Hearing the Ancient King describe such a grand vision, Gawain couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. If he could truly master the storm forces surrounding Stormveil, charging through the main gate might not be an impossible dream.
However, he was currently unable to use even the most basic storm arts, let alone manipulate such a colossal power. The Ancient King had returned to his silent, enigmatic act, leaving Gawain with no choice but to wait patiently for dawn.
Early the next morning, Gawain arrived at the outskirts of the city to await Edgar. He had donned the set of armor Edgar had gifted him. Though it was heavier than he expected and slightly hampered his movements—given that his endurance wasn't particularly high yet—the increased defense and poise more than made up for the minor drawback.
Just as he was beginning to feel bored gazing out at the horizon, Edgar finally hurried out from the city. He carried a small box, his hair was a mess, and his eyes were bloodshot with fatigue.
"Apologies for the wait," Edgar said. "There is so much to handle within the city that I've been overwhelmed."
"Are you managing a city this size all by yourself? You really should find some people to help you," Gawain remarked.
Edgar fell silent for a moment. "The people who used to assist me... they didn't survive this disaster. Like the steward who was escorting Irina. But thank you for your concern. I intend to recruit a new group of subordinates soon."
Gawain mentally kicked himself for bringing it up. "Right, let's get straight to it. Let's begin the practice as promised."
"I haven't much experience in teaching," Edgar admitted. "So, I will show you how I first started—how I learned to feel the power of the storm and eventually apply it. Hand me your weapon. Any weapon will do."
Gawain thought for a moment and handed over a Lordsworn's Straight Sword he had scavenged from the armory. Edgar produced a Whetblade from his box and carved a small indentation into the blade. He then inlaid a pale grey crystal into it. The previously ordinary straight sword seemed to undergo a subtle transformation.
"Now, take the weapon and try channeling your power into it," Edgar instructed.
Gawain took the sword and followed the instruction. His body felt as though it was being guided by an external force. Following that guidance, he stomped his foot heavily onto the ground. Instantly, a localized storm erupted around him.
Edgar nodded with satisfaction. "Success on the first attempt? It took me numerous tries just to achieve a similar effect when I was training."
"Excellent. This will save a great deal of time," Edgar continued. "What I just added to the sword is called an 'Ash of War.' Usually, this is a blacksmith's job, but since we have no blacksmith in the city, I had to do it myself. When a weapon has been through enough battles and carried enough combat memories, it produces this special substance."
Edgar pointed to several other categories of Ashes of War in his box. During long periods of war, these were standard military supplies, used to quickly teach soldiers combat arts that would otherwise take ages to master.
"I just inlaid the Ash of War known as 'Storm Stomp' into your weapon. When you channel power into it, you activate the combat memories left within the ash. In a way, it's like experiencing the execution of the technique firsthand. That's how I learned—repeatedly experiencing it until I understood how to convert my own magic into a storm and how to manipulate it. To be honest, I thought you'd be stuck on the basic step of activating the art for a while, but it seems I worried for nothing."
Gawain executed "Storm Stomp" several times in a row until his mana was completely depleted. He carefully savored the sensation, gradually forming a basic, if blurry, conceptual understanding.
"Thanks. I see there are a few more ashes left. Can I try them all?"
"Certainly. I'll accompany you through each one, but after that, it will be up to your own intuition. There are no shortcuts in mastering combat arts; it comes down to talent and hard work. That's how I did it. Though, I suspect you will go much further than I ever did. I can hardly imagine what you've been through to master so many different fighting styles."
Gawain wanted to say he didn't actually have much talent; he had simply died enough times to eventually learn everything.
With Edgar's assistance, he cycled through all the ashes: Spinning Slash, Stormcaller, and Storm Assault—techniques that could be found early on in the Limgrave region in the game. Each activation allowed his body to better sense the power of the storm. Whenever he ran out of mana, he would rest at the Site of Grace by the city gate to recover before immediately resuming his practice.
By the end of the morning, after countless attempts, he was finally able to generate a faint breeze on his own without the aid of an Ash of War.
"Alright, Edgar. Thank you for taking the time to help today. I can handle the rest of the practice on my own."
"Very well. I shall return to dealing with Morne's affairs. If you need anything, find me anytime. Though, I must say, I truly envy you Tarnished and your ability to recover at the Grace. You can practice indefinitely without tiring; back in my day, I had to rest a long time after just a few arts."
After seeing Edgar off and ensuring no one was around, Gawain spoke aloud. "Ancient King, I've mostly learned the basics of Storm arts. Now, can you teach me how to control a real storm?"
"You kept me waiting long enough. I thought you'd be faster," the King's voice rang out in his mind, sounding somewhat dissatisfied. Suddenly, a spectral image of a stormhawk appeared, wreathed in wind, coiling around Gawain's body.
Feeling the winds gathering into a vortex around him, Gawain was surprised. "By the way, you've been dead for centuries, right? How do you still have so much residual mana?"
"I've been slowly siphoning it from you for the last six days, ever since you took me from the Chapel of Anticipation."
"Wait, what? You've been draining my power without me knowing?"
"You didn't object, so of course I took it. How else do you think you survived falling from that height without drowning? Or how your fire managed to spread so effectively back in Castle Morne? Since you Tarnished can recover anytime at the Grace, I saw no reason to hold back."
"No wonder I felt strangely weak while traveling. It was your doing. Fine... just tell me how to practice."
