Gawain paid no heed to the complex gazes of the onlookers. His eyes were locked onto the sickbed beside him, the faint light coalescing at his fingertips and settling steadily upon the patient's brow. His movements were fluid and precise, as though he had rehearsed them a thousand times.
From the first bed to the fifth, he maintained the same posture. Sweat rolled down his jawline and dripped onto the plain bed hangings, blooming into small, dark stains.
Fortunately, the five Shamans he had selected—all with similar symptoms—had survived the most grueling stage of the treatment: the expulsion of the foreign matter. Now, stripped of their agony, they had fallen into a deep, peaceful slumber, their breathing long and steady.
Only when the brow of the last Shaman fully relaxed did Gawain slowly withdraw his hand, exhaling a long, weary breath.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead. The conclusion he had drawn earlier was now even clearer: this one-on-one treatment was simply too inefficient. Five patients had taken an immense amount of time.
If he were faced with a greater number of sufferers, this would be a drop in the ocean. More importantly, the burden on both him and the patients was too heavy; a single slip-up could lead to disaster. He had only dared to try this because these specific women had proven they could survive the initial "surgery."
Only now did Gawain have the leisure to closely observe the Shamans he had just pulled from the brink. As his gaze swept over their pale yet now-distinct features, he couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration. The character design of Marika's Numen race was, truthfully, beyond reproach.
Even though they had been tortured into such a horrific state that their original features were blurred, the potential was obvious. Now that they were healed, their exquisite faces and the perfect forms hidden beneath thin layers of gauze made the claim that "each was a mini-Marika" seem like no exaggeration.
A cough from behind interrupted his appreciative gaze. He turned to see Messmer looking at him with eyes that seemed ready to devour him whole. Ultimately, however, the demigod said nothing else, merely gesturing to the other Shamans who were watching Gawain with expectant eyes.
"Can you help them with that light in your hand?" Messmer asked.
"I'm sorry, but at least for now, I cannot."
Gawain didn't make promises he couldn't keep. Seeing Messmer's slight disappointment, he stood up and added:
"My miracles are effective, but I'm not sure if their willpower can endure the transition back to a normal physical form. I've been through something similar myself, so I understand the sheer agony one must suffer to restore a body that has been turned into... this."
"You have had a similar experience?"
This answer clearly surprised both siblings. While Melina knew the fact that he was once Undead, he had never described his past in great detail.
"That's right. It was a place called the Undead Settlement. The residents there would capture people, cut them open, and bleed them to slow down the speed of their resurrection. Then they'd stuff them into jars and transport them via the Road of Sacrifices to a high place, to be fed to a certain 'drowning pig.'"
Even after all this time, Gawain's skin crawled when he remembered how many times he had been killed by those wretches after first flying over the High Wall of Lothric.
The laborers of the Undead Settlement couldn't even beat a Ghru from Farron Keep, but they had certainly left some of the deepest psychological scars. Back then, he was still weak. If he slipped up and didn't die instantly to return to the bonfire, he'd be cut open, bled, and packed into a jar with a heap of other corpses to be shipped to the Cathedral of the Deep. He'd have to find a way to end his own life just to escape.
"I remember having to end myself to wait for rebirth from the flames, or, if I was lucky, crawling out of a jar to heal myself. I know exactly how it feels to have flesh that has fused with your wounds forcibly stripped away. So believe me, they cannot handle that pain right now. Clear away as much of that foul flesh as possible first. Only then can I truly do my work."
Messmer frowned, feeling as though he were listening to a somewhat clumsy fairy tale. In his world, such things defied logic—infinite resurrection and that peculiar flame were far beyond his understanding.
He glanced toward his sister, seeking confirmation, and received a firm nod.
Melina couldn't imagine the horrors of a place called the "Road of Sacrifices." She only felt a pang of heartache looking at Gawain, who spoke of such a terrifying past with such feigned indifference. It was no wonder that the Frenzied Flame, the embodiment of despair, could not touch his mind after he had endured such a journey.
"That flame within you... is it the source of that power?"
"You could say that. But what remains in me is merely a lingering ember that hasn't yet vanished. It's enough to replicate a fraction of the First Flame's majesty."
"The First Flame..."
Messmer turned the unfamiliar term over in his mind. Was this the source of the man's stunning power? He wondered if it was a force on the same level as his own Abyssal Serpent flame, or perhaps a gift from some Outer God.
"No matter," he sighed softly, pushing his doubts aside. For the sake of his mother's kin, he should show more goodwill. Moreover, if the man's past were true, any warrior who could endure such things and remain as he was now was truly a person of iron will.
He turned slowly to the group of Shamans. They still dragged bloated, deformed bodies, every breath heavy and labored. Yet, when he cast an inquiring look their way, their eyes lit up with a faint shimmer. They nodded in unison—a gesture of trust and silent support.
The last of Messmer's hesitation vanished. He scanned the surrounding perfumers. They had remained silent throughout, standing tall like pines, their eyes free of idle curiosity. He knew these people were not only skilled but understood the necessity of absolute secrecy. They were people he could trust.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low but firm.
"You all heard him. Immediately move those who have been healed to a hidden location and settle them properly. Ensure their safety at all costs. As for those still suffering, do not worry about being gentle. Strip away the foul flesh as best you can. Even if the process is crude, it is worth it if it gains them a hope of being cured."
