"Sigh, what a temper..."
Mohg shook his head, retreating into the depths of a forest after parting ways with Lansseax.
Despite his words, a wicked, smug grin played across his lips. There was no helping it; successfully "abducting" a dragoness of such immense power while his own faction was still on the rise was enough to make any leader laugh out loud. If the timing weren't so sensitive and if he actually had immediate tasks for her, Mohg would have put her to work like a beast of burden without a second thought.
"Still, the intersection of Cursed Blood and Dragonbolt... I wonder what kind of monstrosity that will birth..."
Mohg rubbed his chin. He planned to seek her out later to learn the Ancient Dragon Incantations. Whether for the sheer aesthetic or the raw power, the red lightning of the Ancient Dragons was a top-tier choice, combining offense and defense into one.
Just like the Cursed Blood I wield now, he thought.
Come to think of it, Cursed Blood and Dragonbolt likely shared a high degree of compatibility. Both were essentially products of the Crucible era's culture. Speaking of which, the Hornsent of old also revered the Ancient Dragons as the former overlords of the sky; powers like lightning and storms were obtained by venerating the spirituality of the heavens.
Does that mean I can eventually tap into the power of storms and lightning through the dragons?
Mohg shook his head, pushing those stray thoughts aside for the moment. He moved toward a specific point in the forest he had noticed upon his arrival—a location housing someone who had piqued his interest. As he walked, the Mimic Tear on his body began to writhe slowly, once again enveloping his frame in a disguise.
"I am so sorry... the situation outside is far too dangerous. It is difficult for me to head out to find the herbs needed for the healing salves."
Within a cave concealed by withered, yellowing thickets, a gentle yet deeply apologetic female voice drifted out. This was Mohg's destination.
"Who's there?!"
Startled by the rustling sound outside the cave, the woman cried out in panic. She lunged for a dagger on the ground, pointing it toward the entrance while shifting her body to shield someone behind her.
Mohg stepped through the brush and into the cave, taking in the scene. A female Perfumer, her clothes somewhat tattered, stared at him with wide, frantic eyes while clutching her blade. Behind her lay a heavily wounded Omen. Judging by his size, the Omen was likely in his youth, and his wounds were clearly the work of sharpened steel.
As for who had inflicted those wounds... the answer was obvious enough that it didn't need to be spoken.
While Mohg's gaze remained as calm as a still lake, the Perfumer's heart was far from steady.
"Prince... Prince Godwyn?"
Mohg's breath hitched for a split second at the name, but he adjusted instantly. He maintained a cold, indifferent expression as he walked toward the woman.
"It seems you have mistaken me for that sun-like figure of the Royal Capital. I am not him. I was born in the lightless depths, destined never to see the sun—but I refuse to accept that fate."
As he spoke, Mohg reached out and snatched the dagger from her hand. With a firm shove, he pushed her aside.
"Ah!"
Her body was already frail from a lack of rest and nutrition. Sophia fell to the ground under the force of the shove, letting out a cry of pain as she scraped her arm.
Seeing Sophia attacked, the wounded Omen let out a furious roar, glaring at Mohg with eyes burning with rage. Mohg wasn't annoyed; in fact, this was exactly the reaction he wanted. He leaned down over the Omen.
"What do you plan to do to him?!"
Ignoring the pain in her arm, Sophia's face went pale. She scrambled to retrieve the dagger Mohg had tossed aside and lunged at him again—only for Mohg to wave his hand, pinning her to the ground with a net woven from congealed blood.
"You should learn to recognize the situation, Miss Perfumer."
With another wave, he bound the struggling Omen with blood as well.
"Who are you?!" Sophia demanded, looking at him with resentment. She had never offended anyone; she had spent her life saving people.
"I should be the one asking the questions," Mohg said, resting his chin on his hand. His handsome face and crimson eyes made him look both regal and terrifyingly cold.
However, in the next second, Sophia saw a flash of playfulness in those eyes.
"Just now... you were planning to kill this Omen you've been treating, weren't you?"
Sophia's body stiffened. Her face turned deathly pale.
"Tsk, tsk. A 'kind' Perfumer, dedicated to healing the sick and determined to lift the 'curse' of the Omen... yet here she is, thinking of murdering a wounded one. Quite the irony, isn't it?"
"No! It's not like that!!"
"Then what is it like?" Mohg leaned in close, his voice a low, intrigued whisper.
Sophia's voice failed her. She bit her lower lip and hung her head, whispering softly, "I... I didn't want him to suffer anymore. Perhaps... perhaps death is the only true liberation from the Omen curse..."
After saying it, Sophia felt the strength leave her body, as if she had finally let go of something vital. The Omen, unable to understand her words, only felt her sudden wave of sadness and began to struggle even more violently.
Mohg frowned, releasing a surge of his aura. The Omen instantly went still. The sheer weight of a top-tier bloodline among their kind made even the thought of resistance impossible.
A young Mohg or Morgott might not have been able to achieve this, but now, they could utilize their bloodline to exert a crushing pressure. Much like how Ancient Dragons naturally suppressed Draconians and Beastmen, this was a biological hierarchy. Combined with Mohg's own power, the weight was unbearable for a youthful Omen.
"Death is liberation? The Omen is a curse?"
"Is it not?" Sophia looked up, her gaze lost and wandering.
