In the hunters' dream, two hunters sat crestfallen. The latest defeat they had suffered destroyed their spirit. "We didn't even have time to retaliate," Surgit said after a moment's silence. They had been sitting on the couch opposite the fire, each mourning their recent loss. "You threw your axe in my face…" Francis mumbled.
That was the first thing he said to Surgit when both met at the hunters' dream. They hadn't agreed on a way to meet in case one of them died. They just knew it was the place they'd find the other. Surgit had no other way to access Cainhurst without Francis' invitation. 'I should've activated that lantern,' he reprimanded himself after he awoke at the Forbidden Forest. The Confederates' leader was still there, eying him with one eyeball that peeked from behind that metallic bucket he wore over his head.
He decided to squat at the dream, hoping that Francis would show up. To his surprise, the old man was already there when he arrived. Both of them dragged their feet inside the old wooden house then sat on the couch. "Would you stop nagging about that already? It was an accident. That freak has insane reflexes." Surgit was frustrated at the old man's constant mumbling.
Francis sighed. "Forgive me, I just can't believe how easily we were dealt with. Are we this weak?"
"How many beasts like this one have you fought old man?"
"What do you mean like this one?"
"There are some men," started Surgit. "And women, who transform into hideous beasts. The first one I fought when you and Karla showed up, do you remember it?"
"Yes, that giant of a monster isn't easy to forget."
"I believe it was previously man or woman. They'd transformed due to some strange effect blood has on our bodies."
"That's a bold theory. Do you have proof to back up your story?" The old man had his suspicions. He couldn't make any concrete conclusions unless he had enough proof of the matter.
"Remember the pendant you and Karla found on the beast?" Surgit asked. Francis nodded in reply. "I never thought of inspecting the item with insight until I met another beast similar to it." Surgit fumbled in his pockets, took the badge out and gave it to Francis.
"Go on, use your insight on this one," Surgit urged.
Francis took the Sword Hunter Badge and inspected it with his third eye. A message appeared soon after stating:
'Sword Hunter Badge: One of the badges crafted by the Healing Church. The silver sword is a symbol of a Church hunter. Ludwig was the first of many Healing Church hunters to come, many of Whom were clerics. As it was, clerics transformed into the most hideous beasts.'
The old man remained silent for a long time before he finally recollected his power of speech. "Why did the other beast remind you of this item?"
"It was in the Great Cathedral that I met her. She knelt down near an altar, repeating the same prayer over and over again. At first I thought I had finally met someone from the church who could explain to me what happened to this city. However, as I approached and the praying stopped, the woman turned towards me then let out this shout.
"I still shudder at the thought of that harrowing scream. But that wasn't all that happened. The woman's bones started cracking. I winced, imagining how I'd feel if my own bones broke that way. But the woman didn't even flinch. She just stared at me with those dark eyes, as if telling me that I was next.
"The next thing I know, blood showered the walls of the Great Cathedral. The woman's body disappeared, replaced by a giant beast. It looked eerily similar to the one I fought at the Great Bridge. I saw this one transform in front of my eyes. What other proof do I need? You also saw the description the insight provided on the badge."
Francis listened to all of this with great intent. That transformation was something that would have terrified him. He wondered how Surgit had managed to deal with that abomination. "Death is part of dealing with these monsters. They are stronger, faster and much more difficult to deal with compared to the normal beasts we usually fight."
Surgit's words came as a response to Francis' inner thoughts. "I learned to take death as a learning pattern. I go fight beasts, I die to them. But in between me fighting and me dying, I take my time to observe their weaknesses. You may not have fought any of these strong monsters. I can tell you this: against them, death is inevitable. Embrace it, make the best of it."
Francis was speechless. He was perhaps stronger than Surgit, but he just realized that he was inexperienced compared to him. He was a knowledgeable man, but he knew only little of Yharnam. "We didn't find the throne room in there. You don't have to show me where you are." Francis stood up, ready to depart. "But I'm very interested in those tombs you spoke about earlier."
"Don't worry old man, I've found what I needed in Cainhurst. We can go together to the Pthumerian Labyrinth. That Logarius sure is powerful, are you sure you can deal with him on your own?" Surgit had a feeling that the old man no longer needed his assistance.
"You have experience so much in Yharnam. You don't back away from a challenge, I admire that. I feel I should do the same. That Logarius is my prey, I shall deal with him alone. I'll let you come to Cainhurst the next time we meet. I'll even let you light the lantern there and come and go as you wish."
