Morgott was momentarily speechless.
It was true, he had come for the very same purpose.
Though he had no intention of going too far, the fact remained: he was here to undermine Stormveil.
He let out a faint, slightly awkward chuckle before speaking again.
"Heh… it seems we arrived at the same idea."
"To understand Stormveil from within, so that one day we might strike it more effectively."
"But I will not lay hands upon the innocent."
There was a subtle note of warning in that final sentence.
Morgott respected Lucian as an opponent. Because of that, he refused to resort to despicable means.
Even if he were to ambush someone, it would be Lucian alone.
Mogh burst into louder laughter, far less restrained.
"Hahaha! Brother, you really do wrap everything in lofty words. It's almost hypocritical."
"Even if you don't strike now, when true war begins, will you really be able to spare the townsfolk? Those so-called 'uninvolved' people?"
"Or have you sat on the throne of the Grace Given Lord for so long that you've forgotten the methods we once used?"
"Don't forget."
"It was I who attacked the Haligtree from the shadows, so that you could stand proudly in the open."
"And now? Do you look down upon my filthy tactics?"
"Ah well. We were never the same kind of people to begin with."
Morgott's brows furrowed deeply, faint anger flickering beneath the surface.
He would not excuse his own past actions.
What unsettled him was Mogh's final remark.
He had never once believed they were "not the same kind of people."
Yet every time, Mogh insisted on drawing that line.
To Morgott, it felt like a child's baseless tantrum.
He let out a quiet sigh.
"See that thou overreach not."
"If that brand me hypocrite, then so be it."
"And speak not again as though we were of differing kind."
Mogh had been ready to sneer at what he perceived as his brother's naivety.
But when he met Morgott's sharp and resolute gaze, the words caught in his throat.
Morgott was not naive.
He was genuinely compassionate.
Mogh had always known that.
Yes, Morgott would employ unsavory methods to protect the royal capital, but he remained, undeniably, a benevolent and worthy king.
Mogh fell silent.
Yet inside, irritation churned.
What he most wanted was to hear Morgott admit it, to acknowledge their difference, to say outright that they walked separate paths.
Then he could sever himself cleanly from his "ignoble" younger self.
But his brother was always like this.
He could have chosen to live selfishly, to live for himself alone.
Instead, he insisted on carrying the burden of a decaying dynasty on his shoulders.
This was never something the Omen twins should have been responsible for.
They had never enjoyed the Golden Order's glory.
What they had received instead was nothing but injustice.
So why—
Why could his brother accept that responsibility so calmly? So firmly?
Mogh could not understand.
He had long since acknowledged their difference as something real and undeniable.
He was the Lord of Blood, walking a path unrecognized by the Erdtree, pursuing his own desires above all else.
And Morgott—
Morgott was the true King of Leyndell. The selfless, fearless "Grace Given Lord."
The hero who once defended Leyndell, Royal Capital as its final bulwark.
The gulf between those identities gnawed at Mogh constantly.
Yet his brother persisted, always trying to draw him back toward some imagined "righteous path."
It would never happen.
Mogh would build his own dynasty, with Miquella.
And precisely because of that, he had never truly wished to face his elder brother.
But Morgott did not see it that way.
No matter what Mogh became, he was still his younger brother.
They were twins of the same father and mother, who had endured the same suffering.
If anyone in the world should rely on one another, it was them.
Still, Morgott would never say this aloud.
If he did, Mogh would only grow more agitated.
Of course Morgott knew Mogh had his own ambitions.
Ambitions that, in his eyes, bordered on treason.
That was why Mogh had always avoided him.
Back in the sewers beneath Leyndell, the Formless Mother had once reached out to both of them.
Morgott rejected Her.
Mogh did not.
He embraced Her, and even called Her his true mother.
From that moment, Morgott had understood that his brother's path would diverge.
Mogh did not hold affection for the Erdtree as he did.
But if Mogh ever chose to return, Morgott would not refuse him.
Since Mogh showed no such inclination, and Morgott did not yet know the full extent of what he had done—it was best, for now, to let matters rest.
He would wait and see what choice his brother ultimately made.
Sensing the stiffness in the air, Morgott shifted the topic.
"How long hast thou abided in Stormveil Castle?"
Mogh thought for a moment.
"About three days."
"Not long, but there are far more people here than I expected."
"It's completely different from when that fellow Godrick ruled."
At the mention of Godrick the Grafted, Morgott glanced at him sidelong.
Had Mogh secretly built his own network of influence?
Previously, Morgott himself had guarded Stormveil's main gate.
Back then, there had been scarcely any traffic in or out, not like the openness of now.
Morgott's expression did not change. He merely nodded.
Mogh lifted the delicate wineglass before him and took a deep swallow.
"And you, brother? How long have you been here?"
Morgott picked up his own finely crafted cup, raising it to his nose.
The liquid within carried a strong, pungent scent.
Wine?
It had been a very long time since Morgott had tasted wine…
No, had he ever truly drunk it at all?
Even he could not quite remember.
He brought the cup to his lips and took a shallow sip. Almost immediately, he frowned and set it back down.
"For mine own part… I have kept this place these several weeks."
