Chapter 1: Guidance

The streets of Yharnam were not always the desolate, filth-laden roads of genocide as they will come to be known as.

Nearly half a century ago, one would not even recognize Central Yharnam, much less its neighbour one level below. Old Yharnam was the home of the masses. Its streets teemed with the liveliness of its citizens, each of them, whether good or bad, were nonetheless prideful of their city's wonderful status. To think that a single drop of the blood that they Yharnamites drank every single day would sell for triple its weight in gold outside the city. At this time, Yharnam had become the new Jerusalem, performing miraculous feats of medicine with blood ministration. Many would come to the city's gates from all over Europe. They came to buy, beg, barter, steal, or even fight for the sweet nectar that lies within. Towards the soldiers guarding the city's entrance, bags of gold would be thrust before their faces by the needy. For the truly desperate, however, they would offer anything from priceless heirlooms to their own family members, begging that they be treated for whatever fiendish aiment plagues them.

However, there was a single thought that everyone, from the tattered folk begging at the gates to Yharnam's elite clergy, would keep in their minds. One opinion that united them all. It was of Yharnam's hero. The man who bestowed the gift of blood upon the once estranged and avoided city.

What does it mean to be a hero? To save lives? To spread joy? To fight evil? Proper heroes are celebrated everywhere they go, correct? It should be normal for a hero to have to greet adoring crowds, accept or reject generous offerings, and to be a figure of might for the huddled masses, right? Whatever the definition may be, Vicar Laurence was certain he had wholly deserved his heroic status.

It was because of him that Yharnam had prospered, becoming known as the spearhead of humanity's medicinal prowess. The Old Blood he brought from the Byrgenwerth university all those years back. It was foolish of its administration to keep such a treasure hidden from humanity. Fear the Old Blood? Laurence now knew that their warnings were but mere exaggerations. A few people turning into beasts was a more than acceptable price for the payoff. Nothing Ludwig and his Hunters can't fix. Besides, the creation of Blood Saints had essentially solved the beast problem. By filtering the Old Blood through the bodies of these fanatical nuns, the blood they produced was clean, free to be used even on the frailest infant without any consequences.

Even so, recent discoveries have the potential to make the output of even Blood Saints seem pale in comparison.

They had done it. After only a few years, his Healing Church's vast resources had accomplished what Byrgenwerth could only dream of. In the tombs below Yharnam, they had found the Isz Chalice. In that Chalice, lies a Great One. Her name, painstakingly deciphered by the Church's brightest scholars, was Ebrietas. And what's more, the monstrosity spoke.

To this day, Ebrietas lies in the farthest reaches of the Cathedral Ward. From there, she mentored Laurence and his Choir of elite scholars about blood ministration, distillation, refinement, and even hunting beasts. Ebrietas told them where beastly outbreaks will occur, where her kin had gone, the concept of the Nightmare, and most importantly, donated vast amounts of her own blood for research. Her knowledge defied logic, seeming almost infinite in depth. In short, whenever Ebrietas has something to say, Laurence himself would cancel any and all plans to have an audience with her.

Never had Ebrietas used the words "urgent" or "immediate" to define her want to speak with Laurence, until tonight.

And so, Laurence finds himself here. Instead of dining with the governor of Aberdeenshire, he is walking up the stairs of the Upper Cathedral Ward, still in his long coat. Of course, transcendent wisdom is always more important than frivolous shows of false friendship with disinterested foriegn leaders. The governor would have to eat his Yharnam Bloodsteak by himself tonight.

It's not like Laurence would not rather be dining with nobles. In fact, he would rather be anywhere other than the Upper Cathedral Ward on any day. Every time he ventures up into this cursed hellscape, he orders his Church Hunters to force all the children into the Lumenflower Gardens, no matter how untransformed they are. The more "successful" orphans are a vital part of maintaining contact with Ebrietas, but Laurence, despite it being his orders, still cannot look any of them in the eyes, eye, or contorted face-flesh. The very thought of it sickened him to the core, but disgust was just another barrier to progress. With a deep breath, he shook off the last of his doubts and continued up the stairs.

