"Hey there, want to buy some Beast Pellets?"
In the bustling streets of Bedford, a languid voice reached Darrick's ears as he wandered, trying to clear his head.
Who's calling me?
"Yeah, you."
He turned around to see the black-haired proprietor of a shop called Maldron's Magical Goods waving him over from the roadside.
'Beast Pellets? Never heard of them. Just another person peddling strange gadgets?'
Darrick shook his head, intending to ignore it. Just thinking about tomorrow's all-out challenge against the Undead Legion had kept him from sleeping a wink last night—he'd come out for a walk just to settle his nerves.
'Of all things, getting pitched to on a simple walk… Well, I'd better head back. No matter what this person says, I'm not buying anything.'
"I've heard that the Undead Legion just loves popping these little pills," the proprietor added.
"—!?"
By the time he came back to his senses, Darrick was still standing in the street—but now his arms were wrapped around a stuffed paper bag crammed full of Beast Blood Pellets—Beast Pellets, for short.
"What… what am I doing?" he muttered, twitching slightly as he tried to process what had just happened.
It seemed like the proprietor—Maldron, was it?—had told him these Beast Pellets were a favorite among the Undead Legion's warriors, that taking one during combat would massively boost his fighting ability, and then…
'He impulse-bought the entire shop's stock of Beast Pellets!?'
The thought made him thump his chest, wincing at the coins that had just slipped through his fingers.
He could only hope the pellets actually did what the shopkeeper had claimed. If not, he was coming back to demand an explanation.
Though now that he thought about it, the Beast Pellets hadn't even been his biggest expense.
"I hear you're one of the Farron Guard—going to challenge the Undead Legion, are you? If so, I have a suggestion."
"Have you considered trying lightning? Look—the Legion wears armor, right? Metal conducts electricity. Their weakness might just be thunder and lightning."
"Of course, this is only speculation on my part. I'm completely useless in a fight myself—all I can do is watch recordings of the Undead Legion and make guesses."
That one offhand remark from the shopkeeper had set Darrick thinking, and he had ultimately spent a small fortune buying large quantities of Lightning Grease—an oil that coated weapons in electricity.
It had to be said: this proprietor named Maldron had read Darrick's spending habits perfectly.
Watching Darrick's retreating figure, Maldron—or rather, Wade—smiled and gave a small wave at his back.
He had overheard Gapar and Stella's conversation, and so knew that the Farron Guard would soon be mounting a raid on the Undead Legion.
His assessment of the situation, in three words: pretty good, actually.
If you looked at this purely from a dungeon lord's perspective, you'd want people to never defeat the Undead Legion—to keep dying there and dropping mana forever, generating revenue indefinitely.
But in practice, that approach had only worked at the very beginning—and not much since.
The reason was something Wade had noticed: the number of challengers taking on the Farron Undead Legion had suddenly dropped sharply one day, and never recovered.
The daily count of challengers had even fallen below those attempting the bosses in the Great Catacombs.
Wade had thought long and hard about why, and eventually got his answer when he interviewed adventurers at a tavern.
"Sure, the Undead Legion's story is touching—but that doesn't mean I need to go fight a battle where I can't see any chance of winning, does it?"
Right. A good story alone couldn't draw people into a grueling, near-certainly fatal fight. If adventurers couldn't win, they simply wouldn't try.
At this rate, the Undead Legion would end up sitting on a shelf, collecting dust.
Change was needed.
The first step was to let people see a possibility of victory—a first clear of the Farron Undead Legion.
But it couldn't look cheap—that would undermine the Legion's dignity. So the first-clear party had to be prestigious, like the combination of the Sword Saint and the Farron Guard.
After that, he would need other measures to keep adventurers coming.
On that front, Wade already had some preliminary ideas.
They would involve the Authority: Power Calibration perk—after the first clear, challengers might find themselves facing an Undead Legion whose strength had been adjusted.
But the Legion's intensity couldn't drop too far. He settled on a floor of C+.
That would give people a glimmer of hope—though realistically, most would still lose.
What then?
If they can't win, they can't win—but I can make sure they keep trying anyway.
Losing was fine. Knocking off half their health bar—or even a third—wasn't too much to ask from adventurers, was it?
As long as they met certain benchmarks Wade set in advance, even if they ultimately failed and walked away empty-handed, they could unlock new things—like rewards worth dying for, along with access to new maps.
Specifically, the map between Farron Keep and Irithyll of the Boreal Valley:
The Catacombs of Carthus.
That zone would serve as a continuation of the Undead Legion and the Abyss storyline, reinforcing the narrative threads already present in the Sein Dungeon.
After a long period of reflection, Wade concluded that the dungeon's storytelling was better kept relatively linear.
