Leaving Triss's residence behind, Wayne wasted no time. With Allen leading the way, they set off for the mine, roughly five or six kilometers from Maribor. The mine's rich history and vast mineral deposits had prompted the Duke to commission a direct road, making the journey by rented carriage swift.
Nestled within the forest, the mine sprawled across a large area. Numerous gaping shafts marked past excavations, while clusters of houses provided lodging for the miners. The activity level, however, was strikingly low. Wayne observed only a handful of workers transporting ore, the rest hesitant to venture deeper.
Half a month had passed since the first murder, Allen informed him. Despite the Duke's pleas and wage increases, fear had taken root. Risking their lives for ore seemed a grim prospect.
The Duke's urgency was understandable. This mine, Wayne realized, was likely a significant source of his income.
Their journey unfolded smoothly, perhaps due to prior notification of Wayne's arrival. Allen guided him around without anyone obstructing their path.
"Take me to the first crime scene," Wayne instructed. "With no trace of the monster, identifying it will be difficult."
Allen flinched at the request. "Master Wayne," he stammered, "it's been half a month since the first murder deep within the mine. The bodies are gone, and it's pitch black down there. Finding anything might be..." His voice trailed off, a tremor of fear betraying his uneasiness. Wayne understood. This world wasn't shy about vengeful spirits, and a mine with multiple deaths was a prime breeding ground for wraiths.
"Just lead the way to the entrance," Wayne conceded. "You needn't accompany me down."
The mine's darkness was oppressive, the labyrinthine tunnels choked with rubble. Yet, Wayne, a witcher with senses honed by mutation, picked up a crucial clue: the cloying scent of decay and spilled blood.
He uncorked a vial of Cat potion, its potent elixir enhancing his vision. After a thorough examination, Wayne emerged, a frown marring his features. The scene bore signs of not just a monstrous struggle, but human-on-human violence as well.
Based on his training and experience, the culprit wasn't a Leshen manipulating vines. The culprit was more likely a hulking troll wielding a massive wooden weapon. Troll footprints, unmistakable with their three-toed pattern, confirmed his suspicions. Leshens rarely ventured into confined spaces like mines, further solidifying his deduction.
However, the human conflict alongside the troll attack and the previous murders linked to the Leshen... it painted a confusing picture.
Leshens, unlike most beasts, wield more than brute strength. They possess a blend of magic and dark rituals. Within their claimed territory, they can manipulate humans, binding them to their will. As long as this thrall remains within the Leshen's domain, the creature can cheat death through dark pacts.
To slay a Leshen permanently, the witcher must either sever this bond or lure the beast from its hallowed ground. Otherwise, victory is a fleeting illusion.
Furthermore, Leshens can bend lesser creatures to their will, turning them into twisted puppets - ghosts, wolves, even crows become their loyal soldiers. A witcher facing a Leshen often confronts not just one foe, but a twisted orchestra of death.
Perhaps the troll that ravaged the mine succumbed to such manipulation, becoming an unwitting pawn. Though individually weak, a Leshen deep-set in its domain poses a formidable challenge even to the most seasoned witcher.
Two crucial questions now loomed: the troll's whereabouts - had it rejoined the Leshen, or lurked deeper within the mines? And the human collaborators - were they abandoned by the Leshen to their fate, or did they too flee back to the forest's embrace?
Emerging from the mine, Wayne found Allen pacing anxiously. Relief washed over the young man's face as he spotted Wayne. "Master Wayne," he stammered, "how goes the investigation? Did you uncover anything?"
Wayne just waved his hand. Instead, he turned to Allen. "Were there any survivors during the mine attacks?"
Allen shook his head. "No, Master Wayne. City guards found nothing but butchered bodies. The commander brought in a coroner, a skilled one who managed to piece most of them back together. Even then, some parts were missing."
Wayne's eyes narrowed. "Any heads missing? Anyone unaccounted for?"
Allen scratched his head. "Apologies, Master Wayne. I only heard whispers about the bodies. Coroner Plant, the city's specialist, is still down there. Shall I take you to him?"
A professional for professional matters, Wayne decided. "Yes, lead the way. I have a few questions."
Coroner Plant, a grizzled man in his fifties, wasn't thrilled with Wayne's arrival. He bristled at the interruption. However, after Allen introduced Wayne as a specialist brought in by sorceress Triss Merigold, Plant's demeanor shifted. He grudgingly conceded to answer Wayne's inquiries.
"Missing person?" Plant echoed, a flicker of curiosity sparking in his eyes.
Plant's words echoed Wayne's suspicions. The autopsy room reeked of decay, several bodies laid out on makeshift slabs. Allen, unused to such grim sights, hung his head, pale and avoiding the mutilated corpses.
Plant stroked his beard, then rummaged through a dusty box and pulled out a list. "Indeed," he muttered, studying it. "Thirteen miners were killed, according to the records. Yet, only enough fragments returned for twelve bodies. The damage was extensive, faces beyond recognition. A clerical error, perhaps? Or a missing person?"
