"To the Eternal City?"
Sellen's eyes narrowed at the suggestion. She had yet to explore the wider reaches of the Lands Between, so she had naturally never stepped foot in the Eternal City. However, she had read countless records concerning it; both the Academy and the Carian royals possessed numerous volumes on the subject.
After all, the sorcerers of the surface shared a deep and ancient lineage with the survivors dwelling beneath the earth.
"I am quite interested in that place. Tell me, are there still people living down there?"
"Indeed," Mohg replied. "They possess their own unique technologies and weaponry, as well as several rare forms of sorcery."
"Is that so..."
Sellen's brow furrowed. The seed of desire to travel there had already taken root, but she had yet to master—or even acquire—all the notes of the Primeval Sorcerers held by Caria. This left her in a difficult position.
"Is there a problem?" Mohg asked, sensing her hesitation.
"Yes. There are many things regarding Primeval sorcery here in Caria that I haven't obtained yet..."
"I see... In that case, stay in Caria for now. I will give you the location of a blood pool. If the situation here turns sour, or once you are ready, head there directly. I will arrange for people to wait for you."
Mohg pondered for a moment before pulling a Pureblood Knight's medal from his robes and handing it to Sellen.
"This is your token of passage."
Sellen glanced at it and took it. "It's a bit ugly."
"...You have no eye for aesthetics," Mohg muttered after a long pause, looking thoroughly exasperated.
"Fine, I've got it. Is there anything else?"
"No."
"Then get out. Do not stay here and disturb my research."
With that, Sellen stood and made a shooing gesture. Mohg could only sigh helplessly as he was ushered out of her laboratory. Standing at the door, he shook his head and departed.
He still had to meet up with Beroklora—the Gaol Knight serving as an auxiliary member of the guerrilla unit.
Their current mission involved patrolling a specific sector together. Other areas were covered by different teams, but their zone was considered one of the most critical. After all, the guerrilla unit had limited manpower and other objectives to attend to; they couldn't commit everyone to simple patrol duty.
Consequently, they were assigned to the most dangerous regions—the areas most likely to see contact with Golden Order scouting parties or elite vanguard squads.
"Master Beroklora."
Arriving at the outpost, Mohg immediately spotted Beroklora sitting stoically in a chair, fastidiously wiping his massive greatsword.
"Ah, you've arrived. Let's move. The shift change is upon us, and we are short on time."
Beroklora didn't criticize Mohg for being slightly late. To Mohg, the man seemed remarkably nonchalant—almost "Zen" in his detachment.
Of course, that was likely an illusion. Most Gaol Knights possessed certain psychological scars or personality quirks; Beroklora was simply one of the more "temperate" ones. At least toward Carian personnel and citizens, he maintained a sense of reason, even if the rest of his emotions had long ago been swallowed by solitude and logic.
"I apologize for the wait."
Mohg offered a slight bow, and the two mounted their warhorses, galloping toward their designated sector.
Before long, they arrived at a secluded location. After a brief wait, several figures emerged from the forest. Among them was Mu'en, whom Mohg knew well.
"Yo, so the relief shift is you, Gwyn?"
"Indeed. Good to see you again, Mu'en. What's the status?"
"Nothing to report. Same old, same old. The Golden Order lot are playing it safe for now. They've sent out a few scouting parties, but they're just lingering at the periphery. They show no intention of pushing deeper."
"I see..."
Mohg nodded, though he didn't lower his guard. He intended to personally investigate the area where the scouts had been spotted during their patrol.
"You lot head back. Master Beroklora and I will take it from here."
"Right. Stay sharp," Mu'en said, giving a nod.
"Will do."
The two groups parted ways. Beroklora watched Mu'en's team disappear before turning to Mohg.
"Let's go. We'll take a look at the area near the Golden Order lines."
"My thoughts exactly."
With their objective aligned, they set off toward the perimeter of the Golden Order camp. An army of that size made no effort to hide; the pillars of cooking smoke rising in the distance made their position blindingly obvious.
Before long, the two reached the outskirts of the camp, maintaining a safe distance to avoid sparking an unnecessary skirmish. From their vantage point, they could discern the general layout of the tents and the external defensive measures.
"That must be the scouting party Mu'en mentioned," Mohg said, pointing to a group organizing their gear on the edge of the camp.
The squad consisted primarily of Leyndell soldiers and footmen, led by a figure Mohg didn't recognize. Based on the man's attire, he looked somewhat like a Confessor from the Church of the Two Fingers, but with subtle differences. He was likely part of a specialized reconnaissance branch within the Golden Order.
"Master Beroklora, do you sense anything unusual?"
"Nothing yet. Let's sweep the outer forest first. Since they haven't entered the interior, I suspect they've been busy setting up something on the perimeter."
"Understood."
Mohg nodded. He didn't believe for a second that the Golden Order had stopped exploring out of respect for Carian borders.
"Someone was watching us just now."
"Yes, I felt it. Likely Carian scouts. Our behavior must seem quite baffling to them."
The leader of the scouting party Mohg had been watching turned and spoke to the empty air behind him.
Bizarrely, though no one was visible, a voice replied. A figure slowly coalesced from the shadows behind the leader. The newcomer wore silver-black light armor draped in a faint, ethereal veil.
"Master Dilare, why have you revealed yourself?!"
