At that moment, Edgar and his men, still holding out on the ramparts, were nearing the end of their tether. The Castellan led his soldiers in a desperate fighting retreat, flanked by surviving residents who brandished broken planks or fought with their bare hands to repel the encroaching Misbegotten.
Two sections of the rampart's defenses had fallen today. There was nowhere left to retreat. Just then, Edgar noticed the Misbegotten's assault slacken—the creatures were actually pulling back.
"What is the meaning of this?"
As he stood in confusion, a soldier pointed toward the castle gates and screamed, "Castellan! Look below! Someone has entered!"
A wave of relief washed over Edgar. Had Godrick finally found his conscience and sent reinforcements? But the surge of hope died the moment he saw the reality.
The "reinforcements" weren't Godrick's grand army. It was fewer than ten men—a drop in the bucket compared to the swarms within the walls.
"Galvin? Hmph, I suppose I wasn't wrong to treat him well; at least he had the sense to return and help. I hope he brings word of Irina... Wait, who is that?"
Edgar's eyes widened. He had been planning to lead a sortie to link up with them—perhaps to reclaim some supplies from the lower storehouses—when he noticed a stranger among the familiar Kaiden Mercenaries. The stranger's combat prowess was, quite frankly, terrifying.
Edgar looked at his own Banished Knight's Halberd, stained black with Misbegotten blood, and then at the man below carving a path through the horde as if he were a god of war. Even at his peak, Edgar knew he couldn't match that level of sheer destruction.
Gawain saw the residents and soldiers still fighting on the ramparts and knew he had arrived just in time. At the very least, he had prevented the game's grim reality, where Edgar was cornered in a tiny alcove surrounded by the hanging corpses of his people.
To lighten the burden on those above, Gawain went full-throttle. He abandoned the restraint he had shown against the Frenzied villagers, opting instead to "spam" the Spinning Slash skill. He sought only to inflict the maximum amount of death in the shortest time possible.
"Go! Link up with the Castellan! I'll carve the path!" Gawain roared.
Galvin cleaved through a Misbegotten and glanced at the surrounding swarm, which seemed to grow larger despite their kills. "There are too many for us to handle down here. We need to reach the ramparts and regroup!"
He spotted the stairs leading upward and signaled his men to form a breakthrough wedge. "Don't get bogged down! Follow me!"
Wreathed in pyromantic flame, Gawain's Dismounter became a blur. He chose to remain at the rear to cover their ascent. With every swing, the flames extended into whip-like chains, sweeping across a massive arc and triggering explosive bursts upon impact with the Misbegotten.
Was my pyromancy always this powerful? Gawain wondered as he fought. He wasn't even pushing himself yet, but today's flames felt more potent than yesterday's Power Within state. It felt as though an invisible force was bolstering his power.
He fought a retreating battle, guarding his teammates until they reached the ladder to the ramparts. He watched them scramble up one by one, but he made no move to follow.
Galvin, halfway up the ladder, saw Gawain still guarding the base, clearing any Misbegotten that dared draw near. "That's enough! We'll cover you from here! Get up here, now!"
Gawain didn't seem to hear him. Once he was sure all his companions were safe, he simply raised his left hand in a pre-arranged signal. Then, he turned and walked back toward the center of the courtyard.
He had already decided how these creatures would die, and he intended to follow through. With his allies out of the way, he was finally free to unleash a wide-area pyromancy.
Galvin didn't know what the man was planning, but he was certain of one thing: he was about to witness something earth-shattering. He didn't linger on the ladder; he scrambled onto the rampart as fast as he could.
Edgar seized the opportunity created by the chaos below. He led his remaining soldiers in a counter-charge, pushing the Misbegotten back from the sections they had breached. The Banished Knight's signature storm-arts were devastating in the narrow corridors of the wall.
Combined with the mercenaries attacking from the rear, the ramparts were finally purged of enemies. Edgar slumped against a merlon, gasping for air, but forced himself to stand as Galvin approached.
"Galvin... I never thought the sight of you would bring me such joy. Tell me—did you find Irina on the road? She should have reached the Bridge of Sacrifice by now."
Knowing the rebellion had been orchestrated, Galvin struggled to find the words. He decided to focus on the immediate crisis first.
"Yes, I found Lady Irina. But her escort was ambushed. She was the only survivor."
Edgar nearly collapsed. "What?! Is she... is she safe?"
"She was injured, but she's out of danger now. Do you see that Tarnished down there? He's the one who saved her. If he hadn't volunteered to help, we wouldn't have even made it to the castle gates."
Edgar looked down. Why hadn't the "god of war" followed them up? In fact, why was he walking directly into the center of the Misbegotten swarm?
"What is he doing? No, we have to go down and get him out!"
Galvin held Edgar back. He reached out a hand, sensing the air beginning to churn.
"Castellan... can't you feel the wind changing?"
Edgar paused. The air was growing restless, heavy with a pre-storm static. It felt as if a hurricane was about to converge on the courtyard. He watched with a grim expression as the fire-wreathed Tarnished below prepared his move. What in the world is he planning?