A sarcastic smile twisted Plant's lips. "I gathered this with Knight Ramsay, the deputy captain in charge. He dismissed it as a bothersome detail. Their solution? A forest search. Needless to say, a patrol vanished – and ten more bodies were brought back. Case closed." His gaze flickered to Wayne's youthful face, skepticism evident. Still, he offered the list. "Through age, skin tone, and scarring, I've narrowed it down to three. If someone's missing, it's one of them."
With a wave, Plant ushered Wayne and Allen out. "Don't expect much," he warned, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "The guards aren't exactly meticulous."
"Be cautious," Plant warned, his voice laced with a grim wisdom honed by years amongst the dead. "A powerful monster lurks behind these killings. Don't let youthful bravado lead to a permanent dirt nap."
Wayne emerged from the makeshift morgue, the list clutched in his hand. This unexpected ally, the grizzled coroner, possessed not only dedication but a surprising kindness. After etching the three names into his memory, Wayne turned to Allen.
"Any recollection of these men?" he inquired, handing the list over.
Allen scanned the names, brow furrowed in thought. "A faint memory stirs. Craig and Ashtok, both city boys, young – barely out of their teens, I'd wager. Poor souls, always holed up in the miners' dorms. Never saw them venture into town." His voice dropped to a whisper. "The last one, Link, he used to live im my village. Young fella, maybe a couple of years past twenty. Seemed like a shadow, that one. Wandered in three years back, kept to himself, no family ties. Took a job in the mines soon after."
The details sparked a flicker of suspicion in Wayne's eyes. Link, the solitary stranger, was a natural target. Yet, a nagging caution urged him to be thorough. "Take me to the mine foreman," he instructed. "We need a closer look at all three."
A methodical examination revealed a stark contrast. Craig and Ashtok, bound by family in the city, were unlikely accomplices. Link, however, remained an enigma. The lack of familial ties and his mysterious past made him a target for further investigation.
Logic dictated that the culprit lacked motive and opportunity. Craig and Ashtok, anchored by families in the city, were unlikely pawns. Link, the solitary stranger with an unknown past, remained the prime suspect.
Following Allen's lead, Wayne arrived at Link's residence. It was an unassuming wooden structure nestled in a quiet corner of the village. The interior, upon entry, mirrored the exterior's simplicity – a collection of everyday necessities. Yet, Wayne's keen witcher senses detected anomalies.
The house was meticulously organized. Pots, pans, clothes, bedding – everything held its designated place. Most working folks wouldn't maintain such pristine order unless afflicted by an obsessive urge. This suggested Link anticipated a permanent absence, not a return.
But the most crucial discovery lay hidden beneath Link's mattress – a letter, a confession waiting to be unearthed. It proclaimed, in stark terms, Link's guilt and his motives.
The letter revealed a truth buried deeper than his assumed name. Link wasn't his birth name, though the discarded moniker held no relevance now. His father had toiled in these very mines, a happy family man. But six years ago, a mining accident claimed his life, entombing him beneath tons of rock. The compensation? His father was the sole reported fatality, yet the compensation meant for the family was vanished.
His mother, seeking answers and their rightful due, ventured into the mines. She too, vanished without a trace.
A flicker of empathy flickered in Wayne's eyes as he read. Link, a mere fifteen at the time, had the presence of mind to flee the looming danger. He found refuge with a kindly couple, and after three years, ventured out, with a new identity as his shield. Two years of quiet toil in the mines yielded a horrifying truth.
The "accident" that claimed his father was a meticulously planned slaughter by the miners themselves. Driven by a twisted mix of greed and vengeance, they silenced Link's father. His mother, seeking answers, met the same cruel fate, her body a grotesque trophy to their barbarity. In the medieval wilderness, such disappearances were easily swallowed by silence. Justice, a distant dream.
Fueled by a righteous fury, Link meticulously plotted his revenge for the past half-month. The letter reeked of a festering hatred against the heartless indifference of those who turned a blind eye. It offered no apologies for the innocent miners caught in the bloody crossfire.
Wayne finished the letter with a heavy sigh. The perpetrator was identified. No matter how tragic the past was, no matter what was right or wrong, the murderer was found anyway. While the Leshen wasn't explicitly mentioned, the circumstances strongly suggested Link was its thrall. The motives for the monster's aid and Link's freedom from its domain remained a mystery.
Link's delusion of escaping justice was a tragic flaw. As an ordinary man, he underestimated the reach of magic. A sorceress, especially Triss Merigold, wouldn't struggle to locate him once she decided to. And with Link found, the Leshen's territory wouldn't be far behind.
Wayne, ever well organized, collected a few of Link's belongings – a lock of hair snagged in the bedding most importantly. With evidence in hand, he and Allen departed for Maribor City.