"No, I don't think this was the insects' fault."
After hearing what Lloyd had done, the corner of Morgott's mouth twitched. He seemed to have a lot to say, yet couldn't find the words.
To be honest, when he'd warned the others earlier to "watch out for Lloyd," all he had meant was that these short-sighted bugs had provoked a plague god and gotten wiped out by his bizarre power.
But tormenting those twisted things to the point of collapse—and even driving them to suicide—that was something he had never imagined...
Then again, since it was Lloyd, maybe it wasn't so surprising.
After taking in the situation, Morgott didn't linger. He had more work to attend to. Before leaving, though, he passed along what he'd just learned.
"There's been some disturbance in the Snowfields. My men found traces of Those Who Live in Death..."
"Those dressed like they're from the Land of Reeds also came from that way. According to my scouts, they seem to be fighting each other—searching for something..."
"Besides that, there are signs of the Filth, the Stars, and even the Moving Dolls..."
"The place isn't right. Be careful... and keep an eye on my people. Don't kill them."
After delivering his message, Morgott went back to his overtime.
Lloyd, once he was gone, sat by the fire a few more times, trying to bring the insects back—but every attempt failed.
Picking up a stick, he poked at the lifeless insect husks on the ground before shaking his head.
"Sigh... if you'd just held out a little longer, I would've let you clock out. Why go this far..."
Confirming the insects could no longer respawn, Lloyd noticed the nearby Vulgar Militia staring at him in terror, trembling and stumbling back whenever he drew near.
He sighed, choosing not to trouble them further, and instead stepped into the Grand Lift bearing his name, presenting the Medallion Melina had given him.
Thump... thump... thump...
As the statues on either side rotated, the great lift began to rise.
The ground shook as the platform ascended, climbing through endless darkness until Lloyd reached the upper Snowfields.
Before him stretched a boundless range of white mountains buried under ice and snow.
The Snowfield...
Stepping out of the lift, Lloyd looked around, his expression touched with nostalgia.
The Painted World. The Snowfields Beyond the Wall. Irithyll...
Remembering those past frozen lands, steep with malice and sudden spikes in difficulty, he made his way to a nearby Site of Grace, reached out, and activated it.
Normally, after that, Lloyd would have pressed on with his exploration.
But this time, after kindling the Grace, he glanced at the two girls beside him. After a moment's thought, he switched to his main account.
He gathered some fire-resistant kindling, set it alight, then pulled out a greatsword with a single-helix blade—more fire poker than weapon—and drove it into the flames.
Boom—
The fire flared in a small burst, then shrank, settling into a new save point at his feet.
It wasn't a Site of Grace.
It was a Bonfire.
[BONFIRE LIT]
"Long time no see, old friend."
Staring into the familiar flames, feeling their warmth, Lloyd's nostalgia deepened.
He was about to wave Melina and Millicent over to warm themselves when something stirred.
From deep within the Snowfields, a presence lifted its head. Upon sensing the familiar aura, its emotions began to surge.
"Llooooyd—"
The roar shook the entire Snowfield, triggering avalanches and landslides that buried unlucky Insect-Hosts and Those Who Live in Death.
But unlike Seath's cry back then, this voice carried no anger. It sounded almost... joyful.
Hearing it, Lloyd raised an eyebrow. After a moment, he cupped his hands like a megaphone and called back.
"Where are you—"
No reply.
Instead, the bonfire before him flared, releasing a thin wisp of flame that drifted forward, pointing the way.
"Alright then, wait there. I'll come find you—"
Answering the call, Lloyd turned back to Melina and Millicent. The three of them lingered by the fire, warming themselves and watching the snowy expanse for a while.
Then Lloyd stood, brushed the snow from his clothes, took out his Spectral Steed Whistle, and rode in the direction the flame had shown him. Before long, he came upon a ruin crawling with insect-possessed humanoid monsters.
The sight of the insects made him pause mid-step.
After a brief hesitation, Lloyd glanced at the guiding flame. Before he could say anything, the flame swayed gently, as if to say, "Take your time."
So Lloyd dismounted Torrent and approached the insect-thralls, who still didn't understand what they were up against—and even dared to charge him.
Then...
There was no "then."
By the time the last insect had cracked its skull against a wall, Lloyd had cleared yet another special challenge.
This time, thanks to the insects' efforts, he collected a sizable number of fragments.
And because of something he had obtained earlier, he directly unlocked a spirit summoning option.
[Summon 'Slave Knight Gael'?]
