"What do you mean by 'never seen an Omen so young'?" Mohg asked, voicing his doubt.
"You... you can actually speak our language?!"
The Perfumer's eyes widened in disbelief as she stared at Mohg. The other Perfumers nearby were also intrigued and crowded around. They had always wanted to communicate with the Omen-born and had spent a considerable amount of time trying to teach them basic knowledge, but with very little success.
Finding an Omen child who had already mastered speech was a delightful surprise for them.
"Mhm... I learned it while I was still above ground."
"Then it seems your parents loved you very much..." The female Perfumer kneeling before him reached out and gently touched the horn on his head. "This area isn't actually meant for Royal Omen infants... there is another sector specifically for that. It has a relatively stable environment and a leader who is quite moderate in temperament..."
"So, he was chosen by the Royal Family to look after the Omen infants?"
"Yes. You are very clever," the Perfumer nodded.
"But something went wrong over there. We're the ones who escaped," Mohg said, emphasizing every word as he looked the Perfumer in the eye.
"What?"
The Perfumer was startled, her brow furrowing deeply. This was no small matter. Although the public opinion regarding Omen-born in the Royal Capital was abysmal, some high-ranking nobles still harbored lingering affection for the children they had sired. Others acted out of a deep-seated inner guilt and sought to provide some form of compensation. In short, providing a relatively safe and stable environment for Royal Omen infants was a tacitly approved policy among the upper echelons.
Now that this "approved policy" had met with disaster, it naturally required intervention.
"What exactly happened over there?" the Perfumer asked urgently.
"The original group of Omens went down to the lower sewers to scavenge for food and were ambushed by the feral Omens living there. Some of them had sawed-off horns—they might have been from outside the city. Now... the original group is likely all dead."
"...I understand."
The Perfumer nodded. She patted Mohg on the head once more before standing up and heading toward the exit. Mohg watched as she spoke briefly with another Perfumer before beginning to climb the ladder, presumably to report the situation to the authorities above.
As for what would happen next... the method for dealing with feral, rebellious Omens was quite predictable.
At that moment, another Perfumer walked over to Mohg and his brother, handing them two large pieces of flatbread.
"Here. This is for you."
Mohg looked around and saw that the other adult Omens were also holding similar pieces of bread. He accepted the food but didn't eat it immediately.
He watched as the Perfumers began to make small incisions on the bodies of the adult Omens, collecting tubes of blood from the wounds. Once finished, they applied a medicinal paste to the cuts and even smeared different ointments onto the Omens' horns to observe the reaction.
However, the ointments clearly didn't meet their expectations. One by one, they shook their heads in disappointment.
"What are you doing?" Mohg asked.
"We are trying to develop a medicine that can eliminate the Omen curse. So far, these ointments haven't shown much progress..." the Perfumer replied with a despondent sigh. "These pastes were developed using keratin harvested from various animals. The goal is to soften the protrusions or even dissolve them gradually, but it doesn't seem to have much effect on Omen horns..."
Mohg nodded. He knew the Perfumers were treating the horns as the root of the curse, but that wasn't the case. Collecting the blood was likely part of a new hypothesis...
Wait... collecting blood, studying blood, only to discover that the only way to sever the power in the bloodline is death, and then... they go mad?
Mohg scratched his head, feeling as though he had stumbled upon the truth. He only hoped that the man named Rollo wouldn't show up too soon. He didn't want to be hunted across the sewers by an Omenkiller before he had even reached adulthood.
If it were just a matter of changing his appearance, Mohg figured that once he fully mastered the power of the Crucible, he could probably "sculpt" his own body. Alternatively... a Larval Tear could definitely give him a makeover.
At this thought, Mohg nodded to himself. It was settled: once he made it out of the Royal Capital, his first priority would be to find a Larval Tear and fix his face. Otherwise, with these looks... it would be damn near impossible to find a wife!
After observing for a while longer and seeing that the Perfumers weren't paying much attention to them, Mohg took Morgott and moved to another section of the tunnel.
Suddenly, Morgott stopped in his tracks, staring at a statue. He began to murmur something under his breath. Mohg paused and leaned in to listen to his brother's faint whisper.
"Mother..."
Mohg followed his gaze. An intact statue of Marika stood quietly at the end of the passage. Directly above it was a small opening designed to let in a beam of pure light.
Perhaps... this was the only place where Morgott could still feel the warmth of his mother and the Erdtree. Mohg didn't disturb him; he felt it was best to let his brother have a moment of peace.
He walked to the side and began to examine the "shackles" on his own body.
Unlike the chains or irons he had imagined, this was a device resembling a small stone tablet, seemingly fused deep into his very flesh. The powerful Golden magic contained within it ensured there was no sign of loosening.
In his daily life, if Mohg didn't consciously think about it, he might even forget it was there. It didn't restrict his movements at all. However, Mohg knew this was only because the device hadn't been activated yet—and because they were still within the confines of the Royal Capital.
This was a Shackle rooted in the depths of his bloodline. Once activated, it would be impossible to resist, leaving the wearer pinned helplessly to the ground. Mohg didn't know if it had a tracking effect, but he was 80% sure it did.
Otherwise, what would happen if the two Omen princes managed to slip away? Omen princes living in exile, likely harboring ill will toward the Golden Dynasty, would be a massive threat.
Mohg didn't believe for a second that the group of people he saw in the Council of Elders would be kind enough to leave them without a leash.
────────────────────────────────────────
My : https://[email protected]/AuAuMon
Elden Ring: As the Consort, I Reject Miquella (51 Chapters – Ongoing)
────────────────────────────────────────