"Wait! Don't kill him yet!"
Yura rushed forward, arriving just in the nick of time. He stood there, panting heavily, and let out a sigh of relief when he saw that the half-roasted Nerijus was still clinging to life.
However, sensing that he might look a bit suspicious himself appearing out of the blue, Yura proactively explained, "My name is Yura, a Hunter of Bloody Fingers. The opponent you just defeated is named Nerijus. I have been hunting him for a long time; I didn't expect him to fall into your hands today. If it's all the same to you, could you hand him over to me? He carries information that is well worth an interrogation."
Gawain didn't particularly care. A Bloody Finger falling into the hands of a Hunter would likely meet an end far grimmer than anything he had planned. Besides, he felt a certain sympathy for Yura's tragic story; if he could lend the man a hand later, he would.
He walked over to Nerijus and unceremoniously severed the "Festering Bloody Finger"—the digit corrupted by cursed blood. To ensure the man stayed alive long enough to talk, Gawain even used a minor miracle to mend the most life-threatening wounds.
As for the dagger, Reduvia, Gawain took it as a trophy, though it was of little use to him. As he picked it up, a few drops of cursed blood writhed like living things, attempting to seep into his skin. He had no desire to touch anything derived from the "Formless Mother," so he summoned a small flame at his fingertips to incinerate the residue.
"Fine. This guy is essentially broken now," Gawain said. "I can tell you don't smell of that cursed blood, so I don't mind handing him over."
Yura watched as the man casually tossed aside the severed finger. He realized this Tarnished likely had extensive experience dealing with Blood Nobles if he was mindful of such details.
"However," Gawain added, "since I'm giving him to you, I want something in return."
"Name it," Yura replied. "If it is within my knowledge, I shall tell you all."
"You said you've been hunting in this area for a while. Have you seen a bald man lurking around?"
Yura furrowed his brow. A bald man? The image did ring a bell; he had occasionally spotted such a figure mingling with groups of highwaymen.
"There is such a man. His hideout is in a cave not far ahead. You should find him there."
Gawain nodded. At least he knew Patches hadn't skipped town yet. Yura stepped forward, hoisted the nearly unconscious Nerijus onto his shoulder, and gave a respectful bow.
"Then I shall take my leave. Thank you, brave warrior. May we meet again on the path of hunting Bloody Fingers."
Yura departed with his captive, heading toward a pre-arranged interrogation spot. He had various "curiosities" from the Land of Reeds that would surely make the Bloody Finger spill everything he knew. After walking a short distance, a writhing, stinging pain shot through his eyes. Damn it... the old ailment again. He didn't know how much time he had left, but as long as he didn't give up, there was hope.
"Eleonora... wait for me. I will find you."
Gawain watched the figure disappear into the distance. Melina's voice echoed in his ear.
"Did you feel it? That man harbors the Frenzied Flame within him."
"Yeah, I saw. But his condition isn't critical yet. It won't erupt just yet, and I can't exactly go around curing everyone I meet on the first encounter."
Melina agreed. She had only meant it as a warning. Situations like Yura's weren't rare in the current state of the Lands Between, and without intervention, they almost never ended well.
"The Frenzied Flame can't be completely eradicated," Gawain mused. "As long as the Lands Between remain this much of a mess, people will keep falling into despair and catching it. I can only help those who can still be saved. The real solution is to give people something worth hoping for."
Gawain knew Yura's fate: in the game, his body would eventually be possessed by Shabriri in the Mountaintops. The thing that would truly break him was likely the tragic end of Eleonora, the Bloody Finger and Dragon Communionist. Yura would die with regrets, unable to save her. But that was a long way off in the Altus Plateau; there was no rush.
Accompanied by Agheel, Gawain soon found his destination: Murkwater Cave. Faint rays of light filtered through narrow cracks in the ceiling, partially illuminating the interior. In the shadows, several figures could be seen moving.
Gawain cast Cast Light, and a soft orb of radiance revealed the scene. A group of mindless Hollows—highwaymen who had lost their sanity—were slowly shuffling toward them. They seemed to be the "bandits" Patches was currently running with. Gawain wondered how the man managed to coexist with such creatures.
"By the way," Gawain asked, "I've been meaning to ask: can your dragon-fire actually incinerate souls?"
"Theoretically, yes," Agheel replied. "But that would take a very long time. I've never actually tried it; I don't waste time on the 'immortals' who wander into my territory. I usually just scare them off."
Gawain knew that the various cycles of reincarnation in this world were based on the concept of indestructible spirits. The "incineration" he spoke of was more akin to the ghostflame baptism of the Deathbirds—a cleansing of the soul rather than total annihilation. It wasn't like the Rune of Death or the Frenzied Flame, which left only absolute nothingness.
Even his own Embers didn't just consume souls; they could also mend. The Estus Flask was a physical manifestation of that power. The First Flame contained everything: life and death were simply parts of the whole.
He flicked his wrist, launching several halos that made short work of the walking corpses. Their warped, frenzied souls were broken down and absorbed into his Embers, serving as fuel to keep the flame burning—or perhaps to be restructured into new life in the future.
Agheel watched this in silence. Though a "younger" descendant, she was still a dragon and possessed a great deal of ancestral knowledge. Seeing this scene, she was inwardly stunned, even if she didn't show it. What kind of power can do such a thing? To her eyes, this was a display on the level of an "Order" or a "Law."
