For some reason, Mohg had been feeling a strange, groundless unease lately. It was as if something terrible was about to happen. But what could possibly go wrong?
As the former Dual Demigod of the Subterranean Shunning-Grounds, the younger brother of Morgott, and ruler of the Dynasty of Blood—though it might sound arrogant—Mohg truly didn't believe anything in the Lands Between could pose a real threat to him. To call himself "invincible" wouldn't be an exaggeration.
Of course, that invincibility didn't mean unmatched strength. Mohg knew his own limits. Among the demigods, his power wasn't weak, but he wasn't at the top either—and compared to those above the demigods, he stood no chance.
But the point was, he had no reason to fight them in the first place.
Take the Radahn siblings, for example. They were his sworn enemies, yes—but one was dead, another had gone mad, and the last met the humiliating fate of being swallowed whole by a serpent. Even before that, they couldn't defeat him. None of them posed any threat now.
The Haligtree siblings? They were a minor issue at best.
The 'Valkyrie' Malenia was indeed powerful, and the corruption she carried troubled even her mother—the True Mother herself. The Dynasty of Blood's outer passage was hidden within the Consecrated Snowfield, which was technically their territory.
But the thing was, Malenia didn't even know he had led her brother away, nor that the entrance to the Dynasty of Blood lay concealed in the Snowfield—with a Sanguine Noble guarding it.
And even if she did know, Mohg wouldn't be afraid.
Malenia was strong, but so was he. If she didn't draw upon her corruption, the outcome of a real fight between them was uncertain. And if she did… well, Miquella's body was right there in the Dynasty of Blood, practically within his grasp. If Malenia unleashed her corruption, Mohg might die—but Miquella would suffer for sure.
Besides, their meeting didn't have to end in battle.
Mohg never intended to kill Miquella. His plan was to make her his goddess. He never meant her harm. In fact, if Malenia were willing to call him "brother," he'd gladly form an alliance on the spot—then, using the power of the Dynasty of Blood, he could even help find a way to cure her of the rot.
As for the final Golden Order Dynasty...
The Dynasty of Blood had another name—the "Mohgwyn" Dynasty. That was the true name in Mohg's grand design.
The name "Mohgwyn" itself was formed from three others within the Lands Between's ancient tongue: Godwyn, Morgott, and Mohg. Even the name alone said much about his stance.
True, Mohg had every reason to hate the Golden Order Dynasty. From being cast into the sewers at birth, to his later imprisonment, to the years spent alongside his brother trying to save the crumbling Golden Order—only to be despised and persecuted for being an Omen. Not only was he denied the right to be a hero—he wasn't even allowed to walk above ground.
Under such circumstances, the fact that he didn't strike back when the Golden Order was at its weakest was practically saintly.
Yet now, instead of seeking revenge, he was pouring all his strength—and the might of the entire Dynasty of Blood—into upholding the very Golden Order that had scorned, hunted, and sought to destroy him.
And it wasn't because he was some saint who forgave all grudges. Quite the opposite. He loathed the Golden Order, despised everyone within it, and would have gladly seen it fall.
But it was the dynasty his eldest brother had left behind—and the one his second brother had sworn to protect. So what else could he do?
Of course, helping didn't mean blind loyalty. Unlike his stubborn brother, Mohg had no intention of devoting himself so foolishly to the Golden Order. He had made several plans of his own.
First, according to his brother's arrangements, maintaining the Golden Order wasn't meant to last forever. They only needed to hold things together until the "First Elden Lord," Godfrey, returned.
Godfrey was called the First Elden Lord because he was the Golden Order's first ruler—a man of immense strength and unmatched renown among the people. To the Golden Folk, he was the true king, far greater than that red-haired fool who came after.
If Godfrey were to return, he wouldn't even need to raise a hand. The people of the Lands Between would flock to him in devotion, and with his sheer power, he could easily "make the Golden Order great again."
Moreover, beyond his status as the "First Elden Lord," Godfrey held another identity to the brothers—he was their biological father.
Though they hadn't spent much time together, both brothers held an exceptionally good impression of him. They knew he would never discriminate against the Omen and had always cared deeply for them.
The reason he hadn't been able to look after them wasn't that he didn't want to—it was because he had been far too busy. During the Giant War, he had fought tirelessly on the front lines, leading the charge to win territory for the Golden Order Dynasty.