Slave Knight Gael. When Lloyd fought Radahn, one of Gael's fragments had been lodged in Radahn's neck.
Because that fragment was relatively intact, the summoning requirements were surprisingly low despite Gael's considerable strength. After just two waves of insects, the conditions were met—and even after summoning, Lloyd still had plenty of materials left.
So once the conditions were fulfilled, Lloyd didn't hesitate. He selected the option on the spot.
A black fragment shot from his hand, drifting into the distance. It pulsed like a beating heart, contracting and expanding in steady rhythm.
Thump—
Thump—
The dark heart began to beat, and with each pulse, countless wailing shadows poured out through its cracks.
The surrounding light dimmed, the air grew heavy and thick, and an ominous aura spread outward, blanketing nearly the entire Snowfield. Even the Royal Capital below could sense that something was wrong.
[Morgott: What's happening in the Snowfield?]
[Ashen One: Nothing. Just some old timer waking up and yawning.]
[Morgott: ?]
Then, with heavy, bone-rattling footsteps, a gaunt elder stepped out from the fragments. He wore ragged slave's armor and carried a rusted, broken sword.
The moment he stopped, the portal behind him snapped shut, and all the strange phenomena vanished as if nothing had happened.
"Ah, Lord Lloyd..."
Gael, just pulled back into existence, looked around with a dazed expression.
"Is this... the young lady's painting?"
"No. Another world."
Lloyd shook his head.
"Want me to explain?"
Gael froze, then as if recalling something horrific, his face twisted.
"No, no... don't trouble yourself..."
"Truly?"
"Truly."
Startled back to clarity by Lloyd's tone, Gael looked around once more. After confirming this wasn't the Painted World, he turned back to Lloyd, hesitating.
"The Blood of the Dark Soul..."
"I gave it to her," Lloyd said calmly.
"The new Painted World was created, and it endured for a long time."
A long time—but in the end, it still failed.
Realizing this, Gael fell silent for a long while before nodding.
"Lasting longer... that's good enough."
Slave Knight Gael had once served a "young lady."
Though called a slave knight, their bond was closer to that of grandfather and granddaughter.
The young lady possessed a rare gift: with special pigments, she could paint a "world within a painting."
Those pigments were the Blood of the Dark Soul—so rare and precious that even in the world of Dark Souls, they were almost unheard of.
But though she was called "young lady," she had no family, no faction—perhaps once she did, but by then it had long fallen into ruin.
Forget the Blood of the Dark Soul—she herself had been confined to a small library, unable to leave.
Gael had wanted to rescue her. But back then, he was only a slave knight, too weak to defeat her jailors alone. So he left the Painted World, seeking help outside.
And then...
He encountered a certain fool who had stripped off all his gear, hiding among the undead in a failed attempt to blend in. Once discovered, he was chased, beaten, and—true to form—still horsing around.
"Don't come any closer—!"
Seeing the swarm of undead chasing behind him, Gael's scalp went numb.
"You—what—are—you—"
But the other didn't hear a word. Moments later, he charged straight toward Gael with an army of undead stretching across the hills at his back.
After that, the two ended up running together.
As for how that mess ended...
Gael back then had been nothing more than a frail, aging slave knight. He couldn't keep running for long.
Just when he thought it was over, the Ashen One noticed. He stopped, turned, and with a single Fireball, obliterated the entire horde in an instant.
Gael's eyes went wide.
"Then why were you running?"
"Oh, they've been lying underground too long. I just thought I'd drag them out for some exercise."
Gael: "......?"
That was their first meeting.
Afterward, things developed naturally.
Hearing the slave knight's plea, the mad Ashen One immediately offered his help.
They entered the Painted World, uncovered the mastermind, defeated him, rescued the young lady, and afterward even accompanied Gael to the Ringed City to search for the pigment she needed...
But the Ringed City was a place of broken time. The two were separated upon entering. The Ashen One fell into a timeline far in the future, where Gael had already wandered for countless years.
Following the guidance Gael had left behind, the Ashen One pressed forward. At the end, he found the vessel sealing time itself. Shattering it revealed the world as it truly was.
A gray desert of ash, where cities had long since vanished. From the high ground, nothing could be seen but broken ruins.
And as for life—after the last wailing hollow crawling toward him was impaled by a broken sword—
The entire world held only two figures.
The Ash without Fire.
And before him, the friend who had fought by his side for so long, guiding him along the way—
Now lost to madness.
"Give me your Blood of the Dark Soul—"
With Slave Knight Gael's furious roar, the final battle began.