Mohg let out a laugh of pure contempt, leaving Sophia's thoughts in a whirl. In her world, this was an absolute truth. To have someone suddenly challenge her fundamental understanding of reality left her confused and reeling.
Sensing her disorientation, Mohg's lips curled into a slight smile. "And who, exactly, defined it as a curse?"
"The Golden Order..."
Sophia didn't say it out loud, but the answer appeared in her mind instantly. Yes, the "curse" of the Omen had been defined by the Golden Order. Though her knowledge of history was limited, she knew that in Liurnia to the south, and the Stormgate Dynasty further beyond, the Omen were never viewed as cursed. She had heard this from traveling merchants and other traveling Perfumers; she simply had never dared to think too deeply on it. Now, Mohg had violently ripped away the veil covering the truth.
"What... what are you trying to say?"
"In the primordial age, the Omen were viewed as a blessing. The world revered the Aspects of the Crucible. All life in the Lands Between originates from that blessing—and yet now, it is labeled a curse. Is that not laughable?"
Mohg rose slowly, spreading his arms. "I am a Child of the Crucible, the Chosen of the Primordial. I shall bring an end to this twisted era. I need your help. Tell me your name."
As he spoke, Mohg slowly reverted to his true, Omen form. He reached out a massive hand toward Sophia. The blood-bindings holding her vanished.
"When that day comes, the Omen will no longer be a curse. No life will be persecuted for its nature. Is that not the lifelong dream of you Perfumers?"
Sophia's eyes grew misty. As if possessed, she reached out and placed her hand in Mohg's massive palm.
Seeing this, Mohg beamed. Objective achieved!
He had been looking for a way to recruit high-level doctors and alchemists. The ones wandering the wilds were unskilled, and the truly talented ones were difficult to snatch. Training his own from scratch would take too long.
But the woman in front of him was perfect. She came with an entire system of Perfumer training. Perfumers were masters of support, healing, and disease management. She wasn't just a recruit; she was a walking career-path for his Dynasty! Better yet, she was in a state of existential crisis—the easiest type of person to "persuade."
Furthermore, Mohg trusted his intuition: Sophia had the potential to become a "Depraved Perfumer." In other words, her future combat potential wouldn't be low.
This was a "many birds with one stone" maneuver. All it cost him was a bit of silver-tongued manipulation. Was there a better investment in this world? Besides, it wasn't manipulation—it was "leading her onto the right path."
"I... my name is Sophia. What do I need to do?"
"This is a grand undertaking. It will require unimaginable time and effort. But unlike your previous path, you can at least see the hope at the end of this one. I want you to help me identify more like-minded friends."
"I understand."
"But before that, I want you to share your Perfumer notes and training methods with me."
Sophia nodded. she had no objections, though she did remind Mohg that training a Perfumer required specific equipment and guidance from a mentor, or things could go wrong quickly. Mohg made a mental note of it.
"How should I address you?"
"Mohg. That is my name. And please, allow me to apologize for my earlier rudeness, Sophia." Mohg put on a look of sincere apology.
"You... you are too kind, Lord Mohg," Sophia replied, looking flustered and honored.
As for whether he was lying to her... she didn't think so. He was an Omen himself, and he truly possessed the ability to look human. As he said, his path offered far more hope than the dead end she had been staring at.
"By the way, Lord Mohg... this Omen!"
Mohg nodded and bestowed the Grace of Blood upon the wounded Omen. The Formless Mother had always been fond of the Omen; she wouldn't be stingy with a bit of power.
When the blood-cocoon burst, the Omen stood before them, his body glowing with the light of Cursed Blood. His eyes were still a bit dazed, however. Mohg reached out to sense the energy within the Omen's body; the creature didn't resist. Between the bloodline connection and the power gap, the Omen was now a loyal subordinate.
"Hmm... the power of the cursed spirits is completely suppressed and unusable. His bloodline potential is capped, so he can only use the power of the Cursed Blood..."
Mohg rubbed his chin, deciding he'd have to have his men capture more wild Omens to test the variations. He knew Cursed Blood had a connection to the Crucible, he just didn't know how deep it went.
"Um... Lord Mohg, will I have to undergo the blessing as well?" Sophia asked, looking at the now-recovering, somewhat more menacing-looking Omen.
The Omen's wounds had healed, but he had grown more black horns and was wreathed in bloodflame. He looked significantly more terrifying.
"If you are worried about your appearance, do not be. The changes from the blessing vary by race." Mohg shifted his form back to the red-haired, red-eyed human disguise. "If you accept it, you will likely look more like this."
Sophia nodded in relief.
"Besides, now is not the ideal time for your blessing. You need to return to the Capital to contact your colleagues; giving you the blessing now would only invite trouble."
"I understand."
Now that she had a purpose, Sophia felt a bit lost on what to do in the immediate moment. She had been stranded out here due to the Capital's affairs and stayed because it was safe. She usually spent her time studying herbs, tending to the Omen, or just staring into space. She wasn't much of a hunter and survived on berries.
"Stay here for now. My subordinates will be here shortly with food. They will take this fellow with them as well. Just have your notes ready."
"Yes, sir!" Sophia nodded eagerly. Having a job was good. Having a future was better.
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Elden Ring: As the Consort, I Reject Miquella (459 Chapters – Full)
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