Mogh stared at him in disbelief.
"Weeks? And all that time, you stayed in that corpse identity?"
Morgott nodded.
Mogh burst into laughter.
"Hahaha! Brother, I never imagined you'd obediently toil here as a construction laborer."
"Do you know? You're actually somewhat famous in Stormveil."
"Everyone knows there's this one corpse in the construction team who works exceptionally well."
"They would never guess that the one building their houses is the Grace Given Lord of Leyndell, would they? Hahaha!"
Morgott merely shrugged, unbothered.
When infiltrating, one had to commit fully to the persona.
Besides, it was only labor. It was not as though he was incapable of working.
Morgott simply had a habit of doing things properly once he began them.
"I was not wholly ignorant of it. Yet such measure of recognition… I did not foresee."
"I did but what necessity demanded. Mayhap it is only that a corpse set to such labors is… a spectacle too rare to pass unnoticed."
He then turned the question back.
"And thou? What guise hast thou assumed?"
Mogh leaned back into his chair, adopting a more relaxed posture and smiling faintly.
"This time? I'm playing a wealthy Tarnished noble."
"It's my favorite kind of role. No need to endure dull, miserable days like you."
"Stormveil has its amusements. With a bit of runes, useless to me anyway, I can purchase all sorts of interesting novelties."
"It's the only thing that's kept me from going mad with boredom recently."
After all, his projection did not share Miquella's bed.
To Mogh, that alone made existence rather tedious.
Still, Stormveil offered diversions he found appealing. He had discovered some recent entertainments.
For example, the racetrack.
As dragonbeasts gradually replaced horses within Stormveil, the already scarce horses had been fully retired.
The former stablemasters, unwilling to waste them, devised horse racing as a form of entertainment.
The audience had grown surprisingly large.
Of course, not everyone attended to admire the horses. That group was small.
Most came to gamble.
In the Lands Between, where diversions were scarce, wagering in any form was the most exhilarating pastime.
Mogh possessed vast sums of runes with nowhere to spend them.
To him, runes were merely numbers.
He had even purchased a horse of his own.
Animated, he began describing his lively experiences in Stormveil.
Morgott, for his part, had little interest in such amusements and did not fully grasp the appeal.
Still, if his younger brother was living tolerably, that was no bad thing.
Though Morgott did not know exactly what Mogh had been doing behind the scenes, it was clear he lacked neither runes nor comfort.
Otherwise, he would not have developed such extravagant habits.
By coincidence and absurd chance, the two brothers found themselves conversing at length.
They spoke of many things that day.
Yet, by silent agreement, neither pressed too deeply into the other's secrets—
At the gates of Stormveil Castle, a Silver Knight responsible for registering incoming identities stared in momentary daze at the breathtaking beauty before him.
Only when the female knight donned her helmet again did he snap back to attention and permit their group entry.
Clad in the ornate and elegant Needle Knight Armor, Leda lifted her head and gazed toward the magnificent silhouette of Stormveil rising upon the distant cliff.
"Stormveil… I wonder what it is like inside now."
At her side, Dryleaf Dane remained silent as ever.
Yet as he looked upon the ancient castle, a glint of excitement stirred in his eyes.
Meanwhile, Redmane Freyja spoke loudly and without restraint:
"That colosseum we passed earlier, it's reopened! I really want to spar with those gladiators!"
"I heard there's an arena inside Stormveil too. Maybe we can check it out later?"
Dane nodded, rare for him—indicating agreement.
Due to spatial limitations within Stormveil, Lucian had long ago ordered the army relocated to Stormhill for training and encampment. The rear colosseum had likewise been reopened, welcoming energetic Tarnished eager for challenge.
Leda glanced at the two battle-hungry companions and sighed softly.
If she had not dragged them away earlier, there was no telling how long they would have lingered at the colosseum.
"It's possible," she said evenly, "but don't forget why we came."
Freyja scratched at her helmet.
To be honest, she had no clear idea why they had come to Stormveil.
Leda had never explained in detail, and she had not thought much about it.
Dane, on the other hand, had understood their purpose long ago, but he would not bother explaining it for her.
Seeing Freyja's blank expression, Leda smiled faintly beneath her helm.
Then she realized, with some resignation that among the three of them, she was apparently the only one capable of negotiation.
Her smile faded.
Perhaps it would not be such a bad idea to toss the other two into the arena and let them amuse themselves.
In the end, she sighed and explained:
"Stormveil currently holds the greatest concentration of Tarnished. We need to gather intelligence here."
"Though we have already discovered what may be a portal leading to the Mohgwyn Dynasty, information is never excessive."
"And more importantly, our primary objective this time…"
She paused.
"…is to attempt to provoke hostility between Lucian and Mogh."
"We must find a way to recruit him, to join us in killing Mogh."
Freyja's eyes widened in realization.
"Ohhh, I see."
"That makes sense. He's incredibly strong. With him involved, Mogh won't be a problem."
Leda nodded.
"Good. Now that you understand, let's proceed."
"If you find spare time, you may spar as you like, but do not draw unnecessary attention."
Freyja let out a jubilant cheer.
Even Dane allowed himself a faint smile.