The End

After blocking the heavy blow, Edgar caught the Ruins Greatsword with his halberd. Lucian immediately darted away and drove his sword toward Singh's abdomen.

But Singh neither dodged nor defended, letting Lucian's blade sink into his belly.

Singh yanked hard. Edgar nearly lost his balance from the tremendous force, but he quickly steadied himself, leaned back, and began a desperate tug-of-war with Singh.

Blood sprayed from Singh's abdomen. Realizing the belly was a relatively soft target, Lucian immediately poured all his strength into tearing the wound fully open.

Blood gushed out, and some of his organs spilled free, but Singh's savagery was completely unleashed as well.

He stared only at Edgar. He wanted to take down one of them first.

Singh stopped pulling on the Greatsword and lunged forward instead.

Edgar was already weaker than Singh, and he had needed to lean back just to avoid being dragged over.

Now that Singh had switched from pulling to pouncing, Edgar lost his balance and was pinned beneath him. The crushing weight made his armor creak.

Singh pressed one hand against Edgar's breastplate, preventing him from escaping, while his bloody maw lunged for Edgar's head.

If those jaws closed, they would probably tear Edgar's entire head off.

Edgar immediately released his halberd and braced Singh's upper and lower jaws with both hands, but he still could not stop that gaping mouth from closing in.

Lucian's attacks continued to leave wounds across Singh's back, yet Singh remained unmoved.

At the critical moment, Evan rushed forward and poured an entire bottle of Spark Aromatic into Singh's open mouth.

A violent explosion erupted inside Singh's mouth. Because he was so close, Edgar's face and hands were scorched black as well.

Fortunately, the blast stopped Singh, leaving Edgar temporarily safe.

Singh rose and smashed Evan into the wall with an elbow. It was impossible to tell whether he was alive or dead.

Then he viciously kicked Edgar in the abdomen.

Edgar's armor caved in from the blow. He rolled across the ground several times, vomiting blood, and could not get back up for a while.

Seeing that both men were badly injured, Singh turned to deal with Lucian.

Lucian had already pulled back and began observing Singh's condition.

Singh was still weakening. His fur had faded to dark red, like clotted blood. His muscles had atrophied, and he could no longer swing the Ruins Greatsword one-handed.

Yet in return, all that lost vitality had been converted by the Ruins Greatsword into resources for battle.

Singh stuffed his exposed organs back into his body, and the wounds across him were immediately crudely filled by black mist.

Lucian felt awful. The Ruins Greatsword was so unreasonable to deal with. As long as its wielder still had a breath left, he could keep fighting.

Even if using it meant sudden death afterward, it was still terrifyingly powerful in battle.

If Lucian had been in decent shape, he could have simply kept wearing Singh down. Singh's vitality would eventually run out.

He would not even need to wait until it was gone. Once Singh weakened to the point where he could barely hold his sword, dealing with him would be easy.

But Lucian was not in good condition either. On the contrary, the fact that he could still fight was already a miracle.

Both his Flask of Crimson Tears and Flask of Cerulean Tears were empty. He did not even have enough magic left to use a skill once, and the wounds on his body had split open again during the battle.

His mind was nearing its limit as well. Lucian was already preparing to use his last remaining use of Wind Spirit Moon Shadow.

He had to use it while he could still move...

Singh dragged his sword behind him as he charged over, but Lucian merely stood where he was, waiting for an opening.

"Whoosh, whoosh—"

Several Ballista Bolts tore through the air. Lucian jumped, thinking there were more Confessors.

But the bolts all struck Singh. Their aim was poor, and several flew wide, but one lucky shot pierced Singh's knee.

Singh dropped to his knees. At that moment, two Godrick Soldiers suddenly rushed out of a nearby room and threw a large net over him.

Lucian froze. He had been ready to activate his backup trump card, so where had these reinforcements suddenly come from? Still, this was a good thing. Lucian wished there were even more of them.

Then four more Godrick Soldiers rushed out of the room, carrying Brass Shields and spears, with crossbows hanging at their waists. So they had fired those bolts earlier.

The Godrick Soldiers varied in age. Some already showed signs of becoming undead, while others looked only sixteen or seventeen.

They raised their shields and surrounded Singh, their spears constantly stabbing bloody holes into him.

The net hindered Singh's escape, but with the Ruins Greatsword supporting him, he still managed to rise and break through it.

Edgar struggled to his feet and looked at the young soldier leading them with a complicated expression.

He had clearly told him to guard the residents properly. If he had brought everyone out and left a gap in the defenses, what would happen to the residents?

Yet if he had not arrived with his men, the three of them likely would not have survived.

Singh's body shriveled further, and his fur began to fall out. Even wielding it with both hands, he could barely swing the Ruins Greatsword now, but he kept slashing because he no longer had the strength to get around the soldiers.

Each strike was blocked by the Brass Shields, while the soldiers' spears continued to injure him.

Although soldiers were knocked down from time to time, those beside them immediately stepped in to take their place.

At last, Singh could no longer lift the Ruins Greatsword. He fell onto the ground, powerless, staring up at the sky.

The soldiers surrounded Singh and waited for Edgar to decide what should be done with him.

Edgar and Lucian walked over to Singh. He now looked as though he would die of old age at any moment, and the sight made both their hairs stand on end.

The Singh who had been so powerfully built moments ago had transformed bit by bit into this gaunt, skeletal state before their eyes. The Ruins Greatsword was truly too strange. No wonder it had been sealed away all this time.

The Ruins Greatsword itself seemed to know it had failed again. Its surface returned to a dull, lightless black, waiting for the next person to raise it and swear vengeance.

The Fingers stuck to its hilt fell away one after another.

Evan also slowly made his way over while leaning against the wall. He had only been struck by an elbow, but his body was the frailest among them, and that blow had nearly shattered half his ribs.

Evan looked at Singh's eyes with pity. Their pink hue gradually faded, as the Bewitching Branch's control weakened along with Singh's life.

"Singh, at least come to your senses before you die."

Perhaps Evan's words woke Singh, or perhaps the control had simply weakened. In any case, Singh finally regained his senses at the end of his life.

The "enemies" before him suddenly became friends again, and the confusion in his mind left Singh unable to process the change for a moment.

When he finally understood what had happened, two bloody tears ran down Singh's face.

He had been used twice, and had harmed so many innocent people. He had harmed his friends...

Struggling, he pressed his neck against the Ruins Greatsword. Proud as he was, Singh could not forgive himself for making the same mistakes again and again. Death was the only thing he could still do.

But Lucian stopped him and said seriously:

"Suicide is not the end a warrior deserves."

"Let me grant you your final honor. This is my personal respect for your courage."

Singh looked at the Tarnished before him and slowly closed his eyes.

Burdened by sin, Singh did not hope for any honor.

He simply felt that, as the defeated one, it was only natural for the victor to decide his end.

Lucian raised the Lordsworn's Greatsword and thrust it into Singh's chest.

Singh did not struggle at all. He died peacefully, the Greatsword standing upright from his body like a tombstone, recording the life of a tragic yet proud warrior.

Those last few paragraphs were meant to echo Godfrey and the revenge warrior at Castle Morne. Even the Elden Lord and an enemy wielding the Ruins Greatsword received recognition after their defeat. I wanted to recreate that feeling, but I could never capture it, and it has been painful. My writing ability is still too weak.