"You're 'at ease' just knowing my name? What's that supposed to mean? Do you know me?"
Lansseax's eyes narrowed, her curiosity toward Mohg deepening by the second.
Ancient Dragons were primordial beings that had existed since the Era of the Crucible. Their lifespans were on a scale beyond imagination. When an Ancient Dragon truly grew old and neared the end of its life, it would travel to Farum Azula to await death, its once-mighty body turning into stone.
As the undisputed former overlords of the Lands Between, the only events that had ever caused mass casualties among the Ancient Dragons occurred in the distant past—during the age when the Dragonlord still ruled from the Heart of the Storm. The war between the drakes and the Ancient Dragons had weakened the race, but their sheer power ensured they remained a force that could not be ignored.
As for the drakes—the lesser dragons—they had been cowering in Caelid ever since Bayle the Dread was kicked out. They only managed to persist because of the presence of the Mother of Dragons and the Dragonlord's slumber; otherwise, the Ancient Dragons would never have tolerated their presence.
This state of mutual non-interference had lasted for ages. During these long centuries, many Ancient Dragons, unable to bear the boredom, would venture into the Lands Between seeking entertainment.
Lansseax was one such dragon. Simply put, most Ancient Dragons who chose to travel the Lands Between were typical "pleasure-seekers."
An eternal lifespan provided the foundation for their fun, their overwhelming strength provided the security for it, and the long, tedious passage of time provided the motivation.
Now, Lansseax had found a new source of amusement. She had already decided that the man before her would become a potent spice in the dull recipe of her long life.
However, there was a crucial piece of information she was missing: the matter of lifespan. As a demigod and a child blessed by the Crucible, Mohg's lifespan was not a single day shorter than that of an Ancient Dragon.
"Uh, well..."
Mohg found himself at a loss for words once again. However, the silence didn't last. Taking a deep breath, he looked Lansseax straight in the eye.
Having lived through countless eras, Lansseax didn't shy away. She met his gaze directly, her eyes filled with undisguised curiosity and a touch of encouragement, as if daring him to speak his mind.
"My name is Gwyn. I am a child born blessed by the Aspects of the Crucible, and the current inheritor of the Hornsent and Spirit cultures. Ancient and Great Dragon, I implore you to assist me in returning the world to the Age of the Crucible!"
"...Do you even realize what you're saying?"
Lansseax looked at him as if she had seen a ghost, her eyes wide with shock.
"I am perfectly aware of what I am saying. Furthermore, to prove my sincerity, I am willing to show you my true form."
Mohg performed an elegant salute of the Blood Dynasty. Suddenly, his body began to swell. A crimson hue surfaced on his skin, transforming into a magnificent, flowing robe that looked slightly oversized on his current frame.
But soon, his expanding physique filled the opulent fabric. Grey skin and demon-like horns erupted from his body.
Mohg stood before Lansseax in his original, true form. Now that he had reverted to his actual size, he was significantly taller than the human-shaped Lansseax, looming over her by nearly a third of his height.
"A Hornsent? No... a Blessed Child?!"
Lansseax's face was a mask of astonishment. She now believed about eighty percent of what Mohg was saying. "Blessed Child" was a term from the Era of the Crucible; back then, Mohg's traits were revered as divine miracles.
Nowadays, of course... they were something else.
"Which deity of the Hornsent culture do you follow?" Lansseax asked, tilting her head with genuine interest.
"The Formless Mother."
Mohg saw no reason to hide it. Upon hearing the answer, Lansseax clicked her tongue in wonder.
"So, it's that Outer God worshipped beneath the arenas... and yet, you haven't been consumed by the side effects of Her Cursed Blood. Your compatibility with the Cursed Blood seems to be beyond imagination."
She paused, a playful, mocking smirk playing on her lips. "But as for your proposal... why should I help you? Why help a 'Blessed Child' who has never been heard of and has no name? Or should I say... an Omen?"
Mohg sensed the slight malice tucked into that final word, but he didn't care. Such a comment might have made Morgott snap, but for Mohg, the emotional damage was negligible.
"Because of mutual interest, Lady Lansseax," Mohg said, cutting straight to the point.
"The Ancient Dragons were the overlords of the Crucible era, the former kings of the Lands Between. Many in the Royal Capital may not know this, but it is recorded in the history of the Hornsent. Today, the Golden Order is rising with unstoppable momentum, while the once-mighty Ancient Dragons have dwindled to a mere handful of survivors."
"You might be a match for other factions, but you pale in comparison to the Golden Order at its zenith. I do not believe the Ancient Dragons are content to sit idly by. The return of the Crucible and the establishment of the Blood Dynasty would be beneficial for both of us."
Lansseax's gaze sharpened, and she fell into a long, pensive silence before letting out a heavy sigh.
"I apologize for my earlier rudeness. Your words are indeed persuasive, and the scenario you describe would favor my kin. However, you haven't mentioned the risks involved. Besides, we Ancient Dragons currently have... better options."
"But," she added, "none of those are why I'm refusing you."
"Hm?" Mohg looked puzzled.
He knew what the dragons were planning—a slow, lingering death through integration—and he was confident he could talk them out of it. But it seemed something was off.
"I'm refusing you because that's just too boring. Struggles between ambitious men, conspiracies behind wars... I've seen it all too many times. I'm tired of it."
Oh!
Combining her previous actions with her current expression, Mohg immediately realized the truth. This dragoness... was a total pleasure-seeker! She lived for the "thrill" (or the "schadenfreude")!
