Before Mohg could react, Phlow lunged. He gripped his golden scepter tight, swinging it in a direct, bone-shattering strike aimed at Mohg's head.
CLANG!
The golden scepter clashed with the crimson Mohgwyn Sacred Spear. A massive shockwave rippled outward from the point of impact, tearing through the narrow alley. Caught off-guard and still recovering his full strength, Mohg found himself forced onto the defensive.
He hadn't expected this man—who looked every bit the typical spell-slinging priest—to be a muscle-bound warrior under those robes.
Seeing Mohg falter, Phlow pressed his advantage. He slammed the butt of his scepter into the ground, and a golden ripple surged across the stone. A moment later, countless motes of golden light materialized around him. With a flick of his wrist, these motes transformed into searing beams of light, lashing out at Mohg like a volley of arrows.
Mohg's eyes narrowed. He beat his wings, weaving through the beams in a frantic aerial dance. Phlow, however, was a golden blur. He pursued Mohg with a powerful leap, twisting the grip of his scepter. A blade of pure golden light erupted from the head of the weapon, and he brought it down in a thunderous overhead chop.
DONG—!
The collision rang out like a funerary bell. Mohg barely managed to parry, but his brow furrowed as the sheer force left his hands numb. His internal energy was draining at an alarming rate. He knew he couldn't let this drag on, or this old zealot would eventually grind him down.
Setting aside all caution, Mohg burned what little remained of his accumulated power, forcing his body back to its peak for one brief, violent burst.
Sensing the sudden shift in Mohg's aura, Phlow instinctively retreated, swinging his scepter to send several golden arcs of energy whistling through the air. Mohg didn't dodge. He swept his Sacred Spear in a wide arc, a terrifying wave of bloodflame erupting from the blade and swallowing the golden light whole.
Then, he drove the spear deep into the pavement.
In an instant, thick, dark blood erupted from the cracks in the ground, manifesting into a forest of razor-sharp, iron-hard blood briars that surged toward Phlow with mindless hunger.
Realizing the danger, Phlow held his scepter horizontally before him.
Golden Great Barrier!
A dome of shimmering gold snapped into existence just as the tide of blood-thorns swallowed him, cutting off his vision of the alley. As Phlow braced for the impact, Mohg seized the moment. He slipped into a waiting pool of blood and vanished into the shadows, making his escape.
A long moment passed. Sensing the blood briars had lost their potency, Phlow shattered the barrier. His face darkened. He realized he had been played. In a fit of silent rage, he struck the ground with his scepter once more; a wave of Erdtree flame swept through the alley, incinerating the remaining thorns.
Only then did the capital's internal guard finally arrive on the scene.
"Archbishop, sir!"
"You are too late!" Phlow barked, his eyes cold with fury.
The guards bowed their heads in shame. They had moved as fast as they could, but they were still a step behind the legends. They knew better than to offer excuses; doing so would only invite a harsher lashing from the Archbishop's tongue.
"Hmph! Secure this area. No one is to approach until I send the Church's inquisitors!"
"Understood!"
Phlow turned to leave, but a pillar of golden light descended before him. Out of the radiance stepped the first prince of the Golden Dynasty, Godwyn the Golden.
"Prince Godwyn."
Phlow's expression shifted in a heartbeat. The harsh, jagged lines of his face softened into a mask of deep respect.
"Mhm. What is the status of the situation?"
"...It was my failure, Prince. I was unable to detain the disciple of the Formless Mother." Phlow lowered his head, admitting his fault directly.
"There is no need for that, Archbishop. I am not here to assign blame. I merely wish to understand what transpired here."
"I see... Truthfully, I am still piecing it together myself. I received word from House Haug that a Perfumer was spreading heretical faith. Before I could investigate further, I found myself locked in combat with that... creature."
Godwyn sighed inwardly. He could tolerate his brother's antics a few times, but he couldn't look the other way forever. He could only hope that Mohg wouldn't cross the final line. He had no desire to see his family tear itself apart—and even less desire to be the one to do the tearing.
"Assign men to investigate the Perfumers' involvement. I want to know the origin and the reason behind all of this."
"Understood." Phlow nodded, though Godwyn noticed a lingering doubt on his face.
"Is there something else, Phlow?"
"...Yes, Prince. If I am not mistaken, the 'disciple' I fought today... was he not the 'Lord of Blood' mentioned in Lord Radagon's reports from the Liurnia campaign?"
"Indeed. Among the followers of the Formless Mother, only he possesses such strength. And only he has truly mastered the Cursed Blood while minimizing its side effects. It is how he managed to forge a faction as formidable as the Mohgwyn Dynasty."
Phlow's expression grew increasingly solemn. If Godwyn was telling the truth... then given enough time, this Lord of Blood would become a cancer at the heart of the Golden Order.
"Prince, I formally request an edict for a hunt. Let the Erdtree Church and the Church of the Two Fingers send their elite enforcers. We shall be led by an Archbishop. I... I volunteer myself for the position."
Godwyn's gaze turned icy for a moment as he stared at Phlow. He hesitated, closing his eyes briefly as he forced himself to weigh the matter as the Crown Prince rather than a brother.