By now, Laurence was in the main hall. Members of the residing Healing Church Choir have gradually congregated behind him, moving with such silent unity that only their footsteps revealed their presence. Though they didn't say it, they too were giddy with anticipation for what Ebrietas would reveal to Laurence. A few more turns and doors later, the group had arrived. Before Laurence was a massive porch, intricate stone circles etched into the floor, all congregating at one central point. Laurence stopped. He turned his head and glanced at the Choir. They knew what to do. Immediately, the Choir members took a bow and vacated the vicinity, only to reappear should the Great One request their presence.

Standing tall, Laurence patted his coat breast pocket, feeling for his augur. Sure enough, he felt the damp, wriggling lump, writhing around amidst his pocket lint and loose coins. Taking a deep breath, Laurence raised his left arm above his head and his right perpendicular to it. Closing his eyes, he remained like that. Though some Choir members claim that they could feel "the universe passing through them" when striking this pose, Laurence was yet to feel anything. A full minute passes before Laurence changes position, bringing his right arm straight up and making his left perpendicular.

Immediately, all ambient sounds cut out, replacing them with eerie silence. Laurence's eyes were stuck shut, unable to exit this trance. With a loud tone, Laurence began. "You beckoned me, great daughter of the cosmos?" He asked. A soft rumbling shook Laurence's frame, a telltale sign that his attempt to make contact had been answered.

"Laurence! Oh, Laurence! A glorious moment! I must say! I must tell you!" Laurence had never heard Ebrietas speak in this tone before. Usually, she spoke like a dejected widow, but tonight, not a hint of that remained. In fact, one could mistake her voice for that of a joyful little girl. Ebrietas giggled with glee. "I heard her, Laurence! I thought I would never hear her again, but I heard her!"

"Who do you speak of, oh Great One?" He asked, his ambitions stirring. If even teaching the miraculous act of blood ministration couldn't draw this tone from her, what sort of information could possibly do so? Laurence absolutely must find out. Ebrietas' giggle turned to a celebratory laugh.

"_! I finally heard him speak again!" The name she spoke was, like her actual name, completely unpronounceable by the tongues of men. But this was, to Laurence, cause for further excitement. If only Master Willem could see him now!

"Oh, great Ebrietas! The name you speak of… am I correct to assume that it bears great resemblance to your own?" Ebrietas paused, still giggling quietly. Laurence waited with bated breath for her to confirm his suspicions.

"Laurence…" Ebrietas said, calming herself down for a moment. "Far to the east, another Great One has returned."

The news hit Laurence hard. This was indeed an urgent matter. It took all he had not to burst into celebration and maintain the pose. "Please, Great One! I, along with all of Yharnam, urge you to divulge your infinite wisdom on the matter upon us!" He beseeched, ambition emboldening his voice. Ebrietas gave a low hum before answering.

"Oh Laurence, of course I will!" Laurence, smiling, eagerly prepared to listen as Ebrietas continued. "I want you and your friends to bring her back home, to the lands beyond the Isz Chalice." Her tone suddenly changed, becoming more serious. "I last heard from her years ago, Laurence. Around 22 years before your friends found me." Ebrietas had been with the Healing Church for almost seven years by now, meaning this dormant Great One had been asleep for almost three decades. "Her last words were sickly cries of pain. Sharp. Worse than anything a beast could bellow out. I can feel that her pain still lingers. Should the pain ever turn into anger, there is no knowing what dangers it may bring to this world and the eastern lands."

"Where is this eastern land, oh Great One?" Laurence asked.

"In the land of Japan, in a kingdom named Ashina, and at a place called the Fountainhead." Laurence was taken aback. Certainly not because of the speed and accuracy of Ebrietas' information, as it is well known that the mind of a Great One operates beyond this plane of existence. Instead it was because when Ebrietas said "to the east", he was thinking of trekking to Russia or the Middle East at most. But Japan? If sailing to the orient was easy, Europe as whole would be a much richer continent.

But alas, his Choir was attempting to transcend dimensions just to even glance at another Great One. At least Japan is in this plane of existence.

