Commander O'Neil was currently directing his phantom soldiers in a desperate defense against a swarm of Kindred of Rot. He brandished his standard high, its movements weaving empowering buffs into the spectral army of Exiled Soldiers and Banished Knights.
He had no idea how much longer he could hold out. Since becoming trapped here, he had faced an unending onslaught of these creatures.
The infection of the Scarlet Rot was not entirely a curse; the morbidly overflowing vitality it pumped through his veins allowed him to ignore exhaustion. He could summon his phantom soldiers back to the battlefield at full strength nearly infinitely without having to step onto the front lines himself.
However, his opponents were the equally inexhaustible Kindred of Rot. He held no significant advantage. Even with the Unalloyed Gold Needle—a gift from Lord Miquella himself—suppressing the rot's encroachment, the sheer duration of the battle had begun to wear on him.
Still, years of campaigning had hardened this weathered veteran; he would not succumb easily to the pests' assault.
Following the outbreak of the Scarlet Rot, it wasn't just the Redmane army that remained; many of Malenia's remnants, including the Cleanrot Knights, had chosen to stay and fight the corruption. Such was the character of the Blade of Miquella that had inspired their devotion.
Moreover, O'Neil had a duty he had to fulfill. No matter what, he could not allow himself to die so easily in this place.
From a distance, Gawain watched the arrows occasionally flying out from the cluster of withered trees. He suddenly realized the Commander wasn't guarding against him, but was locked in combat with the Kindred of Rot.
He recalled that the O'Neil encountered in the game was clearly not entirely consumed by madness. He could still summon phantom soldiers and speak to buff them, so being besieged made sense.
In that case, Gawain decided to lend the veteran a hand. After all, the man had once been a subordinate of the Storm Lord before his defeat led him to surrender and pledge fealty to the Haligtree.
Unsheathing the Storm Ruler, Gawain pre-emptively gathered a massive vortex of wind around himself, infusing it with the power of the Pyromancy Flame. Although the weapon skill's potency in Caelid was far weaker than it was within the walls of Stormveil, it was still more than enough to topple giants.
Commander O'Neil was just about to order his soldiers to concentrate their fire on the largest Kindred of Rot when he felt a colossal surge of power manifesting from above. He looked up, his eyes widening in shock.
A massive storm, wreathed in fire and shaped like a colossal blade, cleaved downward. Everything it touched—from the withered trees to the massive Kindred of Rot—was obliterated instantly. As the storm subsided, a mounted figure emerged from the lingering embers.
Gawain vaulted down from Torrent's back. He looked at the spectral soldiers, who were eyeing him with clear wariness, their weapons raised. However, at a wave of the Commander's hand, they parted to make a path.
"My thanks for your assistance. Without that strike, I might not have held back that last wave," O'Neil said. "I am O'Neil, a general under the Blade of Miquella. May I ask who you are? To reach the heart of this swamp is no small feat."
Considering the man's history, Gawain decided the direct approach was best. He summoned the aura of the storm to swirl around him, manifesting the ethereal image of a Stormhawk above his head.
"You should be familiar with this aura. As you can see, the Old King has seen fit to let me inherit his throne. I am the new Storm Lord of Stormveil. I have come to Caelid by invitation to participate in the Radahn Festival. Don't tell me you've forgotten that title."
For a moment, O'Neil thought he had misheard. But the wind the man wielded felt achingly familiar, and coupled with the distinctive Stormhawk emblem on his cloak, he found himself desperately hoping the stranger's words were true.
Like Commander Niall of Castle Sol, O'Neil had been a general under the original Storm Lord. After their King's defeat, he had chosen to surrender to the Golden Order solely to protect the soldiers under his command.
For years, he had fought for Miquella, yet the fact that he was a turncoat remained an unchangeable truth. Knowing that the man before him was the new Storm Lord chosen by the Old King himself, he began to wonder if he should entrust his final request to him.
"How could I ever forget something so important? I simply did not expect so much to have changed in the world during my time trapped in Caelid." O'Neil sighed. "How are the Banished Knights of Stormveil faring? When Lady Malenia struck down that arrogant coward, I invited them to join me in Caelid. Looking back, I am glad they declined. At least they did not have to fall as low as I have."
Gawain nodded. The Storm Knights under his command were living far better lives now than they had in years.
