious, intimate aggression. There was no safe distance, only the chaotic whirl of metal. His defeat felt more personal, a brawl in the ruins. The reward was substantial: 3,400 Runes, the Ash of War: Barricade Shield for steadfast defense, and the Nightrider Flail itself, a trophy of conquered frenzy.
Liurnia of the Lakes offered two such specters. In the south, beneath a canopy of weeping trees near Gate Town Bridge, another glaive-wielder awaited. The mist off the lake clung to his armor as he charged. For 5,600 Runes, he yielded the Ash of War: Ice Spear, a fragment of glacial magic. To the north, near the grand Raya Lucaria Gate, the fourth rider patrolled the road toward Bellum Church. This one was a creature of the ruins; his charge would catch on fallen pillars, making him erratic, yet vulnerable. A well-placed spell from the shadows ended his vigil, gifting me another 5,600 Runes, the mighty Ash of War: Giant Hunt, and finally, my own Nightrider Glaive to wield.
The blighted lands of Caelid introduced a new kind of dread. The fifth rider patrolled the rotten highway east of Caelid Highway South, where the air itself burns. His flail seemed soaked in the scarlet rot, and his demise brought 8,500 Runes and the Ash of War: Poison Moth Flight, a technique as insidious as the land. But the true trial in Caelid was in Dragonbarrow. On the lower eastern bridge, north of Lenne's Rise, the sixth cavalryman stood guard. His glaive strikes were fueled by the ancient despair of this place. The reward for this formidable duel was immense: 42,000 Runes and the coveted Ash of War: Bloodhound's Step, a movement so fluid it feels like cheating death.
The Altus Plateau offered a brief respite in its golden fields, but the seventh rider, south of the Altus Highway Junction, was no less deadly with his flail. His 10,000 Runes and the Ash of War: Shared Order were hard-won. Then came the Forbidden Lands, where the very light seems to die. On that narrow northeast path, the eighth knight was a phantom in the fog, his glaive cutting through the gloom. Survival here netted 36,000 Runes and the ethereal Ash of War: Phantom Slash.
But all journeys culminate. Mine ended in the blinding white of the Consecrated Snowfield. At the Inner Consecrated Snowfield, a ghostly caravan procession crawled northward, and guarding it were the final two: the ninth and tenth Night's Cavalry. One with a flail, one with a glaive, together an almost insurmountable wall. The strategy was a tense ballet: lure one away, avoid the floating lightning orbs that scarred the tundra, and fight for your life. Then, repeat. The effort, the sheer endurance required, made the victory profound. Their combined fall yielded a king's ransom of 84,000 Runes, the complete, haunting Night's Cavalry armor set, and one of the legendary Ancient Dragon Smithing Stones.
| Region | Cavalry # | Weapon | Key Rewards | Runes |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Limgrave | 1st | Nightrider Glaive | Ash of War: Repeating Thrust | 2,400 |
| Weeping Peninsula | 2nd | Nightrider Flail | Ash of War: Barricade Shield, Nightrider Flail | 3,400 |
| Liurnia (South) | 3rd | Nightrider Glaive | Ash of War: Ice Spear | 5,600 |
| Liurnia (North) | 4th | Nightrider Glaive | Ash of War: Giant Hunt, Nightrider Glaive | 5,600 |
| Caelid | 5th | Nightrider Flail | Ash of War: Poison Moth Flight | 8,500 |
| Caelid (Dragonbarrow) | 6th | Nightrider Glaive | Ash of War: Bloodhound's Step | 42,000 |
| Altus Plateau | 7th | Nightrider Flail | Ash of War: Shared Order | 10,000 |
| Forbidden Lands | 8th | Nightrider Glaive | Ash of War: Phantom Slash | 36,000 |
| Consecrated Snowfield | 9th & 10th | Flail & Glaive | Night's Cavalry Set, Ancient Dragon Smithing Stone | 84,000 |
I wear their armor now. The dark metal is cold to the touch, even in the sun. When I ride, I sometimes feel I am one of them, a keeper of the nocturnal roads. I have collected their weapons, mastered their Ashes of War, and banked their runes. Yet, what I truly gathered were ten stories of lonely vigilance, ten battles fought in the quiet heart of the night. They were not just obstacles, but reflections—echoes of a duty that continues even as the world fractures. The Lands Between sleeps, but in the dark, something always rides.