After bidding farewell to Jerren, Lucian first returned to the living quarters. He exchanged a few words with Hildegard, then departed Redmane Castle to begin his exploration of Caelid.
Earlier, Jerren had tried to hand him the Ruins Greatsword, hoping Lucian would wield it himself. Lucian did not refuse.
Whether or not he needed the weapon's power was irrelevant—he sought to collect all the Legendary Armants, to complete that achievent in full.
At present, his Wind Spirit Moon Shadow counter sat at four uses. Though not yet capped at the maximum of five, it was already more than enough. He had consud one charge of fivefold experience and Super Damage when defeating both the Fell On and Godrick. Yet slaying each had also unlocked an achievent, replenishing his uses, leaving him in balance.
Later, after reactivating a Great Rune, another achievent was fulfilled, [Great Rune]—restore any Great Rune.
But unlike clear-cut feats such as defeating a foe, the collection-based achievents—Legendary Armants, Legendary Talismans—were more ambiguous.
In the ga, golden-grade weapons often stood at the sa tier as those deed "Legendary," but only so were recorded in tale and legend. Others, equally potent, remained uncelebrated.
If the achievent demanded only those few true Legendary weapons, Lucian was confident he could recall and collect them all. But if it demanded every golden-grade weapon? That would be far trickier.
And what, precisely, counted as "collected"?
For example; Castle Morne already lay under his dominion. Did that an the Grafted Blade Greatsword, kept there, counted as part of his collection? There was no way to know. Perhaps only when he had unified the Lands Between would the system's logic beco clear.
For now, the Ruins Greatsword was unnecessary. He left it in Redmane Castle.
When Lucian departed, he took little with him—only so mask-like items from Hildegard. These were standard tools of the perfurs, used much like face masks: filtering the air, replaced regularly. Hildegard had packed many into her luggage.
So long as the Scarlet Rot did not enter the body directly, it could be dealt with. But soak too long in Rot, even with only skin contact, and infection was just as dire.
He also carried so Preserving Boluses to stave off Rot's advance. As for equipnt-cleansing tools, he brought none; if Rot clung to his gear, he could simply purge it with the winds of the storm.
Following the directions marked on Jerren's map, Lucian rode toward the region near Sellia, Town of Sorcery.
After so travel, he ca upon a great wall set against the mountain slope—a massive gate leading into Sellia. But Lucian had no plans to enter the town yet. Instead, he skirted the gate, descending toward the Swamp of Aeonia.
He rembered: the veteran Commander O'Neil dwelled in the swamp's eastern reaches, beneath a stand of massive scarlet branches.
Keeping to the shore, he began his search. Along the way, he encountered Marionette Soldiers and birdlike automata.
"Lucian, these are the sa as before," lina spoke within him. "They seem to be constructs of the Academy."
"Mm. You an those soldiers we saw when we rescued Master Sellen—the ones at that outpost?"
"Yes. The workmanship is identical."
Lucian recalled the battle. He had not fought, but he rembered their distinct forms. Such Marionettes were unique to Raya Lucaria.
Radahn, Rykard, and Ranni—siblings who had stood together during the Shattering. That Redmane Castle hosted even the Abductor Virgin automata from Mt. Gelmir ant the alliance had indeed been close. Marionettes here, too, were no surprise.
Even in the counterattack against Mt. Gelmir, Marionettes had been deployed—Academy aid, surely.
Here, the puppets patrolled in groups, their sole targets the Rot-borne creatures. Whenever they found a corrupted beast, they hurled themselves upon it. At the cost of shattered limbs, they cut the Rot-borne down. Afterward, they scavenged usable pieces from the wreckage—arms, legs, torsos—grafting them to their own broken fras before resuming patrol.
Crude, cheap, disposable soldiers. Yet effective, and perhaps produced in Redmane Castle itself, given their numbers here.
Lucian pressed deeper. Eventually the shoreline ended in sheer cliff, the Rot-lake surging at its base like a tide.
He dismounted, crouching by the water. Removing the gauntlet from his left hand, he dipped it into the crimson mire.
It was not water at all, but thick, putrid sludge. It squird against his skin, evoking the image of rotted flesh dissolved into mud.
