Caelid – Inner Aeonia – Early Day

The creatures native to the hellish landscape attacked in droves, fighting in a mad frenzy of claws, talons, and fangs. Mutated fauna lurked about in every corner, driven partly by the primal desire to feed, and spurred on by desperation. The feeling was exhilarating for the swordsman, who cut them down almost as quickly as they appeared. The smell of sulphur interspersed with the pungent scent of rotting flesh permeated the air. At one point, a thick blanket of ashen mist gave a momentary relief to the nightmarish sights and oppressive stench that characterized the area. The further the warrior ventured forward, the more uneven the ground, and the more bountiful the flora. Soon, after cutting down yet another giant hound-like beast, Vergil was certain that the nigh-endless assault had ceased for the time being. A glance at his sword showed the wear that had begun to take hold. Though the blade was still sharp enough to rend flesh and bone with little effort, cracks appeared on its surface, most notably near the chipped edges of the blade. The swordsman grunted his frustration, for he had never had to worry about maintaining his weapons until this journey. Under Sparda's tutelage, the twin heirs were taught to wield weapons as naturally as they breathed. Most were intuitive enough for immediate use, while others took time to master. Vergil could vaguely recall feeling the hole in his shoulder from when he tried and failed to wield a kusarigama the first time. It was before he awakened his demonic healing, and the process took months to fully recover.

Unlike his brother, who relied more on instinct and natural talent, Vergil preferred to painstakingly learn the proper form for each style of swordplay. This dedication caught his father's eye, which may have been the reason that Yamato was entrusted to him, along with the responsibility of being humanity's torchbearer. Vergil's calm demeanour and preference for more intellectual pursuits endeared him to his father greatly. As for Dante…the young man had a penchant for causing trouble and shirking off his studies, preferring to cheat off Vergil's detailed notes when it came to more intellectual pursuits. This proved to be useful until Sparda noticed how Dante's answers sounded nothing like him and he was forced to reread Dante's Inferno in Italian for a month straight. Though the blue devil initially questioned the need to learn the proper maintenance procedures for mundane man-made weapons, he now appreciated the intent behind the lessons, as it allowed him to prolong the use of his current favoured weapon. He would need to channel some more magic into the blade, at least until he could find a way to reforge and further reinforce the weapon.

After several more hours of fighting his way through the diseased region, Vergil came across a large pool of scarlet water. The water's surface festered with a murky reddish colour that obscured anything below the surface. Large, half-decayed roots crawled around the shores, covered in hundreds of fungal growths that feasted on the corpses that floated ashore. As he approached, he saw yet another moving corpse rise from the depths of the lake and shamble its way toward him, only to step into a bubbling pit that exploded into a geyser. Suffice to say, the region itself was inhospitable, and judging by the increasing presence of large fungal growths and twisted woods, he was getting closer to the source of the devastation. Not wishing to set foot in the swamp, Vergil summoned Torrent, who weakly stumbled towards him from the blue mist. The spectral steed showed obvious signs of hurt from the earlier encounter with a Rune Bear, and though Vergil heard Torrent dematerialize after suffering a critical hit, he knew that that would not be enough to kill his mount. He extended a hand, and allowed Torrent to drink more from the crimson flask. Its restorative effects worked almost immediately, and soon Torrent's injured limping had subsided. He stroked the steed's ashen mane, earning him a whinny of approval from his equine companion. Once he was sure that Torrent had recovered enough, Vergil turned and asked:

"Can you take me through this swamp?"

Torrent huffed and trotted forward, showing his agreement. With that, the rider mounted his steed.

Torrent stepped into the pool of miasma and showed no signs of pain, revealing itself to be immune to its effects. Vergil thought as much when he surmised that a spirit would not likely be affected by the same diseases that afflicted mortals. He was initially unsure of how this would affect him, but judging by the appearance of his past assailants, and the burning sensation that he still felt slowly eating away at his vigour, the pool was not to be trifled with. Torrent waded further through the swampland, avoiding sheer drops, and staying clear of bubbling geysers as his rider steered them through. After making their way roughly to the heart of the Aeonian swamp, both rider and his steed took a pause, likely noticing the same thing. Vergil motioned towards a nearby shore and dismissed his mount. Gripping onto his scabbard once more, the swordsman surveyed his surroundings for the source of what he could only conclude as one thing—killing intent. His suspicions were confirmed when a crimson-haired maiden leaped from one of the surrounding trees and brandished a thin curved sword, with a spike protruding a few inches from its hilt. Vergil deflected the blow and observed his opponent.

She was a young girl, dressed in a similar garb as his traveling maiden, sporting a full crown of crimson hair that fell to her shoulders, and notably a pair of sharp golden eyes that betrayed her current disposition. Without delay, she took a single-footed leap forward and assumed a curious stance resembling a waterfowl. On her sword hand, she held her blade aloft in a curved position, while her off-hand was similarly extended as if to provide support. In an instant, she let loose a series of wide swings and spinning slashes that were trailed by a whirlwind of cuts. Her movements were fluid and graceful, heavily contrasting her miserable and pained expression. Vergil attempted to block as many cuts as he could, repeatedly chipping his scabbard in the process and earning a grunt of annoyance. However, in his current state, he still found it difficult to move his body as quickly as his mind processed her relentless attacks.