The Raya Lucaria Academy arc had been his experiment in that direction—laying out the entire story in accessible locations, making it easier for adventurers to follow, and simpler for him to manage.
The "resistance against the Abyss," embodied by Farron Keep and the figure of Artorias—the part that fascinated adventurers the most—had become the main narrative thread after much deliberation.
Aside from that, of course, in this world, the Abyss needed the "demon race" to serve as its scapegoat.
When you thought about it carefully, Abyss-related content ran throughout all of Dark Souls—almost every area could be linked to it in some way.
But the demon race couldn't carry that entire burden. Perhaps they could be labeled as the "dregs of the Abyss."
Looking back now, Wade was genuinely glad he had started with Farron Keep—the sequence of future zones practically laid itself out.
Farron Keep → Catacombs of Carthus → Irithyll of the Boreal Valley → Anor Londo.
A single, unbroken chain.
Once they reached the Boreal Valley, the main story could shift toward Linking the Fire, connecting the first and second games.
From resisting the Abyss to linking the fire for the sake of the world—one generation sacrificing itself for the next—it would likely create even greater emotional impact.
And further down the line, when the Linking the Fire arc reached its conclusion, Wade would need to rely on his creative instincts—introducing elements like the Erdtree, a dreamlike realm, and even concepts beyond the Souls series.
Calling it a "fusion of worldviews" wouldn't be entirely accurate. Each setting would remain self-contained, but he would leave subtle connections for people to interpret on their own.
Outside the main narrative, smaller side arcs could be woven in—like the Dragonslayer and the dragons of the Painted World of Ariandel.
"This is going to be a massive undertaking."
Wade stretched lazily. A project of that scale wasn't something to rush.
For now, the most immediate thing on his mind was tomorrow's battle.
He had his recording stones prepared.
He was looking forward to what the adventurers would show him.
The next day.
Squelch. Squelch.
Boots sank into the thick, murky swamp, each step producing a soft, wet sound.
Darrick tilted his head back to look at the sky. Farron Keep never enjoyed the clear sunshine of the forest regions—the sky was always a flat, oppressive gray, with no telling when sunlight might ever break through.
"Nervous?" Gapar's voice came from beside him.
Darrick shook his head, his expression calm. Whether he was nervous on the inside was something only he knew.
Ten people, eight wolves, moved through Farron Keep—all Farron Guard except for Gapar. The mood was neither heavy nor lively, lingering somewhere in between. They had walked this path countless times, crossed blades with the bosses here again and again. Even now, with thoughts of a decisive battle in mind, it was difficult to stir up any particular emotion.
When the number of dungeon entrants was below ten, battle pets like the wolves each occupied one person's slot. At a full ten, battle pets could enter freely, as long as their number did not exceed the adventurers'.
The great wolves, who had shared in the Wolf Blood, seemed to sense what today meant. They strained to hold their heads high—but some invisible weight pressed them down.
Gulp.
At that moment, a loud swallowing sound echoed from within the group, recurring every few minutes—louder even than the croaking of frogs.
"Hey, Wisk—take it easy, would you? I know you're nervous." Klan nudged the large man beside him.
"I—I can't help it. I'm just so nervous." Even as he spoke, Wisk let out another small belch, his awkward demeanor sharply contrasting with his imposing frame.
"You're going to—ugh, now you're making me nervous too." Klan's palms were already slick with sweat, and he could feel the same dampness beneath his armor.
Those two were actually holding up relatively well. Others in the group had grown so tense that they had gone completely stiff-faced and silent.
Taking in the scene, Darrick could only sigh inwardly and blame himself.
Last night, he had given a rallying speech—and it seemed he had pushed too hard, leaving everyone burdened with pressure going into today's battle.
I still have a lot to learn… about leading a team.
He clapped his hands and spoke:
"Everyone, listen—I know what I said yesterday might've put some pressure on you, but—"
Gapar watched from the side, a faint smile curling at the corner of his mouth, like a parent watching a child grow.
Most adventuring parties, when preparing to challenge a powerful boss, would spread the word to build momentum and attract an audience. Darrick hadn't done that. He and the Farron Guard had said nothing about the coming clash with the Undead Legion. Even their entry into the dungeon had been quiet, stepping through the portal without ceremony.
In his own words:
"A hero's farewell needs no fanfare. Only proper reverence."
Beautifully said, Gapar thought. Even I couldn't have put it that way. That's Darrick for you—the greatest admirer of the Undead Legion.
If possible, this old man should keep a low profile today. Let the young ones take the stage.
"OHHH!"
Suddenly, the Farron Guard erupted in a unified shout. Energy surged, and the oppressive atmosphere shattered instantly.
What on earth did Darrick say? How did he turn things around so quickly?
Watching the scene, even Gapar felt a flicker of excitement ignite within him.