"Ebrietas, your information and demands have been received with great vigor and gratitude." Laurence said. "The Healing Church shall make your mission our primary goal. I will take my leave to call upon my best hunters. Together, the crème de la crème of Yharnam shall deliver you your friend with expediency. Upon my departure, I will call my Choir to come take my place. I ask you to give him as many details about your friend as possible." Before Ebrietas could even dismiss the Vicar, Laurence lowered his arms, finally returning to the waking world. With pomp in his step, he strutted off the porch and began shouting into the main hall. "Brother Richard!"

"Yes, Vicar?" Brother Richard replied, immediately dropping what he was doing and scurrying up the stairs.

"Do you have your augur?" Laurence asked, looking down at the minister.

"In my robe pocket, Vicar."

"Good. Take some others to document and go contact Ebrietas. Write down every last detail that she utters about this new Great One, yes?" Frozen for a second due to shock, Richard snapped out of it, took a hurried bow, and ran back down the stairs, loudly announcing his need for volunteers. Laurence continued back the way he entered, his mind brimming with ambition. Ebrietas was the Healing Church's first miracle. Since she was found right below Yharnam, they could afford to move her into the Upper Cathedral Ward. Unless this Japanese Great One is some sort of insect, Laurence doubts he could bring it back. Of course, that doesn't matter at all. Should a Great One remain in the physical world, then they must have an augur. All that is needed is for Laurence's hunters to bring back this Great One's augur and the Choir will be able to have audience with a second Great One.

The mere thought of that prospect is enough to nearly bring Laurence to his knees.

Would he transport this Japanese Great One back to Isz like Ebrietas says? Eventually, of course. Though he is yet to experience it, the anger of a Great One could destroy everything Laurence has created. One thing is for sure, however. He absolutely needs a sample of this Great One's blood. Just enough to inject into a Blood Saint. After all, this is why Laurence is sending his best hunters, not mere explorers. Who will he send into this strange land to bleed the unkillable? The same hunters that assisted Byrgenwerth with their appalling retrieval of the dead Great One Kosm. To this day, Laurence still isn't sure what Willem was trying to accomplish in that fishing hamlet. All he knew was that he was in charge of those three hunters now, not that old fool.

Gehrman, the most experienced hunter of them all.

Maria, Gehrman's brightest student.

And Ludwig. Yharnam's holy blade.

Normally, Laurence would trust even just one of these hunters to do the impossible, but this situation calls for all stops to be pulled out. Half a dozen of Yharnam's finest Blood Saints shall accompany them to Japan. Those beggars at Yharnam's gate are going to have to be patient. Should a single one of these hunters be left bloodless and die, all of Yharnam will be plunged into mourning. During their absence, Yharnam's domestic problems will have to be handled by lesser hunters for now. Perhaps Yahar'Gul will be willing to lend some of their hunters to slay some beasts?

As for Laurence? Well, he will remain in Yharnam for now. It would be foolish to leave his prized city without its crown.

It's been a strange five months. One would think that after that much time, a person would become acclimated to their environment, completely immune to its bewildering effects.

And yet, Ludwig defies that rule.

Maria finds Ludwig strange, no way around it, a fact confirmed by her thorough examination of Ludwig's behaviour these past five months. She doesn't want to examine him, yes, but it is more so because there is nothing better to do on board a Portuguese travel vessel adrift in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Every day, Maria would frequently catch Ludwig sitting by himself, his eyes closed and his ear firmly planted on his greatsword's crossguard. Sometimes he would chuckle. Other times he would frown. Rarely, his greatsword would have pale blue ripples coarse down the length of its blade, inciting a boisterous laugh from Ludwig. There were a few occasions when Ludwig would open his eyes and rejoin the rest of humanity. Mealtimes were a given, as well as the three hunter's daily training sessions atop the ship's main deck. If there was a loud conversation nearby, Ludwig would jostle awake and effortlessly join in, instantly becoming the center of attention with his massive frame and loud, yet intelligent personality.

As far as Maria was concerned, she and Gehrman were the only normal people on board.

"Anything the matter, Maria?" Gehrman's elderly voice snapped Maria out of her thoughtful daze. She looked to her right, away from the mesmerizing ocean waves. She had forgotten that Gehrman was standing right beside her. She gave him a soft smile.

