Lucian stood atop the dune and drew the legendary blade Moonveil.
He recalled Okina's final technique—how he had used the joints of his left hand to pinch the blade while his right hand gripped the hilt, the two forces straining against one another.
Mimicking the motion, Lucian pressed his left knuckles against the flat of the sword, bracing it. Then he pushed with his right hand.
A sharp metallic clang rang out as he abruptly released his left hand. The Moonveil shot forward in a violent snap, the blade slicing through the air faster than the eye could follow.
"…But why did the blade's reach change?" Lucian muttered, lowering the sword.
He hadn't been close enough to see Okina's movements clearly at the time, only that his right hand's grip had shifted at the last moment before striking.
He tried the motion again—only for the Moonveil to fly straight out of his hand and land blade-first in the sand.
Retrieving the weapon with a faint chuckle, Lucian sheathed it once more. "Interesting. I'll study this later," he murmured, filing the technique away in his mind.
He turned and walked back toward Jerren.
By now, Jerren was already leaning on his greatsword for support, with the Crucible Knight helping him stay upright.
Seeing Lucian approach, Jerren managed a weary grin.
A harsh cough escaped him, followed by a rasping laugh. "Hehe… I really am getting old. That one nearly killed me."
He paused to catch his breath before continuing. "Thanks to you. If you hadn't stepped in when you did, I'd be a corpse baking under this sun."
Lucian waved a hand dismissively.
"Think nothing of it. You once told me there were still things you needed to do, didn't you? If that's the case, this isn't where you should fall."
Jerren sighed deeply, his breath carrying both exhaustion and relief.
Lucian was right. He had no wish to die in such a meaningless duel.
He was no longer the hot-headed youth who would throw his life away over pride or provocation. Were it not for the Redmane Knights' honor, he wouldn't have even accepted the challenge.
He'd come fully prepared—had even dusted off an old repeating crossbow he hadn't touched in years—and still, he'd barely survived.
But he had survived. And survival meant there was still work left to do.
"Thank you again," he said quietly. "I'll return to Redmane Castle to recover for a while. You're free to act as you please in the city. If you need anything, just ask the knights—they all know you."
Lucian nodded. "Understood."
Together, they set off toward the castle.
When they arrived, Lucian realized he had nothing pressing to do there.
Hildegard was still engrossed in her research on the mutated Scarlet Rot.
That research was still in its first stage—determining whether the altered rot retained any toxicity.
Only once that was confirmed could Lucian proceed with his plan for cleansing it.
The next step would involve testing on living creatures infected by the Scarlet Rot—to see whether the rot that had fused with muscle and organs would also transform into plant matter, as it had in exposed areas.
If it did… sunlight alone would not be enough to save them.
After all, if the rot within the body itself turned to vegetation, then the host would be beyond salvation.
Sunlight's power clearly had an effect on the Scarlet Rot—that much was a blessing.
But Lucian knew it wasn't omnipotent.
To believe sunlight alone could completely resolve the Rot's curse was far too naïve.
Even sunlight could only drive the Rot toward a state of 'Fruition', forcing it into saturation—not changing its nature outright.
And that state of 'Fruition' was incredibly difficult to achieve.
Even in the Age of Order, it had likely never truly been attained.
Otherwise, the legendary figure; the Blind Swordsman of flowing waters wouldn't have needed to seal the Rot away in the first place.
With that thought, Lucian decided to rest for the night.
Tomorrow, he would visit the meeting place he'd arranged with Commander O'Neill.
He had sent O'Neill to find Millicent some time ago. By now, the old knight should have results.
—
The next day, Lucian mounted Torrent and urged him onward, crossing much of the scarlet-stained Swamp of Aeonia.
Eventually, he reached a plateau formed by the accumulated Scarlet Rot.
It looked much like the area where O'Neill once resided, yet was clearly a different place.
The old commander's previous encampment had already been discovered by Millicent's four sisters.
Without Lucian's aid, O'Neill alone would never have withstood them.
So, for safety's sake, they had agreed upon this new rendezvous.
Upon arrival, Lucian immediately spotted spectral Storm Soldiers stationed around the plateau.
Their presence alone was enough to tell him Millicent had been found—otherwise, they would still be out searching.
But neither O'Neill nor Millicent were in sight.
It wasn't until one of the spectral soldiers approached that Lucian learned they had relocated once more.
Lucian frowned, puzzled. Had they been attacked by Rot Servants?
Following the soldier's lead, he entered a small cave hidden in the cliffs of Caelid.
The space was narrow but dry—no Scarlet Rot, no poison seeping through the walls.
Inside, Lucian finally found Commander O'Neill.
The old knight's face lit up with relief as soon as he saw him.
"You finally came," O'Neill said, his voice rough with emotion. "We've found the girl, but her condition is… not good."
Lucian's expression tightened. "What happened?"
As they walked deeper into the cave, O'Neill began to explain.
