"Then I shall continue my trek toward the Caelid Wilds. Do you require a guide?"
"Er, no need to trouble yourself. We'll meet again at Redmane Castle."
Faced with Alexander's offer to lead the way, Gawain didn't dare accept. He was practically a lost cause when it came to directions, relying entirely on Torrent to get around. If two directionally challenged individuals traveled together, god only knew when they'd actually reach Redmane Castle.
Seeing that Gawain preferred to travel alone, Alexander didn't press the matter. After a few more words of idle chatter, he went on his way.
Gawain knew the jar would likely end up stuck in Gael Tunnel later, but he would eventually make it to Redmane Castle. As for the Moonveil katana found there? To be honest, he didn't have much interest. Aside from legendary weapons like the Grafted Blade Greatsword, most katanas felt the same in his hands.
Remounting Torrent, he gathered the storm and leapt down from the heights to rejoin his men.
"So, what took you so long up there?" Elsa asked.
"Nothing much. Just ran into a Warrior Jar stuck in a hole. He's heading to the combat festival at Redmane Castle."
Elsa nodded, a hint of wonder in her voice. "I see. It seems word of the festival has truly spread. I wonder what kind of battle a Demigod hailed as the strongest will bring to such a grand stage."
Seeing her interested expression, Gawain quickly cautioned her. "Don't even think about it. I need someone with sufficient martial prowess to hold the border, and you're the only one I trust for the job. But I can promise you this: when the festival begins, you'll be able to see the battle even from the Caelid border."
"Like the fight with Godrick?"
"No. I suspect it will be far more spectacular than Godrick's."
Just thinking about the game's depiction made Gawain's blood pump—not just the Starscourge's meteor strike from the heavens, but the sight of the stars themselves resuming their cycle after the battle. It was hard to imagine how magnificent it would be in person.
They pressed on. After passing through the narrow canyon, a vast field of gravestones appeared ahead. Under normal circumstances, this was where the Tibia Mariner of the Those Who Live in Death would appear, clutching a Deathroot that could spread undeath everywhere.
That spectral boat was notoriously elusive, and he wasn't sure if they'd run into it, but the Deathroot was something that absolutely had to be dealt with eventually.
To his surprise, however, the village had already been thoroughly purged. Residual signs of combat were visible on the shattered skeletons littering the ground.
"Did someone beat me to it?"
Gawain thought of D, Hunter of the Dead, whom he'd seen a few times at the Roundtable Hold. Normally, one would encounter him at Summonwater Village very early on. It seemed he had arrived a step too late.
Regardless, it saved him from wasting time. They continued toward the frontier. Once past Summonwater Village, Caelid was very close—he could even see the signs of active combat in the distance.
Ragnar had lost count of how many times he had repelled the rotting abominations attempting to breach the line. As one of the witnesses to the great war between General Radahn and Malenia the Severed, he had seen the entire horrific process.
After the Blade of Miquella bloomed and polluted all of Caelid, General Radahn knew he was too far gone. In a desperate move, the General chose to burn his own Great Rune to temporarily suppress the corruption, forcing himself to maintain a final shred of sanity to command his knights and contain the spread of the Scarlet Rot.
Once that was done, he had broken his own legs and effectively sealed himself on the wailing dunes. But for a General capable of manipulating gravity magic, that was merely a temporary, desperate measure.
This was why Castellan Jerren was so urgent about holding the combat festival. If they waited any longer, the completely maddened General—even in his unconscious state—would likely release enough gravity magic to level Redmane Castle entirely.
Before the General lost his mind, Ragnar had received his final orders. Along with other elite Redmanes, he had led his soldiers to fight their way through the remnants of the Cleanrot Knights and various rotting beasts.
They had successfully sealed the border between Caelid and Limgrave before the corruption could spill over, establishing the Smoldering Wall to suppress the Rot. This was a technique derived from the Fire Monks, combined with the forging skills of the Giants, allowing them to efficiently repel wave after wave of attacks.
Though they relied on the power of fire to forcibly restrain the spread, the endless tide of rotting creatures still inflicted heavy casualties. Even a slight scratch from them was a nightmare to treat.
Particularly troublesome were the Kindred of Rot—the Pests. They were agile and could launch high-velocity threads of silk from their backs. Even an elite like Ragnar could be taken down if he let his guard down for a second.
The Scarlet Rot represented a twisted yet vigorous vitality. As long as the corruption wasn't purged, these creatures would continue to spawn endlessly from the Heart of Aeonia. No one knew what other distorted monstrosities lurked in the depths of that boiling swamp.
To be honest, Ragnar didn't know how much longer he could hold out. The Demigod back in Stormveil had long since been scared witless and refused to provide any support. The ceaseless combat had nearly drained Ragnar's last ounce of strength.
Whether it was the flame-spitting war machines that had run out of fuel or the crumbling sections of the Smoldering Wall, their defensive pressure was mounting. Even if Redmane Castle wanted to send aid, the supply caravans were often ambushed by swarms of Pests on the road.
But a few days ago, things had changed. Even from Caelid, he had seen the anomaly at Stormveil. That storm reaching for the sky had been so intense that even the Kindred of Rot attacking their line had retreated in fear.
Shortly after, they had seen Castellan Jerren's envoys hurrying toward Limgrave. That day, Ragnar knew a turning point was coming. If he was right, Limgrave had a new master.
Ragnar could only hope that the newcomer was a rational person who understood that if the corruption spread, everyone was doomed. That hope was the only thing keeping them standing.
