Several more days passed in waiting.
The construction teams that had previously been carrying out restoration work at the Academy had now completed all assignments and returned to Stormveil Castle.
Thanks to the dragonbeasts manufacturing methods learned from Sellia, Stormveil now possessed a considerable number of dragonbeasts. They had already become an important, and widely used means of transportation.
Within the inner ward of Stormveil, a single walking corpse wandered aimlessly.
This particular corpse wore a special uniform: a vest bearing Stormveil's hawk crest, with the words "Construction Team" marked below it.
The surrounding residents were long accustomed to his presence. Some even greeted him in passing, though of course, no response ever came.
Compared to other corpses, this one was indeed different. People frequently saw him roaming about.
It was said that he had first belonged to a construction team composed entirely of walking corpses. Later, due to outstanding performance, he was gradually promoted into a directly supervised team.
Because of this, he had become something of a minor legend within Stormveil.
Some claimed that in life he had been a skilled craftsman, which was why he could still competently perform various tasks even after becoming undead.
As for the truth, no one particularly cared. After all, a corpse could not be communicated with—
At this moment, however, this so-called corpse was none other than Morgott in disguise, continuously exploring every corner of Stormveil.
Since he was no longer assigned to work solely with the undead, but rather alongside the Tarnished, his working hours had decreased considerably.
Unlike before, when the corpse squads labored nearly without pause, performing endlessly repetitive and tedious tasks.
According to the locals, the term for that system was "assembly line."
Now that Morgott's current construction team consisted entirely of Tarnished, once certain portions of the work were completed, the Tarnished required rest. Naturally, he could wander about without raising suspicion.
A wandering corpse was the most normal sight imaginable.
In any case, someone would eventually come fetch him and drag him back to the worksite, reminding him to resume labor. Thus Morgott could confidently gather intelligence throughout Stormveil.
However, in Morgott's view, this identity had nearly reached its limit.
No matter how well he performed, what could a walking corpse possibly become?
He would never rise to squad leader, let alone team captain. There was no room for advancement.
Besides, he had not come here to work in the first place.
He had come to gather information.
…Though, truth be told, the experience of working had not been unpleasant. The people of Stormveil were, for the most part, remarkably friendly.
Still, Morgott had decided that this corpse identity would soon "die" or disappear, to be replaced with a new fabricated persona for his next infiltration.
This time, he intended to disguise himself as a Tarnished.
From there, he would collect intelligence elsewhere and continue learning Stormveil from within.
Over this period, he had already developed a thorough understanding of Stormveil's operations and structure.
It could be said that over eighty percent of its activities were organized for the Tarnished, or organized by the Tarnished themselves.
The Tarnished were numerous, and comparatively loosely managed. It was far easier to blend into the murk among them.
After all, not every Tarnished intended to serve Stormveil. Many were merely passing through.
For such individuals, Stormveil imposed few compulsory requirements. Register basic information, and one could enter the city.
After entry, the Silver Knights oversaw general supervision. To date, no major incidents had occurred.
So long as one avoided conspicuous misconduct, the identity of a Tarnished was the best possible cover.
A Tarnished could join any number of posts within Stormveil—guards, military units, or other positions. Morgott was confident he could uncover Stormveil's weaknesses from within such roles.
Thus, he was presently contemplating the best method to arrange the "death" or disappearance of this corpse identity.
At this moment, he even felt a trace of regret.
He should not have worked so diligently in the beginning. Having gained a measure of fame and recognition, it had become inconvenient to act freely.
Just as Morgott was lost in thought, he suddenly collided with someone.
Looking up, he saw a tall, handsome man before him.
The man was extravagantly dressed. Beneath a pitch-black cloak, he wore black armor inlaid with blood-red gemstones and adorned with gold ornamentation, luxurious to the extreme.
He had long, wavy black hair, a frostlike expression, and a trace of mockery in his eyes. When he slightly parted his lips, sharp teeth could be seen within.
Even distracted, Morgott would not normally fail to see where he was going.
The conclusion was obvious.
The man had deliberately walked into him.
Morgott understood at once. He had lingered too long in a relatively friendly environment and had nearly forgotten the temperament of ruffians in the Lands Between.
Though the other party was lavishly dressed, his character seemed far less refined. Likely some spoiled noble brat from somewhere.
Still, perfect.
Let us see what he intends. Perhaps he can simply kill me outright.
Morgott continued playing the fool, standing dumbly in place as though nothing had happened.
The man before him brushed at his garments angrily and cursed:
"You filthy corpse! How dare you bump into me? You've soiled my clothes!"
Immediately, he reached out and seized Morgott's shoulder.
As the man's grip tightened, Morgott felt a sharp pain.
He was mildly surprised.
This fellow possessed considerable strength, almost matching his temper.
A suitable candidate indeed.
While Morgott found himself quite satisfied with the situation, the man standing before him was thinking something very different.
Mogh exerted increasing force, yet he could not crush the shoulder of the corpse before him.
Shock overtook him.
What was going on?
Had he slept too long?
Or had something gone wrong while shaping this projection?
How could he fail to crush the shoulder of a mere corpse?
For a fleeting moment, Mogh fell into self-doubt—
Not long ago, Lucian had successively defeated General Radahn and then conquered and liberated the Academy.