The Rot clung to him, writhing, seeking entry into his body. Within seconds his skin itched fiercely.
He withdrew his hand; a film of Rot still clung to it. With a flick, he cast it off, and the sensation faded.
The lake's edge was weak. How much stronger must the center be?
He turned to Torrent, gauging. The spectral steed pawed the ground untroubled. Lucian nodded and mounted.
They pressed onward, deeper into the swamp. Scarlet branches rose thicker and thicker, towering as if marking his path. He was close.
Soon, grotesque forms erged:
Land squirts spewing scarlet filth,
Land octopi sprouting crimson fungi,
and unseen things below, bubbling the mire with their breath.
None attacked, and Lucian ignored them.
At last he t a squad of Cleanrot Knights.
He tried to speak. They gave no reply.
The Rot had claid their minds. They charged him at once.
The Cleanrot Knights had once sworn to Malenia, following her even knowing the fate that awaited them. They had embraced corruption willingly, unafraid of death. Now, even their sacred incantations of protection had long since failed.
The commander raised a Halo Scythe, flinging golden rings of light. Another knight struck his spear to the ground, summoning a forest of radiant spears. Two more leveled lances, rushing in from left and right.
Their golden brilliance clashed violently with the Rot-blighted land around them.
Lucian only lifted his Dragon Slayer Swordspear. Torrent leapt forward, evading the halos and spears. He parried the lances, then swept his weapon wide—impaling one knight, lifting him from the ground, tearing him apart against the branches.
The commander hurled more halos. Lucian thrust, the storm bursting forth, shredding both rings and man alike.
The last two knights fell swiftly thereafter.
Among the corpses, Lucian retrieved a talisman: the Winged Sword Insignia. Its design bore a prosthetic blade between unfurled wings. When striking relentlessly, it bestowed strength upon its bearer.
Leaving the dead behind, Lucian continued.
And then he saw it.
A massive scarlet branch, thick as a causeway, stretched across the swamp, forming a small island. At its root clustered five scarlet buds—unlike any he had seen.
Ordinary Rot-blossoms clung to high places, and never in such neat, parallel rows. These were deliberate. Cultivated. Like vats in which clones were grown.
Lucian approached. Four of the buds had split open cleanly, as if opened from without and emptied. But the fifth—its shell was torn, ripped from within by sothing struggling free.
He dismounted, masked himself, and drew near.
The bud stood almost man-high, but inside was cramped—only enough space for a curled child.
He parted the torn petals.
Rot's liquid writhed within. A severed right arm, bloodied, half-consud, lay trapped in its tendrils. Crimson filants bound it tight, feeding on it.
Lucian tugged once. It would not yield. To force it free would shatter it to pieces. He let go.
The wound was no clean cut—it had been sliced bit by bit. Soone had hacked away their own limb, trapped inside this prison, to crawl free.
Lucian knew. This had been Millicent's bud.
If so, then these five were indeed the work of Sage Gowry.
The devotees of Rot had gathered Malenia's shed children—infants born when she unleashed her Scarlet Aeonia—nurturing them as vessels.
Fed on flower-pollen, maddened and reshaped by Rot, they were molded into would-be valiant Sisters of Rot, brides to their goddess-to-be.
And they had succeeded. At least, with four.
Only Millicent had resisted.
In the ga's telling, her sisters embraced the Rot fully, opposing her and even clashing with her. But here, Lucian saw the truth; Gowry had underestimated Millicent's will.
Each sister embodied a part of Malenia's heart, their arms and incantations reflections of her. Millicent alone represented Malenia's pride—her defiance, her iron will against the Rot.
Where Malenia herself fought the Outer God of Rot, Millicent too resisted.
But will alone was not enough. She survived, but changed. Her mory fractured. Rot surged within her, and she lost her right arm—becoming maid like her sisters.
Yet if she had not severed that arm, she alone would have stood whole. For her sisters bore far worse disfigurents—between them, only two whole eyes remained.
Lucian rubbed his chin. Was she now in the Church of the Plague?
If so, then she had not truly escaped—only to be reclaid again by the Rot's followers.
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