Mohg slowly shook his head, pushing the thought from his mind for the time being.
The idea of creating another clone was certainly tempting; it would mean he could cover more ground and set up more pieces across the board. However, his current situation didn't allow for it. Setting aside the fact that a clone required a portion of his original body's primordial blood essence, he first and foremost needed a place of absolute safety where he wouldn't be disturbed.
Constructing a clone required the blessing of the Formless Mother. The resulting magical disturbance would undoubtedly alert everyone within the Academy. Thus, creating a clone right now was simply unrealistic.
Suddenly, a look of regret crossed Mohg's face. He had miscalculated by not thinking of this while he was out on missions. It had been quite some time since he made the first clone, and the exhaustion from that process had long since faded.
With his current increase in strength, he was fully capable of sustaining a second clone. Beyond a second, however, adding any more would become exponentially difficult.
But there was no use crying over spilled milk. He was already back inside the Academy, and he was being watched by those two "old fogies," Rellana and Renna. What else could he do? He might as well settle down and study; it was still a valid way to grow his power.
On second thought, even the time he spent outside might not have been ideal for the process. Creating a clone required the host to repeatedly excise blood from their true form, which took a significant amount of time. Even if he had remembered back then, he likely wouldn't have had the luxury of time to complete it.
Having made peace with the situation, Mohg slowly stood up and rubbed his shoulders. Only then did he notice that Rellana had slipped away at some point. After tidying his clothes, Mohg began walking back toward his quarters. Drenched in sweat as he was, his first priority was a bath.
On the way back, Mohg sent a reply to Horulf's message. He ordered them to gather intelligence on the flying dragon, but emphasized that their primary mission remained building the base, concealing their tracks, and ensuring their own safety.
For the Mohgwyn Dynasty at this stage, a conservative policy was actually quite beneficial. In fact, he could choose to do nothing at all—much like the original "Manager" of the Dynasty—and simply wait for the perfect opportunity to expand. Of course, the downside to that was eventually being treated like a literal "piggy bank" by some Chosen Tarnished looking for a quick payout...
"The Sovereign has commanded us to remain in hiding, continue gathering intelligence, and establish our strongholds. We are not to involve ourselves too deeply in the affairs of Limgrave and Caelid."
"But will the arrival of the flying dragon affect the ruined Church of Dragon Communion nearby?"
"...I don't know. But presumably not. The faith here in Stormveil has deeper roots with the Ancient Dragons. Looking at it that way, though... the identity of this flying dragon is likely quite significant..."
Accompanied by the rhythmic clanking of armor, a fully equipped Stormveil army arrived before the dragon. The front-line soldiers held their tower shields high, staring at the beast with intense vigilance as if facing a mortal enemy.
The dragon showed no reaction to the soldiers' posturing, remaining sprawled lazily on the ground. It wasn't until the soldiers parted to form a path that a tall man in Storm Knight armor stepped forward. It was Nebra.
"Dragon. I am Nebra, the 'Livid Wind,' a Count personally appointed by the Throne. Tell me your purpose here."
"Hmph."
The dragon slowly opened its eyes and exhaled a puff of smoke, looking at Nebra with interest.
"My name is Belus. I have heard of you. You once campaigned across the wilds of Caelid. Though, I heard... you were crippled?"
Nebra's expression instantly turned icy. He swung his greatsword with a sudden burst of motion, sending a violent gust of wind—sharp as a blade—whistling past the dragon's scales with a harsh, grating sound.
"Are you... here to provoke me?!"
Belus didn't flinch, though a hint of wariness flickered within his massive reptilian pupils.
"Human, I come on behalf of the Dragon Mother to bring you intelligence."
Nebra didn't respond, continuing to point his greatsword at Belus, his eyes fixed on the beast.
"The Golden Dynasty is currently at war with the Ancient Dragons. It has drained a massive amount of their energy..."
"Do you think our intelligence is inferior to yours? That news is ancient history," Nebra sneered, though he worked hard to suppress the flicker of greed deep in his eyes.
"Heh, do not be so hasty. Your temper is even more volatile than my own kin's... Faced with this predicament, the Golden Dynasty has sought new allies. Care to guess who? The lords of Caelid."
The corners of Belus's mouth curled upward as he looked down at Nebra.
"Think about it. Once Caria and the Academy fail to withstand the Golden Dynasty's offensive, how will you deal with the Golden Army when you are caught in a pincer attack?"
Nebra's face darkened, but he remained silent.
Belus didn't press the point. He simply beat his wings, kicking up a violent gale, and took to the sky toward Caelid. His mission was complete; he had no reason to stay.
Nebra watched the disappearing silhouette in the sky for a long time. It wasn't until the dragon was completely out of sight that he lowered his sword and coughed up a large spray of blood, his face turning several shades paler.
The sudden exertion of power just now had agitated his old injuries. The sensation of a thousand knives racing through his body was almost unbearable.
Lange, standing nearby, turned pale with shock and rushed forward to support Nebra before he could collapse.
"My Lord!"
"I am fine."
Nebra wiped the blood from his lips and used his trembling hands to plant his greatsword in the ground, slowly pulling himself upright.
"Report this to the King. Let him decide. Now... take me back to rest..."
As he finished speaking, Nebra's posture slumped, making him look as though he had aged years in a single moment.
Lange silently clenched his fist, a wave of sorrow rising in his heart. For a once-mighty knight to be reduced to this... it was truly...
Not far away, a Blood Warrior hidden silently in the treetops witnessed the entire scene.
A short while later, Horulf received the report. He couldn't help but rub the calluses on his hand.
"Nebra... perhaps he is exactly the kind of person the Sovereign needs..."
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Elden Ring: As the Consort, I Reject Miquella (415 Chapters – Ongoing)
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