The next morning, Gawain stood up from the clearing beside the Site of Grace. After a night of recovery, he was back at full strength, though in truth, he didn't feel at ease.
He had no idea exactly how many Misbegotten were currently inside Castle Morne, but judging by the frequency of the ambushes they had faced on the road, the numbers were likely high enough to be a headache.
Before him stood a massive fortress. Given that the Misbegotten had seized the castle through a sudden, overwhelming uprising, and based on Irina's descriptions, their numbers had to be in the triple digits at the very least.
His party, including Irina, totaled only about ten people. Everyone was exhausted from days of travel and fighting, and they already had one serious casualty. It was a grim outlook.
However, he now had Torrent. Breaking through the blockade of the haywire Golem wouldn't be too difficult. His plan was to charge in, rendezvous with Edgar, and then use his pre-prepared wide-area pyromancies to inflict maximum damage.
Gawain hoped the Leonine Misbegotten was still staying put at the beach behind the castle. He planned to reclaim the Grafted Blade Greatsword only after he and the Castellan had cleared the main forces within the walls.
In the game, Edgar was cornered on a high rampart, but he still had a handful of loyal soldiers resisting the tide. Furthermore, because the rebellion had been so sudden, the castle's armory likely still held intact equipment that the garrison hadn't had time to use before being pushed back. If they could tap into those resources, they might actually have enough leverage to quell the uprising.
Galvin looked at Gawain's somber expression. After a moment of thought, he patted the man on the shoulder and handed him his own heavy blade—a reinforced Dismounter.
"This is for you."
Gawain hesitated before taking the weapon. "Isn't this yours? What will you use if you give it to me?"
"You saw my brother lose his arm yesterday," Galvin replied. "He's stable, but he can't fight anymore. I'm giving you my blade as thanks for saving him. I'll use his weapon instead. Every Misbegotten I kill with it will be a bit of vengeance for him."
Though Gawain could manifest other weapons from his inventory, he accepted the gesture. As expected of a mercenary leader's weapon, he could tell just by the weight that it had been reinforced several times. It would likely be far more effective than the unupgraded gear he could currently pull from the fire.
Slinging the Dismounter onto his back, Gawain blew the whistle on the ring Melina had given him. In an instant, a magnificent spectral steed appeared—the horned horse, Torrent, who had accompanied him through every cycle in his memories.
"Where did you... never mind," Galvin muttered, deciding not to ask where the horse came from. "It all depends on you now. Get that Castellan out."
"I'll do my best," Gawain said. "Just remember: if you see my signal, take everyone and get as far back as possible. Do you understand?"
"Like yesterday? Don't worry, I get it."
Gawain gave a meaningful smile. "I don't think you do 'get it,' actually. But you'll see. Don't blame me if your chest hair gets singed."
Galvin laughed and turned to rally his men for the final push.
Gawain led Torrent over to Irina. "How was your rest?"
"Sir Knight, please do not worry about me," she said softly. "I overheard your conversation. Are we entering the castle now?"
"Yes. You're going to stay outside for now; it's too dangerous inside. This horse is named Torrent. He'll keep you safe. Just wait here for the good news."
"But... very well. I will wait for you. Please, return safely, Sir Knight."
"Don't call me 'Sir Knight' all the time; it's too formal. Just Gawain is fine. I'm counting on you to put in a good word with your father so I can get a decent reward. Here, let me help you up."
Irina sat obediently on Torrent's back. Even without sight, she could feel the unique nature of the steed; merely being on his back gave her a profound sense of security.
Gawain stroked Torrent's mane. Though it was his first time summoning him in this world, it felt like reconnecting with an old friend. Torrent let out a couple of snorts in greeting.
"I'm in your care, Torrent," Gawain whispered. "Help me get close to that Golem. I promise you all the Rowa Fruit you can eat later."
Gawain vaulted into the saddle. He looked back at the ready mercenaries, gave a sharp nod, and spurred Torrent forward, leading the charge with Irina behind him.
Torrent's speed was incomparable to ordinary horses; he was, without question, the finest mount in the Lands Between.
In the distance, the Golem sensed the intruders and raised its massive bow, aiming with automated precision. Torrent dodged the first arrow with a nimble double-jump and continued to close the distance at terrifying speed.
"Impossible... the gate Golem is attacking me?" Irina cried out, clutching Gawain's waist to avoid being thrown by the jolting ride. "Everything was normal when I left!"
"It's haywire," Gawain shouted over the wind. "Someone tampered with it. Don't worry—if I have to scrap it, I'll make sure your father doesn't charge me for the damages."
"Do what you must! A Golem that fires on its own people is better off as scrap!"