When the war finally ended, for reasons unknown, Marika stripped him of his blessing and exiled him beyond the Lands Between, ordering him to continue his battles outside. Naturally, he hadn't had time to see his children.
But in a way, that might have been for the best.
For although their father didn't discriminate against the Omen and genuinely cared for his children, he was still a father—and a highland warrior at that. Expecting him to raise children properly was... unrealistic.
"Either your father takes you with him, or you go to the sewers. Your choice."
"...Then the Subterranean Shunning-Grounds it is."
Still, this connection remained. Even if their father returned to rebuild the Golden Order Dynasty, though he might not be able to publicly acknowledge them due to the Dynasty's state, he certainly wouldn't mistreat them.
That was Morgott's plan—but Mohg thought it wasn't enough.
He knew that if Godfrey ever returned, their lives would indeed improve. But no matter how much better things got, they would still be Omens—children of ill fate. Living in the Royal Capital, or anywhere touched by the Golden Order, they would never escape discrimination, persecution, or even cries for their deaths.
So, Mohg created the Mohgwyn Dynasty. His idea was simple: when their father eventually returned, he could use his merits in preserving the Golden Order as justification to keep a hidden fiefdom—a secret realm unknown to others. In that place, free from scorn and persecution, they could live in peace, enjoying quiet and comfort.
When the time came, he could even invite Morgott or other Omens who had once been close to them in the Shunning-Grounds—those who deserved better lives—and offer them refuge as well.
And if their father never returned, if Morgott's tireless defense of the Golden Order ended in futility, then when his brother's resolve began to waver, Mohg would persuade him to abandon the Erdtree and come live with him instead. If Morgott was willing, Mohg would even let him take the throne as Blood King while he served by his side.
Unfortunately, knowing how stubborn his second brother was, Mohg realized this plan had almost no chance of working. Worse still, if he pressed the issue, Morgott might even get angry.
So, a third plan was born.
If their father never returned and his stubborn brother refused to yield, Mohg would take matters into his own hands. He would seek out an Empyrean and form a new "God and King" partnership. Before Morgott could react, he would make it a fait accompli—leaving him no choice but to accept it.
As for the choice of Empyrean...
Ranni was immediately ruled out.
Even if she were still alive, Mohg would rather die than ally with that treacherous woman who had slain his elder brother.
Then there was Malenia. Her innate corruption was troublesome even for their mother, and she herself was an exceptional fighter. After careful thought, Mohg abandoned that idea as well.
That left only Miquella.
Law could heal wounds and counteract the harm inflicted by the Formless Mother's demands, allowing both to exist in balance.
Gentle and compassionate, Miquella bore a striking resemblance to Marika in her younger days. Not only could she assist him in ruling, but she might also fill certain voids he'd carried since childhood.
On top of that, Mohg—ever perceptive—knew his elder brother had once considered asking her to become an Empyrean. He had even sensed that Miquella herself seemed to harbor some faint interest in him, or at least in something he possessed.
In every respect except gender and morality, Miquella was the perfect Empyrean—an ideal born straight from his imagination.
So, he acted.
The exact details were hazy, but when he came to, Miquella was already sealed within the blood cocoon.
And at that moment, a voice began whispering in his mind—telling him that the one within the cocoon was indeed Miquella. As long as he continued to feed it with blood, then, on the day the being within matured, he and Miquella would become one, uniting as the true "God and King."
But as that thought passed through his mind, Mohg suddenly froze.
Strange... Why did something feel wrong?
Why did the logic seem off—and his memories so unclear...
"Ansbach, I have some questions..."
After blurting it out instinctively, Mohg froze.
Wait—who was Ansbach? Why would he…
A wave of haziness swept over him, his eyes losing focus for a brief moment before clarity returned.
Strange. What had he been thinking about just now?
After pondering for a moment, Mohg shook his head.
Never mind. If he could forget it, it probably wasn't important.
Setting those meaningless thoughts aside, he turned his mind back to his original question.
The Radahn siblings posed no threat. Of the Haligtree siblings, one was on his side, and the other still had to call him "Brother." As for the Golden Order Dynasty, it was either his brother's or his father's—whichever way he looked at it, neither were his enemies.
So besides those, what else could possibly make him feel uneasy...
Oh, there actually was one.
