Witcher.
A product of malicious witchcraft and sorcery, devoid of morals, conscience, and scruples—a true demon's creation. They excel in nothing but killing.
-----------
These venomous words flashed through Bowen's mind. Before being selected as the King's personal guard, he had never seen a living Witcher. Of course, He knew a few things about Witchers, but only a little, mostly from the poems of bards.
After all, Bowen was merely a side branch of the Val family, and knowledge about the extraordinary and mysterious wasn't something a child raised in a remote town would know. Moreover, it seemed that most nobles deliberately concealed information about Witchers from their young descendants, perhaps out of some concern.
As if they were worried that their offspring might get it into their heads to climb Blue Mountain and drink those strange and peculiar potions.
It wasn't until recent years, when the book Freaks, or a Description of Witchers suddenly spread through the court of Kaedwen, that Bowen got his first in-depth understanding of this anomaly among humans. Or at least, what Bowen considered to be in-depth.
"Is it true that they excel in nothing but killing?"
This was his feeling after reading the book for the first time. For a warrior and knight, this could be considered the highest praise.
Not convinced?
Perhaps, But more than that, he was eager to prove himself.
"A bunch of freaks who crawled out of the mud, can they really compare to knights born with noble blood?"
And then today, he saw it.
Fluent movements, spinning sword stances that resembled dancing at a noble's ball. Clearly flawed, looking more like a performance of swordsmanship, yet in just a few moves, he had taken down a creature the Witchers called a wraith. Thinking of the wraith, Bowen's face darkened.
Damn it!
That creature was really strong!
Not only was every attack powerful, but it could also suddenly appear behind you without warning.
The most terrifying part was that his and the captain's attacks had no effect on this ghost-like creature. Many times, their attacks clearly pierced into that tattered body, yet the creature called a wraith didn't react at all. But these Witchers were different. Colorful lights flickered on their bodies. In their eyes, the wraith seemed like a mere toy.
The captain and he struggled to fight even one wraith, but that Witcher named Vesemir was fighting three at once and still had the upper hand. Even more unbelievable was that apprentice.
Cold, blue, eerie cat eyes, as cold as the snow on Blue Mountain.
Looking at you, the chill seemed to touch your soul, and the breath of death blew across your neck. Even the wraith could only last three rounds under such a cold gaze before turning to ashes.
Terrifying!
Terrifying!
Terrifying!
Is he really just another Witcher's apprentice?
Bowen couldn't shake the feeling that this Witcher apprentice, whose name he didn't even know, was stronger than the Witcher named Vesemir.
And...
Is this Witcher apprentice really just a thirteen or fourteen-year-old kid as he appears?
Clearly, his swordsmanship and footwork were so polished that it seemed like he had been training for over a decade. Even Bowen, who had been practicing swordsmanship since he was four or five, couldn't reach this level at thirteen or fourteen.
No...
Even now, he couldn't reach it.
Even though his swordsmanship was already the best among his peers in the kingdom...
"So, is he really still just a thirteen or fourteen-year-old kid?"
Bowen couldn't help but repeat this question in his mind.
Could it be that he, like that Witcher named Vesemir, only looked young but was actually forty or fifty years old and had even met Viscount Hudson?
In a daze, Bowen realized that this apprentice had already killed all the wraiths.
Filled with shock and a sense of his worldview being overturned, he licked his dry lips and couldn't help but ask: "W-W-Witcher apprentice, do you also know Viscount Hudson?"
"Hmm?"
Allen was stunned at these words. When did he ever meet Viscount Hudson?
He looked towards the voice. The young knight was holding his sword defensively in front of his chest, as if the wraiths were still there, looking somewhat ridiculous. Noticing Allen's gaze, he finally realized how silly he looked and awkwardly sheathed his sword.
"I don't know Viscount Hudson. Why do you ask?" Allen asked curiously.
The young knight was about to ask more.
"Ah—"
A cry of pain interrupted him.
At this moment, the two knights finally snapped out of their trance from Allen's smooth hunting moves and remembered that a companion was seriously injured in the nearby bushes. They quickly ran over.
"Allen, come here!"
Vesemir's voice suddenly called out, drawing Allen's attention back.
"What's the matter, Master Vesemir?"
Allen jogged over.
He found Vesemir squatting on the ground, looking down at the black powder left by the wraith.
"When wraiths are killed, they usually leave behind a pale green, glowing powder known as specter dust, sometimes accompanied by emerald dust and amethyst dust."
"But I've never seen this kind of black material, filled with extreme malice."
Not specter dust?
Allen was stunned for a moment.
Of course, he knew the types of items that wraiths dropped in the game. But the game is the game, and reality is reality. He had never killed a wraith before, so when he saw this black powder, he didn't notice anything unusual.
"Could it be because of that wraith's purifying spirit?" he thought.
After all, when killing those physical monsters, the Witcher's Journal would also extract their hearts and make heart essence liquid. Vesemir didn't notice his thoughts. Frowning, he looked up at Allen with a serious expression and said: "These spirits left behind something strange after being killed!"
"Although it's rumored that wraiths are tortured by endless, unimaginable pain, filled with anger and resentment, and harbor hatred and jealousy towards the living."
"Yet, the materials they leave behind after death are positive and light in nature."
"And..."
Vesemir looked up at the sky.
It was almost noon, and although there was still a bit of chill in the late winter and early spring wind, the sunlight, shining down from the cloudy sky, still brought a touch of warmth.
"Under normal circumstances, wraiths only appear at night... except for daylight wraiths... but I've never seen wraiths appear during the day..."
"And daylight wraiths are a different type of specter altogether..."
Hearing Vesemir's words, Allen became more serious. After thinking for a moment, he used an identification spell on the pile of faintly malicious powder.
[Name: Residue of Resentment]
[Type: Magical Material]
[Function: Contains the malice of a wraith before death]
[Note: When the good side is stripped away, only pure evil remains!]
The good side was stripped away?
So, it really was because the Witcher's Journal extracted the wraith's purifying spirit!
Allen thought.
But why did the wraith appear during the day?
At that moment, the voice of the middle-aged knight suddenly came from behind Allen and Vesemir.
"Two Witcher... sirs, could you come over here?"
....…
📢20 advanced chapters on p@treaon📢
For advance chapters: p@treon.com/Uchiha_Itachi007 (replace @ with a)
151. A New Commission.
152. As Strong as a Witcher.
153. What is a Genius Witcher?
154. Sol Henrietta.
155. The Witcher, the King, and the Little Wild Cat.