The Tarnished saw nothing—no shadow, no sign. The Elden Ring lay shattered, its curse spilling over the land like a flood.
"You fools," Throne spat, his voice sharp. "You think your petty tricks can mend what's broken? Impossible!"
His words cut through the air, though he knew he had no right to judge the nobles. They were trapped, desperate, clawing for survival. Of course they'd try anything.
"Ignorance is the greatest folly," Throne muttered, his fingers digging into the stone wall. "How could this thing possibly free you from dementia?"
His eyes widened as he stared at the writhing mass before him.
The thing was massive, grotesque—a pool of flesh swelling and pulsating. Even Throne, who'd seen much, struggled to describe it. Dark gold flesh twisted and writhed, arms and hair sprouting from its surface, pale bones jutting through. Flames danced across its body, casting a sickly glow.
It resembled a person lying prone, but its head was enormous, its neck nonexistent. Limbs had been replaced by hundreds of legs. The creature seemed to lift its head, six eyes arranged in an L-shape staring out. Its chest split open, a bright red tongue unfurling like it was licking its lips.
The thing was asymmetrical, defying any sense of aesthetics. Yet Throne felt no terror, no revulsion. It was strange, yes, but not hideous. Unlike the aura of the Ancient Great Serpent, this creature felt gentle. The arms and hair dancing on its back seemed to beckon him.
"It's not the Crucible of Life," Throne said quickly. "Just a manifestation of it. Something's wrong inside its chest. The Dung Eater shouldn't have this kind of power."
His tone was urgent, his mind racing. He understood the Council of Six Houses' plan now.
"In a way, this is the supreme blessing of the primordial Erdtree. If dementia is a consequence of the shattered Elden Ring, then seeking a solution from the Crucible of Life makes sense."
"Didn't you just call them stupid?" Ranni's voice cut in, her tone skeptical.
"They are stupid," Throne snapped. "They know the Dung Eater's unique, but not that he's a madman at his core!"
The Crucible of Life harbored no malice, but the Dung Eater's ideal was to blanket the Lands Between in his twisted 'blessings.' As an ingredient, he was rotten to the core.
"It's coming," Ranni said, her voice low. The monster, tens of meters tall, was already scaling the rock wall.
The manifestation of the Crucible didn't care if Throne answered its call, but the Dung Eater did. Throne's expression shifted rapidly. In his mind, he cursed the nobles a thousand times over. They'd created this monstrosity, and now he had to deal with it. But deal with it he must.
Who knew what would happen if this thing fused with the Shaded Castle? Throne extended his left hand toward the approaching creature. Though it held no malice, he had no intention of accepting its 'goodwill.' Comet Azur. A surge of magical light illuminated him, bright and fierce.
He stared at the monster and released the spell point-blank. The times had changed. The blessings of the past had turned to curses, and he refused to become something so 'useful.' The orb of light, millstone-sized, flew down and exploded violently against the creature's forehead.
Boom—rumble—
A massive, muffled explosion echoed, causing the entire underground to tremble and the buildings on the surface to sway unsteadily. An earthquake? Margit, who was negotiating with a youth, looked up, watching the chandelier sway back and forth. He had come today seeking answers, but this cadet noble of the Marais house was completely clueless, acting like a mindless puppet.
Just as he was wondering how to draw out the mastermind, a sudden change occurred. No, this is not an earthquake. He stood up abruptly. Behind him, the two Omen had already drawn their great cleavers. Margit turned his head to glare at the bewildered youth.
"You dare to assassinate me?"
"This, I..."
Before he could finish, an Omen leaped over and pinned the youth to the ground.
Margit also turned his head, thinking, "These bastards have such audacity. I haven't even settled accounts with them, yet they dare to make a move on me."
Bang—
The door was kicked open, and a dense crowd of soldiers in armor poured in. Leading them was none other than Elemer, holding a greatsword.
"You have been slaughtering wantonly in The Shaded Castle; naturally, we have reason to kill you."
After all, Margit was merely a general and was not equated with the Morgott. Assassinating a general was, of course, incomparable to regicide. Facing the murderous hunters, Margit couldn't be bothered to cite the laws, much less argue about how they had no right to judge a general of the Erdtree. He simply raised his staff coldly.
"Who is behind you? The Council of Six Houses, or the Perfumer?"