There were only two ways to manifest one's own Law: either through the Great Elden Ring or by being influenced by Outer Gods who were themselves self-contained systems of existence. Is this human an emissary of some god? She felt a sudden pang of fear. She was glad she hadn't remained stubborn during their fight; the consequences would have been far worse than she thought.
"Don't just stand there staring. Come on."
Gawain patted Agheel on the shoulder and continued deeper into the cave. After a few turns, they reached a large cavern. A burning campfire and several torches proved the place was inhabited, and that the occupants had only recently left.
He walked over to a treasure chest. Despite its fancy exterior, it only contained two pieces of "Patches' Original" tattered clothing.
"Ooh! Trying to nick someone's property, are we? Shameless thieves deserve a bit of divine retribution! Leave your valuables and clear off!"
A bald head reflected the firelight in the darkness, wearing a grin of "mission accomplished." A lever was pulled, and a large net dropped from the ceiling, intending to ensnare the two intruders. Patches himself leapt down from a ledge, spear and shield in hand, intending to rob them with a "stylish" entrance. If someone dared to enter the domain of Patches, they had to pay the price.
Gawain watched the net fall. He hadn't expected Patches to have traps set up here. Truly, the man was the ultimate "rat," whether he was in Lothric or the Lands Between. However, against overwhelming strength, such petty tricks were useless.
Agheel's fingernails elongated and hardened into dragon claws. With a swift swipe, she shredded the falling net. Gawain, moving with blinding speed, lunged at Patches before the man had even found his footing.
Startled by the failure of his trap, Patches hurriedly raised his tower shield.
"A shield-poker, are we? Is that thing fully upgraded?"
Gawain gathered the power of the storm in his leg and delivered a Storm Stomp directly to the shield. The force kicked the shield aside, leaving Patches sprawling on the ground. A split second later, a greatsword was pressed against his throat.
Without a moment's hesitation, Patches dropped his spear and raised both hands in a perfect "French" surrender.
"Wait, wait! I surrender!"
Gawain looked at the fluid, practiced motion. He didn't even have time to make an excuse to punch the man a few times before the surrender was offered. Only now, by the firelight, did he get a good look at the Elden Ring version of Patches. Yep, exactly as I remember him. Same bald head, same adorable sense of utter sleaziness.
"Surrender? I'll accept it, on one condition."
"Anything! Just name it, and we can talk it out!"
"Fine. Turn around. Put your back to me."
Patches was incredibly reluctant to turn his back to an enemy, but with his life on the line, he had no choice. The moment he turned, a massive kick sent him flying into the stone wall.
"Oof! Ow! What was that for? Why are you kicking people?"
"Nothing. You just reminded me of someone I really dislike. I needed to vent."
Gawain felt a surge of catharsis. He had finally found an opportunity to kick Patches. It didn't matter which world he was in—a Patches was a Patches.
"Alright, get up. I'll forgive your earlier transgression."
Patches rubbed his aching backside. Though he was seething inside, his face remained plastered with a wide, oily grin. At least his life was safe.
"Phew! Finally, someone who listens to reason! Thank the stars. I knew from the moment I saw you that you were a sensible fellow, hehehe. Sorry about the earlier... misunderstanding. I thought it was just those demi-humans from outside, or maybe some mindless hollows. But look at you! A fellow Tarnished! We Tarnished ought to help each other out, don't you think?"
Gawain nodded, giving him a mirthless smile.
"Sure. I'll take that earlier 'prank' as a joke. How about I prepare a surprise for you next time?"
Patches waved his hands frantically. He didn't think he could survive a "surprise" from this man.
"Haha... no, no need for that. By the way, I haven't introduced myself, have I? I'm Patches. Some call me 'Untethered' Patches. Like you, I'm a traveling Tarnished. I was running with a group of bandits for a bit, but as you probably saw on your way in, that job has run into a few... 'downsizing' issues. Can't really keep at it."
"Fair enough," Gawain said. "So, what's next? Going back to being a highwayman? Because if so, I might as well finish you off now to save everyone the trouble."
Patches shook his head vigorously. He could tell the man before him followed a certain moral code.
"Perish the thought! I usually just stick to a bit of petty thievery, or maybe relieving the 'recently deceased' of their burdens. But this line of work is far too risky. I've decided to go straight! I've managed to save up a few good items; I think opening a shop might be a fine career move. Those bandits aren't much for conversation anyway, but they're good for scrounging up stock."
"That's more like it. So, what have you got? Show me your inventory."
Gawain noted Patches' look of reluctance and added—knowing he had just incinerated the man's "stock-movers"—"Don't worry. I'm not taking it for free."
"Now you're talking! In that case, welcome to the grand opening of the Patches Emporium!"
Relieved, Patches turned to a tattered tent and dragged out a pile of goods. At a glance, it was mostly junk—knick-knacks scavenged from corpses in the wild: throwing daggers, arrows, various shields. The only thing of real value seemed to be a Stonesword Key.
But Gawain hadn't come for junk. Aside from the cathartic kick, he was here for the one item that would help against the Fell Omen.
He sifted through the pile and, from the very bottom, pulled out a black, jagged fragment. It appeared to have been broken off from a larger structure, and it still hummed with a trace of magic. It was a fragment of Margit's Shackle.
"Where did you find this? Tell me about it."
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Elden Ring: In the Name of Ash (60 chapter - Ongoing)
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