Lucian put thoughts of Millicent aside for now.
If she was already confined in the Church of the Plague, guarded by the Rot's followers, then matters could proceed much like the ga's path: he would repair the Unalloyed Gold Needle first, then bring it to her.
But if Millicent had not yet been found, if she still wandered the Swamp of Aeonia, endlessly drifting through its mists, then Lucian had no way of helping her. He had no ans of searching such a vast swamp. To hope for a chance encounter would be naïve—re wishful thinking.
For now, his task was clear: find Commander O'Neil. Without claiming the Unalloyed Gold Needle from him, all else was empty talk.
Though he carried Hildegard's neutralizing perfu, Lucian knew its limits. For one like Millicent—whose very body was fused with the Scarlet Rot through Malenia's bloom—its effects were uncertain. At best, it might suppress the Rot for a ti. At worst, it might paralyze her organs, which depended on the Rot rely to function.
That risk was too great. The safest thod was still to rely on the Unalloyed Gold Needle. Even so, Lucian was wary. To leave the Needle's repair in the hands of Sage Gowry was no wise choice.
In the ga, Gowry nded the broken needle. But the repaired seam bore the sa crimson hue as the Scarlet Rot itself. Surely it had been tampered with. Gowry was no savior—he sought Millicent's bloom, and even directed the player to kill her, so she might flower in despair. Whether he was himself a servant of Rot, or rely a parasite dwelling in one, it was certain: Gowry was a disciple of the Scarlet Rot.
To entrust Millicent's fate to him once more would be folly.
If possible, Lucian wished to find another way to nd the needle—or even, perhaps, an unbroken one. That would be the safest path of all, though far harder to achieve.
He pressed onward through the swamp. The dead branches here grew ever thicker, and Torrent no longer needed to set hooves in the Rot. The spectral steed leapt branch to branch as though across solid ground.
Soon, a towering knot of branches rose before them, twisted and massive, reaching into the sky. As Lucian approached, he began to hear the sounds of battle.
"Fighting?" he murmured. "Who could it be?"
He urged Torrent faster, following the cries. The clamor rose—war-cries, shouted in waves, as though not a skirmish but an entire army's struggle.
Climbing the branches, Lucian soon had a vantage of the battlefield.
Below lay a plateau of fungal growth, coral-like in its form. Upon it, hundreds of spirit soldiers clashed with four young won.
The spectral soldiers were unmistakable; exiled warriors of Stormveil—the Storm Soldiers. Ard with swords and shields, or with bows and crossbows, they pressed their attack in formation. Their war-cries rolled like thunder, their morale high.
Yet the four won they besieged were no victims. Each bore a similar face, each clearly sisters. They cut through the army as though it were air itself, their blades and bodies a storm of slaughter.
At the rear stood Commander O'Neil. But strangely, he made no move to advance with his troops.
It was not cowardice. O'Neil was proud, and so long as he still drew breath, he would always fight beside his n. No, he hesitated—conflicted.
These four girls, though ard differently, bore strikingly similar faces. Their hair, their features, even their garb all marked them as kin. Their visages stirred O'Neil's mory, for they resembled none other than Lady Malenia.
Even their afflictions matched—missing limbs, scarred eyes, traces of Rot. Coincidence could not explain it. These four were surely connected to Malenia.
O'Neil confird it now. Not only their appearance, but their powers revealed their nature:
So wielded weapons steeped in Scarlet Rot.
One even radiated Miquella's aura.
They must be tied to Malenia. Of that there could be no doubt.
Yet what were they? And what did they seek? They had attacked without a word. If not for his spectral soldiers, O'Neil would already have fallen.
Still, he would not yield his life rely because of their resemblance to his lady. That would be shaful. And unlike Malenia, these girls did not resist the Rot. They embraced it—wielded it.
Already, their strength had cut down half his troops. Grimly, O'Neil raised his standard, summoning fresh spirits from the ashes. More soldiers appeared, filling the field. Though age had weakened him, his command of magic and battle had not faded.
But the sisters adapted. Without words, they shifted tactics in perfect harmony.
The eldest, Mary, blind in both eyes, wielded a Halo Scythe. Golden rings flared as she cleaved a path through the ranks—not to escape, but to strike straight for O'Neil.
Surprised, he braced himself. He had thought fresh soldiers would drive them back. Instead, they charged him directly. Reckless, but determined.
