"Stop! It's alright now."
Gawain stepped forward and patted Melina's shoulder before things could take a turn for the strange. Immediately, the lingering effects of the charm dissipated.
"What was that just now? I felt a bit..."
Melina trailed off, her face flushing a subtle shade of crimson. For a moment, she felt as if her mind had been flooded with thoughts that had no business being there.
"It's an incantation that influences the mind. As for the specific effects, well, you just experienced them firsthand. At the very least, this trick can make these Shamans settle down for a moment."
"A mental-influencing incantation? That sounds remarkably similar to Miquella's ability."
She paused, leaning in to stare into Gawain's eyes. As their gazes met, the atmosphere between them grew somewhat delicate.
"You haven't used this on many people, have you?"
"Of course not. I'm not Miquella. Even if charming someone yields results, there's always a backlash if the spell breaks. Besides, as you know, even when dealing with enemies, I prefer a head-on clash over these underhanded tactics."
Melina lowered her head, choosing to believe him. She didn't want to see her traveling companion develop a personality like Miquella's. Even without charms, Gawain had already earned the genuine respect and admiration of many—and without her even realizing when it had started, she had become one of them.
She turned back to the now-quieted Shaman. After steadying her heart, she found she could finally look upon such tragedy with composure. She had seen even worse horrors during her journey across the Lands Between; she knew that anger alone solved nothing.
Even though the Shaman no longer harbored hostility under the influence of the charm, her body still trembled uncontrollably from the sheer agony of her wounds. Melina let out a heavy sigh.
"Even if it is a false comfort, for them, it is an absolute necessity right now. I believe... this must be the reason why Mother started this war."
Looking at the suffering Shaman before him, Gawain clenched his fists, struggling to maintain his calm as a flame of fury ignited in the depths of his soul.
The reason why Marika had launched a crusade to slaughter the Hornsent was now glaringly obvious. If the Hornsent had consistently forced the Numen into these jars as part of a ritualistic torture, then this was no different from genocide.
It wasn't just the slaughter of a race; it was a prolonged, agonizing torment that had spanned untold ages. He recalled the Greatjar Master's Cookbook he had found in the Whipping Hut ruins. At the time, he had wondered why a jar-maker would curse his own home of Bonny Village so virulently. Looking back, if that place was the production site for these Greatjars, any sane person would have done the same.
Though he did not yet know the full truth behind it all, simply witnessing the scene before him was enough for him to pass judgment on both the Hornsent race and the crusade.
Since the Hornsent had committed such atrocities, the motive behind the crusade was simple and clear: it was Marika's revenge.
Marika's kin had been subjected to horrific abuse. Her vengeance was, therefore, absolutely justified. Against the Hornsent, there was only killing—no justice or injustice, only the endless hatred of an eternal blood feud.
Thinking on it now, the fact that Morgott and Mohg were merely thrown into the sewers rather than executed outright was perhaps the final shred of Marika's mercy as a mother.
Gawain had no intention of being an "objective, rational bystander." He didn't care how "justified" or "rational" these actions might have been in the eyes of the Hornsent. Since they had done this, they deserved a total settlement of accounts. As for any collateral damage caused during the process, that was a luxury only the survivors had the right to lament.
"Can you use your healing miracles to help her? I'm afraid the prayers of the Lands Between are powerless against such deformity."
"I can only try, but I don't know if I'll succeed. The damage is too severe, and over such a long period, the Hornsent flesh has completely fused with her own."
Looking at the misshapen form, Gawain felt uncertain. Though the miracles he wielded were far more potent than the typical incantations of the Lands Between, they still had limits. Once a certain threshold was crossed, even a miracle could do nothing.
As he opened his palm, a soft, warm light emanated from it, bathing the Shaman. The gentle touch caused her cold, shivering body to gradually regain its warmth.
This warmth caused the Shaman, whose mind was steeped in agony, to fall into a daze. In her hazy consciousness, she felt as if she had returned to her once-peaceful, warm home. Beneath the blood-stained bandages over her eyes, muddy tears began to seep out.
Gawain could feel her emotions and spirit improving; being able to weep from sorrow was the foundation of recovery. However, as her body began to revitalize, the flesh that did not belong to her began to writhe violently.
The Shaman's body endured a tearing pain, and she let out a piercing wail once more, forcing Gawain to immediately cease the miracle.
"It's no use. That flesh has completely integrated into her body. If I forcibly use a miracle to revert her to her original state, her mind won't be able to handle the trauma."
Gawain had considered using Soul-Transposition to shoulder the pain for her, much as he had once helped Irina withstand the mental pressure of the Frenzied Flame. But after glancing at the sheer number of Greatjars surrounding them, he discarded the idea. There were simply too many; the efficiency was far too low.