Though Mogh forbade anyone from disturbing his slumber beside Miquella, it did not mean he was ignorant of events in the outside world.
Agents of the Mohgwyn Dynasty were scattered throughout the Lands Between. His information network was extensive.
Mogh and Lucian had long since formed enmity. Seeing Lucian's forces expand so rapidly, Mogh had temporarily decided to dispatch a projection here.
When the moment ripened, he would use this projection along with prearranged Bloody Fingers to sow panic and chaos within Stormveil.
Such methods were classic within the ranks of the Mohgwyn Dynasty.
This projection of Mogh had already infiltrated Stormveil Castle for quite some time.
Without Miquella at his side, he found Stormveil rather dull.
Unlike Morgott, who could patiently "haul mortar" and endure menial labor here, Mogh did not possess his elder brother's temperament.
The novelty had long since faded. Now, he was simply bored.
He had heard mention of this unremarkable corpse before. Having encountered him today, he thought it might be amusing to toy with him.
All he needed to do was inject cursed blood into the corpse's body. It would then become like the undead within his dynasty, usable as a human bomb in the future.
After all, a corpse could not speak. Tamper with it as he pleased, and there would be no one to tell the tale.
In that construction team, there was only a single corpse. The rest were living Tarnished.
No matter how one calculated it, this was a profitable exchange.
If it exploded at a construction site, it might even serve a small practical purpose.
Mogh pondered left and right but could not determine why he was unable to crush the corpse's shoulder.
Since he could not understand it, he would simply stop thinking.
He began channeling cursed blood directly.
A stream of accursed blood flowed from his palm, seeping into the corpse's body.
But the moment that blood truly invaded—
Both Mogh and Morgott's expressions changed.
Morgott sensed the cursed blood infiltrating his body and immediately invoked the power of the Golden Order, suppressing and extinguishing it.
Now he knew for certain.
The one before him was none other than his younger brother, the one who had embraced the Formless Mother: Mohg, Lord of Blood.
And when Mogh realized that his cursed blood had been snuffed out by this inconspicuous corpse, he felt the unmistakable purity of Golden Order power within him.
Before him, the corpse's expression darkened.
Two beads of cold sweat slid down Mogh's face.
Wait… brother?
My good elder brother… why are you not reigning properly in Leyndell, but instead working here as a laboring corpse?
At this point, several Tarnished had already gathered nearby, watching the unfolding scene.
Neither Morgott nor Mogh wished to speak openly under so many eyes. They both began considering how to extricate themselves.
Suddenly, Mogh had an idea.
He abruptly put on an exaggerated expression of shock and agitation.
He seized the corpse's shoulders with both hands and began shaking him.
"Brother! No! How have you fallen to such a state?!"
"You're filthy, and has even your mind begun to fade?!"
"Ah—! I failed to recognize you earlier! I deserve death!"
"I'll take you to my residence immediately. I'll clean you up properly!"
Morgott watched Mogh's operatic performance with visible speechlessness.
Still, he chose to cooperate.
The babbling corpse, who could only mutter incoherent sounds, suddenly threw himself forward as though recognizing kin and embraced him tightly.
Mogh froze for a brief instant, then instinctively placed a hand upon Morgott's back.
Locked in that embrace, both of them felt emotions far too complicated to articulate.
Soon after, Mogh pulled Morgott along toward the residence he had purchased within Stormveil.
The onlookers, seeing no violence, only a touching family reunion, lost interest and dispersed.
When they arrived at Mogh's house, Morgott surveyed the exterior with measured glances.
Mogh stood beside him in silence.
"Thou didst purchase this house?" Morgott asked.
Mogh nodded.
"I've accumulated quite a few runes."
After all, Bloody Fingers seldom returned empty-handed from their killings.
Morgott shook his head. There were matters he did not need spoken aloud to understand.
What Mogh had left in the underground was merely a projection. Having been confined below since childhood, how could anyone endure staying there forever?
Thus Morgott had never truly stopped him. He had simply turned a blind eye.
Inside the house, Mogh now appeared slightly restrained.
He truly had not expected that causing trouble at random on the street would lead him straight into his brother's projection.
What could one say?
Perhaps this was the inevitability of blood ties. Even infiltrating Stormveil, they had thought alike.
Morgott ceased all pretense. Sitting in a chair, he fixed Mogh with a stern gaze.
"Mohg… what seekest thou in this place?"
Mogh placed his hands neatly upon his knees, sitting upright.
"Well… you know, brother. Lucian's influence has grown too large. I came to create some obstacles for him."
"His strength is formidable, yes, but he is only one man. There must be places beyond his reach."
"And you, brother? Why have you come here?"
Morgott opened his mouth to reprimand him, but paused.
Right.
He himself had also come intending to undermine Stormveil from within.
Somewhere along the way, he had grown too immersed in the role.
"…I am here to gather intelligence."
Mogh considered it carefully.
Yes, what was there to fear?
This was his own brother. He had merely been startled by the sudden recognition earlier.
Now, there was nothing to be afraid of.
He gradually relaxed, shifting from rigid posture to leaning back against the chair.
"Brother… didn't you do the same?"