Surgit nodded. He didn't know what to say to the old man's sudden fit of generosity. "Why do you think we can't die?" Surgit asked the old man who was about to leave the workshop.
"It is a mystery I just can't seem to understand. Worse yet, there's nothing about this endless cycle in any of the books I had read in Cainhurst." Francis turned then walked towards Surgit. "You have done me a great kindness today, even if you don't realize it. I had thought that I was simply weak, unable to deal with one man. I thought I had become stronger than most. And when we lost so easily to Logarius, I thought that this city would just never allow us to find the truth.
"I was crestfallen, ready to give up. But you told me about your experience. You're someone who never gives up. Even when you were sick, on death's doors, you persevered and fought to reach this fabled city. If there's someone who deserves to leave this place and resume their life, it should be you Surgit. If I find anything at the castle's archives, I'd be sure to share it with you. I promise you that."
The old man hurriedly left after the monologue, ready to deal with the impossible obstacle that awaited him at the highest structure of Cainhurst's castle. Surgit was left alone with his thoughts inside the workshop. He sat there, for what seemed to be hours, in complete silence.
A faint whisper woke him from his daydreams. It emanated from the garden behind the old wooden house. Surgit stood up and slowly walked towards the source of the noise. He soon reached the garden. Beautiful white flowers were scattered all around. The bright light emanating from the moon above his head reflected on the flowers, giving the place an ethereal feel. Surgit felt like he was surrounded by ghosts.
Gehrman sat down on his wheelchair, sleeping as was his custom. Surgit slowly approached, pricking his ears to listen in on what the disabled old man was saying. "...Laurence, I'm getting old. I'm of little help, and to wake is to die... But I'm not entirely useless... I can still do my share. How long I've waited, for this chance to do something."
'Laurence, this old man knows Laurence?' Surgit was now completely bewildered. 'Just how old is this old man? It was my understanding that Laurence was the Healing Church's founder. And what does he mean by waking up is dying? Is this why he sleeps most of the time? Or is talking about something I'm not aware of?'
Surgit walked towards the doll. He knew that the old man would never give him a proper answer. He'd just go back to sleep if he ever managed to wake him up. "Tell me what you know of Gehrman dear dolly," Surgit asked. The doll blinked at him, with her porcelain eyes and long eyelashes.
"Gehrman? He was a hunter long, long ago. But now serves only to advise them. He is obscure, unseen in the dreaming world. Still, he stays here, in this dream. Such is his purpose."
"That's all you can say? Can't you think of something else but your programmed speech? I guess you were created just to channel our echoes after all." Surgit was frustrated. Every time he felt that a crucial information was close to reaching him, it would just vanish. He felt like he was chasing after fairy dust. People would say it existed. But whoever looked for it would only be faced with frustration. The doll looked at Surgit, mechanically blinking as if that was her purpose.
"Over time, countless hunters have visited this dream. They all asked about things I could not provide answer for. The graves here stand in their memory... it all seems, so long ago now," Dolly started with her sweet melodious voice.
"They have told me about the Church, about the Gods and their love. But, do the Gods love their creations. I am a doll created by you humans, would you ever think to love me? Of course, I do love you, isn't that how you've made me?"
Her words were a hidden reprimand aimed at Surgit's last frustrated outburst. "I..." the man started, unable to utter a word. "Love is a difficult concept to explain my dear doll. Gods created us. There were other people who argued that there are no Gods, no greater power, which one to believe dear doll?"
"I can see my creator, he stands before me," said the doll. "Can't you see your Gods good hunter?"
"If it were that easy, I don't think we'd be in this mess." Surgit sighed, realizing that the doll was just an empty vessel, unable to give him concrete answers. "I must take my leave now. Forgive my early outburst. I should have blamed myself, not you."
As Surgit walked towards the messengers' fountain, his thoughts were filled of Gods and their powers. 'Those people transformed into hideous beasts. I experienced the transformation myself. I even saw the ugly beast try and devour me whole the moment I received blood ministration. Are the beasts just part of us? Perhaps we just never realized it until we witnessed the horrors that lay hidden at night. Perhaps the Gods are just our own creation, manifesting during our weakest moments.
'This blood that runs in my veins… What power does it have to create such turmoil?'