"Nothing is the matter, teacher. My mind is simply still trying to wrap itself around the enigma that is Ludwig." She replied. Gehrman sighed, looking back out at sea.

"The moon itself speaks to him through that sword." He joked. "I wonder what one would say if they could speak with the moon." Gehrman waited to hear Maria's chuckle, but alas, nothing. He looked once again to his left and caught Maria in another trance. The smile had all but faded from her face. Gehrman's expression turned into one of worry. "Dear Maria…" He placed a bony hand upon Maria's shoulder. "...are the memories resurfacing?"

"Yes." She responded blankly. In truth, Maria thought about Ludwig because she cannot stand to think about herself. Not after what happened in that god-forsaken fishing hamlet. Every time she saw her reflection, a being no different from the beasts she hunted stared right back. The two hunters with her were also there that night. Maria remembers crying into Gehrman's shoulder after telling him she'd killed an innocent mother, the elderly man's own tears falling onto her pale scalp. She remembers Ludwig bringing his greatsword to his throat, only being convinced not to take his own life by the sword itself. In retrospect, that event may serve to explain Ludwig's current behavior.

"Maria… Please talk with me." Gehrman encouraged. "Right now, I can see that those old memories are not the only thing you are worried about." As usual, the eldest of all hunters could see through his partner like glass. Maria turned to him, her green eyes staring into his soul.

"Gehrman. What if this mission… What if it turns into another massacre? Like the fishing hamlet?" Maria asked worriedly. "What if the people of this 'Ashina' kingdom are just as protective of Etul as the hamlet was about Kosm? More so, even?" After the Choir's documentation of Ebrietas' information, they have translated the eastern Great One's name to be "Etul". Gehrman nodded solemnly, taking a moment to think his answer through. Before long, he was ready to speak.

"At the hamlet, we were all just mere hunters, correct? Servants to Byrgenwerth's scholars, who were, at the time, our employers, yes?" He asked.

"Yes. They kept telling us that if we did not do their work, they would find other hunters who would. Other less skilled hunters who would likely perish while still inflicting the same amount of casualties as we did." It was a grim situation to be in. Maria's blood boils every time she thinks back to those detestable Byrgenwerth scholars. And yet, as a member of the Healing Church, she was not allowed to lay a finger on Byrgenwerth itself. Gehrman smiled.

"Well, this time, we are our own employers." He pointed out. "Laurence is half a world away, and these Blood Saints may as well be our personal servants seeing how starstruck they are by our mere presence." Maria couldn't help but laugh. Even now, the Blood Saints, all young, fanatic, attractive nuns, would give anything to have a chat with the three legendary hunters, much to the dismay of the ship's crew. Their flirtatious advances have been largely ignored by the nuns to the point where they have completely stopped trying.

"Quite, teacher." She replied. "Every day after sparring, those nuns shove vials of their freshly let blood under our noses, begging for us to choose theirs over the others." Gehrman shook his head, smirking.

"Do you see, dear Maria? We have nobody above us." The joking tone of the conversation has once again been smothered by seriousness. Maria listened to Gehrman carefully. "We can control our own destiny now. Instead of dreading our oriental excursion, perhaps you should look at it as a chance to redeem yourself."

"This time, we play by our own rules!" Ludwig had suddenly barged into the conversation. His loud entrance would have made people with softer nerves jump, but not Maria and Gehrman. "We are hunters. Hunters slay beasts, not the innocent." Ludwig wore a massive smile of reassurance as he brought Maria and Gehrman into a bearlike huddle. Maria was tall, Gehrman was taller, but Ludwig's size could put some beasts to shame. Ludwig looked over at Maria. "Let us strive to be better than our inner beasts! Every day is a new chance to improve upon yesterday!"

"Rrh… Good of you to join us, Ludwig." Maria said, not usually one for physical contact. Regardless, his words and Gehrman's had given her hope, and she was thankful. Ludwig laughed.

"Ha, join you? I got up because it is time for luncheon!" Ludwig released the two sighing hunters and marched towards the ship's open stove. "Come! Let some bland mash and jerky take your troubles away!" Gehrman stretched and turned towards the ship's bunks.

