"Wretched Tarnished! To make me defile this throne with my curse—this humiliation, I shall never forgive!"
Morgott roared.
As he spoke, he crushed the scepter in his hand.
The outer shell shattered away, revealing the true weapon hidden within—a warped, discolored sword, the steel twisted by a filthy curse.
That was Morgott's real armament: a Cursed Sword, tainted by the Omen's malediction in his blood.
Morgott loathed this power from the bottom of his heart, so he had sealed it away all this time.
That was the only reason he'd been evenly matched with Arthur's Mimic Tear earlier.
Arthur was speechless.
You're the one who unsealed your curse power and let it pollute the royal throne. How is this somehow my fault now?
But this was hardly the time to complain.
The moment he freed his true strength, Morgott swung once—and Arthur's Mimic Tear was cleaved apart in a single blow, collapsing into silver mist.
Perfect timing, though.
Arthur had just finished his own preparations.
In the blink of an eye, he flashed behind Morgott, one hand slamming a shard straight onto Morgott's back.
The moment the fragment touched him, it shattered completely, erupting into dazzling golden light that surged downward—and smashed Morgott flat to the ground.
It was exactly the same scene as back at the outer battlefield ruins, when Arthur had pinned down Margit the Fell Omen.
Yes—this was Margit's Shackle.
Only, this time he was using it in a very different way.
Through experimentation, Arthur had discovered a new usage.
By pouring a massive amount of power into the shackle, he could forcibly awaken the binding force keyed specifically to Morgott and detonate it all at once—pinning Morgott for a much longer duration.
The reason he hadn't joined the fight until now… was because he'd been busy charging the artifact.
Now that Morgott was thoroughly restrained, Arthur didn't bother with more nonsense.
He simply drew out a sorcery crystal and drove it straight into Morgott's heart, beginning to siphon away the demigod's life force and soul.
As for Morgott's power itself, Arthur had no interest in it.
He'd already absorbed Mohg's strength; the Omen curse was something he'd long since mastered.
As Morgott's life bled away, his frantic struggling gradually weakened.
Feeling the hollowness in his own body, Morgott finally stopped resisting.
His voice grew hoarse and faint.
"Tarnished… thou art… truly a fool… The Erdtree rejecteth all… We have long since been… forsaken. None may become Elden Lord… not I… nor any other…"
Arthur saw that Morgott was about to die, and he didn't mind humoring a few final words.
"Who told you I had to become Elden Lord?" Arthur replied.
"If thou dost not seek the Elden Lord's throne… why comest thou to the seat of kings…?"
"I just wanted to see what it looks like inside the Erdtree. Is that not allowed?"
Arthur didn't bother mentioning the Elden Beast.
To someone who couldn't even pass the door of the Erdtree, dropping that name would be meaningless.
"Heh… no reverence for the Erdtree at all… So thou art one who would stray from the Golden Order…
How laughable… To think I, who guard the capital, would fall to some fringe-stream vagrant…"
In the Lands Between, those who drifted away from the Golden Order's "main current" were called outlandish offshoots—the "fringe streams" far from grace.
Arthur couldn't be bothered to keep arguing.
Summer insects cannot speak of ice.
From beginning to end, Morgott never saw him as anything more than an unusually strong Tarnished.
He had no idea Arthur was an Empyrean, walking a path toward something beyond even gods.
But Arthur couldn't fully blame him.
From the moment he'd arrived at Leyndell's outer wall, Arthur had carefully suppressed the aura of his true nature.
He absolutely did not want the creature inside the Erdtree—the Elden Beast—to sense that an Empyrean was standing at the door.
If that thing realized what he was, he might have to face the single strongest being in the Lands Between right now.
And Arthur was not ready to start the final battle yet.
At the very least, he wanted to finish sightseeing before he punched the final boss.
Besides… he wasn't actually sure he could win. Yet.
Not much time passed before Morgott's life and soul were completely drawn into the crystal.
His physical form crumbled away into drifting ash and scattered on the wind.
The last king of Leyndell had fallen.
Arthur actually did feel a certain respect for Morgott.
Born an Omen, loathed by all, cast down into the city's sewers by his own parents—yet he never once wavered in his faith in the Erdtree.
During the Shattering, he had taken up arms to defend Leyndell, repelling army after army of would-be lords.
Even after the Erdtree rejected him, he still chose to stand as its guard dog at the gate.
And all of it… was for one simple thing:
To be loved.
Yes. Morgott hadn't been fighting for some magnificent grand ideal. He just wanted the right to love and be acknowledged.
