The Crucible Knight and the Leonine Misbegotten lowered their weapons, though confusion lingered in their eyes.
They could not quite grasp Jerren's words. From their own perspective, the duel had revealed much: Lucian's strength was immense, his skill refined, and even under their coordinated assault he had suffered no injury. Yet he had never gone on the offensive—merely withstood their blows.
If this was not his full strength… then the truth was staggering.
Had they watched from afar, they might have realized the same. Lucian had fought them with ease, not strained in the least, and that alone spoke volumes. But in the heat of battle, perception dulled. It was Jerren, the observer, who saw clearly.
As if reading their doubt, Jerren explained:
"Though your clash was brief, I saw enough. That wall of wind he conjured—casually, no less, is no feat of ordinary men. Had he turned that storm to offense instead of mere defense, it would have been far more than a shield against flame."
"He withheld the storm. He withheld his true weapon. And still, he fought you as if it were nothing."
Step by step, Jerren descended the stairs and came to stand before Lucian.
"Such arms, such mastery of storm—no common warrior commands them. So I must ask… are you not the lord of Stormveil, the new Storm King?"
The Crucible Knight and the Leonine Misbegotten froze, realization dawning. The storm that had split sky and 'earth'—that day when all of Caelid had seen the heavens torn apart—yes, it could only have been him.
The three of them turned their gazes upon Lucian. He met their eyes and gave a simple nod.
"That's right. I am."
At his answer, the Leonine Misbegotten and the Crucible Knight exchanged a look. There was no anger at the battle's interruption—only relief, even joy.
If this warrior truly was the Storm King—Then surely he could grant their lord, General Radahn, a glorious and honorable end.
Radahn had wandered lost for far too long. The thought pained them beyond words.
Jerren laughed, a deep, gravelly sound. "Ha! So it is true. Even old age has not robbed me of my sight, it seems. Since the Storm King himself has come to me, you must have business. Speak your purpose."
Lucian inclined his head. "I do."
"Then let us not linger here," Jerren said, turning. "This is no place for such talk."
The Leonine Misbegotten and the Crucible Knight stepped aside, clearing the path. Lucian followed Jerren up the staircase, emerging onto a wide platform where an old chapel stood.
Inside, Jerren dragged a sturdy chair—one of the few not yet broken—and set it before a small table. He himself sat behind it upon a rickety seat of his own.
"My apologies," Jerren said with a weary chuckle. "You've seen Caelid's state. It has been long since we had guests, long since these halls saw any need for repair. A table that holds together is luxury enough."
Lucian tested the chair, found it sound, and sat without complaint. "I don't concern myself with trifles. What matters is the talk itself, not the room around it."
He remembered speaking with Ranni under little more than a cloth drape; setting hardly mattered when the stakes were high.
"So then, Storm King," Jerren said, "what brings you here?"
"I've come to challenge General Radahn," Lucian replied openly, "and to claim his Great Rune."
Jerren chuckled again. "Indeed, that is the very purpose of the Festival. Yet why come to me beforehand? If impatience drives you, I will tell you now—I will not permit it. The Festival will not begin early, for General Radahn deserves an honorable end, not a desperate ambush."
Lucian shook his head. "Not at all. I hold order in high regard, and I would not trample another's ground with disrespect. My reason is simpler: I seek your help."
Jerren leaned back slightly, then nodded. "Ah. Forgive me. The Festival means much to us, and perhaps I grow over-sensitive. Speak, then. What is it you ask?"
"I brought with me a Perfumer. She is here in Redmane Castle even now. I intend to travel Caelid before the Festival begins, so I ask that you keep her safe while I am away."
Jerren raised an eyebrow. "For such a small matter, was it worth a special audience? Still, yes—she will be safe in this fortress."
But Lucian shook his head. "Not enough. She needs the protection of true champions—such as the Crucible Knight and the Leonine Misbegotten."
Jerren frowned, puzzled. "Why such insistence?"
Lucian answered plainly; "Because she is important. Not only to me—but to all of you. To Caelid itself."
The old knight stilled. A thought rose unbidden in his mind. "Wait… do you mean… the Scarlet Rot?"
Lucian gave a thin smile. "Correct. She is a perfumer who has long worked in Caelid. Recently, she crafted an aromatic capable of cleansing the Rot from an entire area."
Jerren's breath caught. His hand clenched tight upon the table.
To the Redmane army, such a thing was priceless beyond compare. They had long sought ways to stem the Rot: by flame, by steel, by experiment and sacrifice. But nothing was lasting. At best, they could burn it back for a time.
If what Lucian said was true—Even a fraction of a chance to purge the Scarlet Rot—Jerren could not ignore it.
He bowed his head solemnly. "Then with my life, I swear it—she will be kept safe. The Redmanes will guard her as if she were General Radahn himself."
Satisfied, Lucian nodded. The truth was, Hildegard's danger was not so great. The Scarlet Rot bore no will, no mind—it would not conspire to strike her down. Few even knew of her discovery. But caution was never wasted.
"Good," Lucian said. "Then that is settled. Beyond that, I have only curiosity. You seem deeply bound to General Radahn, and I would hear your story—if you are willing."
Jerren leaned back, arms folded. The iron mask hid his expression, but his posture betrayed the weight of memory.