So be it. O'Neil had followed Malenia from the Haligtree to Caelid, fighting in the Battle of Aeonia itself. He was no stranger to peril. He would not flee now.
The second sister, Maureen, bearing only one eye, leveled her Treespear and charged, golden law blazing around her. The third, Amy, also blind, danced close behind, dual Flowing Curved Swords flashing in fluid arcs.
From afar, the youngest, Polyanna, raised a short blade and spread her arms wide. From her body spewed white filants—Pest Threads.
O'Neil's eyes widened.
"That's… the attack of the Pests! How can you use it?"
He knew it well: the foul strike of the Rot's insect-servants, spewed from organs in their chests. He had seen them in Caelid, and even in the Haligtree itself, where such creatures had co to worship Malenia as their goddess.
But Malenia had never yielded. She fought the Rot, always. She had never embraced the adoration of the pests. Their dream of a Goddess of Scarlet Rot ant Malenia's death, her soul consud by Rot. The people of the Haligtree would never wish such a fate.
And yet here, one of these sisters wielded their power. Either they were pests in disguise—or such organs had been implanted within them. Either way, it was the corruption of the Rot's vermin.
"Damnable pests," O'Neil growled, gripping his banner-pole. "So this is your work."
The three eldest struck him in close quarters. His standard whirled, both banner and halberd, parrying blow after blow. For a ti he held, aided by the press of spirit soldiers.
But O'Neil was old, weaker than he once was. His strength waned, and when Polyanna joined the fray, his defenses buckled. The sisters were powerful—fragnts of a demigod, wielding Rot without hesitation. Each strike they landed made the Scarlet Rot surge within him, even with the Needle suppressing it.
At last, Mary hooked his standard with her scythe, pulling it wide. The others struck him down, grievously wounding him. Only his soldiers' sacrifice saved him from death.
Still, he was finished. Surrounded, pressed close, he could no longer summon more troops. The soldiers already on the field could not hold the sisters back.
Yet O'Neil did not tremble. His heart burned with anger.
"Why?" he roared. "If you are tied to Lady Malenia—why would you embrace the Rot? Where is your pride? Your resistance? Your will to defy it?"
The sisters gave no answer. Their faces did not so much as flicker.
Why resist? Why defy? The Scarlet Rot was not corruption—it was law. A new law, to supplant the Erdtree. A radiant, resplendent decay.
That was their truth. Or perhaps, the truth imposed upon them.
Seeing words were futile, O'Neil gritted his teeth and raised his banner once more.
"So be it. Then I fall to the Rot's brood. How bitter… Lord Miquella, Lady Malenia."
The sisters closed in for the kill.
But death did not co.
Lightning exploded at their feet, forcing them back.
Lucian strode into the battlefield, stepping between O'Neil and the four. His Dragon Slayer Swordspear crackled with thunder.
"The soldiers have served you well," he said.
From the high ground, he had watched long. He had debated whether to intervene. Saving O'Neil might complicate matters with the Needle. But to let him die was wasteful. The Needle's presence here ant O'Neil might yet be bargained with. Perhaps even the Haligtree still had ways to repair one—or more.
These sisters were clearly Gowry's pawns. If they succeeded, the Needle would return to him regardless. Lucian could not allow that. Gowry was the true hand behind their tragedy.
Yes. If he wished to save Millicent, Gowry was the one to be opposed.
"Who are you?" O'Neil asked, bewildered.
"I am the Storm King," Lucian replied.
But the sisters gave him no ti to finish. They charged.
Lucian swung his Swordspear, summoning a howling gale that forced them back.
Amy darted through the storm's edge, leaping to strike. Lucian t her with a sweep, the shaft of his Swordspear slamming her aside, hurling her broken body into the branches.
Mary lunged, hooking his spear with her scythe. But before the others could join her, lightning surged across the weapon, blasting her where she stood. She fell, charred and writhing.
In a single exchange, half their number was broken.
Maureen and Polyanna glanced at one another. To fight further was death. Without hesitation, they each seized a sister's body and retreated, vanishing into the swamp.
Neither Lucian nor O'Neil gave chase. Even the spectral soldiers loosed only a few arrows before halting.
O'Neil staggered forward, breathing hard.
"My thanks… for your aid."
Lucian waved him off. "Think nothing of it." He looked O'Neil in the eye. "I have co for a reason. They say you hold the Unalloyed Gold Needle."
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