He thought of Rennala's "rebirth," but quickly shook his head. Like before, the efficiency of a rebirth ritual was too low. While combining a Larval Tear with a Great Rune could yield a perfect result, time was of the essence.
Gawain scratched his head, feeling frustrated. Putting the method of treatment aside for now, they could always provide long-term care once they got them out of here. Eventually, a solution would be found. The urgent task was to rescue those who could still be saved and get them out of this hellhole. If all else failed, he could always ask Aldia for some "tips."
Just then, a bright but non-piercing sphere of light appeared in his vision, gradually taking a familiar shape. An illusory phantom of a Minor Erdtree radiated a gentle light, enveloping the Numen woman's body.
The Shaman, who had suffered so much in this gaol, now felt a sense of peace and serenity belonging to her true home. Under the shroud of that gentle power, she slowly fell into a deep sleep.
This was her first time sleeping since her torment began, God knows how long ago.
"It actually worked!"
Melina's voice carried a hint of surprise. she had used the incantation her mother had taught her with the intent of merely trying it out, and hadn't expected the results to be so promising.
This way, at least Gawain wouldn't have to charm every survivor they came across. If he accidentally influenced her again and she did something strange... she felt as if she had almost lost her resolve just now.
"A phantom of a Minor Erdtree... Does she recognize this incantation?"
"Yes. This is an incantation originating from my mother, Marika. I believe this power—one that holds no Order, only gentleness—reminded them of home."
Seeing that Melina's Minor Erdtree could soothe the Shamans' emotions, Gawain breathed a sigh of relief. This was his first time hearing the story behind that incantation, and it made him increasingly curious about Marika's homeland. What exactly had happened there?
"Since the power of the Minor Erdtree can soothe them, we can bring them out."
"Leave that to me. I believe that when they feel the gentleness of their kin, they will be at ease. But this is only a temporary respite; the actual healing will have to depend on you."
Melina took a deep breath, then extended her hand to pour more power into the phantom tree. Under the infusion of magic, the image of the Minor Erdtree grew more solid, standing quietly behind her.
The Shaman who had been frenzied moments ago stood up tremblingly and followed quietly behind Melina, seemingly unwilling to stray from her only source of comfort.
The two didn't waste any more time, moving quickly to explore the deeper reaches of the gaol. The further they went, the more Greatjars they found piled together.
Gawain could perceive the state of souls, so he could naturally identify which Greatjars contained Shamans who were still salvageable. Eventually, he couldn't resist lifting the lid of one Greatjar. The scene inside made even a seasoned Ashen One like him gasp in horror. Had he wandered back into the Undead Settlement?
Limb fragments from different bodies were piled haphazardly inside the massive jar. A thick, dark-red liquid seeped from the cracks, gradually filling the bottom of the vessel. Due to the biting cold of the surroundings, the top layer of the liquid had frozen into a thin sheet of ice. Embedded in the ice shards was the highly decomposed head of a Shaman—it faced upward, its hollow eye sockets still frozen in an expression of despair, as if in its final moments of life, it was still futilely praying to the void for salvation. Gawain sighed and replaced the lid.
Melina stood by another giant jar, her face pale as she closed the lid. It seemed the situation there was no different. Until the light of the Minor Erdtree arrived, salvation had never existed in this gaol.
Gawain looked up at the giant jars scattered throughout the prison. He didn't stop Melina's futile attempts at self-consolation, but so far, every jar they had opened contained only corpses.
Not every jar contained Numen. Most were stuffed with the mismatched remains of various Hornsent—these corpses were mostly intact and had not been fused with Shamans; they were simply containers for the dead.
As for the corpses of the Shamans, their states varied. Some had turned to dry bone, others were highly decomposed, and some looked as though they had died only recently—as if they could have survived if they had held on just a little longer. But in the end, they had met their end in despair.
After a while, he sighed and took hold of Melina, who still refused to give up.
"Let's focus on finding the Shamans who have already escaped their jars. I'll handle the exploration of the jars themselves. Trust me, I won't miss a single possible survivor."
Melina clenched her fists and remained silent for a long time, only increasing the power she poured into the Minor Erdtree.
Following the path, Gawain and Melina finally found some hope, discovering several Shamans who had gathered together on their own.
Perhaps fearing the cold, these two Numen were hiding inside the giant jars that had once imprisoned them. Sensing the approach of living beings, they crawled out of the overturned jars on the ground, letting out pained wails as they lunged at any unfamiliar scent.
"Use your power. If you need more, just take it from me."