"If you wish it, I will tell you. Better my tale be spoken than rot in my grave. Where to begin… ah. With how I first met him, perhaps."
"I was a wanderer in my youth, unbound as drifting weed. I lived as a guest knight, selling my sword, settling wherever roads took me. It was at Caria that I first crossed paths with General Radahn—a chance for which I remain grateful."
"He was yet young then, long before the name 'Starscourge.' But already he brimmed with ambition. He dreamed of Godfrey, the First Elden Lord, and of building an army mighty as his."
"In those days, General Radahn, Ogha, and I—though worlds apart in station—stood as brothers. We trusted one another. We fought as one."
"As he grew, his body swelled massive, so much that his horse could no longer bear him. Yet General Radahn would not abandon the steed. With Ogha beside him, he sought a teacher in Sellia, to learn the Carian art they lacked: the sorcery of gravity."
"It was there he met the white-haired master from the stars. From him General Radahn learned the sorceries that let him challenge the very firmament. And challenge them he did—he wrested the stars themselves into stillness, sealing the night sky above the Lands Between. Thus he became Radahn the Starscourge, his twin blades etched forever with the mark of gravity."
"After that, he forged his army. The tale of his feat spread, and men flocked to him by the thousands. The Redmane host was born, our sigil the lion wielding greatswords—an image of General Radahn himself."
Jerren sighed, voice heavy. The memories beyond were darker.
"Later I left Caria for good, taking service beneath General Radahn's banner. Again as a guest knight, but in truth, his man through and through. And then—the Shattering War began."
"This was no contest of turns. The demigods fought to the bitter end, for only one might claim victory. Only one could be Elden Lord."
"General Radahn sought the throne, as was his right. But to enter Leyndell, he had to break its walls. We tried twice. Twice we failed. Its bulwarks turned us back in ruin."
"We retreated to Caelid. But then she came—Malenia, Blade of Miquella. She came swiftly, with only her Cleanrot Knights at her side. No army, no supply lines. She sought only Radahn. We tried to speak, but she would not answer, demanding only battle."
"And so they fought. He did not fear her. He never feared. But at the last… she loosed the Scarlet Aeonia. The Rot drowned Caelid. Ogha fell. And General Radahn… Radahn was undone."
The knight's voice faltered.
"I always claimed to be free, unbound by cause or king. But for Radahn… for Ogha… I remain here still. Bound, at last, by grief."
Silence hung in the chapel. At length, Lucian spoke softly. "The Redmane army has no cowards. You are true heroes."
Jerren waved the words aside. Perhaps once he had cared for such titles. No longer.
"Old men talk too much," he muttered. "Forgive me. I meant only to share a little, and ended spilling all. I've kept you long. You said you plan to explore Caelid—shall I have men guide you?"
Lucian shook his head. "A map will suffice. Where I go, no escort could follow."
He sought the edge of Aeonia's swamp, where the veteran O'Neil lurked. Dangerous, yes, but necessary. For the needle was the very heart of his purpose here.
Soon Jerren returned with a map. Though rough, it bore careful notes—every Rot-blighted nest marked, each erased, each resurgent. The Redmanes had fought tirelessly, never yielding a single day.
Lucian accepted it and took his leave.
Jerren lingered in the chapel, pulling forth a small contraption: a clockwork bird, given long ago by his friend, the blacksmith Iji. He had never used it. Until now.
"Mmm. Thinking back stirs memory. Caria's fate lies with the stars, and though he is wise, he must not forget that truth. Best to send him word, just in case."
—
[T/N: Redmane Knight Ogha ]
❧ Redmane Knight Ogha is a summonable Spirit in the game.
Legendary ashen remains.
Use to summon the spirit of Ogha, the Redmane Knight.
Spirit of a mighty knight versed in the use of a greatbow.
A valiant warrior who will attack immediately after being summoned.
The longest-serving member of the Redmane Knights, Ogha studied techniques to manipulate gravity alongside Radahn.
May use a rain of gravitational arrows in response to a war cry, but only once.
Where to Find Redmane Knight Ogha:
❧ Dropped by the Putrid Tree Spirit in the War-Dead Catacombs located in eastern Caelid. To find the entrance of the catacombs, travel to the site of grace that appears after defeating Starscourge Radahn and proceed to head north by north east until you have reached the upper most corner of the area, where the watershore meets the cliffside. You'll be able to see the small door along the cliffside.
Facts about Ogha in-game:
❧ If the player uses the War Cry skill, he will roar in response, gain a temporary damage buff, and then fire a rain of arrows that travels in a line. They will only use this rain of arrows attack once per summon period. However, the player can use the War Cry skill again at any time to have him roar in response and gain a temporary damage buff (provided the buff is not currently active). This ability is also triggered by using the skills Barbaric Roar, Braggart's Roar, Beast's Roar, Troll's Roar, and Shriek of Milos, etc.
❧ Unlike most spirit ashes, Ogha does not follow you around after being summoned. He will instead patrol in a small area around his point of summoning. He can be made to move out of his patrol zone, if an enemy gets close enough to cause him to switch out his greatbow for a sword and pursue them. If his target then dies, the area he immediately occupies will become his new patrol zone. Given this peculiar trait, he is better used for boss fights and not as an escort through a zone. He can be manually directed using thrown Cursed-Blood Pots either at the ground or enemies.