"...Very well. You shall lead the investigation and the subsequent hunt."
"By your command."
Phlow bowed and took his leave. Once he was gone, Godwyn let out a long, weary sigh.
As Mohg's elder brother, he hated the idea of his sibling being hunted like a beast. But as the heir to the Golden Throne, it was his duty. Even if he hadn't authorized Phlow's task force, the Erdtree Church had its own Inquisition; they would have acted anyway. At least this way, the strength of the two churches could be unified under Phlow—a man of his own faction. Strengthening Phlow's prestige meant strengthening his own.
It was the "correct" move. And as the First Prince, he had no reason to refuse the "correct" move.
Meanwhile, Mohg had returned to the safety of the Mohgwyn Dynasty.
"Lord Mohg!"
The moment he appeared, Lyanna rushed to his side, her eyes wide with worry as she checked him for injuries.
Mohg felt the copper tang of blood in his throat. The clash with Phlow had been far too sudden. Those initial impacts had caused internal bleeding; it seemed the body he had just begun to mend would require another period of rest.
Lyanna's gaze turned frigid as she noted his state. Though she wanted to blame Sophia and her group, she knew it wasn't their fault. Instead, she cursed her own perceived inadequacy for not being by his side.
Sensing her internal turmoil, Mohg reached out and patted her head. "I'm alright. Just minor wounds. I'll collect on this debt eventually."
"Lord Mohg, please... do not go into such danger alone again." Lyanna looked up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
"Mhm. I'll remember."
Mohg turned his attention to Sophia and the other Perfumers. They stood huddled together, looking anxious and misplaced. Sophia herself was trembling with guilt.
"Is everyone alright? Any injuries?" Mohg asked with genuine concern.
Sophia shook her head frantically. "No... but because of us, you were hurt..."
"Nonsense. If I hadn't invited you, you wouldn't have been in that alley. Protecting you was my duty as a Sovereign. The work you've done—the lives of our kin you've saved—is invaluable. There is no need for guilt."
He smiled at them. "If you truly wish to repay me, then help me on the path ahead. I believe you have the talent to do so."
The Perfumers exchanged glances, then nodded solemnly to Mohg. "We will!"
Mohg's smile widened. Gaining a group of seasoned Perfumers was a massive boon for the Dynasty's logistics. With time and the right equipment, they might even be able to mass-produce powerful aromatics.
He would need to make another trip to the Altus Plateau eventually. The specialized laboratories and cultivation sites of the Perfumers were located there. Without the proper instruments, their research would be agonizingly slow.
"Lord Mohg, we... we have developed a healing draft specifically for those born with the Omen curse. I was hoping..."
Sophia stepped forward, holding a vial of pale yellow liquid. Mohg's interest piqued.
"A healing draft specifically for the Omen-born?"
"Yes. We've tested it. While others can use it, its efficacy is exponentially higher for those with the Crucible's blessing."
"That is... impressive. What are the ingredients?" Mohg took the vial and inspected it.
"Um... ground Budding Horns, Herba juice as a neutralizer, and a distillation of Miranda Powder steeped in medicinal wine..."
Sophia began rattling off the ingredients like a scholar. To Mohg, it sounded like a list of alien technicalities.
"Ahem. I see. So, basic healing herbs mixed with Crucible-related materials, right?"
"In a sense, yes. For species blessed with the Aspects of the Crucible, the results are quite remarkable."
Mohg nodded and drained the vial in one go. A wave of warmth spread through his chest, and he felt the dull ache of his internal injuries begin to recede. His eyes widened.
"Can this be adapted for ordinary people?"
"I... I haven't tried yet. But it's possible."
"Lyanna."
"Yes, Lord Mohg!" Lyanna snapped to attention.
"See to Sophia and her people's housing immediately. Prepare whatever equipment they need for their research. Also, tell Nibbla to select a group of talented initiates to study the art of the Perfumer under Sophia."
"I'll see to it at once."
"As for you all," Mohg said to the newcomers, "it will take some time for Lyanna to get everything ready. Use this time to wander the grounds. Get familiar with your new home."
Sophia nodded. Now that the immediate tension had passed, she took a moment to look around. The beauty of the place took her breath away. It was a sight she had never seen on the Altus Plateau—a sky filled with eternal starlight, making the Dynasty feel like a mystical island floating in the heavens.
"Guards."
"Sir!" Two Blood Warriors appeared, kneeling before him.
"Bring more men. Escort our new kin and help them get settled. They are precious assets of this Dynasty—former Perfumers of the Golden Order. Treat them with the utmost respect. And... assign female warriors to assist them; it may be more comfortable."
"By your command, Sovereign."
The warriors stole curious glances at Sophia's group. They knew of the Perfumers' reputation for mercy and healing. In these early days of the war, the Perfumers were still seen as figures of high regard who saved the wounded at any cost. This was before the rise of the Depraved Perfumers and the Omenkillers, and before the Perfumers were officially weaponized for the front lines.
For now, their image was one of untainted virtue. Mohg had no intention of throwing them into combat yet. If they were to fight, it would be the next generation they trained—unless, of course, someone volunteered. But he doubted that would happen anytime soon.
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