After taking a brief rest, Edgar stepped forward and looked at the Grafted Blade Greatsword planted in the ground. He reached out as if to touch it, but after a quick glance back, he hesitated and let his hand fall. He simply looked up at the grave marker before him.
"In the direst of moments, I was willing to part with my daughter, Irina, just to ensure this ancestral treasure didn't fall into the hands of those Misbegotten. But looking back now... Irina is the only treasure I truly cherish."
He turned to Gawain. "I am gifting this Grafted Blade Greatsword to you. I believe this weapon will find its best use in your hands. Leaving it here would only invite more bloodshed."
Gawain nodded and accepted the gift without reservation. He knew that even in the original game, this was how it played out. Once Edgar abandoned his duty to return to his daughter, he ceased to care about the fate of the greatsword; whoever claimed it, owned it.
Furthermore, the weapon possessed a certain malevolence. Most ordinary people could not withstand the burden of such a legendary armament, but Gawain found himself perfectly suited for it.
The moment he touched the hilt, he attempted to channel some of his power into the blade. Just as he expected, the sword emitted an eerie, spectral glow. In that moment, a soul-deep connection seemed to form between them. By drawing upon the strength squeezed from his own being, the sword granted him a temporary boost—increasing all his attributes by five levels and providing the "Endure" effect.
A fragment of will drifted into his mind—the will of vengeance. It made him realize many things in an instant. He ceased the flow of his power and stood for a moment, staring blankly at the tombstone.
After stowing the Grafted Blade Greatsword, he and Edgar walked forward together. The area around the Morne Moangrave was littered with the corpses of the castle residents. It seemed the Leonine Misbegotten had intentionally arranged them this way, as if performing some sort of devout ritual.
Looking at the scene, which felt strangely familiar, Gawain felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to shout a specific phrase:
"Skulls for the Skull Throne, blood for the Blood God."
Of course, that likely wasn't what the Leonine Misbegotten had in mind. After a moment of silence, Gawain spoke up.
"When I arrived at Castle Morne, I saw a Sword Monument outside that recorded the history of this place—the record of when Warrior King Godfrey campaigned here. Legend says that back then, a hero rose in Morne. Burdened by the hatred of a dying nation, he collected every weapon in the city to forge this Grafted Blade Greatsword, transforming himself into an 'Avenger.' This Avenger, carrying the sky-high rage of his race, fought his way alone to King Godfrey for a final duel, only to perish in the end."
Gawain looked at the Castellan. "Edgar, tell me—as the master of Castle Morne, you must know the identity of that Avenger. It was a Misbegotten, wasn't it?"
Edgar looked at the mountain of corpses. As the Castellan, he was naturally privy to these hidden histories. It was clear the Leonine Misbegotten had been trying to honor its ancestor in this gruesome fashion. Since Gawain had already deduced the truth, there was no point in hiding it.
This was also the primary reason why the successive masters of Castle Morne never wielded the weapon; after that ancient battle, the significance bestowed upon the blade was simply too heavy.
He began to recount the history passed down by his ancestors.
"In the primordial era, the Misbegotten and the Misbegotten-adjacent demi-humans built this city and lived here in peace. The entire Weeping Peninsula was their paradise. That lasted until King Godfrey's let his armies, carrying the blessing of the Golden Order, sweep through the Lands Between after defeating the Storm Lord. They marched all the way to this southernmost tip of the continent."
"The Misbegotten who resisted the royal army were turned into slaves, imprisoned and persecuted. In the final hour, that nameless Misbegotten hero took up the hatred of his entire race and forged this weapon—the Grafted Blade Greatsword you now hold."
"It is said that when the forging was complete, it received the blessing of an unknown power, becoming a weapon exclusive to the 'Avenger.' I didn't understand the specifics of that power before, but now I see: it grants immense strength and near-immortality for a short duration at the cost of one's own life force. Perhaps that is how the Avenger managed to cut a path all the way to King Godfrey. Perhaps when a living being's will becomes strong enough, a higher power descends to grant a blessing. His conviction was even recognized by the King, who erected the Sword Monument outside the city to commemorate his deeds."
"Later, my ancestors were appointed as Castellans to take over this city. They called it an appointment, but in truth, how different was it from exile? We Banished Knights are not so different from the Misbegotten; we are all just captives of fallen nations."
"Regardless, the Grafted Blade Greatsword was placed within the Morne Moangrave as a witness to history, kept as carefully as the Sword Monument outside."