That was how he defined himself—through his devotion.
In this, he was the polar opposite of his brother Mohg.
Morgott fully embraced his identity as Marika's child, and, with that, the mission that came with it: to guard the Erdtree.
Bluntly put, he was the Erdtree's most loyal simp.
No matter how much he did, no matter how much he gave, no matter how many sacrifices he made, the Erdtree still refused him.
Truth be told, that rejection applied to anyone seeking to be Lord of Leyndell. Those thorns barring the way were a rejection of all potential kings—none were allowed inside.
But to Morgott, that rejection felt especially cruel.
Of course, it wasn't as if his life was entirely miserable.
As an Omen, he should have been utterly cut off from grace. Yet he carried a Great Rune, recognized by the Two Fingers as a rightful bearer of shards.
To say he had "no grace" was probably something only Morgott himself would insist on.
Arthur picked up Morgott's Great Rune and walked over to the nearby site of grace, taking a seat and gesturing for Melina to join him.
"So," he asked, "have you found your purpose?"
"Yes," Melina replied softly. "My purpose is tied to that."
She pointed toward the entrance of the Erdtree.
"At the Erdtree's door grows a barrier of thorns—'thorns of rejection.' It is the Erdtree's shell, formed to shut out everything beyond itself.
Just now, you said you didn't wish to become Elden Lord, but… you do wish to enter.
So, I would like to travel with you again.
Please take me to the mountaintop where the snow lies thick above the clouds—there, I will burn away those thorns for you."
"The Forge of the Giants, huh?" Arthur said. "All right. Give me the medallion."
Melina sighed, pulling out a half-round sigil and placing it in his hand.
"I knew it. You do know everything.
Before I came to the Erdtree's foot, I sometimes thought… I should just ask you what my purpose is and be done with it."
Arthur knew she was only half-joking.
Even if he'd told her beforehand, it wouldn't have mattered.
Marika had planned this long ago. Melina could only truly understand her fate once she arrived at the base of the Erdtree.
The medallion was proof—this was the key needed to use the Grand Lift of Rold and reach the snowy mountains. And Arthur hadn't seen it on her at all before she realized her mission.
Taking the medallion, Arthur said,
"The Forge of the Giants is actually the last stop on my itinerary.
You ready to start a second long-term journey with me?"
He grinned and held his hand out to her.
Melina froze for a moment, then smiled in turn and took his hand.
"By the way," Arthur added suddenly, "have you thought about what you'll do after your mission?"
Melina didn't understand why he was asking that.
To her, completing her mission was the same as dying. She was certain that Arthur knew this.
Her expression grew serious.
"You haven't… come into contact with the Frenzied Flame, have you?
That is something that must never be touched. It devours all life and all will—pure chaos.
Please don't use something like that just to free me from my burden."
Arthur shook his head with a laugh.
"You're overthinking it. I'll let you complete your mission properly."
"What I mean is…" He looked at her. "What if I had a way to keep you alive after you burn the Erdtree?"
Melina's first reaction was to tell him that was impossible.
But then she remembered who she was talking to.
She had watched with her own eyes as he stepped from the state of a frail Tarnished to the level of an Empyrean.
If anyone could bend the rules… it might really be him.
But if she did survive, what would she do?
A flicker of confusion crossed her eyes—aimless, uncertain.
Arthur caught it immediately.
"How about this," he said gently. "If you don't know what to do… why not just keep traveling with me?"
Melina thought about it.
There didn't seem to be a better option. Besides, she… didn't dislike being by his side.
But she was still afraid he might fail. After all, when that time came, she was supposed to become the kindling herself—burned until not even ash remained.
"…Let's talk about it when the time comes," she said softly at last.
Arthur nodded and didn't press further.
"In that case," he said, switching topics, "let's go check the Queen's Bedchamber.
Help me see if Marika left anything interesting behind."
He tugged lightly at her hand and headed toward the royal quarters.
The reason he'd phrased it like that was because he figured Melina could perceive things in that room that he couldn't.
Arthur was certain there was some kind of special connection between Melina and Marika.
Otherwise, there was no reason Marika's words etched into the sites of grace should be visible only to Melina.
Strictly speaking, all of Marika's children should have been able to see them. Many of those inscriptions were clearly meant for her offspring.
But all those demigods and Empyreans had long since been abandoned by the Greater Will.
Deprived of grace, they could no longer perceive the sites at all.
And so of all the beings in the Lands Between, the only one left who could read Marika's messages at the graces…
Was Melina.
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