Today was another "peaceful" day in Caelid. The offensive from the Kindred of Rot was more fierce than usual, joined by a massive horde of residents who had been turned by the rot. The two sides clashed around the Smoldering Wall.
Then, two "heavyweights" appeared: mutated crows covered in pustules and giant monstrous dogs. These two variants had dealt a heavy blow to Ragnar's unit when they first arrived at the border. The fluids they leaked, infused with the power of rot, were almost impossible to handle without sacrificing lives.
And this time, their numbers were overwhelming. Ragnar broke into a cold sweat. Just as he was considering deploying the very last operational flame-chariot, he heard a clamor of shouting from behind.
His scalp tingled. Had those things found another way around and flanked us? But before he could turn around, the Kindred of Rot were upon them. A rotting dog lunged at him with venomous fangs, while the white pests nearby unleashed a barrage of high-precision silk threads.
Years of fighting these things had made Ragnar familiar with their patterns. If he were only facing the enemies in front of him, it wouldn't be so hard.
But worrying about his rear while protecting his comrades in front caused him to lose focus. The silk threads struck his armor repeatedly, piercing several gaps. Under the force of the impact, he stumbled back several steps.
The rotting dog in front of him saw its chance. It feigned a bite before suddenly changing direction, pouncing and pinning him to the ground. His weapon slipped from his grasp and clattered to the side.
"It's over."
Ragnar knew he couldn't dodge this. Not just the dog, but the crows in the air and the Pests on the ground were closing in. The Radahn soldiers beside him were cut off and unable to help.
Just as he prepared for the end, a glob of searing fire entered his vision. It struck the rotting dog pinning him and exploded. The power was perfectly controlled—it cleared the threat without splashing the dog's corrosive fluids onto him.
"As we discussed! Priority is to cover the Redmane Legion. Maintain distance! Use your Storm arts in tandem with my fire!"
Gawain had seen the battlefield at the Smoldering Wall from a distance. He had already applied Fire Grease to his weapon and used a fireball to save the downed Redmane Knight.
The Storm Knights behind him received the order and dismounted, forming a tight phalanx. Horses were of little use here; a single silk thread from an ambush could bring a mount down. A disciplined formation was the safest way to slowly drive back the chaotic horde of rotting creatures.
Gawain himself didn't need such caution. He urged Torrent forward at maximum speed, timing his leap perfectly. He vaulted from the saddle and cleaved through a pustule-covered crow, taking half its head off. With his blade wreathed in flames, the damage to these creatures was devastating.
"Can you stand?"
Gawain extended a hand to the Redmane Knight lying on the ground. The man didn't seem to have any major injuries, just exhaustion.
"I can... wait, behind you!"
As Ragnar took the offered hand to pull himself up, he saw the crow that had lost half its head twitching, attempting a desperate ambush.
"Resilient bastards. Let's see you stand up after this."
Gawain didn't even turn around. He reached back and grabbed the crow's beak with his bare hand. A burst of flame erupted from his palm, and in an instant, the massive carcass was incinerated into ash.
"Alright. Go to the rear and rest. We'll take it from here."
He ignored the stunned Redmane Knight and sheathed his previous weapon. In his right hand, the Greatsword of Lorian manifested.
More and more rotting creatures were swarming toward his position. This was exactly what he wanted.
Gripping the greatsword with both hands, he lowered his stance into a ready position. The flames of the Demon Prince, dormant within the blade, began to roar to life.
Weapon Art: Lorian's Flame.
A fan-shaped wave of all-consuming fire erupted before him. Every living thing within the blast radius thrashed in agony amidst the inferno, eventually reduced to nothing but ash.
"What... what kind of fire is that?"
Ragnar stared at the scene, dazed. What manner of flame was this? Even the fire wielded by the Fire Monks lacked such raw, primordial power. In the leaping flames, he thought he saw the flickering image of a winged monster.
"Effective, isn't it?" Gawain said, planting Lorian's Greatsword into the ground. With his left hand, he used Pyromancy to spread the fire further, hunting down the fleeing Kindred of Rot. "It's the flame left behind after slaying a Demon Prince. Using it on these things is almost overkill."
By now, the Storm Knights had fully engaged. Each knight unleashed their specialized Storm arts, crashing into the wavering lines of the rotting creatures.
The storms they gathered merged with the spreading fire on the ground, forming massive fire whirls that scoured the land, burning even the scarlet soil back to its original golden hue.
"My deepest thanks for your timely arrival," Ragnar said, looking at the newcomer. His own armor was a patchwork of scars. Gawain sighed and cast a Miracle on him, mending his fatigue and wounds.
"We should have come sooner," Gawain replied. "I apologize for leaving this burden on your shoulders for so long. I am here at the invitation of your Castellan for the festival, and I represent Stormveil in aiding the Redmane Legion."
He looked at the knight. "You've done well. Tell me, what is your name?"
"So you are the Lord of Stormveil? You may call me Ragnar. I am currently the last surviving Redmane Knight on this section of the line. My brothers here follow my command."
"Good. I'll need your input to fortify these defenses. This is only the first wave of support. Tell me whatever supplies you need; the troll-drawn caravans will be arriving in a steady stream."
Ragnar could hardly believe the good news. If his entire body weren't aching, he'd have thought he was dreaming. He had a thousand things to say, but the words were stuck in his throat.
"Take your time," Gawain said. "Think it over, then let me know."
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Elden Ring: In the Name of Ash (120 chapter - Ongoing)
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