Edgar turned to look at the Leonine Misbegotten, which had burned its life away until it was nothing but ash. A complex wave of emotion rose in his heart.
"Now, another Misbegotten transformed into an Avenger and took up this sword, just like the hero of legend. I suppose this was fate. I once tried to slowly improve the conditions for these Misbegotten, much like Godefroy, the former lord of Stormveil. I gave them less work and more freedom, but this is the result I get."
Edgar's expression hardened. "I respect its dignity as a warrior, but their actions are unforgivable. For the Misbegotten and demi-humans still roaming the Weeping Peninsula... I will show no mercy. There will only be slaughter!"
Gawain didn't know what to say. He knew a bit about Godefroy the Grafted; the fact that he could lead an army to attack the Royal Capital before being captured by the Ancient Dragon Knight suggested he relied on sheer numbers. In the game, there were Misbegotten spontaneously praying at Godefroy's Evergaol. It was possible that under his rule, there really had been a "golden age" of sorts for their kind.
The Misbegotten weren't all bloodthirsty, uncommunicative beasts. After all, Master Hewg at the Round Table Hold was a captive Misbegotten who remained loyally devoted to fulfilling Queen Marika's task: forging a weapon capable of slaying a god.
However, at least here in the Weeping Peninsula, humans and Misbegotten could no longer coexist.
Gawain thought back to the first assassin he had killed upon arrival. That person had dropped items similar to perfume bottles. It was hard to say if the perfumes used by the Leonine Misbegotten had come from that source.
Out of sympathy for the Misbegotten's plight, had that person helped the Leonine Misbegotten while also plotting the rebellion to hunt down Irina—who possessed the qualities of a Frenzied Flame Maiden? That person likely never considered the consequences; for both humans and Misbegotten, it was an absolute catastrophe.
"Alright, things here are finished," Gawain said. "But you should stay on guard. Given your daughter's... identity, there's no telling if enemies are still hiding in the shadows, waiting to strike."
Edgar nodded. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice. As Gawain prepared to leave, Edgar watched his back and asked out of curiosity:
"Since that weapon is now in your hands, I must ask... what do you see for your own future? Will you be a hero, or an avenger?"
Gawain stopped and shook his head. The answer was simple for him.
"Neither. My end is the same no matter where I am: to become the cinder that burns itself out."
Edgar pondered the word "cinder." He didn't understand why Gawain would define himself that way. Would someone truly embrace such a fate willingly?
Only Gawain knew that being "cinder" meant burning oneself and sacrificing everything to prolong the world, just like the embers of the lords he had inherited. For an Unkindled like him, sacrifice wasn't for a reward; the sacrifice was the reward. If it weren't for the fact that the First Flame could truly no longer be linked—and that letting the fire fade was a mercy for everyone—he would probably still be in the Kiln of the First Flame.
Countless great heroes had chosen to burn everything they were just so the doomed First Flame could flicker a little longer. In the Lands Between, where mere dedication and effort could actually bring about a better world without the certainty of total annihilation... if the Twin Princes were here, even they wouldn't have bothered to "slack off."
Returning to the gaol area, Galvin and the others had finished clearing out the Misbegotten who lay dying on the ground.
Thinking back, these Misbegotten had likely sacrificed their own life force at the start of the rebellion, leaving themselves with only a dying breath so that the Leonine Misbegotten could face Edgar at full strength. Otherwise, a group of Misbegotten wouldn't have been able to handle a Banished Knight wielding a +8 Halberd. Later, the Leonine Misbegotten didn't waste its precious life force storming the walls; it stayed at the Moangrave to honor its ancestor, intending to starve the defenders out.
After Edgar carefully checked to ensure no breathing Misbegotten remained, he led the group back to the city center. He announced to the surviving residents that the rebellion had been fully suppressed. The crowd erupted in cheers; the nightmare that had shrouded Castle Morne for days had finally been dispelled.
Irina stood by her window, quietly listening to the cheers below. She could feel the joy permeating the air. For a moment, she felt a pang of regret over her blindness. She desperately wanted to etch this scene into her mind and see the face of her savior, but it was impossible.
However, now that the nightmare was over, she could return to her daily life. Though many familiar faces were gone, her father was still here. That was the only support she needed to keep living.
She didn't dare ask for more. She knew her own condition better than anyone. Over the years, the only thing that had brought light into her void of a world was that forbidden existence.
