Melina leaned against Torrent, observing the resting mercenaries below. She had witnessed everything Gawain had done thus far. Her days of observation had confirmed one thing: this Tarnished possessed immense potential.
She had been looking for an opportunity to negotiate terms with him, but the group had been racing toward Castle Morne without pause. Even when they stopped at Sites of Grace, she hadn't found the right moment. She had intended to reveal herself tonight, but feeling that her intrusion might spoil the current atmosphere, she hesitated.
During that hesitation, she noticed something was wrong. From the cliffs above, Misbegotten and those afflicted by the Frenzied Flame were swarming down. Drawn as if by a magnet, they crawled toward the mercenaries' camp.
Though Melina lacked much of her former power, she could still provide a warning—a gesture of goodwill before their formal negotiation.
Gawain sat beside the sleeping Irina, calculating the best way to deal with the Misbegotten at the castle tomorrow. Suddenly, a faint, ethereal shimmer of the Erdtree appeared in the air above. He snapped to alertness instantly. He knew that glow—it was Melina's signature incantation.
His attention was immediately diverted as a sea of glowing, yellow eyes emerged from the semi-illuminated darkness. Misbegotten, rats, and crazed humans moved as one, their eyes burning with the distinct, maddening fire of Frenzy.
Without hesitation, he woke Irina and helped her onto her horse, telling her to be ready to break through at any moment. He snapped his fingers, and the mercenaries bolted upright. Years of discipline meant they didn't need a formal alarm; they knew enemies were closing in.
"What is it? Where are they?" Galvin drew his heavy blade and ordered his men to form a protective circle around Irina. The Beast-Repellent Torches around the camp had initially obscured the distant, glowing eyes in the dark.
"They're everywhere," Gawain warned. "The Frenzied lunatics are making their move."
"What? The Flame of Frenzy?!" Galvin hissed. He knew the horror of that flame. During past missions, he had encountered creatures with that eerie yellow glow; merely being near them could infect one's mind with maddening thoughts. He had heard rumors of the Ailing Village on the peninsula, but he hadn't expected an attack of this scale.
"Get ready! They're coming! Don't let them touch you if you can help it. Use your shields!"
A horde of Frenzied enemies surged from the shadows. The sheer number of them momentarily stunned the group.
Facing this relentless, volatile swarm, the Kaiden Mercenaries stopped holding back. With a synchronized roar, a fierce, burning red aura erupted from each man—the War Cry skill. Their blades became a blur of steel as they met the charging horde with the fury of the mountain warriors of old. Every strike carried the weight of their lineage, reminiscent of the berserkers who once served under Hoarah Loux.
Blades clashed against madness. As the mercenaries' greatswords fell, the Frenzied creatures were torn asunder, erupting in sprays of foul, yellowish blood. Prepared for the contamination, the mercenaries moved with practiced agility, twisting their bodies to avoid the spray or catching it on their shields while their comrades covered their flanks.
Gawain was at the forefront of the slaughter. His combat instincts, honed over an eternity of cycles, allowed him to navigate the chaos with surgical precision. Each swing of his broadsword was perfectly timed, disabling the infected while keeping the radius of contaminated blood to a minimum.
However, while these mindless wretches weren't particularly strong, their numbers were overwhelming. Attacking under the cover of darkness, they had formed a tight perimeter, leaving little room for maneuvering. In reality, unlike in game mechanics, there were no "invincibility frames"—if you were hit mid-roll, you still bled.
One mercenary let out a cry of agony as Frenzied blood splashed across his arm. The madness immediately began to seep into his mind through the wound. Without a second thought, Galvin swung his blade, severing the man's arm to prevent the infection from spreading to his brain. But in that moment of distraction, two Frenzied rats lunged from his blind spot.
Gawain intercepted them. He blocked the strike for the two men, but his broadsword—already corroded by long battles—shattered in the rat's jaws. On his other side, a rat's needle-sharp teeth clamped down hard on his forearm.
"Are you alright?!" Galvin shouted, stunned. He couldn't fathom why this man would go so far to protect them. He lunged forward, cleaving the rat on Gawain's arm in two.
"I'm fine. Get back!" Gawain waved Galvin away as he shook off the lingering madness of the bite.
Discarding the hilt of his broken sword, Gawain manifested a red Flame of Pyromancy in his left hand. On his fingers, alongside the Priestess Ring, now sat the Sage Ring, temporarily boosting his Intelligence.
He tore off his tattered shirt. His left hand erupted in a violent surge of fire, which he slammed directly into his own chest. The flame began to burn him from within. With both his Intelligence and Faith now boosted above 10, the requirement was met—Power Within was active!
Galvin recoiled as Gawain's body began to glow with a searing, internal heat. The man looked terrifying, his skin turning a raw, angry red as the spell pushed his physical limits. Galvin looked at the scars covering Gawain's body and realized: So that's how he got them. He was burned by his own fire.
He remembered Gawain calling himself an "Ashen One." Only ash remains after the fire has finished its work.
"Understand the flame, or realize it cannot be understood. That is the essence of pyromancy."
