Early the next morning, Gawain stepped down from the ramparts. He had spent the night pondering the state of the Weeping Peninsula. Once the rebellion was fully quelled, he didn't intend to linger at Castle Morne. Instead, he planned to explore the surrounding lands.
As the "starting zone" of the game, the Weeping Peninsula was a place of deceptive vibrancy—a landscape where "ten thousand things competed for survival." The environment around Castle Morne was nothing short of absurd, crawling with all manner of monstrosities and anomalies.
The Ailing Village atop the cliffs housed a cult of suicidal madmen; a "Crab Bro" lurked in the heavily polluted poisonous pools outside the walls; and the presence of high-heat Mirandara flowers suggested that Perfumers, perhaps sympathetic to the Misbegotten, had secretly participated in the uprising.
To the west lay the Weeping Evergaol, housing the Ancient Hero of Zamor, and the Witchbane Ruins where Sellen's true body was imprisoned. Even the influence of the Prince of Death had taken root here—aside from the Headless Knights guarding the Walking Mausoleums, the soul of Lhutel the Headless lay interred in the catacombs.
All these places were worth a visit. But first, he had to claim the legendary Grafted Blade Greatsword and deal with the creature holding it.
By the time Gawain reached the courtyard, Edgar had already organized a sweep-and-clear squad. It wasn't a large group—aside from a few garrison soldiers, it consisted mostly of the mercenaries who had come as reinforcements. The majority of the surviving residents and soldiers remained behind to clean the desecrated city.
"Sleep well?" Edgar asked. "I'll need that combat prowess of yours today. Just don't let a repeat of yesterday happen; if you get surrounded by Misbegotten with a Leonine leading them, I might not be able to pull you out."
"Don't worry," Gawain replied. "I don't think that beast is strong enough to push me to the brink again."
Edgar gave the order to move out, heading toward the prison area in the lower castle. Within the group, Galvin watched Gawain intently. He felt the man was significantly stronger than he had been only a day prior. He knew Tarnished could grow stronger with a Maiden's aid, but Gawain clearly didn't have one.
Under Edgar's lead, they took a passage Gawain hadn't used before, leading directly to the Morne Moangrave, now the stronghold of the Leonine Misbegotten.
The group was braced for a fierce struggle, but the scene within the prison area was unexpected.
"What is wrong with them?" Edgar muttered, staring at the Misbegotten lying weakly on the ground. They didn't even have the strength to stand and resist. Their fur was falling out in clumps, and their bodies looked as though they were on the verge of collapsing.
Gawain knelt to inspect one. He remembered the Misbegotten he'd seen in the game while dropping down the back of the castle—they had all looked like this.
"Could it be related to the Grafted Blade Greatsword?" Gawain asked.
"The sword is a treasure Morne has enshrined for generations," Edgar said. "It was kept at the memorial, and even I have never wielded it. We'll have to find out below."
Edgar instructed Galvin to handle the stragglers while he and Gawain pressed on to the lowest level.
Passing through the damp, dark prison, the two emerged onto the beach. The gate to the Moangrave lay ahead. In the distance, the Leonine Misbegotten lay crouched in a deep slumber. Sensing their approach, it bolted upright and let out a roar that shook the very air.
The roar startled the spectral jellyfish floating nearby. A thick, palpable sense of vengeance radiated from the beast, turning the dozens of translucent white jellyfish a deep, angry red. They began to drift toward the intruders, signaling imminent danger.
"It can buff itself and the environment?" Gawain was surprised. He saw the eerie glow emanating from the Grafted Blade Greatsword in the creature's claws. This was the true power of a legendary weapon.
"Here it comes! Brace yourself!"
Edgar gripped his Banished Knight's Halberd. A fierce gale converged on the tip of his weapon as he met the Leonine's overhead strike! The collision sent a shockwave through the sand, obscuring their vision in a cloud of dust. Edgar dropped to one knee, gritting his teeth as he locked his halberd against the massive sword.
"Now!" he roared.
Gawain drew his blade with lightning speed, applying and igniting a bundle of Charcoal Pine Resin. Wreathed in roaring flames, he streaked toward the beast's rear like a meteor. There was a sickening hiss as fire tore through flesh, followed by a spray of hot blood.
However, the wound on the Leonine's back began to knit itself back together at a visible speed.
"It healed?!" Edgar gasped.
"No, it's pushing itself too hard," Gawain noted, spotting the creature's twitching muscles and shedding fur. "Edgar, use the storm to cover me! Keep its attention!"
Edgar unleashed another storm skill. Though it lacked the power of his earlier strikes, the resulting dust storm was a perfect screen. Gawain closed his eyes, using the sensory techniques he had learned from the Fire Keeper to perceive the outline of the beast's soul.
He moved through the storm like a phantom. Every strike was precise and lethal. The Leonine Misbegotten possessed raw, savage strength, but it couldn't keep pace with Gawain through the haze. Its muscles began to wither under the strain of the sword's parasitic enhancement.
So, it grants power at the cost of the wielder's life and soul...
Seeing the opening, Gawain dropped his center of gravity.
Weapon Art: Wolf Leap!
He spun through the air, evading the Leonine's desperate counterattack. He thrust upward from a crouch, his blade slicing diagonally across the beast's shoulder. The Leonine Misbegotten crashed to the sand.
Just as Gawain moved in for the kill, the dying beast smashed a perfumer's bottle against the ground—Spark Aromatic! A violent explosion erupted, leaving Gawain momentarily dazed.
Burning through its last shred of life, the Leonine erupted in a blood-red aura. It raised the Grafted Blade Greatsword and swung at the exhausted Edgar. Edgar's weapon was sent flying; he watched in despair as the massive blade descended.
"A lost sorcery of Oolacile... I really didn't want to use this."
Gawain arrived at the last possible microsecond. The talisman in his hand erupted in a brilliant, blinding radiance that enveloped the greatsword.
Time seemed to freeze—and then, it began an impossible reversal. The Grafted Blade Greatsword traced its path backward, inch by inch. The Leonine Misbegotten watched in horror as it found itself unable to move forward. Finally, its body—strained to the breaking point by the sword and the reversal of time—crumbled into ash.
"That should ensure it doesn't get back up." Gawain pulled the trembling Edgar to his feet.
"What... what kind of power was that?" Edgar stared at Gawain's hand.
Gawain's palm was now wrinkled and withered, looking like the hand of a hundred-year-old man. He gave a pained smile. "It's a time-reversal sorcery from Oolacile. The cost is high; one wrong move and you're consumed by time itself. If the situation hadn't been so dire, I never would have touched it."
A small ember of the First Flame ignited in Gawain's palm, forcefully neutralizing the spread of the aging effect. He then took a swig of the Sacred Flask. His flesh knitted back together, and his hand quickly returned to its normal state.
He sat down heavily on the sand, looking at the legendary weapon lying nearby. The long, bloody rebellion was finally over.
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