No, wait—there was a second thing. She untied her blindfold, revealing her scarred eye sockets. She reached out, wanting to touch that warmth-giving flame, but quickly withdrew her hand. She sighed and slumped back onto her bed.
Sometime later, Edgar finally finished organizing the men to clean the now-secured gaol district. He sat in the Castellan's quarters and retrieved a treasure chest from a very hidden spot. Fortunately, the Misbegotten hadn't reached this place.
Sighing in relief, he looked at Gawain. "So, what do you plan to do next? As I said before, I will do my best to fulfill any request you have."
Gawain stated the plan he had already formulated. "I'll likely head to the western plains first; there's something there I'm interested in. After that, I'll go to defeat Godrick and claim his Great Rune."
Edgar was momentarily speechless. Technically, he was still a subordinate of Godrick. Gawain's bluntness left him unsure of how to respond. Ultimately, he opened the chest and pulled out a treasured item.
"I know why you Tarnished have returned to the Lands Between. Ordinarily, you would be an enemy I'd need to guard against. But now, I sincerely wish you success on your path. Take this gift; I believe you will find it useful."
Gawain took the parchment and unrolled it. It was a complete map. It covered the Weeping Peninsula and Limgrave, and even the internal structure of Stormveil Castle was clearly marked in detail. It was far more practical than the maps in the game.
"This is a map I inherited from my ancestors. My forebear received it after choosing to follow the Golden Dynasty and performing great deeds. Over the years, the Castellans of Morne—myself included—have frequently updated it based on actual conditions."
"If there is something you wish to explore in the Weeping Peninsula, go with a light heart. Should you ever need a place to rest, Castle Morne will always welcome your return."
"Thanks. This is indeed very useful," Gawain said. "However, I'll be staying for a few more days before I leave. Could you teach me the Storm combat arts you've mastered? I'm very interested in them."
Edgar blinked, surprised. "You want to learn my Storm arts? Why the sudden request?"
"It's not impossible, but to be honest, your strength far exceeds mine. I'm not sure there's much I can teach you."
"It doesn't matter. I just need the basics to get started. After today, I feel that Storm-based techniques will be a great help in my future battles."
"Then meet me outside the city tomorrow morning. I will pass on everything I know."
"Your guest room has been prepared. If you need anything, just tell the servant at the door. Things are quite difficult in the city right now, so please forgive us if our hospitality is lacking."
After stowing the map, Gawain left the room, leaving Edgar to handle the castle's affairs. In his guest room, he found a complete set of Banished Knight armor—the very set he had seen earlier in the Castellan's quarters. Edgar was certainly being generous.
That night, Gawain tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He had been eyeing the flashy combat arts of the Lands Between for a long time. He couldn't even imagine the effects he could achieve by combining skills like a whirlwind strike with his Pyromancy Flame.
Moreover, since the soul of the Stormhawk King had been helping him, it would likely be easier to wield the power of the storm once he eventually invaded Stormveil.
Just as he was fantasizing about the combos he could pull off, a majestic voice suddenly echoed in his mind.
"Boy. You wish to learn the arts of the storm?"
Gawain froze. "That voice... are you the Stormhawk King who's been ignoring me this whole time?"
"Indeed. I have been observing your actions. It seems you truly possess the right to inherit my storm."
Gawain sat up abruptly, swinging his legs off the bed. He realized his body was surrounded by a faint, swirling breeze. In the reflection of the mirror, he could just barely make out the spectral silhouette of a great hawk.
"Do you want me to help you get revenge?" Gawain asked.
"Revenge? I moved past such things long ago. Even if I succeeded, the Stormveil of my memory would never return."
"Then why help me?"
The Ancient King remained silent for a long moment before answering.
"It is nothing. I simply think you resemble someone I once knew. And while I have let go of the past, I cannot stand by and watch that wretch Godrick turn Stormveil into such a ghastly place. It would be better to have you up there than him."
"You can count on me," Gawain said. "The first Shardbearer I'm taking down is Godrick. So, King, when do we start practicing?"
The soul of the Ancient King residing within Gawain felt a twinge of helplessness. This kid was a bit too impatient.
"Not yet. Tomorrow, let Edgar teach you the basics. Once you can truly feel the power of the wind, I will teach you how to command the storm. When that time comes... all the winds of Stormveil will be yours to wield."
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Elden Ring: In the Name of Ash (35 chapter - Ongoing)
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