Recalling the words of his mentor, Quelana, Gawain channeled the fire. A long, whip-like chain of flame manifested from his palm—the pyromancy Fire Whip!
In Irina's sightless eyes, two distinct lights appeared. One was a sickly, chaotic yellow; the other was a fierce, disciplined red. She whispered to herself, "Sir Knight... is this your fire?"
As Gawain prepared his next move, a Frenzied villager lunged at him, grabbing his arm. The yellow madness attempted to travel from the villager's palm into Gawain's body, only to be immediately enveloped and devoured by the much more aggressive red flame. Gawain didn't just resist the Frenzy—he actively absorbed it.
"Sorry," Gawain muttered, "but my code has higher priority than yours. This is a remnant of the First Flame—the origin of all disparity. Your little Frenzy isn't fit to touch my Ember!"
With the spell fully prepared, Gawain didn't even need to move his arm consciously. The lengthening chain of fire lashed out, encircling the Frenzied wretches and incinerating them into ash instantly. Controlling the fire relied on the caster's innate talent, and Gawain had been trained by two of the greatest masters to ever live.
"I'm popping off now! Come on! You low-life creatures, die by my flame!"
Under the effects of Power Within, Gawain's combat style became erratic and hyper-aggressive. His pyromancies fired with the speed of a machine gun. Fireballs streaked through the air, hitting the scattered enemies with pinpoint accuracy. Between casts, he pulled out an Ashen Estus Flask, chugging it to maintain his continuous fire. He began chasing the Frenzied creatures down, hunting them into the night.
Because his base stats were still low, the pyromancies were technically at the minimum damage threshold. Even with the Power Within buff, they weren't world-ending—but against mindless, unarmored husks, they were devastating.
Galvin and the other mercenaries watched in awe. What kind of monster could unleash such destruction? Galvin checked on the companion whose arm he had severed; the man was stable. Considering the scale of the ambush, having only one serious injury was an incredible stroke of luck. He realized then that this man truly possessed the power to save Castle Morne single-handedly.
Under Gawain's relentless barrage, the Frenzied horde was slaughtered. Even the lucky few who managed an ambush were incinerated the moment they made contact, their internal madness absorbed into Gawain's fire.
Finally, silence returned. Gawain stood among a field of corpses, none of which stirred. He allowed Power Within to expire. His muscles were etched with fresh, red heat-scars from the spell's cost.
Galvin approached cautiously. "Are you... are you okay?"
"Me? I'm fine. Just need a moment to cool down."
Galvin looked at Gawain's steaming skin. It didn't look "fine" at all.
Gawain knew he looked frightening. The cost of Power Within was the flame scouring one's own body to unlock latent potential, resulting in massive physical trauma. But he was used to it. An Ashen One's body wasn't particularly sensitive to pain anyway. These were purely physical wounds that the Site of Grace could mend.
He told Galvin to clear the battlefield and keep a lookout for more Misbegotten. Then, he walked slowly back to Irina. He needed to let her know she was safe, and he needed the Grace to recover.
"Sir Knight," Irina asked softly, "I saw two completely different fires. Aside from the yellow madness, was that other light your power?"
Gawain looked at her. Though she hadn't been "converted" into Hyetta yet, her innate talent as a Finger Maiden of the Three Fingers allowed her to "see" the essence of the flame.
This was a problem he would have to deal with. Some things could corrupt a person just by being seen—much like the Fire Monks who became obsessed with the Flame of the Fell God they were meant to guard. He had a theory on how to fix it, but he wasn't sure if it would work yet. He would keep it to himself until the peninsula was settled.
"Yes, it was. But my fire is... different from what you might imagine. Rest now. You'll see your father tomorrow."
Irina was curious, but she was an obedient girl. She sat back down on her mat, focusing on her greatest wish: seeing her father again.
The nomadic merchant helped the mercenaries clear the field. He usually scavenged the dead for goods, but looking at the Frenzied villagers, he sighed. Some of those faces belonged to his own kin. It was said the Flame of Frenzy appeared only in the eyes of the desperate. He wondered if he, too, would one day become a hollowed shell like his fallen brethren.
He looked back at the warrior who had been wreathed in fire. Why wasn't he affected? How could he absorb the madness? What kind of life must a man lead to be scoured by fire and remain unmoved? Could such a man ever truly know despair?
Gawain sat by the Site of Grace, watching his wounds slowly knit back together. In this realm of Grace, time slowed to a crawl. To those outside, he was a motionless figure; here, in this spiritual space, he could rest and organize his tools.
As he stared into the flickering light of the Grace, a hooded figure slowly emerged from the surrounding shadows. The mercenaries didn't react; they continued their slow-motion tasks, oblivious.
The figure approached the Grace and knelt across from him. She pulled back her hood, revealing chestnut hair. Her right eye glowed with the gold of Grace, while her left was sealed shut by a mark.
Melina spoke, her voice calm and welcoming.
"Greetings, traveler from beyond the fog. My name is Melina. Do not be alarmed. Within the reach of this Grace, others cannot perceive me. I offer you an accord."
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