Still, there seemed to be a rhythm to the girl's movements, with each flurry of strikes interrupted by another single-footed leap. After avoiding a fatal blow from his assailant's frenzied assault, Vergil assumed a low stance and watched for the next time the girl leaped. Her next action was as predicted, and as the next whirlwind shredded his flesh, Vergil unleashed an attack of his own and quickly unsheathed his katana at his target. The girl continued her motions but noticed that something was amiss. Upon completing her barrage, she heard the clink of her opponent returning his blade to its sheath, making her question when the blade had left the scabbard. In a short moment, her sword arm erupted into a geyser of blood, spraying jets of her vital lifeblood. She screeched in pain, magnified only by the affliction that already took hold of her. She held her arm, attempting to seal the wound, but the pain was almost unbearable.

Caelid – Inner Aeonia – Midday

The girl's fractured mind would sometimes gift her with brief moments of lucidity. Ever since her birth, the girl could feel the maddening grasp of the scarlet rot afflicting her. The disease writhed within her, seizing control of her faculties while inflicting a stream of pain so steady, that she had never known the feeling of being well. As she aged, so too did the rot's control over her grow until her memories became naught but a blur. Most times, she would awake with fresh wounds from a battle she could not recall, and in other more frightening times, she would be completely lucid while an otherworldly force compelled her body to move and fight, with her attempts to wrest control being completely useless. Her battle with the white-haired swordsman was one such occasion, with her screaming in her mind, wishing for the battle to stop and hoping that the swordsman would grant her a swift death for all the trouble that she'd caused. Instead, she heard him grunt in disapproval before turning his back and walking off. She shortly fainted, unable to withstand the pain that assailed her from all sides.

The next few hours were a blur, with her fading in and out of consciousness. At times, she would hear nothing but the distant howl of beasts and the bubbling of nearby rot pools, and at times, she could almost swear that she heard the screams of battle and a clash of blades. In her delirious state, she saw the same white-haired swordsman being cornered by spirits led by a heavily armoured Redmane commander. A few moments later, she could vaguely see the outline of the swordsman luring the veteran into a rot geyser, before impaling him with his own weapon shortly after.

Caelid – Church of the Plague – Early Afternoon

When the girl next awoke, she found herself leaning against a wall in a decrepit church to the northeast of where she had collapsed. She gasped in shallow breaths, trying to steady herself as she repeatedly tried and failed to get up. On her last attempt, she heard a pair of creatures being slashed open followed by approaching footsteps. She winced in pain.

"W-who's there?" She weakly asked. "Well, it matters not. If you are wise, you will leave, immediately."

She turned away and coughed into the stone, noticing a faint cloud of red mist emanating from the blood.

"My flesh writhes with scarlet rot. It is a curse. Not to be meddled with by man."

The man sighed his displeasure; his voice sounded awfully familiar. A moment later, he tossed a golden needle near her feet.

"Use it."

"You ask that I stab myself with the needle…To quell the scarlet rot?" She asks incredulously. "But…how?" Her options were limited at present. Either she dies from her injuries, or she takes a leap of faith and follows the man's instruction. Then there was the matter of how long her moment of lucidity would last before the rot took hold of her body once more. She quickly determines her next action.

"Never mind. I've decided. I would rather trust you, than simply continue to spoil from within. Would you mind…averting your eyes for a moment?" She disrobes her shirt and resolutely stabs herself with the needle, the golden implement piercing straight through her heart. The sensation was cold and painful, but no more painful than the ache that had gripped her for most of her life.

"Well. That was easier than expected…but…why do I feel so…" Darkness once again clouded her vision.

The girl awoke hours later, feeling a strange lack of sensation ravaging her body. She wiped off the blood and sweat that caked over her face and tied her hair up so she could better see. To her surprise, her saviour was nearby, conversing with a maiden who shortly dispersed into a cloud of blue mist.

"I…hoped to see you again. My apologies, for when last we met, I fainted before I could even thank you."

She started to piece her fractured memories together and recognized the warrior that standing before her was the same man whom she had ambushed just hours before. She was surprised. Despite landing several hits on the white-haired swordsman, he seemed no worse for wear as he appeared to be more concerned over the state of his wooden scabbard than his own well-being. Indeed, despite showing multiple bloodied cuts on his attire, no open wounds could be found anywhere on his person.

"Everything is as you said. Since inserting the needle, the scarlet rot has ceased to writhe." She said, surprising even herself.

"Even the nightmares have abated…and now, though I can scarcely believe it myself, I can move as I please." She scrambled in her thoughts, trying to think of a way to thank this kind stranger. She reaches for her pocket and feels a small trinket. How or when she got it eludes her at present.