The King's voice carried a hint of arrogance. "Now, let your body follow my guidance. I will demonstrate only once what a true storm looks like. The rest depends on how much you can comprehend."
Under the King's guidance, Gawain felt his body enter a state similar to when he used a combat art. More and more wind gathered around him. Following the movement of his body, he took a stance with his straight sword. The weapon began to vibrate violently, as if unable to withstand the sheer pressure.
Ready, he raised the sword above his head and opened his eyes. For some reason, the sound of rhythmic drumming seemed to echo in his ears.
"I am the storm that is approaching!"
With a thunderous roar, the intense storm power converged into a torrent. In an instant, it shattered the massive rock in front of him. The shockwave, accompanied by flying stone debris, fanned out and pulverized everything within ten meters. The straight sword in his hand, unable to endure the massive backlash, shattered into several pieces.
"Holy... that's too much pawa! I feel terrifyingly strong right now!"
"Hmph. Your prowess in other areas might be significant, but in the realm of the storm, you are still unworthy," the King scoffed. "That was nothing. It wasn't a true storm at all. I could feel a sudden burst of explosive power from within your own body that boosted the destructive force."
"Uh, is there a problem with that?"
The King's voice was tinged with helplessness. "The problem is that you simply increased the raw destructive power. Your actual mastery over the storm itself is inferior to a beginner's. What was powerful was your strength, not the storm. I thought you might become the next him... it seems I was merely indulging in wishful thinking."
Gawain hesitated, then asked, "By 'him,' do you mean the Storm Lord of old?"
"No more talk. You are nowhere near qualified in the art of controlling the storm. Continue training with the sensation I guided you through just now. Once you invade Stormveil, I will personally take control of the castle's storms to assist you, and the stormhawks there will answer to my command. That is all."
The Ancient King fell back into silence. Gawain could clearly sense the disappointment in his tone. However, there was nothing he could do; he had encountered storm magic before in his previous life, but he had never been able to master it.
He remembered his final battle alongside Siegward of Catarina against Yhorm the Giant—the king said to be fallible only to the storm. During that fight, he had managed to grab the Storm Ruler from beside Yhorm's throne, but the storms he unleashed were so weak they couldn't even stagger the giant.
In the end, with no time to waste, he had resorted to firing a repeating crossbow at Yhorm's head while Siegward did the heavy lifting with his own Storm Ruler. Subsequent enemies never had the massive frame that made them easy targets for the Storm Ruler, and since the weapon's mana consumption was high and its effect poor in his hands, he had eventually ignored it. But now, in a city perpetually wreathed in tempests like Stormveil, mastering the storm was a necessity.
"If only you were here," Gawain thought, a goofy, familiar figure appearing in his memory. He shook his head with a smile. "If you were here, you'd probably have been captured and taken to Stormveil for grafting by now, and I'd have to break in just to save you."
Sighing as he pulled himself from his memories, he tossed away the broken hilt and drew another weapon to continue his practice.
High on the battlements, Edgar watched the scene below, his grip tightening on his halberd. That storm... there was no mistaking it. It was surely the power of the legendary Stormhawk King.
"So, you have chosen him to be the successor of the storm, Great King?"
Gripping his Banished Knight Halberd, Edgar looked toward the distant Stormveil Castle. The events of the past and the horrors of this recent rebellion flashed through his mind.
"Godrick... since you have abandoned me, I have no reason to remain loyal to you."
Edgar made his decision. If Gawain could truly fulfill his promise to heal Irina's eyes and free her from the influence of the Frenzied Flame, then he would risk everything to follow the man into Stormveil. If he had harbored doubts before, seeing the proud Ancient King acknowledge Gawain removed any lingering hesitation.
He knew his place; a Banished Knight was always a Banished Knight—one of those defeated by the Golden Order. No matter how much loyalty they showed, the moment trouble arose, they were treated as disposable pawns. If he wanted to change that fate, he had to seize this chance and fight.
After a full day of practice, Gawain lay back on his bed, a tiny, weak breeze swirling around his finger. While he had technically grasped the basics, he was currently just converting his own mana into wind to achieve a "brute force" effect. That wasn't enough; he might as well just use his Pyromancy, which was far more powerful.
The real difficulty lay in how to control the storm he created, making it work for him and integrating it with his other skills. He had much more work to do.
Far away in Liurnia of the Lakes, at the Three Sisters towers, Ranni was startled from her slumber by the distant, thunderous sounds. A look of annoyance crossed her face.
"Those wretched Cuckoos again?"
She hopped down from her chair and used a glintstone communication device to contact Seluvis, who was busy with his puppets in a nearby tower. His repulsive voice soon responded.
"Mistress Ranni, have you awakened? How may I serve you?"
"The Cuckoo soldiers are harrassing us again. Order your puppets to take glintstones and blow every last one of them to the heavens."
"As you command. I shall see to it immediately."
Ending the call, Ranni felt irritable due to the persistent Cuckoo knights. But as she calmed herself, she suddenly sensed something. A playful, curious expression drifted onto her face.
"Torrent has chosen a new master? How interesting."
Though her power within the doll body was limited, she prepared to manifest a projection in Limgrave. She was deeply curious to see what kind of person could capture Torrent's favor.
────────────────────────────────────────
Support me here: https://[email protected]/AuAuMon
Elden Ring: In the Name of Ash (35 chapter - Ongoing)
Join the journey and become part of the story!
────────────────────────────────────────