Without much delay, Gawain and his companions mounted the horses borrowed from the Bridge of Sacrifice garrison and galloped toward Castle Morne. Along the way, they encountered several scattered groups of Misbegotten who practically offered up their heads, easily dispatched without even slowing the group's pace.
Gawain actually had a fair bit of experience when it came to riding. Though it was a bit embarrassing to admit, back at Archdragon Peak while fighting the Ancient Wyvern, he had leapt onto its neck only to accidentally drop his weapon.
The ancient dragon had struggled violently, carrying him through the sky for a long time before finally calming down enough for him to draw another weapon and end the fight. Having survived a ride that turbulent, riding a mere horse was child's play.
He and Galvin led the group side-by-side, their eyes scanning the terrain for any potential threats.
Not far into the journey, Gawain sensed something. He spurred his horse to accelerate. Up ahead, a stumbling figure appeared—it looked like Irina, fleeing for her life. Close behind her were several shadows following with lethal intent.
Just as Gawain prepared to ride in and cover her, a swarm of Misbegotten screeched and leapt from the cliffs on either side. He and Galvin shared a silent, knowing look: the mercenaries would stay behind to hold off the swarm, while Gawain dealt with the assassins.
Irina stumbled along the road, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Every step from her left foot sent a jolt of agonizing pain through her body, but she didn't dare stop. She knew that stopping meant death.
She had been sent out of Castle Morne four days ago by her father. By then, he had realized the rebellion was spiraling out of control. He used the last opening before the castle center was overrun to smuggle her out.
Accompanying her were the butler who had raised her and a few loyal servants—the very last of the strength her father could spare.
Her father had told her to hurry to the Bridge of Sacrifice and seek aid from the garrison, and to ask why the multiple warnings sent previously had gone unanswered.
Irina was blind, but she was sharper than most. She knew in her heart that Castle Morne could not be held, and that reinforcements weren't coming. Godrick had abandoned the Weeping Peninsula.
Though she had wanted to beg her father to leave with her, she couldn't bring herself to say it. She knew his sense of duty to the castle. So, she left first, hoping to find a miracle at the bridge.
The first three days had been relatively quiet. Occasional Misbegotten emerging from the woods were handled by the escorting soldiers.
But last night, the nightmare began. A massive swarm of Misbegotten surrounded their carriage. The butler had told her to run while he stayed behind to lead the defense.
Irina knew the butler was likely dead, but she couldn't stop. No matter what, she had to deliver the plea for help to the bridge.
Groping her way forward, she felt she was finally nearing her destination when a heart-pounding sound of footsteps echoed from behind.
Her blindness had made her other senses far more acute than those of an ordinary person. Just as a hidden arrow from behind was about to strike her, she cast the Rejection incantation, the shockwave deflecting the lethal projectile. She sprinted down the main road with all her might, not stopping even when she tripped and badly sprained her ankle.
Just as the footsteps grew closer and despair began to take hold, a warm, flickering flame seemed to ignite in her sightless vision, rushing toward her at high speed.
"Get behind me and don't move!"
Irina didn't hesitate. She obediently rolled to the ground and took cover behind Gawain. Almost simultaneously, several arrows hissed through the air. The shafts that were meant for Irina slammed into Gawain instead, piercing his thin resident's clothes.
The nearest assassin didn't know where this man had come from, but it didn't matter. He was just another fool seeking death. They would cut him down and be done with it.
But as the assassin's dagger plunged through the man's clothes, the sensation transmitted through the hilt wasn't that of tearing flesh. It felt like hitting a solid block of iron.
"Iron Flesh. Kid, did you really think that little bit of strength could hurt me?"
If Irina could see, she would have noticed Gawain radiating a faint, bluish light. This was Iron Flesh, a classic "tough guy" pyromancy from Dark Souls—the kind that even a low-intelligence warrior could use to tank hits.
The arrows that had pierced his clothes simply fell away, unable to penetrate his skin under the enhancement of the spell.
Gawain reached out and seized the assassin's head. He drove his Broadsword deep into the man's chest before kicking him away like a piece of trash. The unlucky assassin's soul and Runes flowed into Gawain. One down, three to go.
Gawain glanced at the fallen assassin. Several empty bottles resembling Perfumer bottles tumbled out of the man's clothing. A suspicion formed in his mind.
"Are we still doing this?" Gawain asked. "I'll give you one last chance. Let me break your limbs and I'll let you live. Of course, what those Misbegotten do to you afterward is none of my business."
The remaining three assassins exchanged looks but showed no sign of retreating. They held their ground until one finally spoke.
"By your look, you're a Tarnished, aren't you? Did you just cross the fog to reach the Lands Between? Then don't interfere with our mission. Step aside, hand over the girl, and I might consider recommending you to the Two Fingers."
Just as I thought, Gawain noted, confirming his theory. In the game, Irina is found dead after you deliver her letter, with a Misbegotten's Iron Cleaver left at the scene. It looked like a random tragedy, but how could it be that simple?
The mountains of corpses inside Castle Morne proved how cruel those Misbegotten were once they gained their "freedom." They would hack even a dead resident into tiny pieces without stopping.
But Irina's "crime scene" wasn't like that. Her body was left intact, with a massive cleaver placed conspicuously as if the killer was desperate for people to know a Misbegotten did it. The Bridge of Sacrifice was right nearby; the garrison would have had to be blind to let a Misbegotten get that close.
