Before long, Mohg and Morgott were led by the Faceless to the sewer entrance used for the exile of Omen infants.
Below lay a flow of incredibly turbid water, emitting waves of foul stench. It was only then that Mohg realized he had perhaps overestimated his own powers of endurance.
"Waa! Waa! Waa!"
Suddenly, bursts of frantic, noisy crying reached the ears of the two brothers, causing them both to look back.
A massive iron basket entered their field of vision. Inside were numerous objects wrapped in white or filthy cloth. Some of them emitted a thick scent of blood; by the look of it, several had been born only moments ago.
Yet, it had to be said that these were considered the lucky ones. Those born to commoners would have their horns sawed off directly before being cast into the wilderness to fend for themselves.
"Newborn royal Omen infants... the numbers seem beyond imagination," Mohg muttered, his gaze narrowing.
"Brother, that is..."
Morgott seemed equally shocked by the sight, falling silent for a long time.
In that iron basket, the Omen infants were no longer treated as human beings. They were entirely regarded as cargo—or rather, as refuse. One after another, the newly born Omen babes were stacked atop each other and placed inside that cold iron cage.
Mohg gained a clearer understanding of the status of the Omen-born in this era. Simultaneously, the thought of escaping the Royal Capital took root in his mind.
The Faceless led the group deeper into the sewers. The surrounding light gradually dimmed, leaving only the faint glimmer of Glowstones placed occasionally within lanterns.
After a long trek, they were brought to a large pit filled with sludge and filth. In front of the pit was an open door, though beyond it lay a pitch-black void where nothing could be seen.
Mohg couldn't help but glance back at the squad of Faceless. Beneath the flickering torchlight, their masks looked particularly eerie in the darkness. Especially those cold, indifferent eyes.
The Faceless said nothing. They simply pointed toward the pit below. Their meaning was clear: they wanted the brothers to jump.
At the same time, the other Faceless began directly dumping the Omen infants from the iron basket into the sludge below. The renewed wailing, combined with the grim atmosphere of the place, caused Mohg's "sanity meter" to plummet.
"Let's go down, brother," Morgott said. He glanced at the weapons in the hands of the Faceless behind them, then took Mohg by the hand.
While Mohg was still dazed, a massive force pulled on his arm, dragging him down with his brother.
Seeing that Mohg and Morgott had jumped, the Faceless silently closed the iron gate and slowly departed.
Mohg scrambled up from the sludge, his face twisted in a mask of pure agony. He didn't want to know—not even a little bit—what kind of bizarre things were mixed into this filth!
"Sigh..."
With a heavy sigh, Mohg laboriously pulled his legs out of the muck and followed Morgott toward the door.
"What do you think... will happen to those Omen babes?"
Just as they were about to leave the area, Morgott suddenly thought of the infants thrown down with them and couldn't help but ask.
Seeing the obvious worry in Morgott's eyes, Mohg sighed inwardly.
My dear brother, you're still thinking about others? Why don't we figure out how the two of us are going to survive in these sewers first... though, perhaps this is exactly what makes you the Veiled Monarch.
"I don't know. Maybe... they'll survive on this filth?"
Morgott fell into a silence at that suggestion. He then began to stride forward, climbing onto the mountain of sludge.
Just as Mohg was about to help Morgott move the Omen infants out, the sound of heavy footsteps caught their attention. Both brothers immediately turned their eyes toward the doorway.
A massive figure, a giant nearly three meters tall, slowly walked in. His body was covered in twisted, hardened horns. What drew Mohg's attention most was the large, rusted, and notched cleaver the giant carried. Recalling the current timeline, Mohg's expression turned to one of realization.
Of course. At this stage, the Royal Capital had no need for the Omen-born to participate in wars, so there were no specialized weapons forged for them yet.
The massive Omen gave the two of them a brief look before walking directly toward the other infants in the sludge. Mohg caught a flicker of confusion in the giant's eyes; he likely hadn't seen Omen of their "age" exiled here before.
"Let's go, Morgott," Mohg said directly once he guessed the giant Omen's intention.
Morgott had reached the same conclusion, so he didn't dawdle and came to Mohg's side.
"I've told you many times: call me 'Big Brother'."
"I know, Morgott. I will, Morgott," Mohg replied with a straight face.
Indeed, aside from calling Godwyn "Big Brother" once, he had essentially never used that title for Morgott. Having never called anyone that in his previous life, it felt awkward to suddenly address a stranger that way—even if they did share a bloodline now.
Morgott shook his head and didn't push the issue; it had been this way since they were born, after all.
Stepping out of that door, the two finally saw the true layout of the exterior. There were neat stone paths and many doors. On the ground were several gates sealed with iron bars, and small lanterns nearby illuminated the area.
Directly above them was a small opening, allowing the light of the Erdtree to shine down from the world above.
It had to be said that the difference between this area and the pit they just left was immense—so much so that the two were momentarily stunned.
There were even sacks of food made of coarse cloth. Though the quality looked poor, they were clearly meant to keep the Omen-born here alive.
However, as Mohg looked at the decor of this place, memories of his previous life began to surface... but he realized that while this place was very similar to the area in his memory, it wasn't exactly the same. He wasn't quite sure which part of the Capital's sewers they were currently in.
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My : https://[email protected]/AuAuMon
Elden Ring: As the Consort, I Reject Miquella (32 – Ongoing)
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