"Rest easy. Your old comrades are doing well. They remain an indispensable part of Stormveil's army, protecting their homeland as Storm Knights once more. As for you—I can take you out of this swamp to a safe place. Malenia retreated to the Haligtree long ago; I doubt she has the means to come back for you. If you are willing, I have a place for you in Stormveil."
Commander O'Neil fell silent. The offer was undeniably tempting. However, he looked at the spectral soldiers around him and ultimately shook his head with a heavy sigh.
"Though your offer is kind, it is too late. The Scarlet Rot has corrupted me too deeply. Even with the needle from Lord Miquella suppressing it, I am merely stalling for time. The rot has long since become a part of my very body. I have only clung to life this long because of one task I must complete. It shames me to ask this after you have already helped me so much, but I must beg you to fulfill my final wish."
Just as Gawain was about to ask what he needed, a massive tremor shook the earth, cutting their conversation short. Gawain felt a familiar, sickening aura rising from the ground.
"Look out! Something is coming!"
"Are these pests so relentless? They've returned already?" O'Neil growled.
"No," Gawain countered. "It's not just the Kindred of Rot. It's something else."
The words had barely left his lips when a torrent of Cursed Blood erupted from the scarlet swamp. It surrounded their position but did not strike directly. Instead, it formed a barrier like a seal, cutting off their line of sight to the outside world. They were now truly on an island.
"Dammit, Mohg is still chasing me," Gawain hissed, a string of curses following. He should have expected this. From the moment he saw Okina, Mohg would have known his location.
Since the Lord of Blood was situated directly beneath Caelid, meddling from below was a simple task. Gawain knew that while the Cursed Blood hadn't lunged at him yet, it was merely the prelude to something larger.
Sure enough, the sound of countless crawling things echoed from all sides. The entire Swamp of Aeonia seemed to shudder. The surge of Cursed Blood had agitated every rot-creature in the vicinity. From crows and wild dogs to even a Rotten Erdtree Avatar, the horrors of the swamp were converging on their location.
Seeing the gravity of the situation, Commander O'Neil planted his standard into the ground to buff his phantom soldiers. He didn't even dare use his storm skills freely; his body was so saturated with rot that any move he made carried the plague with it.
Before long, massive Kindred of Rot began bursting through the barrier of Cursed Blood to launch their attack.
Without hesitation, Gawain channeled the storm into the Storm Ruler and slammed it into the earth. A massive shockwave of wind blasted outward. Simultaneously, he slammed his left hand down, summoning dozens of Great Chaos Fire Pillars. With the wind fanning the flames, he created a perfect defensive perimeter against the incoming pests.
"This should hold them for—"
He didn't even have time to finish the thought before he watched in shock as the Kindred of Rot—creatures that should have been terrified of fire—struggled through the pillars of flame, their bodies coated in a layer of crimson blood.
"Is that Cursed Blood giving them fire resistance? You've got to be kidding me!"
Gawain hadn't expected Mohg to play this card. A large part of Mohg's own high fire resistance came from the properties of the Cursed Blood itself. By coating these creatures in it, Mohg had essentially given them a supernatural version of "Flash Sweat."
After hurling several fireballs at the approaching enemies, Gawain realized that while his attacks were still effective, enemies he previously could have one-shot now required multiple hits. And the one thing the Kindred of Rot didn't lack was numbers—especially here, in the heart of the Swamp of Aeonia.
Left with no choice, he and the Commander fought side-by-side, desperately fending off the monsters. Even if his favored pyromancies were less effective, Gawain had other skills. He refused to believe Mohg's supply of Cursed Blood was infinite.
As he fought, wreathed in the light of offensive Miracles, he didn't notice the Dark Sign on his chest reacting. It had fully merged with his Great Rune, and at the center of the black ring, the symbol of the Elden Ring began to glow.
Within his inner world, the Fire Keeper lowered the eyes in her hand. She didn't quite understand why the so-called Great Rune possessed such miraculous properties, but the result was clear.
She no longer had to wait for the Dark Sign to shatter to let people out. However, she couldn't release too many at once, or the strain of the transition would cause the Dark Sign to break again. Who would be the best choice?
A lonely figure sitting by a bonfire seemed to sense something. He looked up, stood, and drew the Coiled Sword from the embers. He seemed ready to step onto the battlefield himself, but a hand scarred by burns pressed down on his shoulder.
The Fire Keeper shook her head at the figure. "It is not yet your time to take the stage. Please, be patient."