Their pace quickened. They moved through the land like people returning home.
Kill the monsters. Extinguish the signal fires. Walk the path of the Wolf Blood. Pay respects to the Old Wolf of Farron.
And then—
Bang. Bang—
Beyond the gates of Farron Keep, steel clashed against steel once more. The Undead Legion continued their endless, sorrowful "mutual slaughter," purging those corrupted by the Abyss.
When would this battle without end finally cease?
Darrick ran his fingers along the carvings of the gate, then turned to face everyone behind him.
Gapar raised his blade and gave a thumbs-up.
The wolves held their heads high, their thick fur rippling in the wind like flames.
Wisk swallowed again, though more quietly this time. Klan removed his glasses and exhaled slowly. Some took deep breaths. Others rolled their shoulders, cracked their knuckles, or bit their lips—
But fear?
Not a trace of it remained on anyone's face.
Good.
A rare smile broke across Darrick's face—sharp, almost fierce. He pressed both hands against the gate. The moment the sounds of battle within fell silent—
"Move out!"
The gates of Farron Keep swung open.
At that exact moment, the clouds parted, and sunlight broke through—rare rays falling upon the last remaining member of the Undead Legion.
He gently laid down the body of a fallen comrade and turned toward the gate, perhaps to bask in the sunlight.
But what reflected in his eyes was a line of figures saluting him beneath the light.
For a fleeting instant, through the haze, those figures looked exactly like the Legion as they once were—before Linking the Fire, when they roamed the land, driving back the Abyss.
The Undead Legion stilled for a brief moment.
Then—he returned the salute.
"Awoooo—"
A long wolf's howl echoed through the keep.
And then—steel against steel, blood against blood, soul against soul.
A blade flashed coldly. One of the Undead Legion lunged at Wisk; he barely raised his shield in time.
But a gust of wind swept past—
Clang!
Gapar had appeared before him, pressing the Farron Greatsword down.
Clang—clang—clang!
In an instant too fast for the eye to follow, countless exchanges rang out. The wind from their blades sent Wisk tumbling, while the duel raged on uninterrupted.
Pressure surged from behind the Undead Legion. Great wolves, a werewolf, Farron Guard—all attacking at once.
Boom—
A tremendous force swept the blade aside. The Undead Legion twisted unnaturally and slashed behind him, a strike that left no room between death and grievous injury.
Clang!
The blow was halted—by three Farron Guard, holding firm together.
"RRAAHHH!"
They surged forward—but the Undead Legion countered instantly, kicking them away along with the wolves behind them.
Gapar and Darrick advanced together, striking from both sides.
Clang!
A flick of the dagger—and Dahl's guard shattered. Even prepared, he had been deflected.
Before the finishing blow could land, the Legion had already turned to engage Gapar again.
The battlefield dissolved into chaos.
The Undead Legion was overwhelmingly powerful. Outnumbered, he remained calm and controlled. Only Gapar could face him head-on—everyone else danced on the edge of death.
Yet the pressure they exerted surpassed anything he had faced before.
Before ten minutes passed, he entered his second phase.
A sweeping slash shattered the encirclement. Blood sprayed as someone was cut across the chest.
"A formidable opponent indeed."
Gapar tore off his upper garment.
Then—
Another Undead Legion member suddenly rose, eyes bloodshot, charging wildly.
He had been consumed by the Abyss.
The Legion immediately turned to face him, even kicking Klan out of danger.
An opening.
But no one attacked.
Instead, the sorcerers targeted the corrupted one.
"…Interesting."
Wade observed silently.
The corrupted Legion fell.
The battle resumed.
Now—Wade watched seriously.
These adventurers had turned the story into something sacred.
Something worthy of respect.
Something like… romance.
"RAHHHHH!"
Gapar unleashed everything.
Wind, sparks, thunder—battle erupted in full force.
Lightning-coated weapons struck relentlessly.
The Undead Legion began to stagger.
But still—he fought on.
Deaths followed.
First. Second. Third.
Still he fought like a raging wolf.
Finally—
The sixth death.
The Undead Legion drove his blade into the ground, breathing heavily.
Gapar's arm hung limp.
"I… still need to grow."
Darrick rose.
Covered in wounds, yet still moving.
He approached.
The Legion stood again.
"Go," Gapar said.
"RAHHHHHH!"
Darrick charged.
Steel met flesh.
Pfft—
He fell to one knee.
Silence.
Then—
A body collapsed behind him.
Cheers erupted.
We won…
Tears streamed down Darrick's face.
"No need… to fight anymore…"
His voice barely formed.
Then—
Blood began to rise.
Not his.
The Legion's.
Wolf Blood gathered behind him—
BOOM—
Flames roared to life.
Darrick felt as though he had been cast into a furnace.