Melina stood at the highest point of Castle Morne, watching Gawain from above. She knew he was about to use that strange, fiery power again.
She knew his current stats; at best, he was at the level of an elite knight—not even close to the legendary heroes of the past. This level of risk seemed reckless. But then, she sensed something abnormal—a massive, dormant power hidden deep within his being.
Gawain reactivated Power Within. The surge of strength allowed him to cleave through the Misbegotten as he returned to the center of the courtyard.
The numbers were staggering. For every three he killed, five more emerged from the shadows. It seemed most of the castle's buildings were infested; the ramparts were truly the only safe ground left.
"This many, huh? Guess there's no running away," Gawain muttered. He stowed the Dismounter into his inventory, not wanting to ruin a perfectly good weapon in what was coming.
"Don't misunderstand. I meant you can't run away."
A violent aura of fire erupted from his body, forcing the surrounding Misbegotten to recoil. For a brief moment, none of them dared to lunge, giving him the precious seconds he needed.
Gawain thought back to his time at Firelink Shrine. He remembered handing the Quelana Pyromancy Tome—found in the Smouldering Lake—to Karla.
He remembered her sitting in her corner, wiping sweat from her brow. Investigating pyromancy was difficult for a sorceress like her.
"Disciple," she had said, "you have learned everything within this tome—at least, everything I can decipher. But honestly, making a sorceress teach you pyromancy... you truly enjoy making things difficult for me."
Gawain had smiled with genuine gratitude, his fingers itching to test the spells on his next Lord of Cinder. Karla watched his excitement and warned him:
"Remember what I have taught you: pyromancy requires restraint, not just results. It is the product of the Witch of Izalith's failure to recreate the First Flame. The spells in Quelana's tome come from one of the few daughters who survived that tragedy. I know you are an Ashen One, and your Darksign is sealed by the fire, but if you force these arts too far, the tragedy of Chaos could repeat itself within you. Do you understand?"
Gawain had nodded, but he hadn't taken the warning to heart. His soul wasn't that of a typical Undead balanced by humanity; he lacked "humanity" in the traditional sense and didn't fear the Darksign's corruption.
Even when the Londor pilgrims offered him "free levels"—punching a hole in his seal—the dark power hadn't manifested as they expected. Still, the Sable Church remained convinced he was their Lord of Hollows.
He hadn't told Karla any of this. He had simply obeyed. "I understand, Master. But I might have to be a bit reckless once or twice. There's a 'drowned pig' in Anor Londo who doesn't want to link the fire, so I'm bringing the fire to him."
Karla had sighed. "Do as you will. In this age, a mission is perhaps more meaningful than life itself. Go forth, disciple. May the flame guide thy way. Whatever happens, I shall support your choice. Being your teacher has been... interesting."
Back in the reality of Morne, Gawain's preparations were complete. The four points he had put into Intelligence had brought him to the threshold. He didn't want to touch the power of Chaos, but this was the strongest area-of-effect spell in his arsenal.
Fire Storm.
"Sorry, Master," he whispered. "Whether it was that 'pig' in the past or the situation now... I find it very hard to be restrained. This is a mission I cannot abandon."
He slammed his palm onto the ground. The earth for ten meters around him began to glow. This wasn't a level of power a base-stat knight should possess; he was pouring his internal Embers into the spell to force the magnitude. It was a massive drain, but the souls of the hundreds of Misbegotten here would compensate for the cost.
Under Gawain's control, the fire spread to its absolute limit—and then, countless pillars of flame erupted toward the sky. The blast was so violent it nearly singed Edgar and Galvin on the ramparts above.
"Queen Marika preserve us... what is this power?!" Edgar gasped.
Galvin had seen enough of Gawain's "tricks" to be somewhat prepared, but this left Edgar utterly speechless. Looking at the towering inferno, he feared the man might accidentally level the entire castle.
The Fire Storm engulfed the center of the courtyard. The Misbegotten, realizing too late what was happening, were incinerated where they stood. Everything—the crime, the tragedy, the filth—was reduced to ash.
"Not enough! Further!"
Gawain had expected to move positions to clear the whole area, but he realized the "Storm" in the atmosphere of Morne was acting as a catalyst. The wind was feeding his pyromancy, expanding its reach far beyond its normal limits. He felt the Stormhawk King's soul in his inventory resonating with the spell.
He pushed harder, pouring more Ember energy into the inferno.
But then, the unexpected happened. The Darksign on his chest, exposed by his torn clothing, began to pulse violently. The seal of fire, strained by the massive energy output, began to tremble. Finally, it couldn't hold. A section of the seal cracked, and a viscous, black substance began to leak out.
"No... what is this?!"
A sharp, agonizing pain lanced through Gawain's chest. The seal—the one the Fire Keeper had mended after the Londor pilgrims tampered with it—was breaking.
Shit. I overdid it.
In the final second before losing consciousness, Gawain saw the courtyard cleared of enemies and Galvin's group rushing down from the ramparts. He allowed his eyes to close.
They can handle the rest.
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