Within seconds, Torrent had evaded several more massive arrows. In this reality, the Golem's performance was far higher than the game mechanics suggested; its fire rate and accuracy were devastating. If Gawain hadn't been drawing the aggro with Torrent's agility, the mercenaries behind him would have been turned into pin-cushions.
Once they were close enough, Gawain patted Torrent. He leapt from the saddle directly in front of the Golem. Torrent instantly banked, carrying Irina into the Golem's firing blind spot to take cover.
Sensing an enemy at its feet, the Golem drew its massive halberd from its back and began stomping wildly, trying to crush the intruder.
Gawain unsheathed the Dismounter, sidestepping the initial stomps. Spotting an opening, he aimed for the areas on the Golem's ankles where a lava-like fluid pulsed. He gripped the blade with both hands and delivered a savage horizontal slash.
The Golem shuddered violently as its weak point was struck, its balance beginning to fail.
Gawain didn't give it a chance to recover. He dropped into a stance and unleashed a Spin Slash—a whirlwind of steel that battered the Golem's left ankle. The weak point shattered, spraying molten fluid everywhere, and the massive construct collapsed heavily to the ground.
Gawain rushed to the core furnace in the Golem's chest and hacked into it. Molten innards spilled out. The Golem struggled briefly, but as its power source drained, it fell still.
Searching the damaged core, Gawain found several broken hilt-shards. He picked one up and noticed lingering crystalline fragments.
"I see. This was your doing too," he muttered. "They used Crystal Darts to frenzy the Golem after you left, locking Morne down completely."
He remembered a niche bit of lore—and a game mechanic: if you hit a Golem or an Erdtree Burial Watchdog with enough Crystal Darts, it would malfunction and attack its own allies. He had used that trick many times in the game's catacombs to watch them tear each other apart.
As he finished disabling the Golem, the mercenaries arrived. They hitched their horses near the gate, and Galvin stepped over the fallen construct.
"Done already? I was hoping to get a hit in. You found out what was wrong with it, I take it?"
"Yeah. Those assassins we met earlier used Crystal Darts. I suspect there are still moles inside the castle who haven't been rooted out. Stay sharp."
Gawain looked back at Irina. With Torrent guarding her, he was confident; few enemies could catch Torrent unless they were a dragon. It was time to head inside.
"Leave two men out here to protect Irina. That'll make me feel better. The rest of you come with me."
Galvin agreed. He assigned the man who had lost his arm and another particularly vigilant mercenary to stay behind. They were mounted and instructed to keep a sharp lookout; they didn't need to win a fight, just ensure Irina could escape if things went south.
Galvin and the rest followed Gawain through the gate. They quickly reached the armory. The weapons inside were untouched—racks of diverse steel and even those specialized flamethrower shields from Stormveil. These were weapons designed for defense against a foreign invasion, but the internal rebellion had rendered them useless.
Gawain's Dismounter was sufficient, but he still picked several choice weapons and stowed them in his Grace-pocket, ensuring he could swap gear as needed in the upcoming chaos.
Resupplied, he caught the thick, metallic scent of blood in the air. He clenched his fist.
"Let's go. We save whoever we can."
In grim silence, they stepped onto the lift. The mechanism groaned and stuttered as it began to rise.
The higher they went, the more overwhelming the stench became—a mixture of fresh copper, charred flesh, and the rot of stagnant corpses. It reminded Gawain of the Undead Settlement. The stone walls were coated in layers of dried, black blood that had dripped and pooled from above.
The lift reached the top, opening into the true entrance of Castle Morne. Before them lay a scene from the deepest pits of hell.
The short flight of stairs leading to the main gates was paved with mangled, rotting corpses. The stone was entirely obscured by a thick, congealed carpet of black blood, as if a river of gore had flowed down the steps. Walking on it felt sticky and viscous—a testament to how many residents had bled out there.
Gawain led the way, his steps heavy. As they cleared the gatehouse, the view opened up.
In the center of Morne's wide courtyard, a mountain of bodies had been piled high. Men, women, children, and soldiers—the Misbegotten made no distinction. The dead were humiliated, desecrated, and finally tossed into a massive, roaring pyre.
Amidst this hellscape, swarms of Misbegotten wielded their cleavers, venting their primal rage upon the corpses. The shame of their former enslavement had been replaced by a thousand-fold cruelty inflicted upon the residents. This was the edge of the world, a lawless land where no demigod or hero cared enough to stop the slaughter.
Gawain took a deep breath. He was calm—a cold, terrifying calm. He had already decided how every Misbegotten in the courtyard would die. The Embers within him began to roar. In his focused state, he didn't even notice a faint, circular mark—the Darksign—beginning to glow on his chest.
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