"I shall inform the Blood Saints. Surely they are in need of sustenance, bleeding themselves dry every single day." With a pat on Maria's shoulder, he walked off. With a forlorn look, Maria stood up and followed Ludwig to the stoves. She hopes that the Holy Blade was correct. That some sailor rations could take her mind off of that cursed fishing hamlet, lest her mind delves any deeper into those forbidden memories. Deeper than all the innocent lives she took. Deeper than the faces of the hamlet's children as she gutted them like fish.

Never does she ever want to remember what she did to Kosm.

"Wolf?"

Emma awaited a response. She would knock, but her cold hands were carrying a dinner tray, laden with a single steamed bun, a plate of lightly fried shredded pork, a small persimmon, and chopsticks. She cleared her throat before trying again.

"Wolf? Your supper is ready." Emma asked, louder. She stuck her ear against the thin doors of the dilapidated temple. There was a time when the temple didn't even have doors, the Ashina refugees changed that, for there were carpenters in their midst. Sure enough, Emma heard that faint scraping yet again. Every time the Wolf carved, he could hear no one, see nothing, and feel only pain. With a small sigh, Emma set the tray down before the temple's entrance before turning away. The Wolf will eat when he's hungry. Back down the stairs she walked, returning to the campgrounds.

When Ashina fell to the Interior Ministry, all those still loyal to the late Isshin, from mere foot soldiers to Nightjar to the generals, seeked refuge in the dilapidated temple. Here they lived for the past three decades, under the watch of Isshin's confidant, Lady Emma. However, there was a certain aspect of the temple the men had trouble adapting to. Residing in the main building, sitting on a shaggy rug endlessly carving twisted idols of Buddah, was the Wolf. It was because of him that Ashina lost Genichiro, Isshin, Kuro, and countless of their brethren. When the Ashina mob first found the Wolf here, it took Emma all she had to convince them not to slit his throat. After all, if the Interior Ministry found them, not even Emma herself could hold them back. The Wolf was the only one who stood a chance against their advanced forces. Had she pointed that out just a second later, the Wolf's blood would have stained every floorboard in the temple.

Emma's room was within the small shanty village, a collection of bamboo shelters all set up near the offering shrine clearing. Its residents? Nine Ashina conscripts, three Nightjar ninjas, one Ashina samurai, and one Ashina general. Many had been lost during these twenty years, and the remaining survivors have formed a close pact. This temple is essentially all that is left of Ashina's territory. These few clearings in an obscure bamboo forest, standing before a burning wasteland. In fact, the reason the Interior Ministry hasn't found them yet is because of those everlasting flames, first ignited during the Wolf's brawl with the Demon of Hatred in that area. As it seems, flames powered by hatred never go out.

However, not all was safe in the lives of these last men. To secure their territory, the group's three Nightjars are constantly out in the field, scouting the land to ensure that any and all trespassers are either turned away or slain. As a result, the group never really saw much of Hosaku, Fujin, and Daku. Their prayers go out to their three protectors every day, always saving the best of their food for their monthly returns where they would deposit stolen goods. The nine conscripts are what keeps the village running. Out of them all, two are carpenters, five are farmers, one's a blacksmith's apprentice, and the last a papermaker. Together, the farmers, against all odds, have cleared some forest, tilled the land, sowed the seeds of foriegn Chinese wheat, and produced enough food to not only feed the residents, but also to raise a pen of stolen pigs. The carpenters built shelters, fences, and made small renovations. The smith's apprentice kept all their tools and weapons in pristine condition. The papermaker, so easily teasable due to the specificity of his craft, had managed to find mulberry wood nearby, allowing him to practice his craft alone. As it turned out, his product would serve for anything from exceptional tinder for fires to sources of entertainment for the group.

Hoshi the Samurai and General Tsukikage would frequently serve as the leaders of the group, since Emma spent so much of her time tending to the Wolf. Hoshi trained the men in ways of the blade, while Tsukikage planned covert supply raids on nearby Ministry camps. The two, each with drastically different personalities, used to spend much of their time bickering, often resulting in violent clashes of their blades. However, whether it was due to tolerance or exhaustion, they have learned to get along.