"I see... In that case, I suppose I shouldn't tell you about my other identities. I only ask for your word that you won't reveal my existence."
Mohg shook his head gently, a look of profound regret on his face.
"Wait! What do you mean by 'other identities'?" Lansseax's eyes narrowed. She couldn't help herself.
"I'm afraid I cannot say, Lady Lansseax. In contrast, I feel speaking with your kinsmen later might yield more value. It's a shame our conversation wasn't more pleasant."
Mohg spread his hands, and his body began to dissolve into mist and blood.
"Aren't you afraid I'll report you to the Golden Order?"
Mohg simply offered a small, confident smile. He had nothing to fear. Even if she told them, he wasn't using his real name. This dragoness couldn't possibly describe his face accurately enough for the Golden Order to link it to the "disappeared" Mohg.
As for "Gwyn"... what does what Gwyn does have to do with me, Mohg? (Deadpan).
Lansseax's expression flickered with indecision. She considered attacking, but truth be told, she wasn't entirely certain she could kill him. And if she wanted the secret, killing him was useless—she'd have to capture him, which was even harder.
"Hold on! Tell me your identity, and I can help you for... five—no, thirty years!"
A smile finally broke across Mohg's face. "Fifty years."
"You—! Fine! Fifty years it is!" Lansseax snapped, gritting her teeth before nodding.
"Words are fleeting. I believe we need a bit of 'contractual spirit.'"
With a flick of Mohg's hand, a scroll appeared before Lansseax.
"What is this?"
"A contract. A contract bound by the Mother of Truth. Once signed, you will receive the Grace of Blood. Naturally, the duration is only fifty years."
Lansseax looked slightly constipated. She had indeed planned to run off as soon as she heard the secret. Now...
She signed. The contract, bound by the Formless Mother, was sealed. Mohg could barely contain his excitement. The greatest unexpected harvest of this trip had arrived: A Blood Dragoness!
"Alright, now tell me your secret," Lansseax said helplessly. Mohg didn't notice the small smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. To her, this feeling of finally being "bested" was actually quite a thrill.
"My true name is Mohg."
"So you were lying to me from the very start? No wonder you weren't afraid when I threatened you! Where's that 'sincerity' you mentioned?" Lansseax blurted out, nearly losing her composure.
"Ahem. That's not the point. The point is what comes next." Mohg cleared his throat.
"Fine. Go on." Lansseax gestured for him to continue.
"I am the third son of Queen Marika and the First Elden Lord, Godfrey. Named by my father... Mohg. And Godwyn is my eldest brother."
Lansseax's pupils dilated. Her lips slowly curled upward. She was starting to feel the rush.
"You're saying... you are a royal Omen child of the Golden Lineage? Wait, you said 'third son'... but I've never heard of a second son. Which means... Omen Twins?!"
The realization made Lansseax's grin widen until it was almost manic. She wanted nothing more than to scream this explosive scandal to the world, but the contract forbade it.
However, because of this identity, she realized Mohg's "dream" might actually be possible. The supporters of the Crucible were not few in the Lands Between; in fact, they were everywhere.
Crucible Knights, Omen-born, Misbegotten, Ancient Dragons, drakes, Hornsent, Ancestral Followers... they were all potential supporters of the Crucible. They were only inactive because the Crucible's blessing had faded and the Golden Order was too powerful.
In fact, even the Stormgate Dynasty had once been followers of the Crucible.
And now, add in Mohg—who possessed the blood of a Demigod, the blood of the strongest barbarian warrior, the blessing of the Crucible, and the favor of the Formless Mother...
Furthermore, the face he had first shown her was so similar to Godwyn's that many Golden Citizens might eventually flock to his side. They only needed time. Once the moment was ripe, Mohg might truly become the end of the Golden Order and the herald of a new Age of the Crucible.
"Interesting... too interesting! This 'career' of yours—I'm investing! I have to see what kind of chaos you're going to stir up in this stagnant world!"
Lansseax stepped forward and slapped Mohg on the shoulder, laughing loudly. She called the world "stagnant" because she saw no other force capable of stopping the Golden Order's growth.
"I am dying to see Godwyn's face if you ever show up in front of him! Gwahahaha!"
"Hey, keep it down. You sound like a villain with that laugh." Mohg reached out to cover her mouth.
"Sorry, I couldn't help myself! So, what's next? You're not just going to leave me here, are you? Take me somewhere fun! I'm sick of all the fighting lately, and now that there's no war to fight, it's even more boring!"
"Actually, you guessed right. I don't have anything for you to do right now. Stay here on the Altus Plateau. I'll let you know when I need you."
"...You're joking, right?" Lansseax stared at him, incredulous.
"I'm serious. The war between the Ancient Dragons and the Golden Order is coming to an end. In the coming days, you won't be able to get away. Your brother will definitely drag you into his business."
Lansseax's gaze sharpened, then her face fell. "You know an awful lot about us. But you're right... Fortissax will definitely have me doing this and that. That's why I need to leave as soon as possible."
"Then wait until the day your kin makes peace with the Golden Order. There will be a massive banquet. Contact me then, and I will help you leave the Plateau for a place the Golden Order won't reach for a long time."
"Oh? It's a deal then?"
"A deal."
Lansseax nodded and prepared to spread her wings. But Mohg spoke up one last time.
"Wait, one more thing?" Lansseax looked back.
"Uh, I have one tiny request."
"Spit it out, I'm busy."
"...Could you let me ride you once?"
"?"
"GET OUT!!!"
"Right away!"
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Elden Ring: As the Consort, I Reject Miquella (459 Chapters – Full)
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