Ch. 95 The three Spirit Wolves naturally wanted to intervene.

From time to time, another weapon would appear in his left hand without warning—it could be a dagger, a straight sword, or a great hammer—unexpectedly following up with a combo after the right-hand staff swung out.

The three Spirit Wolves naturally wanted to intervene.

But what was the result?

With one horizontal sweep, like hitting a baseball, the fearlessly pouncing Texas and Lappland were swatted directly into the abyss below the bridge.

They were just wolves, after all…

Fortunately, Red, who intended to run to the side and rear for a sneak attack, dodged Margit’s sweep.

A repeat of the Roberto-style tragedy was avoided.

“Don’t come over!” Mia shouted to Red.

Mia also knew that this was a battle it couldn’t get involved in.

The Spirit Wolves knocked into the bottomless abyss wouldn’t actually be in serious trouble; Spirit Wolves do not die; after suffering unbearable injuries, they return to the ash box.

However, the sensation of free-falling for so long would certainly not be pleasant.

Patches crawled up after being sent flying by the hammer’s impact, only to see Mia in what could be described as a state of pathetic flight.

If Margit’s staff swung through the air, it would whip up a gale; if it hit the ground, earth and stone would fly.

The reason this bridge was so dilapidated was surely thanks to Margit.

“We can’t win!”

Seeing this scene, Patches’ legs immediately began to tremble.

The gale from the swinging weapon blew past his cheeks, and he instantly made a decision that fit his character.

“I’m slipping away first! See you if fate allows!”

He tightly gripped the spear and great shield Mia had given him and ran back the way he came without hesitation.

Mia, who was being suppressed by Margit to the point she couldn’t even catch her breath or say a complete sentence, felt her blood pressure soaring right now.

“Patches, you dumbass!”

Mia, who always prided herself on being a beautiful girl and maintaining her composure, couldn’t hold it in anymore.

The Glintstone Pebbles she waved her hand to release, which could penetrate walls, were either shattered by Margit or neutralized by Margit’s cloak.

Her flames also couldn’t do anything to Margit; that yellow, seemingly tattered robe appeared to be an extraordinary piece of armor, capable of resisting damage from magic and Prayers.

“Laughable!” Margit mocked coldly, but his staff missed once again.

His anger had not yet subsided.

Using the power of the Erdtree to defy the Erdtree, and even plotting for a great rune…

Absolutely unacceptable.

Wilden tried to come up and rescue Mia, but Margit’s lashing long tail hindered his steps.

The Fell Omen’s long tail was also covered in horns. At the tip of the tail, several of the thickest horns were intertwined in the shape of flames, forming a solid biological weapon.

As a demigod of the Golden Order and an Omen child, his ‘curse’ seemed to be veiled in the power of grace, making it incredibly hard. Every time the horns on his tail collided with the twin swords, dazzling sparks would fly.

From time to time, Margit would turn and attack toward the rear with a manifested weapon in his left hand.

Even though Wilden was behind Margit, the situation he faced was not much better than Mia’s.

During the era of the ancient Erdtree, Omen children represented the blessing of the Crucible of Life.

Perhaps this unpredictable combat ability was also part of the Crucible’s blessing.

Mia used alternating releases of fire and magic to try and block Margit’s path.

Melee?

She was dreaming; Mia was small, and her attack range was short.

The reality that an inch shorter is an inch more dangerous, while an inch longer is an inch stronger, was right before her eyes.

The fast-paced battle soon caused her to make a mistake in the energy channeling between grace and magic.

A blue light, different from a Glintstone Pebble, appeared at the tip of the staff.

She didn’t know how the Prayer she ‘thought of in her heart’ reacted with the’scientific formula’ of Glintstone Magic.

Before Mia could take it back, a pebble with a burning tip flew towards Margit.

With a whoosh, it grazed Margit’s head, Shattering the wildly growing horns on the right side of his head.

Even so, Margit did not stop his attack.

For an Omen, even if horns break, they will grow back.

Moreover, this appearance was something Margit… no, Morgott, loathed.

Mia jumped back again to dodge.

But she noticed that further back was a narrow tunnel.

There was almost no room to retreat.

“Listen to me, Morgott!” Mia, unable to bear it any longer, shouted Margit’s true name.

In her hand, she already held the stone slab engraved with a seal.

Power poured into it.

An Erdtree crest suddenly appeared beneath Margit’s feet; Margit, who was about to swing his scepter, suddenly fell and was heavily suppressed on the ground.

The moment the shackle was released, he was unable to move.

“Presumptuous…!”

It seemed as if actual fire was about to burst from his eyes.

The Soldier in front of him had called out his true name.

The Soldier in front of him knew his identity.

And even held a fragment of his former shackle.

Margit… no, it was Morgott.

The Golden Straight Sword in his right hand pierced the earth, instantly Shattering the magic circle restraining him.

“I am… Margit!”

Morgott roared.

Since his identity had already been known.

Then, in front of these few people…

It was naturally fine to say these words.

He was Morgott, the king of the Golden Order, but also a cursed Omen.

Imprisoned since childhood, it wasn’t until the Shattering that he took the opportunity to gain freedom, seize power, and become the so-called ‘Margit’.

Born unloved by the Erdtree, Morgott wanted to protect that Erdtree.

He wanted to try to love his own blood relatives.

So, beneath this Stormveil Castle, under the name of “Margit, the Fell Omen”, he helped Godrick hunt the invading Tarnished.

Even though Godrick was, in his heart, a rebel who didn’t know how to obey, he was, after all, the son of his brother Godwyn.

In this moment of being suppressed by the shackle, he felt as if he had returned to the time he was once imprisoned—in the dark sewers of the Royal Capital.

As if he were still that unloved Omen, unworthy of loving others and without a shred of value.

He was not!

The Soldier who made him experience such humiliation again…

“I shall carve my name, Morgott the Last King, upon thy meager grave!”

Taking another day off.

Writing this part of the plot was really frustrating; I don’t know how you all feel about it.

I’m the type who would rather start over if I can’t write a satisfactory plot…

Once the fight with the Omen is over, I’ll resume daily updates; it should end in the next chapter.

But today’s progress is much better than the day before yesterday.

I’ll do my best.

Purple sweet potato pudding, purple sweet potato pudding, purple sweet potato pudding, purple sweet potato pudding