"Not that I could ever truly repay you, but I would like you to have this, by way of thanks. A token, though it is." The man eyes it for a moment, looking at it in recognition. He tosses it back for her to catch.

"Keep it. I have no need for such a thing." The girl is confused but doesn't argue.

With her vigour restored, the girl steels herself and takes a deep breath.

"I am considering leaving. On a journey. With the needle buried in my flesh, I've started to recall, but dimly…my destiny. It's all thanks to you."

The man looks to the side and nods, then begins walking off to some unknown destination.

"My name is Millicent. I pray fate permits us meet again."

She grabs her curved sword, surprised to see that it is still around, and slings it on her back.

Caelid – Gowry's Shack – Late Afternoon

Hours pass, and the girl fights her way through the feral denizens of Caelid. She eventually makes her way to an old wooden shack when she sees her ashen-haired saviour freshly dispatching a Giant Dog. From the looks of it, the creature had made the mistake of trying to swallow him whole, only for its jaws to meet the same fate as her right arm. She briefly heard the creature choking on its blood before the swordsman finished it with a singular stab to the skull.

"Oh, hello again." She said pleasantly, though she still wasn't used to the lack of pain, her right arm aside.

"Something about this place felt familiar to me. So I decided to pay a visit, hoping to find someone here. But I've only found emptiness."

She looked at the surroundings, trying to guess at what relevance this place might have had, but it seemed her memories had yet to fully return.

"Perhaps before my departure, I needed someone to say farewell to. Well, never mind that. I must focus on my journey, for which I have you to thank. I must stay strong."

She takes a deep breath and sets off on her journey, thankful for the life that was given back to her. She notices the ashen-haired warrior staying behind. Perhaps he was waiting for someone too. She shakes these thoughts as she walks the road ahead.

"Show yourself, old man."

"Thank you kindly, for giving the needle to Millicent. Now, she too, can begin her journey. And stare her fate straight in the eye. You've been a saint, through and through."

The blue devil rolls his eyes.

"Foolishness. Now, give me what we agreed upon."

"As promised I've detailed the secret of Sellia right here." He hands over a note written in the common language. "Go on, it's yours."

The man reads the contents of the note and makes his way back to the abandoned town of sorcery.

"May you find what you seek."

Caelid – Sellia, Town of Sorcery – Early Evening

Dusk was about to settle on the abandoned town when the swordsman cast an enchantment on his frayed blade. He quickly discards his staff, preferring to make use of his weapon.

"It seems there is no shortage of scum here as well."

The swordsman rushes forward and unleashes his blade, a flurry of cuts slowed only by contact from its targets. A sorcerer falls into pieces as soon as the sword's hilt clinks back on its sheathe. With their advantage and positions given away, the rest of the mages reveal themselves from the rooftops, firing a volley of glintblade spells that the swordsman is able to deflect with his scabbard, also enchanted to prolong its use. Behind him, a group of three sorcerers have drawn their blades, blue transparent greatswords that sprung from their staves. The swordsman tilts his head to the side. He would have to attempt this himself later. He twirls his staff and channels his energies through the crystal to conjure magical blades that surround him. He sets them loose on different targets, impaling them before shattering them in quick succession. He would need to better control them, for they still felt incomplete. Seeing how his weapon was on the verge of breaking, Vergil decided to forego its use in favour of a different approach. He needed a way to regain his mastery over his demonic energy and despite resenting his need for a crutch, he saw the practice as necessary until he could recover more of his lost power. Deciding to follow suit with the sorcerers, Vergil extended his staff and channeled his demonic energy into the shape of a sword. The ghost-like blade shimmered in and out of existence, still retaining the same shape as his father's blade, but sizzling with Vergil's own infernal energy.

In his training with Sellen, Vergil was able to learn different ways of manifesting his energy by focusing it on the glintstone that adorned his wooden staff. He initially favoured this technique but realized early on that the glintstones could not withstand his power for long periods of time. After shattering countless staves in their sparring sessions, Vergil relented on a compromise that allowed him to call upon this power while retaining the use of further spells—he would summon and dismiss the sword repeatedly, only calling upon it on the moment before it made contact with an enemy. Familiarity aside, using a sword made out of his own energy felt like a better solution than constantly chipping a mundane katana. As the last sorcerer's body hit the dusty ground, Vergil collapsed to one knee, clearly having extended himself too far again. He took a sip from the cerulean flask and felt some relief from his malady. This was the reason he preferred using his katana, though at present, it appeared that he had little choice in the matter. As he solved the puzzle of Sellia and unsealed its magical barriers, he found the source of the magical energy that brought him to the town in the first place—a staff that was keenly attuned to what Sellen described as the primeval current. Wielded by a hooded monk and accompanied by a swordswoman, Vergil found that his initial suspicions were not unfounded, and knew that once he secured this item, he'd be one step closer to recovering his lost power. He grinned with excitement at the prospect and uttered a single word, internally glad that his younger twin was not around to hear him say it.

"Jackpot."