Given that she was the true mistress of this realm, the figure said nothing. He thrust the Coiled Sword back into the bonfire. A weary sigh echoed from beneath his helm, soon drowned out by a cacophony of different voices before falling into silence.
The Fire Keeper walked toward the five thrones at the center. She turned toward a spot where countless greatswords were thrust into the ground and made her decision, nodding to the Lord of Cinder upon the throne.
"Warriors who share the Wolf Blood, who hunt as a pack—offer your strength to the Heir of Fire. Walk the Abyss once more upon a strange land and strike down these twisted monstrosities."
The Abyss Watcher on the throne slowly stood up, a fanatical light gleaming in his eyes. To think that this new world also had things like the Abyss and twisted monsters to be purged?
The Fire Keeper had chosen them because the Farron Undead Legion had linked the fire as a collective. Bringing the entire legion out was effectively the same as bringing out a single entity, for they all shared the same Wolf Blood.
Drawing the Farron Greatsword from beside his throne, the Abyss Watcher was joined by countless squad members wearing the same iconic armor. Within the embers, they were reborn to the peak of their strength, their numbers reaching into the hundreds.
It was time to support their final fellow member. In the name of Artorias, the Farron Undead Legion would ruthlessly hunt down any existence that threatened the world.
Among the gathered ranks, one unique figure let out a smirk. Unlike the others, he carried a shield, and his supply of Estus Flasks was... significantly larger. Though he was once a deserter, this time, he would follow the legion into battle.
As she watched the Undead Legion exit through the Dark Sign, Sirris gripped her estoc with a hint of envy. If only she shared the Wolf Blood, she could have gone to help. She found herself missing the days when she fought alongside the Ashen One.
"Do not worry," the Fire Keeper whispered. "There will be another chance. We will all go out together eventually."
"Yes... that day will come, Captain," Sirris murmured.
Back in the swamp, Gawain had just shattered two troublesome Cleanrot Knights with Great Lightning Spears. Beside him, the Commander—being somewhat encumbered—had taken several hits and was fast losing the strength to maintain his spectral soldiers.
Gawain was anxious. With the endless stream of blood-coated rot pests closing in, he couldn't move to support O'Neil without potentially harming him if he unleashed his full power.
Just as Gawain considered forcing a breakthrough, a massive shape erupted from the earth, knocking him off his feet. It was an Ulcerated Tree Spirit that had been lying in wait.
As the gargantuan body lunged to crush him, Gawain raised his shield to block, but a tall figure suddenly manifested in front of him, intercepting the blow.
"Captain! What are you doing, Captain?!"
Though the spiritual entities were immune to the Scarlet Rot, the physical spikes accompanying the attack still dealt significant damage. The Leader of the Watchers grunted, severing the limb used to attack him and pulling a spike from his shoulder. He looked at the Ulcerated Tree Spirit, watching the multicolored fluids leak from its wounds.
The tenacity of its life, the corrosive nature, and the chaotic growth... he was certain now. This was nothing more than the Abyss in a different color!
"Protecting a fellow member is the duty of the Captain," the Leader said. "Rest easy, Ash. We have come to your aid."
As he spoke, the rest of the Undead Legion materialized across the battlefield. A large hand reached down and pulled Gawain to his feet.
"Hawkwood? You're here too? Good thing I didn't crush your soul back then. Do you still want that Twinkling Dragon Head Stone?"
Hawkwood the Deserter's face darkened. Of all things to bring up, Gawain chose that duel—the most humiliating defeat of his life.
To win that day, this Ashen One had used tactics that completely ignored the dignity of a future Lord of Cinder. He had run Hawkwood out of Estus until he didn't have a drop left, and Hawkwood hadn't managed to land a single hit.
"Keep it yourself. You're the real dragon here, more than I'll ever be. I'm no longer a deserter. Just like at Archdragon Peak, let us slaughter these monsters to the last!"
Commander O'Neil stared blankly at the army that had suddenly appeared. Was this man like him? Did he too carry the burden of countless souls?
Touching the ashes hidden within his armor, O'Neil withdrew his own exhausted spectral soldiers. It seemed they wouldn't be needed for this fight.
────────────────────────────────────────
Support me here: https://[email protected]/AuAuMon
Spring Sale Special – 20% OFF!
Elden Ring: In the Name of Ash (135 chapter - Ongoing)
Join the journey and become part of the story!
────────────────────────────────────────