[This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence and gore. The content may be disturbing and unsuitable for all readers. Reader discretion is strongly advised.]
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Through the main gate, a Site of Grace flickered faintly in the hallway. Lucian touched it, lingering for only a moment before turning toward the lift that would carry him into the heart of Castle Morne.
"Wait a moment."
Melina's voice stopped him.
"That seed you just picked up—it's a Golden Seed. I can help you work it into a Sacred Flask."
Lucian had nearly forgotten. He quickly handed her the Golden Seed. If he could strengthen his flask before entering the castle, he'd have a much better chance of survival.
Melina accepted it and, from somewhere unseen, produced a small knife. She began working the seed with delicate precision.
"Don't worry. It won't take long."
While she worked, Lucian busied himself with his gear. The halberd, still infused with Storm Stomp, and the Lorwsworn's Greatsword—both would serve him well. One for cutting through groups, the other for felling stronger foes.
He also decided to bring a shield, in case he couldn't dodge in time during an ambush.
First he tried the brass shield, but its weight was cumbersome and the coverage too small for single-handed use. He set it aside.
From his pack, he pulled out the Flame Crest Wooden Shield he'd scavenged in the diseased village. It was longer than most medium shields, covering more of the body. Being wood, it was far lighter—though its defense was lacking, it would suffice against the weaker misbegotten.
There wasn't much else to bring.
Then his fingers brushed against a cold, engraved lump of metal—a talisman depicting an ancient golden dragon. The Dragoncrest Shield Talisman. Hakkan had found it near the Stranded Graveyard and given it to him.
He'd never figured out how to use talismans. If all it took was wearing them, he could drape himself in stat-boosting trinkets from head to toe.
"Melina, do you know how to make a talisman work?"
Her hands kept moving as she answered without looking up.
"A talisman is an object infused with power. To use it, you must fuse it with yourself through special means."
"Like swallowing it."
Lucian stared at her. Swallow it? The lump of metal was half the size of his palm.
"Or," she continued, "you could pierce it into your flesh."
She paused, then added, "The safest way is with a talisman pouch sewn by the finger readers. It tricks the talisman into believing it's already inside you."
She sighed. "I can't help you with that right now. I apologize."
Lucian shook his head. "Don't apologize. You're my maiden. We rely on each other. If I left every problem for you to solve, I'd be the failure here."
Her hands slowed. With her head bowed over her work, he couldn't see her face.
"As your maiden, it is only fitting I feel regret when I cannot be of aid to you." she murmured.
When she lifted her head, the corners of her lips were faintly upturned, despite the apology. She held out the newly crafted Sacred Flask.
"Fill it with the drops you need," she said softly. "And… return to me alive. Don't die."
Lucian accepted the flask, a strange heaviness settling in his chest. He met her gaze.
"I won't die here. If I die, it'll be after I've brought you to the foot of the Erdtree."
The wooden lift creaked and groaned as it carried Lucian upward through the mountain. Despite its age, it was steady—until a foul stench reached his nose.
It was revolting. Burnt flesh. Rot. The thick, metallic tang of fresh blood.
The rock walls beside the lift darkened with streaks of blackened blood, dried and crusted. As the lift rose higher, the stains grew fresher.
Black gave way to dark red. Dark red to bright crimson. Blood still seeped down the stone in sluggish rivulets.
At last, the lift shuddered to a stop.
Bodies—civilians—lay discarded before him, limbs at unnatural angles.
Once, the stone steps ahead had led to the proud gates of Castle Morne. Now they led into hell.
Blood streamed down the stairs from the open gates. Beyond, the walls were draped with corpses—residents, soldiers, all strung up like grotesque trophies.
Lucian's face was expressionless, though his eyes were cold.
Each step up the blood-slick stairs clung to his boots as though trying to hold him back, whispering in voiceless pleas: Don't enter. Don't add another corpse to the pile.
From the gate, the full view unfolded.
The courtyard was littered with bodies, mingled with dirt until there was nowhere clean to step.
In the center, a mound of corpses rose like a grotesque hill. Misbegotten danced around it, poking the pile with spears and lighting bonfires atop the dead, celebrating their "victory."
There were children among the fallen. Elderly. Soldiers. Servants. All mutilated beyond recognition—faces hacked away, limbs scattered.
This wasn't slaughter for survival. It was cruelty for pleasure. Even in death, the bodies were not spared; the misbegotten kept hacking, delighting in every spray of blood.
In the game, Lucian had felt nothing toward the misbegotten—neither fondness nor hatred. They had been just another group of minor enemies. Rebellion against oppression was, in itself, understandable.
Back then, he had cared only for the named NPCs, the mighty foes, the legends. The massacre at Castle Morne had been background noise to the story of Irina and her father.
But now… now the city beneath his feet wailed in silence. The corpses screamed for justice.
The demigods didn't care. The great heroes didn't care.
Only Lucian cared.
This hellish sight changed something in him.
Perhaps, he thought, the misbegotten were right to be born slaves. Look at them, unleashed—mindless butchery, joy in torture.
It wasn't a fair judgment. He knew that. But he wasn't one of them—he was human. And as a human, he would avenge humans.
His grip on the halberd tightened until his fingers ached.
The misbegotten had noticed him now, calling out to their kin, drawing weapons as they surged toward him.
Lucian bared his teeth.
"If that's how it is… then I'll make sure I'm just as over the top."