Lion's Claw was the signature Ash of War skill of the Lion Guardian who once fought alongside Starscourge Radahn. It launches the wielder forward, spinning midair and delivering a sweeping strike—a devastatingly suppressive move against humanoid foes. And, most importantly, it looks spectacular.
Its inspiration lay in the Guts' Wolf Leap, from Berserk—a pinnacle of dark fantasy manga. A legend born of blades and sorcery, never rightly surpassed in its field. Even Hidetaka Miyazaki was a fan; echoes of Berserk resonate throughout Soulsborne. Lucian himself was a devoted reader; the chance to wield the move in reality was one he could not pass up.
Beyond aesthetics, the Claymore had already been reforged four tis—significantly boosting its strength and durability. It was a wise shortcut.
Pleased with his find, Lucian stood, eager to venture forth and test the blade in battle.
"Lord Lucian," Julius called gently, noticing his intention to depart. "There are other weapons here—feel free to examine more. If you find sothing fitting, take it. And of course—your armor hasn't been replaced, yet."
Lucian felt a twinge of guilty pride. "I have the perfect weapon for now. Armor I can look at later." He genuinely appreciated Julius's thoughtfulness.
Julius insisted they inspect the rest of the armory's stone coffers.
"Weapons hold true value only when used in battle. In your hands, they'd never gather dust. Castle Morne has no fighter deserving of their excellence any longer. You need not worry over labels."
Yielding to his loyal young companion, Lucian agreed.
Inside, he discovered several full suits of Banished Knight Altered armor—well-preserved—and a suit of Godrick Knight armor. Impressive, but not what he sought.
His breath caught at the final chest: a complete set of Banished Knight Set, accompanied by the Banished Knight's Greatsword and matching shield. They lay as if waiting for a new bearer.
Lucian's pulse quickened. The only drawback was the weight—but aside from that, it was perfect: formidable, stylish, and legendary. He imagined a sweeping cloak to conceal the flared cup—a simple solution in this reality. After all, collecting it in the ga had taken countless runs; here it was, available for the taking.
He lifted the breastplate, tracing its intricate carvings, still sharp with ti's erosion. The left pauldron was imnse, the right smaller but crowned with spiraling horn—a savage, noble silhouette.
But he paused. Edgar had once been a Banished Knight himself. Without asking, taking that armor could feel disrespectful. Lucian carefully replaced it.
When he'd inquired, Julius promised: should Edgar consent, he would gladly accept it.
That kept Lucian smiling. If a battle warranted it, he'd form a perfect partnership in matching armor. A Storm-powered Greatsword in Banished Knight's Armor—and off they'd march in divine style.
Past the chest, only common weapons remained: a poleaxe and single-edged dagger—standard issue for itinerant knights and rogues, respectively. No hesitation this ti. He packed them as backups.
With his new arms, he couldn't resist a test.
Julius guided him through the city, and Lucian quickly located clusters of misbegotten to purge. He wiped them out with brutal efficiency—cleaving corpses near the Grace, executing the cowardly ones nearby with a clean throat cut. At each Grace, he paused briefly to refresh.
Soon, he encountered a significant gathering near the old prison behind the city—the walls here sufficed to reach by a small auxiliary lift.
The misbegotten were yelling, unknowing who they faced.
Cold blade first: a sweeping strike slashed one baldly in half. It was almost uncanny how smooth the kills felt—past weapons lagged after two or three victims; this blade whispered through sinew like silk, begging the misbegotten to line up.
The mayhem drew the leader's attention: two Scaly Misbegotten and three winged ones leapt toward him. In any other mont, they'd pose a challenge. But Lucian, honored as the butcherman of this city, t them with grim pride.
He darted forward, arm raised to block winged crossbow bolts—so grazed him, but he barely minded. The scaled one shrieked and swung a poleaxe. Lucian, feeling the rhythm, infused Focus into his blade and executed Lion's Claw.
His body spun with practiced grace, slashing from above to below. Steel whistled in descent. The poleaxe shattered instantly—and the Misbegotten itself split in two, trailing strands of gore into left and right halves.
Yet he did not rest. He leapt again, Lion's Claw unleashed anew—reducing the second scaled monstrosity to blood and bone.
Terror-stricken, the winged ones faltered midair, eyes wide at the carnage. Realizing the forest of skulls they'd unleashed, they scattered in panic.
Lucian raised Crepus's Black-Key Crossbow [Replica] and fired at will. One by one, the few winged Misbegotten plumted—arrows through tidy gaps in flesh and side.
And so, with their bodies stained red, the city's misbegotten were truly purged: only the dead remained. The misbegotten who died were good misbegotten.
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