"It's fine. Their aura is gone. I needed some air."
The Confessor-like squad leader's lip twitched, but he said nothing more. The man's status was far above his own. Dilare was said to be a powerhouse who had mastered assassination and concealment techniques from an unknown source. Their current mission was entirely centered around achieving this man's objectives.
"Let's move. Today is the final sweep. After this, I will remain permanently stationed at the forest's edge."
"Understood."
"Master Beroklora, have you found anything?"
Mohg had been scouting the forest's edge with Beroklora for some time, yet they hadn't found anything overtly suspicious. He couldn't help but ask.
He couldn't blame himself; he hadn't exactly put any points into "tracking" or "investigation."
Beroklora paused, his expression one of confusion. "Nothing of major importance yet. Just the scouts' footprints and a few markers. They've cleared some of our simpler magical traps along the path, but nothing else stands out. Yet... something feels wrong."
It was a rare long sentence from the knight. Clearly, his instincts were screaming that something was amiss, even if he couldn't put his finger on it.
Mohg was even more in the dark. He could sense a person's presence well enough—his heightened sense of smell and spiritual perception made him an excellent hunter. But tracking footprints or deciphering markings? If there was no lingering scent, he was blind.
"Hmm?"
Suddenly, Beroklora stiffened. He began walking purposefully in a new direction. Mohg followed, and they soon came to a stop beneath a massive tree.
"Is something wrong here?"
Beroklora didn't answer. He silently tilted his head back, looking into the canopy. Mohg followed his gaze.
It was then that Mohg caught a scent—a scent that didn't belong to either of them, and was distinct from the tracks they had seen earlier.
Glintblade Phalanx!
In an instant, five magical glintblades manifested and shot into the leafy crown of the tree. Beroklora was just as fast. The moment Mohg acted, the knight drew his greatsword and leaped, kicking off the trunk to soar into the branches.
Whoosh—!
Both of them heard the unmistakable sound of something cutting through the air from above. Beroklora didn't hesitate, unleashing a Solitary Moon Slash toward the sound. A crescent-shaped vacuum wave hissed through the air and slammed into a nearby trunk.
Creeaaaak—!
The tree, sliced clean through the middle, began to topple forward.
Thud!
"Missed. Stay sharp."
Beroklora landed and immediately moved back-to-back with Mohg.
"Understood."
Mohg raised his staff and cast Starlight to banish the gloom. Though it was daytime, the thick canopy made it easy for darkness to shroud one's vision.
As the starlight flared, a figure suddenly materialized directly in front of Mohg, raising a jagged, curved dagger.
The moment Mohg saw the weapon, his heart nearly stopped. A cold sweat drenched his back. Without a second's hesitation, he unleashed his most violent magical response.
A piercing frost, entwined with a glintstone storm, erupted from him like a cluster of scythes, lashing out at the figure.
The assassin was clearly taken aback by Mohg's explosive reaction and chose to retreat. Even so, they were unable to dodge completely and took a significant hit.
Mohg had lashed out with zero regard for his own safety—a desperate, scorched-earth maneuver.
In simple terms: Mohg had been triggered.
"Hah... hah..."
Mohg panted heavily, his face dark with suppressed fear. His hands were trembling, both from the cold of his own spell and the sheer adrenaline.
Now he knew why everyone hated assassins—especially those who dealt "True Damage"!
He had recognized the weapon instantly. It was a Black Knife, the signature weapon of the Black Knife Assassins!
His "trigger" reaction was born from the fear that the blade carried the power of Destined Death. Although he was protected by a Mimic Tear, he had no idea if that power would strike directly at his soul. If he actually died here, the game would be over.
He could see the headlines now: The First Demigod to Die is Mohg. "I, the Prince of Death, send money?" Perish the thought! And then Fia would become his? Absolutely not!
"Are you alright?"
Beroklora's voice was calm. He asked the question while keeping his eyes locked on the surroundings.
"I'm fine."
Mohg took a deep breath and gradually regained his composure. He had noticed something—the height of that "Black Knife Assassin" seemed... off.
Numen were known for being exceptionally tall. This person was roughly his height; not short, by any means, but not quite at the stature of a true Numen.
So... not a genuine Black Knife?
Before he could dwell on it further, Mohg decided he wasn't going to let this old geezer who had dared to jump-scare and ambush him get away. He slammed his staff into the ground.
"Master Beroklora, stand beside me. I'm going to use a spell to flush that rat out!"
"Understood."
Beroklora gripped his greatsword with both hands. A white light flared across both him and Mohg. Mohg felt a sudden buff of strength—he was surprised, but his hands didn't stop moving.
Freezing Mist!
Whoosh—!
In an instant, a white fog of frost—laden with tiny, razor-sharp glintstone shards—erupted from Mohg and expanded outward with terrifying speed. The temperature plummeted, coating the forest in a layer of silver frost. Even the ground was covered in a thin veil of snow.
Deprived of their concealment, the assassin's silhouette was forced into the light. The figure lunged from the shadows, dagger raised, charging straight for Mohg.
Seeing the attacker clearly now, Mohg finally let out a sigh of relief.
Since you aren't a real Black Knife, stop pretending to be such a big shot!
----Support me here: https://[email protected]/AuAuMon
Elden Ring: As the Consort, I Reject Miquella (Full)
Join the journey and become part of the story!