Chapter 295: Here They Come
Ordinarily, when a person dies with a deeply important, unfinished task, they may become a specter and remain in the world. As such, the standard method for Witchers to deal with these specters is to find the object of their obsession, burn it, and set them free.
But besides this method, there is a more direct, brutish approach: physical exorcism.
Though the existence of wraiths defies the laws of nature, they can be categorized as a type of pure energy being. Their existence must be sustained by some as-yet-undiscovered and undefined energy. Therefore, if you continuously kill a specter, you can drain its supporting energy, much like letting the air out of a balloon, until it simply ceases to exist.
In fact, this very approach was confirmed in the research notes of the "father" of Witchers, Alzur. Especially when dealing with the lowest-level specters, there's no need to painstakingly search for the object of their obsession; you can simply use a silver weapon to hack them to bits over and over again.
These weakest wraiths will disappear completely after being killed just a few times.
...
From the moment the specters appeared to the Witcher's swift killing of three of them, only about ten seconds had passed. After seeing these terrifying creatures cut down by the Witcher as if they were nothing but kindling, the others finally came to their senses.
Strength and courage returned to their bodies. The paralyzing fear of the specters was replaced by the shame of having frozen in combat, which then transformed into furious anger.
Led by Madman Lugo, they let out a roar, and all of them hefted their weapons, charging toward the pack of specters shambling into the Yrden trap.
Madman Lugo used the round shield strapped to his left arm to deliver a timely bash, striking the specter's slow, rusty sword. As the blow knocked the creature off balance, he brought his battle-axe down with all the fury of his anger. The blow, delivered with his full strength, cleaved deep into the wraith's skull. Amidst a chorus of ghostly howls, the specter hit by the axe vanished in a puff of smoke.
With a newfound sense of confidence, Madman Lugo's expression became more relaxed, and his movements grew more practiced. The others followed their leader's example. Thanks to the Yrden trap, the specters were even weaker than the opponents they were used to fighting.
The wraiths were killed again and again, and they kept reappearing. But each time they were reborn, they were weaker and more transparent than before. As the specters' number of resurrections reached its limit, their numbers in the courtyard began to dwindle.
Finally, the last wraith was killed, and the courtyard was silent once more.
Madman Lugo and the others were panting heavily. Even with the specters' speed limited by the Yrden trap, swinging their weapons so many times had truly exhausted them.
"Damn, is it finally over?"
The specters were gone, but the chilling cold in the courtyard remained. Lynn's eyes passed over the weary faces of the others.
"Good. For now, you all wait here."
Madman Lugo immediately shook his head. "No, we're coming with you."
Bjorn also spoke up. "Master Witcher, you saw how we fought just now. We won't hold you back." Though he was the youngest, Bjorn had been fighting since he was four and had plenty of experience. While this was his first time fighting specters, the adrenaline had him fired up.
Besides, defeating a wraith was an achievement that not everyone could claim. He could already imagine how many Skellige girls would be screaming his name when they returned.
The others felt much the same. None of them wanted to miss this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Lynn held up his hands, motioning for them to calm down.
"I know you're brave, but you can't see in the dark." Lynn pointed toward the main keep nearby. "It's sure to be dark and eerie inside. You won't be able to see anything without a torch. But if you carry a torch, are you going to give up your shield or your weapon?"
The others fell silent.
It was true. If one hand was occupied with a torch, the other would have to give up either their shield or their weapon. Giving up their weapon was a non-starter—that would be suicide. But the shield...
Suddenly, Floki looked at the Witcher. He had a question. "What about you, Master Lynn?"
The others, as if suddenly realizing the same thing, also turned to look at him.
Right. The Witcher must have a way. Come on, Master Witcher, use that invincible mutant brain of yours and think of something!
In front of them, Lynn took out a vial of Higher Cat potion and drank it. "This will allow me to see in the dark, but it's only for Witchers. The toxicity of Witcher potions is incredibly high; an ordinary person would die instantly if they drank a whole vial like I just did."
Hearing Lynn say this, the others deflated like pricked balloons. In truth, Lynn's reason for not wanting them to follow was twofold: he was concerned for their safety, and their torches would interfere with his vision. The Higher Cat potion allows him to see in the dark, but any bright light would seriously obstruct his sight.
It was much like wearing night-vision goggles and being hit with a bright beam of light. In that scenario, the three men wouldn't be his helpers; they would be a burden. Given that, he was better off going solo.
After a moment's thought, Madman Lugo took out a horn and handed it to him. "Master Lynn, if you need our help, just blow this horn, and we'll rush in to assist you."
The Witcher took the horn, looked at it, and put it in his enchanted leather satchel. He nodded.
Then he walked toward the main keep. The Cat potion's effects began to take hold, making the surrounding light seem overexposed. He squinted his right eye so that his vision wouldn't be momentarily disoriented when he stepped inside the keep.
At the same time, he cast a Quen Sign on himself. Then, he pushed open the main keep's massive doors and walked in.
The moment he stepped inside, he closed his left eye and opened his right, seamlessly transitioning between outdoor and indoor vision.
Before him was a desolate, ruined great hall. The ceiling was covered with thick layers of cobwebs. Rotting planks, broken from years of neglect, lay scattered on the ground, covered in thick dust. All the furniture and decorations in the hall showed varying degrees of decay.
Only a single portrait, hanging directly opposite the main doors, looked brand new.
(End of Chapter)
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