Coming out of his daze, Gawain noticed that the ring on his ring finger had gradually faded into an illusory shimmer. Eventually, even the physical sensation of it vanished, as if the band had become a natural part of his body.
However, he could still clearly feel its presence—and the spiritual tether connecting him to a distant location. Whenever he wished to contact Ranni, he could find her through this link. It was remarkably convenient.
He had mainly been concerned about returning to the Roundtable Hold; if he were to stroll in flaunting such a ring, the Two Fingers there would likely start hissing in agitation.
Standing up from the Moonlight Altar, he looked up to admire the beautiful moonlight one last time before glancing toward the nearby ruins. He could see two sneaky figures hiding there, watching him—specifically, a fleshy dragon tail that was exposed and wagging rhythmically.
He hid a smile, choosing not to expose their subpar game of hide-and-seek. Since Yorshka had emerged from his own Darksign, there was no way she could truly hide from him.
Oh well, he thought. As long as the Captain is happy. After rescuing her from the Prison Tower, he was glad to see her becoming a lively half-dragon girl rather than the brooding, burden-heavy Captain of the Darkmoon Knights. To leave her in that state would have been a failure on his part as the order's sole remaining member.
Gawain's eyes drifted past the two figures toward the Evergaol further away. To be honest, he wanted to see Tiche, the Black Knife Assassin, but considering his current identity, they would likely come to blows the moment they met.
Perhaps it's better to let Melina go when she's ready? For now, he decided to let the "Big Sister" stay locked away a bit longer. He didn't want to make things messier than they already were.
The light of the Erdtree in the distance was beginning to overpower the moon. It was time to head back. After a moment's consideration, he decided to return to the Roundtable Hold first, giving Melina some time to make her own way back.
Without a doubt, Sir Gideon Ofnir would already know about the events in Caelid and the sneak attack on the Academy. But should he give the old man another "little shock"? Gawain looked at the so-called "Bone-Stone" he had carefully tucked away and vanished from the spot.
Once Gawain had left, Yorshka led Melina out from their hiding spot. She looked back at Adula, the Glintstone Dragon still patrolling behind the cathedral, and flashed a proud smile, clearly satisfied with the success of their "infiltration."
"So, is this the ritual conducted between consorts in the Lands Between? Mmm, truly fascinating. Melina, as the Maiden of the Blade of the Darkmoon, what manner of token dost thou think he shall gift thee when the time comes?"
"Wait—what?! That... that is impossible. We are merely traveling companions." Melina's face flushed a deep crimson at the question. She shook her head vigorously. "I am his Maiden. Yes. A Maiden and a Tarnished cannot become lovers."
Despite her denial, the deeds of a certain "Lord-to-be" flashed through her mind, leaving her feeling rather lacking in confidence.
"Mmm? Is that truly so? The Fire Keeper told me that the Maidens of this land share a mission similar to hers. I had thought you two were already..."
A look of confusion crossed Yorshka's rounded face. Had the Fire Keeper lied to her, or was it simply a matter of the timing not being right?
Regardless, such trifles didn't matter. She felt that her "outing"—or rather, her "inspection"—was nearing its end. She patted Melina on the shoulder and spoke with a tone of pride.
"Thou mayest rest easy. The Blade of the Darkmoon is a rare and noble knight. He will surely prepare the most fitting of tokens. Thou art also a rare and precious Maiden. He is the sole member under my command; should we meet again, if it lies within my power, thou needst only ask. May the grace of the Dark Moon be with thee."
Before Melina could respond, Yorshka's silhouette dissolved into a beam of moonlight and vanished. A sudden sense of emptiness washed over Melina.
Recalling the Captain's words and the ritual she had witnessed tonight, a fleeting, tiny spark of emotion flickered in her heart.
As the first warm ray of light from the Erdtree touched her brow, she gazed up at the magnificent tree and sighed softly. Within her closed eye, a phantom image of fire flickered—a roaring blaze that seemed ready to ignite the Erdtree itself. That inner flame incinerated the small spark of emotion within her.
After regaining her body, she had fully remembered the mission entrusted to her by her mother. Some things had to be done by her alone. She could not place her own feelings above the fate of the Lands Between; to do so, she felt, would be the ultimate betrayal of her companion.
With another soft sigh, she wrapped her cloak tightly around herself and vanished in a swirl of light.
Opposite Nokron, where the broken bridges of antiquity pointed, lay the current seat of the Blood Dynasty.
Mohg, Lord of Blood, stood in the center of the Dynasty Mausoleum, clutching Mohgwyn's Sacred Spear. He had just finished communing with the Formless Mother. By piercing the heavens to create a wound, he had summoned a deluge of scalding Accursed Blood from the Mother, once again "watering" Miquella within the cocoon—or at least, the being he believed to be Miquella.
He was in a foul mood. His flawless plan had been thwarted by a mere sorcerer of the Primeval Current.
Furthermore, there was that figure he could not forget. There was no mistake; that was the daughter of Marika—the being who had discarded him in the sewers. Why had she appeared at the Academy to deliver a lethal blow at the most critical moment?
Mohg fell into deep thought. When exactly had his smooth plans started meeting setback after setback? It seemed to coincide with the arrival of that cursed Tarnished in the Lands Between.
Though he hid within the Blood Dynasty, he was not disinterested in the outside world. He gathered intelligence by spreading his influence and recruiting new Bloody Fingers.
However, since the rise of that new power, the Bloody Fingers in Caelid, Limgrave, and recently even Liurnia had suffered devastating losses. If this continued, how much of the Lands Between would be left for his power to touch? He feared he might wake up one day to find himself ruling only this tiny, cramped mausoleum.
