In the deep chasm formed in the middle of the central plaza of Innsmouth, the dust settled and there was no more movement.
What was a cacophony of warfare had now settled into the quiet of dead soldiers - or rather hunters.
Bleeding profusely, Phantasm shuddered and fell to the ground, no longer able to lift the [Rusted Anchor]. The Supreme Beast was strong, and it had managed to kill a number of Transcendents, but at the end of the day the people he were fighting were not beasts, and the Echo lacked battle experience. He had been able to overwhelm them with Gehrman's help and his raw ability, but he had reached the end of his rope.
Patting his Echo on the back (or rather, the side of his body that was opposite of his cavernous eyes) Gehrman complemented the creature. "You did good for your first time out. Really damn good."
The Echo turned and seemed to give a shrug. Then, Gehrman dismissed him, a shower of purple and white sparks intermingled and entered his Soul.
Indeed, a Supreme Beast was a force to be reckoned with, but it was also not all powerful. Gehrman was fairly confident that Phantasm could put up a fight, and even kill the average Saint back in the Waking World. But against the likes of the true powerhouses like Silent Stalker and Lonesome Howl, it would probably be a coin flip to decide who would win.
If his Echo got more Memory weapons though…things could change. The [Rusted Anchor] was oppressive as all hell, and its raw power was probably among the greatest in the history of the humanity of the waking world.
The nature of Phantasm's formless body meant that it could wield several weapons at a time, though it would probably take time for the Echo to truly learn how to be efficient about it.
Gehrman shook his head. He too was exhausted. Pale sparks covered his body as he switched to the [Hunters Attire]. With the change of clothes and having taken blood from the army of dead fish-folk around him, Gherman looked completely unharmed, like he hadn't even been in a fight to get here.
Contrary to this though, Gehrman was not in the best state. His Essence was running very low, with only a little under a single Soul Core's worth still at his disposal.
Still, he had gained a few things. He had gotten two new Transcendent Memories of the 1st tier and 3 of the 2nd Tier after that fight, and the Workshop Hunters had successfully evacuated.
He had also managed to get something very nice from Archibald - a prototype of bolt paper.
Gehrman blinked for a minute, and looked to the ground, realizing he had dropped it after his clothes disappeared and then reapered.
Dumbly, he bent down and picked it up, wiping some of the dampness of the wet cavern floor from it.
In truth it didn't really matter what happened to it.
Bolt Paper (and by extension Fire Paper) were actually Arcane materials. Or rather, they were made with Arcane ingredients. The paper itself was made from a compound of special wood fibers that existed in the areas where the old civilizations (like Hintertomb) resided. Then, it would be infused – through various methods that Archibald was still working out the kinks of – with the remnants of a Darkbeast or Watchdog of the Old Lords to make Bolt and Fire paper respectively.
This was…a bit disheartening. Gehrman had wanted to mass produce these special papers in his Citadel and the New Workshop, but it was unlikely to work without the remnants of those creatures of Yharnam.
Perhaps Gehrman could make them for himself in the next Nightmare, but unless the beasts of Yharnam and Pthumeru were to appear in the Dream Realm, it would remain nothing but a dream.
Still, the small edge of damage would be nice in the upcoming fight.
Gehrman sighed and pocketed the papers before leaping into the air, not using blood to pull himself up, but instead his raw physical ability.
From there, he took the roofs and did his best to stay stealthy.
In the spitting rain he made his way over to the area where the Cainhurst Royal Guards, the remaining Holy Blades, and the Pseudo-Supremes were having a devastating clash.
Along the way, Gehrman considered how best to go about ending this.
Things had gone well so far, exceptionally well really.
However he was under no illusions that he was out of the woods. Gairm and whoever was fighting him were extraordinarily powerful, and if Gehrman got in a situation where both wanted to kill him, it wouldn't matter how much preparation he had done or how many times he could revive, he would meet his end right here.
And that wasn't even considering the other Transcendents. Each was a powerful and experienced warrior with decades of training under their belt. None of them could compare to the likes of Gehrman or Gairm, whose work ethic and natural talent made their skill unreachable by anyone else, but that didn't mean he could blow them off.
Using [Eyes on The Inside] at a low power he glimpsed a faint whiff of the various Souls.
It looked like there were 5 Transcendents alive on each side, two Royal Guards were teaming up against Ludwig while a pair of Holy Blades worked to finish the rest of the Royal Guards.
An idea struck him then. A very stupid idea but one that had some merit.
Greed rumbled within Gehrman like a ravenous beast.
Simulations on how this would play out ran through his mind at astonishing speed. There was…a chance of failure. A chance of death. But also a chance to fulfill some ardent desires while also gaining the maximal amount of value.
Gehrman's silent footsteps entered a creaking, half-destroyed hut. Remnants of fish guts were strewn about, and the spattering of rain only worsened the stench.
At the moment, Gherman felt a jolt as he sensed blood spill, it seemed that the two Holy Blades had slain one of the Royal Guards and were about to move onto the next one.
It would be 3 on 1 then, then 4 on 1. Needless to say their presence would easily turn the tide of the battle in their favor.
Gehrman grimaced, wishing he had the Essence to use the [Slothful Evelyn].
Whatever, I'll just get creative.
His last vial of Great blood appeared in his hand.
After he activated some Madness to heighten his control over the blood of the 5th Rank, he would be immediately noticed.
There was no denying that.
…There was also no denying that those not ensconced in dreadful battle might overlook the sensation as a mere product of this accursed village.
Gehrman worked fast, shattering the vial and twisting the blood into a drill, and then, he started spinning it. The speed at which it rotated built up a good amount of friction against the air, and with molecular manipulation and the Vermin being set alight, a cloud of steam quickly formed as the idle run drops were instantly evaporated as soon as they entered the range of the fiery manifestation.