"You may guess." Elemer replied with a smile. No one was a fool who would voluntarily reveal their secrets. Whether this battle was won or lost, and whether that manifestation of the crucible had any effect, did not matter. Everything was just an experiment; even if the entire The Shaded Castle were destroyed, what did it have to do with them?
Margit laughed in extreme anger: "Fine, then I will tell you: trying to take my life is still a long way off!"
There was nothing more to say; just kill them all. In any case, he had wanted to cleanse this The Shaded Castle anyway. The two Omen stood in front of him. Margit leaned down and pressed his hand to the ground, and dense golden ripples spread throughout the opulent hall. Golden Piercer.
Dozens of golden spears flew out, holding their own against nearly a hundred crossbowmen. They shattered greatshields, sent bodies flying, and pitted the marble floor. While the phantom images of the spears still lingered on the ground, a golden greatsword slashed across at waist height. Swish—
The hall was split in two.
The crowd, who were already scrambling to escape, were sliced in half in an instant. Greatshields and heavy armor were as fragile as paper. Even Elemer retreated to the doorway in a panic. A bunch of rabble like this dares to try and take my life? Margit had no intention of laughing. As long as the opponent wasn't an idiot, they definitely had a hidden trump card.
There was no logic in a head-on confrontation being defeated in one go. Just as he was about to seize that Bell Bearing Hunter, he took a step forward and looked down, his expression changing drastically. Hum-rumble... The chaotic hall began to tremble, and the chandelier overhead swayed even more violently. The Fell Omen's pupils constricted as he looked down. Something is coming out!
The rumbling sound continued incessantly, and the wall bricks on both sides fell with a rustle. Margit hurriedly took a step back, not even having the leisure to deal with the hunters. The hunters had no time to deal with him either.
The average person only knew there would be a big show today, but very few knew who the protagonist was, and this commotion did not seem like something a Crucible Knight could cause. His intuition was sounding alarms frantically. Margit narrowed his eyes, feeling that this thing was getting closer and closer, and finally could not help but shout:
"Fall back!"
The two Omen scrambled back, but their movements came a beat too late. The floor tiles buckled upward as yellow-black flames erupted through the cracks. A hunched back surged into view, followed by tendrils that resembled hair—they lashed out, ensnaring the Omen and yanking them backward.
"What the hell is this?!"
Margit had already leaped to a corner, sweat slicking his brow.
He watched as the two heavily armored Omen were swallowed—no, fused into it. He'd seen the man-eating serpent at Volcano Manor, but this was something else entirely. The Omen sank as if into a quagmire, their bodies dissolving slowly.
Limbs tore free from torsos, sliding along the undulating waves of flesh. Heads sprouted at the ends of arms, their wide-eyed gazes locked on him in stunned disbelief. They weren't dead—just absorbed into this abomination. The realization was more horrifying than witnessing Rykard devour men whole. In that moment, Margit felt a pull, deep and visceral, calling to him.
If an ordinary man was '1' and an Omen '10,' then Morgott, bearer of the God-King's blood, was '100.' This manifestation of the crucible of life resonated with Morgott's supreme blessing, its invitation undeniable. The floor heaved, overturned. Like a colossal beast dragging itself from a swamp, it inched its massive form into the open.
The Fell Omen stood motionless, transfixed, unable to break free from the summons.
"As expected, this is the natural enemy of the Omen—even Margit is no exception."
From a distant tower, Count Hero allowed himself a faint smile. The plan unfolded smoothly; killing Margit had never been the goal.
Removing an outsider or exposing Morgott's identity meant little to the nobles. Even if Margit and Morgott were proven to be one and the same, what of it? The Two Fingers' stance aside, overthrowing him would only weaken Leyndell's strength.
And among the lords beyond the city walls, who harbored goodwill toward the Golden nobility? The rot persisted, the struggles endless.
"Can you truly succeed?"
Elemer materialized beside him, gesturing toward the monstrosity ahead. The castle's main structure teetered on collapse. Hair and limbs flailed wildly, assimilating those too slow to escape.
Heads bobbed along its surface, some wide-eyed with shock, others wearing blissful grins.
"Created using those two things, this hardly resembles a blessing."
"Do not judge it through your vulgar lens. In ancient times, this was considered an Omen of extraordinary fortune."