"Ever since you told me about her, I've been searching across the Swamp of Aeonia. About four days ago, I found her near some ruins. The girl's name is Millicent."
"She had a terrible fever—barely conscious, clinging to life by will alone. Later, I learned she'd been trying to find a way out of Aeonia. But the cliffs surrounding her were too steep to climb… and she was missing an arm."
O'Neill let out a weary sigh.
"I had my soldiers bring her to our agreed meeting place. We gave her food and clean water, and after a while, she improved somewhat."
Things had seemed to turn for the better—but fate rarely allowed such simplicity.
"The Rot in Aeonia is too strong," O'Neill continued grimly. "As long as she stays there, it keeps eating away at her. Even with the unalloyed gold needle, she'd never survive alone. So I brought her out to wait for you, as we planned."
"You said you'd handle the transfer of the needle yourself."
Lucian nodded. "Yes… that's right."
"And now?" he asked. "How is she?"
O'Neill hesitated before replying. "Better than before, but still unconscious most of the time. Occasionally she wakes—screaming, either from the pain or from nightmares I can't understand."
Deeper in the cave, before they even reached the inner chamber, Lucian heard the faint sound of a woman's pained whimpering.
A thin trickle of water ran down from the rock wall, forming a small stream of clear underground water.
Beside it, propped weakly against a boulder, lay Millicent.
Her short crimson hair clung to her face, damp with cold sweat.
Every breath came shallow and trembling, her clothes soaked through from fever.
The pained sounds he'd heard earlier escaped her lips with each wave of agony.
Within her body, the Scarlet Rot writhed and twisted, trying to devour her from the inside—to transform her into something no longer human.
Her eyes flicked open weakly, filled with confusion and fear at the sight of an unfamiliar face.
But when she saw O'Neill standing beside Lucian, her expression softened.
Of all people, she trusted the old commander deeply.
From the moment she first met him, she'd felt an inexplicable sense of kinship—something deep and unspoken telling her that this man could be trusted completely.
And later, O'Neill had told her the truth: that she shared a bloodline connection with Malenia, the Blade of Miquella.
It had sounded unbelievable, yet Millicent had found herself accepting it without question.
Combined with everything else, it confirmed her suspicion—she was connected to Malenia.
And O'Neill, once a high-ranking commander of the Haligtree, was someone she could rely on without doubt.
So, if he brought someone here… they meant her no harm.
Millicent looked toward the newcomer who had just entered, her voice faint and hoarse as she asked:
"Y-You… who are you?"
Her trembling voice barely left her lips before pain consumed her again. Millicent's expression twisted; she clutched her severed arm and screamed, her voice echoing through the narrow cavern.
After a while, she managed to catch her breath, gasping raggedly between words.
"Hah… hah—who are you?"
"…Whoever you are, don't come any closer."
"The Scarlet Rot in me is stirring again. It's not something any ordinary person can touch."
But Lucian did not heed her warning. He was already immune to the corruption; the Scarlet Rot could no longer harm him.
He stepped closer, his boots scraping softly across the stone floor.
"My name is Lucian. I came here to save you."
Millicent shook her head weakly. To her, the Rot was a curse that could never be lifted—an affliction that turned flesh and soul alike to ruin. The thought that someone could save her was too far-fetched to believe.
But before she could protest again, pain struck anew. Her entire body trembled, her breath sharp and uneven.
Lucian knelt beside her, observing the state of her body carefully.
The sleeve of her right arm hung limp at her side, stained with dark blood. From the torn fabric seeped a mixture of blood and the red ichor of the Rot. It was clear the corruption had entered through that wound, preventing it from ever closing.
Still, she had not yet reached the worst stage of infection.
Lucian turned to O'Neil. "Let's move her to Redmane Castle. I have an ally there, a perfumer. With her help, both of you might survive."
But O'Neil shook his head.
"I don't know why, during the Battle of Aeonia, Lady Malenia chose to wield the power of the Scarlet Rot… but that war—its destruction of Caelid, was our doing. Our shame."
"I have no face left to show at Redmane Castle. If I go there, it would only be to die in repentance."
His tone was firm, unshakable.
Lucian studied him for a long moment, then sighed softly. "I understand now. You've been holding onto the needle all this time, not just for her—but to save my life as well, haven't you?"
O'Neil smiled faintly. "My life and death no longer matter. To have lived long enough to guard the Unalloyed Needle until now, to see it serve its true purpose is already a blessing."
"Now that you are here, I can finally rest without regret."
"I only ask one thing, take care of her. Not as Lady Malenia's kin… but as Millicent."
Lucian fell silent. He could feel the old knight's resolve like a mountain—unyielding, immovable.
"Very well," Lucian said at last. "If you won't go to Redmane, then I'll try my own way. Neutralizing incense and Rotmoss draughts should at least keep you alive for now."
Millicent had been listening all along, her eyes widening in disbelief.