All these people living in constant fear of their lives, packed into the same clearing day in and day out. Emma encouraged them all to keep themselves entertained and their spirits high, but there was still one person she could just never get that message across to.

The Wolf now sculpts. Every hour of every day, he remains before his massive collection of deformed Buddahs. Every time his collection filled, Emma would take the oldest Buddahs away to burn. The Wolf's hair had turned silver, his face roughened by age and hatred. His legs have been shed of most of their muscle, with only his right arm still kept in decent shape due to his constant sculpting. It is hard to believe that this sorry ex-shinobi, never saying more than three words per day, had once slain gods. To his right, the Wolf's katana Kusabimaru rests, having not been moved in ages. To his left lies the Shinobi Prosthetic, still wrapped up in that dark blue cloth Emma originally presented it in. The false arm is brimming with attachments, from Lazulite shurikens to a golden leaf fan to a spectral flamethrower. Finally, hanging above the Wolf's Buddah collection, are the two Mortal Blades. The red one hangs above the black, neither of them ever being able to be drawn again by anyone, not even the Wolf himself.

Emma had stopped trying to converse with him long ago. Though the place he sits at now used to belong to Orangutan, a dear friend of Emma's, she feels none of the last sculptor's sense of camaraderie from the Wolf. She just gives him food and sweeps his wood shavings away. The rest of her time was spent with the Ashina survivors. Tonight was no different. Emma had returned to her small shelter, a task that grows more arduous day by day. As the years passed, despite the disciple of Isshin's former physical prowess, her body began to weaken. Now, at the age of fifty five, she could barely perform multiple Ashina Crosses without a full night's rest. Emma silently walked to her cot and sat down, a strained grunt escaping her mouth. She placed her right hand on her sore shoulders and began to rub. Tingling zips of sensation began to run down her numb left arm, eliciting a small sigh of relief. Emma closed her eyes, slipping into a trance, completely focused on ridding the numbness. Minutes pass, each moment causing Emma to disassociate more and more from her painful life.

"Lady Emma! Lady Emma!" Tsukikage pounded on Emma's door, yelling to get her attention. It was like banging a drum next to a hungover person's head. Her eyes snapped open, a wave of frustration washing over her as the numbness suddenly returned. Of course, that frustration immediately turned into anger. Emma rose to her feet and dashed to the door, knocking over her only bamboo chair along the way. She flung the door open and shot Tsukikage a glare capable of unnerving dragons.

"...What...is...it…" She growled. Tsukikage, being the bold general that he is, was unaffected by Emma's intimidating display, instead immediately grabbing her wrist and dragging her outside in a panicked fit. As the two hastily made their way towards the center of the village, Emma could see a large gathering of survivors. Lucky for Tsukikage's wellbeing, her rage was shocked out of her by the sight of it. He approached the group of survivors.

"Make way! Make way! We must let them give the report to Lady Emma themselves!" He shouted, moving the group aside to reach its center. Before long, Emma and Tsukikage were inside the ring of people. In front of them was Fujin the Nightjar, kneeling as per proper etiquette, and Hoshi, standing beside him. Tsukikage released Emma and the two of them stood in anticipation.

"Lady Emma! The Nightjar have discovered a most shocking revelation!" Hoshi exclaimed. "A revelation so great that neither I nor Tsukikage can agree on how to proceed." He turned to Fujin. "Tell her, ninja!" Fujin looked up from the ground.

"Three days ago, in the rebuilt Hirata Estate, the Ministry's appointed Daimyo Tenmon Kenno's wife had given birth." He reported. Emma looked down at him with disinterest.

"What is so important about a tyrant securing his dynasty line over Ashina?" Fujin shook his head.

"One would think that, but that child is not staying with Tenmon, nor shall he become his successor!" This caught Emma's ear. "The child is being transported south to the capital Edo to be held by the Ministry!"

"Why?" Emma asked. Fujin paused. It was almost as if he knew that what he was about to say would throw the village into a frenzy unlike anything they've seen in a long time. Even so, he knew it was his duty to report the truth. With a deep breath, Fujin broke the news.

"Because… That child is the new Divine Heir."