That stubborn bastard of a second brother.
He'd created the Dynasty of Blood out of goodwill toward him and had even been using its power to aid him all this time. But knowing that stubborn fool as he did, Mohg was certain that if Morgott ever learned about it, he'd be furious—perhaps to the point of severing ties.
And as for his "marriage" to Miquella, that old stick-in-the-mud would never approve. If he ever found out, he'd probably march over with an army the very next day.
Though, in terms of strength, Mohg had no reason to fear him. As brothers, they were equals—and Mohg even possessed the added power of the Formless Mother. If it came down to a fight, he wouldn't be the one backing down.
But some things couldn't be judged by strength alone...
Even so, precisely because he knew his brother so well, Mohg also knew there was no reason to worry.
That stubborn fool was already buried under endless responsibilities in the Royal Capital, chained to that damn Erdtree day and night. Mohg also understood his brother's investigation habits inside and out—and even maintained a somewhat decent relationship with him. He was absolutely certain Morgott could never find this place.
Aside from him, looking across the entire Lands Between, Mohg couldn't think of a single being capable of making him feel uneasy.
After all, in this world, the only ones who truly mattered to him were the brothers of the Dynasty of Blood, his two older brothers, and perhaps that distant father of his.
But now, his comrades in the Dynasty of Blood all understood their place. His father remained exiled, his fate unknown. His second brother was still clinging stubbornly to the Erdtree. And his eldest brother...
Mohg's gaze dimmed for a moment.
If he could just anger his eldest brother back to life—he'd take the beating, even death itself, without complaint.
As that thought crossed his mind, a wave of irritation suddenly surged within him.
This time, it was stronger and clearer than before—so much so that it almost felt like hallucinations.
"Son, you'd better tidy up your place. Clear away all that clutter…"
"Especially that Miquella. Make sure she's taken care of properly. Dress her up to look decent—normal…"
"We're doing our best to buy you time, but it won't last much longer. You'd better hurry..."
Under normal circumstances, those words would've made Mohg recognize who was speaking—and realize the ominous meaning behind them.
But unfortunately, his mind was still wrapped in a veil of enchantment, clouding his thoughts and making him instinctively reject anything resembling 'reality.'
As a result, even after hearing the voice, Mohg didn't react. He took no action, though the restlessness in his chest only grew more violent.
"Lord Mohg, some unfamiliar faces have entered the Dynasty..."
"Kill anyone unwilling to join."
Already irritable, Mohg waved a hand dismissively.
"The plan is on the verge of success. We can't afford any disruptions."
"But... one of them seems to be..."
"It doesn't matter. Even if a Demigod comes, take them down."
"...Understood."
Once the White Mask—one of Mohg's direct subordinates—had withdrawn, the chamber fell silent. Yet, for some reason, even with no one disturbing him, the agitation in his heart only intensified.
Strange... why did he feel so restless?
Unable to bear the irritation and unwilling to vent it on anyone around him, Mohg decided to leave the room.
He went to the altar where Miquella's blood cocoon rested. Standing before it, he reached out and touched the delicate hand protruding from the ruptured cocoon, seeking to soothe his unrest through the familiar contact.
Just like before, as he clasped that hand and rested his forehead against it, the agitation in his heart began to fade...
Or rather, it was replaced by a growing haze.
It was the power of enchantment.
"Oh, Miquella... my Miquella..."
Time slipped away.
He didn't know how long he stood there, but once his inner turmoil had mostly settled, he heard footsteps approaching from behind.
They were unfamiliar footsteps.
Even so, he didn't turn around immediately. His gaze stayed fixed on the cocoon, and with a tender motion, he stroked the hand that reached from within it.
"So that's it. I knew something felt off... your target was him, wasn't it..."
Withdrawing his hand, Mohg extended it to the side. With a surge of Accursed Blood, the massive Mohgwyn's Sacred Spear materialized in his grasp.
"My Miquella, please wait for me a little longer. I won't let anyone take you away again..."
With those words, he spun around, spreading his arms wide with grand fervor.
"Our honored guest has arrived to witness our glorious king—"
Mohg's movements froze, his voice catching in his throat.
Before him stood Morgott, leaning on his curse-stained sword, looking at him with calm detachment.
"King what?" Morgott said quietly. "Why stop there?"
"We're all listening."