Melina nodded. Looking at her two kin who were covered in grafted flesh, she took a deep breath to steady herself. She opened her arms, and a phantom Minor Erdtree radiating a soft glow appeared out of thin air.
The gentle golden light illuminated the freezing gaol. This was gold without Order, containing only tenderness.
The moment they were bathed in the light, both Shamans felt the gentle power within—it was the golden kindness of their own kind.
"Mother, the salvation you failed to bring... let me complete it. This is the blessing you truly wished to bring to the Lands Between, isn't it?"
Melina's gaze sharpened, her resolve like a sudden spark in a cold night. Without her realizing it, the light of the Minor Erdtree began to undergo a subtle change.
"Hmm, as I thought, this power can resonate with my Sovereign Soul. The effect looks good."
Gawain watched the increasingly warm Minor Erdtree and secretly added more "fuel" to the flame.
Rescuing survivors along the way, the group behind them grew until it exceeded twenty individuals by the time they reached an altar featuring a massive jar. The jar atop the altar was gargantuan, and it was unclear if it contained corpses. The path to the altar was broken, but that wasn't a problem for either of them.
However, Melina suddenly spotted a large number of giant jars below the broken path. After exchanging a glance, the two didn't hesitate. She placed a temporary Minor Erdtree on the platform to soothe the gathered Shamans, and then she and Gawain leapt down from the height.
The moment they landed, a blue rift appeared in the air. A silver, lump-like object wiggled out, and Ashmi quickly mimicked a human form to scan the area.
"Ashmi, you stay with Melina and help her find any survivors in the vicinity. The prison further in feels a bit off; I'll go take a look alone first."
"Alright, but be careful. I can feel a thick scent of Glintstone coming from inside. It feels like those Primeval sorcerers from the Academy, but much denser."
"Is that so? No matter. Just stay outside."
Gawain looked at the peculiar prison entrance ahead. He suspected this was where the gaol's final boss resided. But what kind of being could it be to make Ashmi sense such a heavy Glintstone aura?
Stepping into the strange cell, Gawain braced himself for an attack, scanning his surroundings.
Suddenly, a small figure lunged at him, its blade swinging with ferocity.
Gawain drew his heavy greatsword and blocked the sudden strike. Instantly, the blade of his sword was coated in frost.
Seeing the attack fail, the figure immediately performed a backflip to create distance. Gawain focused his eyes and finally saw the identity of his assailant: it was a Demi-human.
The creature wore a tattered cloak and had a withered face, clearly an elderly Demi-human. He held a strange sword—slender and curved, embedded with various sizes of fine Glintstone crystals as decoration.
The crystals formed a line along the blade; upon closer inspection, they resembled certain constellations in the night sky.
In that brief moment of distraction, the cloaked Demi-human struck again. His blade flashed, and a brilliant sword-light instantly closed in on Gawain.
Such a direct frontal assault was too straightforward. Gawain simply stepped to the side, easily dodging the beam.
The elderly Demi-human's figure then vanished into starlight, reappearing instantly above the arc of the slash he had just made. By using a specialized technique, he had closed the distance in the blink of an eye, bringing his sword down in a sharp, descending strike.
Gawain hadn't expected a Demi-human to possess such advanced swordsmanship. It seemed a heavy weapon wouldn't be ideal here. In that case, he'd switch to a katana!
In the dim cell, sword-lights clashed for a split second. The Demi-human's blade struck the ground deeply, leaving a jagged furrow.
The Demi-human swordmaster, Oniji, showed a look of surprise on his withered face. What was that? He hadn't seen the trajectory of the weapon's attack at all. Even his maddened mind felt a flicker of shock, and he hurriedly pulled back.
Gawain sheathed his Darkdrift. This weapon, which Yuria had insisted on giving him, was perfect for this fight. He spoke to the elderly Demi-human.
"Are you a prisoner in this gaol, or are you the jailer?"
The Demi-human Swordmaster Oniji said nothing, focusing entirely on finding a flaw in his enemy. The man before him stood so casually, his posture full of openings, yet Oniji's instincts were screaming at him, warning him that an attack would lead to certain disaster.
Seeing the lack of response, Gawain didn't want to waste any more time. He charged forward, katana in hand.
As he approached, Oniji lunged. His blade glowed with a deep blue light. In a sudden spin, he reached Gawain and unleashed a rapid, two-hit whirlwind slash. The light of the Star-Lined Sword left a beautiful yet lethal trail of starlight in the air, vividly bright against the darkness.
BOOM!
With a loud crash, Oniji's frail body was sent flying, slamming into the stone wall behind him. His face still held a look of utter shock.
"Hmph. Your swordsmanship would make you a Jedi Master in another world, but unfortunately for you... who told you I was going to dodge?"