After a desperate struggle, and with every attempt to bring his mind back failing, the spiral greatsword pierced through the slave knight's chest.
Thud—
Ashen One stared in silence at his fallen comrade before cursing under his breath.
"Damn old man... you weren't this fierce when you were helping me..."
He stepped forward, laid a hand over Gael's eyes, and gently drew it downward.
"I'll deliver the Blood of the Dark Soul to her."
"If you're tired, then rest."
And so, worn down by twisted time, having arrived who knows how long before Ashen One, having fought endlessly until his armor was ruined, his body broken, even his blade shattered—Slave Knight Gael finally closed his eyes in exhaustion, surrendering to eternal rest.
From here, by the usual telling, Lloyd would hand the pigment born of the knight's life to the young lady, sustaining her world and reaching a perfect salvation.
In fact, afterward, Lloyd even brought forth an older version of Gael from an earlier timeline. With Seath's aid, he made it possible for him to coexist with the Blood of the Dark Soul without conflict, securing what could only be called a perfect ending where all survived.
But...
Looking around, remembering Lloyd's earlier words—
Though his memories weren't whole, Gael could already guess what came after. Not all effort is rewarded. Not all stories end well.
As one born from the world of Dark Souls, he understood that truth far too well.
After a long silence, he finally absorbed it all, then slowly raised his head to meet Lloyd's gaze.
"Then... the young lady..."
A brief pause.
"I didn't let her suffer. In the end, she even let me hold her."
Perhaps it was the bitter cold, but their words seemed to freeze in the air.
Amid the wind and snow, the gaunt old man's figure hunched further, as though he might topple at any moment.
After a long time, he seemed to realize something. Slowly, hopefully, he raised his head.
"If you can bring me back... then the young lady..."
"It's possible."
Lloyd hadn't studied it in depth, so he couldn't promise.
But for someone who had lived mired in despair, "possible" was enough.
And when it came as Lloyd's "highly possible," it was more than enough.
Gael's spine straightened. Fire returned to his eyes.
No more words were needed—he trusted Lloyd, as he always had.
"What can I do?"
Lloyd thought for a moment.
"Help me hunt monsters. Gather materials."
The old knight seemed to remember something, and he smiled faintly.
"Just like before, then."
"The work's the same, but..."
Lloyd glanced at the broken sword in Gael's hand and clicked his tongue.
"This time, I expect you to fight like you did against me. Don't tell me you've gone back to the way you were at the start..."
"Of course not."
...
Not long after their exchange, the monsters in the distance caught sight of him.
At the edge of vision, a ragged man approached, clad in torn clothing, a red hood and cloak draped over his gaunt frame, so frail he looked as if the wind might blow him over.
In his hand was a broken, rusted sword, snapped in half—less a weapon than a piece of junk pulled from a scrap heap.
Where did this old man come from?
The insect-possessed, now driven by their parasites and swollen with newfound power, glanced at one another in confusion.
But it didn't matter.
One of them rose and moved toward him.
Their numbers had already been thinned in battle against the Those Who Live in Death. Then came an avalanche, and the unnatural wails that had terrified many of the insects to death, leaving them depleted.
This body didn't look like much, but at least it could serve as a vessel—
Clack.
A hand rested on its head.
The red hood lifted, revealing an aged, withered face beneath.
A rasping voice followed.
"You... are the 'insects' he spoke of?"
The body in his grip thrashed, swinging its weapon, striking at the gaunt figure.
But it left not so much as a scratch.
"Thought so... insects..."
And with the sound of flesh tearing, the old man twisted the head clean off.
Splurt—
Blood sprayed, and the undying worm revealed itself, lunging for the old man the instant it emerged.
He didn't flinch, only watched as it sank its jaws into his chest, and then—
Boom—
A Dark Soul erupted, flooding straight into the worm's mouth through the bite. In an instant, it consumed flesh and soul alike.
The insect let go, its body swelling into a grotesque mass. Writhing in agony, it rolled across the ground, again and again trying to end itself. But even when it shattered its own immortality, the Dark Soul restored it—only to prolong the torment.
The old knight shook his head at the sight.
"I don't have his control..."
"Only he could wield it like that..."
Then he raised his head, staring at the remaining insects.
Behind him, countless Dark Souls flowed, unfurling into a blood-red cloak beneath his hood.
"All right... it's your turn."
The battered, broken sword lifted high.
The blood of kings and gods soaking it began to burn.
"For the young lady's return. For Lord Lloyd..."
"Give me your souls—"
"Now!"
Boom!