Elemer glanced again, still failing to detect even a trace of good fortune.
"Besides, this is merely an attempt. If the secrets preserved by my family prove useless, then we're in trouble." Count Hero sighed. Suffering held no value; only when hope was extinguished would the fatal blow be struck. Then, they'd have no choice but to throw their full support behind Radahn. But given the latter's temperament, one had to brace for the possibility of losing everything.
Living rationally mattered, but so did wielding power.
"If it's useless, how will you clean up the aftermath?"
"No need to concern yourself. Leyndell or Caria will handle it. What does that have to do with me?"
The Count's retort left even the most ruthless hunter speechless.
Cold, heartless, selfish—willing to gamble countless lives for a mere possibility. Yet only such individuals survived. Once it fused with Margit, the crucible avatar would evolve. Whether it proved useful or not, the answer would soon reveal itself.
"What about him?"
Elemer nodded toward Margit, who had grasped the situation and was retreating steadily.
"I don't know."
He should have already merged into it, right? Have you seen Cabine-Ivus?"
"No, he disappeared last night."
Suddenly hearing bad news, the Count furrowed his brows, and after a while, slowly relaxed them.
"Never mind him. These fellows all have their own agendas. As long as he doesn't come out to hinder me, it's fine. Have your men get ready; you must not let him escape the city!"
Margit had now fully regained his senses. He slashed with his light sword; the massive blade severed a few limbs, but upon touching the surface, they quickly disappeared again. What the hell is this thing? Why is its resistance to Golden Order Incantations so high? He frowned. His pride-and-joy incantations actually had little effect, and these attacks only 'angered' the monster. The crucible itself had no consciousness and did not care about others' attacks, but these nobles had gone and made a very troublesome guy the core. A head emerged from the forehead of this massive lump of flesh, emitting a dreamlike whisper: "Merge... with me, and once again... sprinkle the blessing upon The Lands Between..."
"Dung Eater???"
Margit immediately recognized this most vicious wanted criminal in history and couldn't quite understand why he was involved in this matter. Isn't this guy a madman, killing indiscriminately from nobles to slaves, and then turning the corpses into performance art? While he was hesitating, the monster had already stood up. Hundreds of tails, thousands of legs, and countless strands of hair poured down like a tide. Boom boom boom boom!!! A mushroom cloud immediately rose over The Shaded Castle, and the city walls cracked with spiderweb-like fissures. The gardens and huts were all demolished, and hundreds of soldiers were grabbed, their bodies engulfed in yellow-black flames, and then fused into one. Cannot be defeated by force! Margit burst through the dust and dodged backward rapidly. This monster was strong, but not invincible; the key was that it extremely countered his Golden Order Incantations. As for rushing up to fight, he glanced at the dissolved human bodies and immediately dismissed the thought. He needed to gather a large army and then kill it with overwhelming ranged attacks! He was clear-headed, but his enemies were even more so. Just as he retreated to the city wall, Elemer was already waiting there with dozens of elites.
"To actually create such a monster, have you gone mad?"
Margit loudly rebuked, though he didn't think these small fry could clean up the mess.
"When our homeland was destroyed by the Golden Order, we had already gone mad."
Elemer, with a greatsword in one hand and a greatshield in the other, replied with a smile: "In any case, the mess will be cleaned up by your Erdtree."
That shield... are they from Eochaid? Margit recalled this small nation that had vanished into the dust of history, his face turning so dark it could drip water. To encounter desperate outlaws while retreating—there was no worse outcome than this. He couldn't be bothered to overthink it and simply condensed a golden great hammer.
"Then try and stop me."
Boom!! The wall was smashed and collapsed directly. The incoming arrows were deflected by his golden shield. Margit slid forward and rushed to the front, his cane transforming into a golden sword. Clang, clang, clang! Sparks scattered incessantly. 'Briar' Elemer immediately turned into a turtle, holding his greatshield, not daring to even show his head. He retreated step by step, but Margit could not kill him with a single strike. Just as he grew increasingly agitated, he suddenly raised his head. The light in the sky had been obscured. The monster, which had been a hundred meters away, stretched its body out like a noodle; its elongated body resembled a tail. Aspects of the Crucible... Tail!? Margit's pupils constricted. It was similar to that incantation, but this was a bit too large, wasn't it?