Gawain rubbed his bleeding abdomen. After a flash of miracle light, the wound vanished. The elderly Demi-human had shown his hand: powerful attacks and incredible agility.
But unfortunately, his raw lethality was lacking. Gawain's favorite thing was to match strength with the elderly and skill with the primitive—either way, he always came out on top.
Supporting his body, Oniji realized he couldn't continue fighting the same way. At this rate, he would be the first to break.
He stopped dodging and stood his ground, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. He immediately entered a strange state. To his senses, everything within a several-meter radius became incredibly slow, and frost began to condense in the air.
In the next heartbeat, Oniji vanished, turning into a streak of starlight. He lunged forward, and another dazzling sword-light fell from the strange blade.
"This move again?"
Gawain watched as Oniji repeated his tactic. He instinctively reached out to grab the incoming curved blade, intending to slam the old man back into the wall.
But then, an anomaly occurred. A ball of blue starlight appeared in Oniji's other hand, and a sphere of astral energy enveloped Gawain's arm. While it couldn't fully restrain him, it was more than enough to hinder his movement.
The blade pierced straight into Gawain's palm, biting into the bone, but it couldn't go any deeper. Oniji didn't linger, immediately pulling back to charge his next attack.
Gawain raised an eyebrow. His pierced left hand was slowly mending. This level of injury was nothing. That move was interesting, though—another technique he had never seen before.
The moves this Demi-human used were all related to the stars. When Gawain had landed his punch earlier, the impact felt off, as if he were hitting a solid chunk of Glintstone.
"You... you aren't about to turn into a Child of the Stars like those two Primeval masters, are you?"
Oniji gave his opponent no room to breathe. Once his charge was complete, he leapt high into the air. Frost billowed through the room, obscuring vision as his body spun gracefully in mid-air, bringing a flying slash toward Gawain.
A smile touched Gawain's lips. This scene looked familiar. Why did everyone think they could hide from him this way?
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He sensed the outline of the Demi-human's soul, swinging Darkdrift with one hand to parry attacks coming from all directions while his left hand finished healing.
"This time, it's from above!"
Parrying another strike from a blind spot, Gawain felt the soul-aura from above. He gripped his hilt with both hands and lunged forward with a massive stride. The legendary sword art that Yuria had used to cut down hundreds of knights—Darkdrift—was recreated in his hands.
Even though Oniji sensed the threat in advance, he was completely unable to dodge the ferocious thrust. When the Darkdrift skill was activated, its invisible blade could bypass any guard. Once caught within its range, there was no defense.
He crashed heavily to the ground. His half-glintstone left leg had been severed, but only a few drops of blood spilled—hardly the amount of bleeding expected from a living creature losing a limb.
Even at this final moment, Oniji showed no sign of retreat. He hobbled forward, his blade gathering frost once more. As he neared his end, the aura of a master swordsman grew even more intense.
Gawain stood his ground, making no move to dodge as he faced the approaching Oniji. Though they did not speak the same language, he decided to grant this duel a dignified end. Darkdrift's blade was quietly enveloped in Londor's dark affinity magic, which pulsed like ink-colored fireflies along the edge.
The dark glow slithered like a snake toward the tip of the blade. At the moment it coalesced, Oniji's momentum reached its peak. Using his remaining right leg as a pivot, he lunged with sudden force, leaping into the air as the Star-Lined Sword whistled through the wind.
Two storms of blades collided violently, like the scattered feathers of a waterfowl skimming the waves.
The pale white of the Star-Lined Sword and the inky black of Darkdrift tangled madly. Amidst the churning light and shadow, it looked like a painting being torn apart and sewn back together by the wind.
A moment later, it was over. Oniji's broken body fell lifelessly to the ground, and his strange weapon clattered beside him. Having lost his prideful speed advantage, he was no match for his opponent from any angle.
Gawain picked up the strange weapon the Demi-human swordmaster had used. The sword was called the Star-Lined Sword. He ran his fingers along the dense, fine Glintstone crystals arranged in a line along the blade, feeling the unique astral power within.
What did "Star-Lined" mean? Did it refer to the alignment of the stars? Or did it hold some other meaning? After all, different stars meant very different things in the Lands Between.
The elderly Demi-human swordmaster had been very powerful, but he hadn't said a single word. Even after the fight, Gawain didn't know his identity or why he was in this Hornsent gaol.
Regardless, the creature had attacked him and refused to speak. If he was dead, he was dead. Still, Gawain had to admit the old Demi-human had left a deep impression. In terms of swordsmanship, he was truly a formidable old man.
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Elden Ring: In the Name of Ash (347 chapter - Ongoing)
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