The perfumers didn't hesitate. They bowed and immediately set to work with methodical efficiency. Messmer stood there, watching their backs, the warmth in his heart deepening. He felt that perhaps the dark clouds that had hung over this place for so long were finally beginning to break.
"You two, come with me to the dark chamber at the top. I will answer whatever questions I can."
Messmer didn't disturb the patients further. With a slight nod, he turned and led the way. Seeing this, Gawain suppressed his urge to go find Leda and the others. He had many questions, and now was the best time to ask.
The usual route to the dark chamber was a hassle, involving the winding corridors of the Storehouse and a long external staircase on the tower's outer wall. However, Messmer led them into the depths of the Specimen Storehouse to a secret lift.
This lift was built for his Fire Knights to facilitate their audience with him. Rarely used by others, it offered excellent privacy. And, of course, there was no need for secrecy in front of his sister.
With the soft hum of machinery, the lift ascended directly to the outer edge of the Storehouse's top floor. Outside the door was a suspended bridge leading straight to Messmer's dark chamber, bypassing much of the climb.
Opening the doors to the chamber, the dim environment was illuminated by flickering candles. The most striking feature of the otherwise empty room was a perfectly intact statue of Marika. Thinking about how Messmer stayed here all day, unwilling to leave, made the scene feel somewhat poignant.
Messmer stopped and turned to Gawain and Melina. He scanned the empty bridge, and after confirming no one was watching, he heavily closed the doors.
"We are alone now. Ask whatever you wish to know about the Land of Shadow."
Gawain, unable to contain himself any longer, threw out the most pressing question first.
"When Miquella met with you, what exactly did he say?"
Messmer propped his chin on his hand, his fingers lightly stroking his jaw as a look of recollection entered his eyes. His voice was calm and orderly.
"Miquella... I did meet him once. To be precise, he took the initiative to enter the city and find me. It was some time ago. Perhaps inherited from Mother's bloodline, he found a crack in the seal of the Land of Shadow and slipped in. I don't know where he learned of this place, but he was clearly prepared. He knew a great deal, not just about the past of this land, but its deeper secrets as well. After finding me, he identified himself. Our exchange was relatively harmonious, and he stayed in the Shadow Keep for a few days."
Gawain wasn't surprised. To Messmer, Miquella's lineage was as legitimate as it got. As a golden demigod born of Marika and her other half, Radagon, and an Empyrean chosen by the Two Fingers, his status was beyond reproach.
Furthermore, even without using his powers of enchantment, Miquella's perfect face naturally inspired goodwill. Even if entering the Land of Shadow technically went against their mother's original will, Messmer wouldn't have made things difficult for him.
Messmer looked at Gawain, and as he thought of certain facts, his tone became laced with gritted teeth.
"Since it was sealed, the Land of Shadow has been completely cut off. During his stay, he told me much about what had happened in the Lands Between. Especially the shattering of the Elden Ring and the emergence of your kind, the Tarnished. Mother... she actually gave the guidance to become King to people like you. And Melina... even she became a maiden for the Lightless."
Gawain simply smiled and countered with a question.
"When I returned to the Lands Between, I heard an important rumor: that the First Elden Lord, Godfrey, shows signs of returning. So, if I weren't here, and that leader of the Tarnished came back to claim the throne, I'm curious—would you support him or oppose him?"
Messmer glared at him, but ultimately didn't know how to answer such an explosive question. Although Godfrey wasn't his biological father, he respected the man's bravery and his status as his mother's consort.
Messmer chose not to answer. He realized he no longer had the heart to try and eliminate every Tarnished that appeared before him. He shifted the topic back to Miquella.
"After a few days, Miquella made a request. He wanted me to undo the seal on Enir-Ilim, the Tower of the Shadow. I suspect that after the Shattering reached a stalemate, he wanted to use the miracles within the tower to cross the Divine Gate, mimicking Mother's ascension to godhood. But at the end of the Crusade, Mother used the power of the Scadutree to seal that tower completely. It is inaccessible. To break the seal, one must use a special kind of tinder to burn the sealing tree."
In truth, when Miquella first mentioned Enir-Ilim, Messmer had guessed his intent. The only thing of importance in that tower was the Divine Gate. Thus, when that intelligence was confirmed recently, he hadn't been too shocked.
While the events in the Lands Between were hard for Messmer to believe, things had come to this. In Mother's eyes, an Empyrean chosen by the Two Fingers had the right of succession. Malenia had stepped away, and at that time, Ranni's very existence was a question mark to the outside world. Miquella, with the power of the Haligtree behind him, was undoubtedly the Empyrean closest to the goal. His ability to even find the Land of Shadow was not to be underestimated. However, that didn't mean Messmer would follow Miquella's lead.
Messmer suddenly chuckled, his tone gaining a hint of disdain. In his eyes, only Mother could be a God; no other Empyrean was worthy.
"Of course, it was impossible for me to break the seal for him. This is the Land of Shadow, entirely different from the Lands Between. This is my domain. Aside from Mother, I listen to no one, and I care nothing for their so-called rules of succession. So, I refused him. A few days later, he seemed to reach a decision. He went to the roots of the Scadutree alone, and after that, he vanished from the Shadow Keep."
Gawain frowned and asked, "So, he chose to cooperate with the Hornsent later. Aren't you afraid he might complete the ritual and become a God without you knowing?"
"Becoming a God is not as simple as you think," Messmer replied. "There are several conditions that must be met."
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Elden Ring: In the Name of Ash
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