The Holy Blades were already moving, recognizing the dire threat not with logic, but instinct honed by battle.
They spread out, converging on Gehrman.
And then everything was steam.
The blood of the dead Royal Guard had melted into the wet ground, and the entire area lit up like it had been doused in oil.
A half of a second was bought with this maneuver as the Holy Blades readjusted their senses to fight without sight.
It only took half that time for the flaming blood drill, burning with white flames, to pierce the heart of one of the Holy Blades.
Naturally, the horrific sound of the attack bought Gehrman another half second.
And that was all he needed to bring down the [Burial Blade] and slice the achilles tendon of the remaining Transcendent, and then fire the [Blunderbuss] right into the man's skull.
[You have slain a Transcendent Human, Erwick].
[You have slain a Transcendent Human, Devos].
[You have received a Memory].
A rush of dopamine coursed through Gehrman.
His reserves were now at about 3/4 a Soul Core, doing molecular manipulation on Great blood drained his Essence more than he had assumed.
But if he played his cards right, Gehrman wouldn't need to use Essence until he reached Gairm.
His gaze traveled downwards, his [Sixth Sense] identifying the stiffening corpse of the Royal Guard. It was a shame he couldn't have killed this one instead.
In his heart, he hoped very dearly for one of the remaining Royal Guards to drop a Memory that was the Cainhurst Armor.
If not…he would have to do something quite gross.
…
Ludwig was in a state of complete focus. The world had faded and there was only the data of the environment and the foes before him.
These two had tenaciously hung on, for a while now. Even as Ludwig could sense the deaths of their comrades…and his own.
It happened one after the other. The deaths of proud and valiant warriors, true Spartans. Ludwig had dimly noticed it, but he had also noticed the enemies reaction. They two were experts and were barely fazed by the deaths of their comrades
Barely.
They had to know that a pair of Holy Knights had ganged up on the Cainhurst warriors, and that the tides of battle would soon shift. However, that never came. Instead they all fell, like an invisible plague was cutting through them.
Troublesome. Something is wrong.
He yearned deeply in his heart for the light of Guidance to return, to tell him what came next, but it would still be a few more minutes until the dilution of the Old Blood was complete and the force of the blessed Great One of light would return.
Ludwig did not have that time though. Once again, he had to make something of a gamble and end this.
He waited patiently until another man died, and then he made his move.
The slash of transient moonlight arced like any other, and the Cainhurst fighters moved to dodge, but they realized too late its trajectory.
The shining ray of Arcane power landed on the ground beneath their feet, forming a crater.
In the split second in which they were airborne, imprisoned by gravity, Ludwig made his move. With a loud crack he closed the distance, reaching out for the left-most man's throat and before throwing him into the ground.
A blood blade was already coming, ready to cut the eyes of the Leader of the Holy Blades, but it never made it.
A proud, but respectful small smile crossed Ludwig's face as he thrust his sword down with all its Arcane might.
This was the greatest explosion of the day – or rather, Ludwig's whole life – and the overpowering light shattered the arcing Chikage and flung the last Cainhurst Royal Guard a hundred meters backward. He slammed into a wooden home, shattering it.
As the light faded Ludwig let the blade drop to the ground as he grimaced. He was not wholly immune to the light, and the attack had hit him as well. His garb had protected him for the most part, but his face was red, and bits of skin peeled off revealing crimson blood underneath.
The Hero-Knight cursed and injected another vial of blood, doing his best not to let the intoxicating euphoria of the healing get to him.
As the dust cleared, he glanced down at what remained of the enemy. There wasn't much.
"You fought well. It may not have been an honorable duel, but you should take pride in a warrior's death all the same."
After a few seconds of silence, he leaped out of the crater, landing back on the true surface of this gods-forsaken Hamlet.
A ripple formed in the accumulating sheet of rain water covering the ground.
Ludwig raised his gaze to the debilitated Royal Guard who now lay in the wreckage. His armor had also held, but his internal organs must have been damaged, since a stream of blood appeared below the helmet, revealing the man was vomiting blood.
Satisfied, he made his way to finish off the man when a chill ran down his spine. Every hair on his body stood on end, brushing against the insides of his clothes.
No…They're all dead?
Indeed, besides the distant and harrowing clashes of Brador's fight, there was not a soul left in the now eerily quiet Hamlet.
All except for one.
Trudging slowly, a blood coated Cainhurst Royal Guard appeared. His armor appeared worn, but the man himself walked with a gait that suggested he was completely unharmed.
To his surprise, this new man turned to his comrade first. Taking off the dying man's helmet, a pale and shriveled face was revealed.
There is no saving him now. Ludwig silently told the man. And as if he had heard him, the last remaining Royal Guard took his weapon, a Reitersplach by the looks of it, and jammed it swiftly into the eye of the fellow Guard, piercing his brain and killing him instantly.
Ludwig stared surprised for a moment. Not because of the action itself, but rather its implication. If one of his Holy Blades had been in a similar dire state, Ludwig too would have ended the man's suffering to ease his pain.
It was a difficult, but honorable thing to do.
The last living Royal Guard slowly pulled the rapier-end of the weapon out of his comrades head.
Then he turned to Ludwig.
The last remaining Holy Blade felt that chill again.
He gripped the Holy Moonlight Sword tighter as the man stalked forward like a predator.
This one is different, how did I not notice him before?
And then, further unsettling Ludwig, the man performed a shocking gesture.
He bowed.
What was truly astonishing though was the angle, the arm placement, it was perfect. It was a gesture shared between Holy Blades before duels.
One of honor and respect.
Despite himself, despite the hell around him, Ludwig couldn't help but grin and return the bow.
"Good," he said with deep conviction. "Let's have a bout then."