"What? What needle? Grandpa O'Neil, what are you talking about? Are you going to die?"
Her voice trembled. She didn't want to see such an ending.
Even though much of her memory had been eroded by the Rot, fragments of happiness still remained—childhood laughter, her sisters, the sunlit fields of Caelid.
And among those memories was a man—someone kind and steadfast, whose face she could no longer recall.
Then, one day, everything changed. She remembered pain, crimson blossoms, and a suffocating nightmare that seemed to last forever.
She had escaped only by severing her arm—fleeing the Scarlet Bloom itself.
Since then, she had lived like a fugitive, hiding from the grotesque insects that roamed the Rot-swamped land.
Until O'Neil found her. He saved her, told her of her lineage, and treated her with genuine kindness.
Perhaps it was Malenia's memory whispering within her, or perhaps she simply needed someone to depend on—but to Millicent, O'Neil had become like family.
The old knight sat cross-legged before her, his face solemn.
"The needle," he began softly, "is something that can save you."
"In the far north, at the Haligtree, there exists a technique—a creation known as the Unalloyed Gold Needle. It can suppress the Scarlet Rot's spread."
"And I just so happen to possess one."
"When it is placed within your body, the Rot will be held at bay. You'll finally be able to live by your own will."
Millicent's eyes widened. "Then, what about you? What will happen without it?"
O'Neil didn't hesitate. "I will die."
"B-but—"
He raised a trembling hand to stop her.
"I've lived long enough, child."
He hesitated for a moment, then continued, his voice low and heavy.
"To be honest… I first sought you out for Lady Malenia's sake. I hoped you might aid her, perhaps even rejoin her at the Haligtree."
"But I've changed my mind."
"You are not Lady Malenia. You are Millicent. You are your own person."
"So I hope that, after you accept the needle, you'll live freely—by your own choice. Travel, see the world, do what you wish. Live as yourself."
With that, O'Neil reached beneath his armor and drew forth the golden needle—pristine, unstained by even a drop of blood.
Before Millicent could refuse, he pressed it into her palm, turned, and stumbled toward the cave's exit.
"Wait—!" she called out, but the old knight was already gone.
Her hand trembled as she clutched the needle, tears welling in her eyes.
If this was the price of her salvation, she didn't want it. She would rather suffer forever than watch him die.
She extended the needle toward Lucian. "Please… could you return this to him—"
Lucian shook his head gently.
"Use the needle. Don't let his resolve go to waste."
"There's no way he could survive without it now. The sooner you use it, the sooner I can go check on him. There's still a chance to save him."
Millicent stared at the golden needle in silence. Then, with trembling lips, she whispered, "Very well… Lucian… please wait outside."
"My body, half-consumed by Rot, is not something anyone should have to see."
Lucian nodded and stepped out of the cave.
From within, he soon heard the rustling of fabric, followed by a stifled cry of pain. Then, silence.
"Melina," he murmured, "can you tell if she's used the needle?"
Her voice, soft and distant, echoed in his mind. "Do not worry. She has used it, but she fainted afterward."
Satisfied, Lucian left the entrance and began searching outside.
It didn't take long to find O'Neil. The old knight had collapsed upon the ground, his armor half-sunken into the scarlet muck.
The Rot had begun seeping outward from his body, blooming like flowers of decay.
Lucian rushed to his side, kneeling beside him.
"Sir O'Neil—"
The old man coughed violently, scarlet froth spilling from his lips. He looked up at Lucian with a weary smile.
"Lucian… cough—so you made it."
Lucian drew forth a vial and a small censer, swiftly setting to work.
"This is neutralizing incense, it'll nullify the Rot's effect. And this, Rotmoss medicine, should suppress it further."
He administered both in quick succession. Though O'Neil still bled, the crimson taint within his blood lessened visibly.
The knight could feel the burning within his chest ease, if only slightly. Still, his expression grew distant.
"My body's worse off than I thought…"
He smiled faintly, as though mocking his own frailty.
"Lucian… sometimes, people can't have everything."
Lucian's eyes narrowed. He nodded once. "I know."
Then, in a low voice, he added—
"But that won't stop me from trying."
—
[T/N: About the legendary Blind Swordsman and his weapon, the Flowing Curved Sword. According to lore, this swordsman was a nomadic warrior clad in blue, whose attire symbolized brisk, flowing waters, emphasizing the need to remain ever-drifting to avoid stagnation and decay. He was said to have received his curved blade, patterned after flowing water, from a fairy represented by the Blue Dancer Charm. This sword, known as the Flowing Curved Sword, is a late-game weapon found in a hidden area of the Mountaintops of the Giants, specifically inside a wagon guarded by chained Trolls. The legend states that this swordsman used his fluid, dance-like movements to defeat the ancient God of Rot, sealing its divine essence in the Lake of Rot. He later became the mentor to Malenia, teaching her the Waterfowl Dance and her signature swordplay.]