It was almost certainly an assassination by an unknown party who then staged the scene. Likely, Irina had sprained her ankle and couldn't run any further, so she rested near the bridge, asked a passing Tarnished to deliver her letter, and was murdered shortly after.
Given Irina's potential as a Maiden—to the point that even after death, she could be resurrected by the Three Fingers to become a Finger Maiden of Frenzy—the assassins were likely agents of either the Two Fingers or the Three Fingers.
One side wanted to eliminate the threat of a Frenzy Maiden (and perhaps even instigated the Morne rebellion to weaken a demigod), while the other wanted to "cultivate" a new one. Clearly, the assassin had just outed his employer. Whether he was stupid or just planned to kill Gawain to silence him, it didn't matter.
Irina was on the verge of a breakdown. She had finally found a savior, but now it sounded like he might be in league with the assassins. If she had been running on pure adrenaline before, now that she had stopped, she couldn't even stand.
As she shivered in fear, a large, warm hand patted her head, signaling her not to worry. Irina felt a sudden, long-lost sense of relief.
She couldn't help but wonder what kind of person had saved her. The warm "lantern" she sensed in her darkness made her feel a strange, instinctive fondness for this stranger.
"I don't care who sent you," Gawain said, his voice cold. "But you've officially wasted the last of my patience. Come at me all at once. I'm in a hurry."
Seeing that persuasion had failed, the three assassins unleashed their killing moves. Because he was shielding Irina, Gawain had no intention of dodging.
After tanking the first hit with Iron Flesh, he had already calculated their attack power. Having died more times than he could count, he could read his own "health bar" with absolute precision. He could take this.
Three rapiers plunged into his vitals—spots that would be lethal for any human. The assassins felt the blades sink in; they felt the resistance of tearing flesh. But then they saw Gawain's face.
His expression didn't even flicker.
"Impossible! What are you?!"
"I'm just an Ashen One, still burning with Ember," Gawain replied. "Have you ever heard of an Ashen One having 'vitals'? I've long since grown accustomed to this level of pain. Your attacks... compared to the Hollow Swordmaster, they're nothing. Pathetic! Pathetic!"
The assassins sensed the danger and tried to pull their blades back to gain distance, but it was too late. A violent burst of fire erupted from Gawain's body, traveling up their weapons and engulfing them. The three assassins were incinerated, their souls reduced to ash along with their bodies.
Gawain felt the quality of their souls and clicked his tongue in disappointment as he absorbed them into his internal Ember.
"Way too weak. The Ember I gained doesn't even cover the cost of the burst. Does the Two Fingers really think so little of the Weeping Peninsula that they'd send such small fry?"
Gawain sheathed his weapon and took a swig of Estus to heal his wounds. He was genuinely pained by the loss of Ember energy. Though it was a drop in the bucket compared to his total reserves, years of facing unpredictable lethality had turned him into a "hoarding rat." If the inventory count went down, he felt a deep sense of crisis.
This habit had saved his life many times, allowing him to outlast Lords of Cinder without being sent back to a bonfire. Since he had decided not to risk his life here, his sense of caution was even higher.
Gawain looked back. The mercenaries were finishing off the Misbegotten ambushers. He wasn't in a hurry to go help; mainly because he currently had a "decoration" attached to his leg.
If nothing else, Irina was a good listener. He told her not to move, and she truly hadn't budged an inch—except to cling to his leg with a grip that wouldn't let go. It was making it quite difficult for him to walk.
Sensing the battle was over, Irina poked her head out. She realized she might be holding on a bit too tightly and hoped she hadn't hindered her savior's movements.
"My lady, you can let go now," Gawain said. "You're making this a bit awkward."
Embarrassed, Irina released her grip. She quickly fumbled through her clothes and pulled out a well-preserved letter.
"Thank you for your help. Though it is a bold request, could you please deliver this letter to the garrison at the Bridge of Sacrifice? Castle Morne is suffering a terrible rebellion. My father, Castellan Edgar, and the residents need help. If you can assist, my father will surely reward you handsomely."
"Don't worry. That's exactly why I'm here. You should recognize the Kaiden Mercenaries behind me. Don't expect anything from Godrick; for now, we're the only reinforcements you have."
Irina thought back. Her father did indeed have a long-standing contract with a group of Kaiden Mercenaries as escorts. She hadn't expected them to be the only ones to return. But was such a small group enough to handle so many Misbegotten?
She had her doubts, but Castle Morne was desperate. She just wanted her father to be safe. It felt selfish, but she would rather her father abandon his duty as Castellan than lose her only remaining family.
"Can you stand?" Gawain asked. "It's still early. If we want to save Castle Morne, we need to keep moving."
Irina snapped out of her thoughts and nodded. She didn't want to slow down the rescue. She gritted her teeth and tried to stand, but the sharp pain in her ankle made her collapse. She was caught by a pair of strong hands.
"Forget it. Don't force it. I'll carry you on the horse. Bear with it for now; I'll deal with the injury when we stop for the night."
Irina gave a shy nod. Gawain hoisted her up and placed her on the saddle behind him. It was the first time she had been treated this way by anyone other than her father; even the butler had never been so close. Yet, it gave her a sense of peace she hadn't felt since the rebellion started—a feeling of having someone to lean on.
Gawain wanted to heal her injury now, but he didn't have any Sacred Tears for a flask, and his Estus only worked for an Ashen One like himself.
He had other ways, but they required time. Since her injury wasn't life-threatening, it would have to wait until they made camp.
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