Mohg would not allow that. Even underground, he could clearly feel the cataclysmic changes occurring in Caelid above. He needed to send someone trustworthy to scout for information.
After weighing his options, he waved a hand to signal the guards to bring someone in. Though this person had been disagreeing with his decisions lately, their loyalty remained beyond reproach.
A moment later, a figure clad in loose black robes entered. A black helmet concealed his face, save for a long white beard. He bowed respectfully to Mohg.
"Ansbach. Go to the surface in my stead. Investigate what has transpired. The Bloody Fingers who shared in the Accursed Blood have all lost contact. With thy skill, I trust thou canst at least return with news alive."
The veteran known as Ansbach said nothing, merely lowering his head in compliance. He knew his Lord would not listen to anything he said right now. Moreover, he himself was strangely concerned about the events in Caelid.
He took his scythe and left the mausoleum. At the entrance, he couldn't help but look back at the withered arm protruding from the cocoon.
His current memories told him that this was the Empyrean Miquella. Yet, for some reason, this "normal" sight gave him a sense of profound dissonance, as if he had forgotten something vital.
It seemed that ever since Lord Mohg had abducted Miquella from the Haligtree, his Lord had become quite different from the ambitious hero Ansbach remembered.
Ansbach recalled Mohg's brilliant performance in the Shattering after escaping the sewers. With a few clever stratagems, Mohg had worked alongside the Veiled Monarch to dismantle the coalition of kings.
That was why Ansbach had chosen to follow him. Mohg had shown the strength and guile of a true sovereign, capable of founding a new dynasty. But when did Lord Mohg change?
Under his self-doubt, the golden light in Ansbach's eyes seemed to dim momentarily. Fragments of shattered memories flooded his mind.
On a land where the Scarlet Rot festered... for the sake of his Lord's dignity... his proud, frenzied blade had torn through the flesh of a hypocritical Empyrean... The final shard of memory froze at the moment he met Miquella's golden eyes.
Before anger could fill his mind, the golden light flared again in Ansbach's pupils. The memory fragments vanished, and his rage toward Miquella was replaced by profound reverence.
He lowered his head, breathing heavily. The pool of blood below reflected his eyes—eyes that shone with the gold of Grace.
Yes... Miquella is a perfect Empyrean. As long as Lord Mohg continues to water him with Accursed Blood to forge a perfect consort, my Lord will one day establish a magnificent dynasty. A dynasty that embraces all, existing only for the sake of people.
Hesitation was replaced by resolve. Ansbach stepped onto the path to the surface without looking back, intent on fulfilling his Lord's command to discover what had happened to the world above.
In the lower hall of the Roundtable Hold, Gawain put away the Dark Moon Greatsword and changed back into his usual armor.
His sudden appearance caused the noisy hall to fall silent. The Tarnished who had participated in the battle of Caelid looked at him with gazes bordering on worship.
Without the Storm King organizing such a force, how could the spiraling chaos of Caelid have been so thoroughly suppressed? Not to mention the dragons filling the sky and those elite, mysterious warriors. No one believed this victory could have happened without the Storm King.
Gawain scanned the room, noticing familiar faces from the capital here as well. If the Festival of Radahn had made his personal name famous, then this "War of Rot" at the Swamp of Aeonia marked the rise of a faction capable of influencing the entire Lands Between. The way they had crushed the Scarlet Rot reminded many of the invincible armies of the Golden Lineage at its peak.
Ascending the stairs to the second floor, the first person he saw was Diallos. The noble had taken off his armor and sat painfully in a corner, letting his servant bandage a nasty-looking wound while nursing various bruises.
"How did you end up like this?" Gawain asked.
He glanced at Diallos's armor and understood. His left hand pulsed with the light of an Incantation, healing the wounds in an instant.
"Thanks... You truly are a reliable friend," Diallos said, letting out a sigh of relief. His mind was still racing with images from the battlefield. "As you can see, these are wounds from those damned Kindred of Rot. As a friend of Nepheli, I couldn't ignore her request for aid to resist the Rot. Such a great cause demanded my presence. Though I fought gallantly, I was eventually overwhelmed by a sneak attack. I had no choice but to retreat to the rear to continue boosting morale."
Gawain's lip twitched. Looking at the armor—which was 90% brand new—and the greatsword without a single nick, he knew the man was exaggerating again. Diallos had likely been ambushed by a single Kindred of Rot and immediately retreated. Had there been more than a couple of scratches on that armor, Gawain might have believed him.
Still, at least he was a Tarnished who had actually gone to Caelid. Even if he only served as a cheerleader, it was a contribution.
"Mmm. You did well. Stormveil will remember your brave service. You and your servant are welcome to visit the castle anytime."
After providing the half-hearted praise, Gawain pulled out a spirit ash box and walked toward Gideon Ofnir's room.
Diallos beamed at the compliment. Even so, the terror of the battlefield had shaken him. His perfectly smooth hand had almost been swallowed along with his arm by a monster.
Since I've achieved such glory, I haven't shamed the family name, have I? Perhaps it's time to retire at my peak and find a career I actually enjoy with my servant... but what should I choose?
Suddenly, the image of a massive warrior jar sweeping through the Kindred of Rot filled his mind—a scene he suspected he would never forget.
────────────────────────────────────────
Support me here: https://[email protected]/AuAuMon
Elden Ring: In the Name of Ash (272 chapter - Ongoing)
Join the journey and become part of the story!
────────────────────────────────────────