Allen's body was stiff with fear, a chill creeping up his spine and prickling his scalp.
Even so, he fought back his instinctive terror and took two steps closer. His eyes lowered to examine the "monstrous nest" beneath the massive eyeball.
In that instant, a shudder coursed through him.
Every hair on his body stood on end, trembling with dread.
Exposed pale bones and sinewy muscle fibers supported countless crimson vertical pupils that stared coldly at him.
On the side facing Allen alone, there were nearly a thousand scarlet eyeballs.
Yet the "Count" had no visible orifices—no holes from which necrophages might crawl.
Instead, two or three dozen smooth, intestine-like tendrils extended from its base, bending rhythmically, resembling the ridges of a scallop shell.
One by one, necrophages approached from the valley beyond, succumbing without resistance as the tendrils crushed and disassembled them.
Eyeballs were devoured and grew anew upon the fleshy mound. Blood sprayed, filling the grooves, while bones naturally fell into the seemingly small but truly immense pits between the ridges.
The pits symbolized unity, the tree-like tendrils symbolized growth, and the blood covering the ground embodied a grotesque, unbridled vitality.
Allen's heart pounded with alarm.
To his shock, he understood the creature before him.
They were wrong!
The "Count" wasn't a monstrous nest; it was a living ritual.
So bloody! So savage! So grotesque!
"Whimper!"
A freezing aura, like a polar gale, swept over them with overwhelming force.
"Run!"
Allen shouted.
Vesemir, already anticipating the danger, drew his silver sword in a flash and began sprinting toward the dense forest from which they'd come.
"Is that the 'Count'?" Vesemir called over his shoulder as he ran, pouring necrophage oil onto his blade.
Allen opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted.
"Rumble—"
A sudden, thunderous sound of squirming flesh filled Allen's mind, disorienting him. The noise struck like a hammer, making his head buzz and his balance falter. If Vesemir hadn't steadied him, he would've fallen from the ridge.
Elsewhere, the other monstrous nests quickened their pulsations.
"Allen!" Vesemir shouted, gripping the back of Allen's leather armor to pull him through the clawing branches of the forest.
The howling mountain wind carried an especially putrid stench.
"I'm fine!" Allen shook his head and signaled Vesemir to let go.
"That thing is the 'Count,' and..." Allen gritted his teeth, forcing the words out. "And it's not a 'monster nest'..."
The familiar massive eyeball, the oppressive aura, and that piercing gaze—he recognized it all too well.
"That's a Dark God!"
"Vesemir, it's the same Dark God that cursed me!" Allen bellowed.
Vesemir froze briefly, veins bulging on his hand as he tightened his grip on his silver sword.
"Let's retreat..." Vesemir began, turning toward Allen.
"ROAR!!!"
A cacophony of monstrous howls erupted like a tidal wave from all directions.
Branches quaked, and dirt and gravel on the ground trembled, briefly levitating before crashing back down.
The entire Mahakam mountain range seemed to shudder in fear.
Such an overwhelming commotion—clearly meant to trap them here as fodder for summoning the Dark God.
Neither witcher wasted any more words, focusing solely on their escape.
The sound of necrophages pursuing grew louder. Allen stretched his right hand back, reaching for Elsa.
"Buzz—buzz—"
Balmur vibrated urgently, placing its hilt into his hand. Clearly, the massive eyeball had excited Balmur.
"Clang!"
Allen hesitated briefly but quickly unsheathed Balmur. Without delay, he poured sword oil over the blade, spreading it evenly with practiced precision.
He then channeled his magic.
Thumb and forefinger curved slightly as he traced an invisible triangle in the air before him.
A faint golden glow shimmered on his dark-red Wolf School master-crafted armor.
Once ready, the two witchers instinctively retreated to a flat clearing at the base of a sheer cliff.
They had scouted this spot earlier, just in case. Little did they know how quickly they would need it.
Who could have guessed that merely glimpsing the "Count" would cause such an upheaval?
On their ascent, Allen had entertained the idea of ending the threat in one decisive blow.
After all, back in Moën Village, monster nests were just monster nests. Vesemir and Arthur's only issue had been locating the core of several nests.
Although Allen lacked the formulas for Beehive Bombs, Dragon's Dream, and Dancing Star, he had ensured Vesemir and Arthur were equipped with the dwarven solution to monster nests—dwarven bombs.
Constructed with potent dwarven explosives mixed with volatile substances akin to petroleum alcohol, these bombs packed immense power.
A straightforward, tried-and-true strategy: seven witchers, one master witcher, draw the enemy's attention, and then Allen, using the mirage pearl, would sneak in and destroy the "Count."
Simple and efficient tactics.
But who could have foreseen that above the "Baron" stood the "Viscount," and above the "Viscount" was the "Count"?
And the Viscount's monsters alone were so densely packed that the ground was barely visible.
Still, even that might have been manageable with "Good Girl's" help.
Revealing the royal griffin to Arthur wouldn't have been a significant issue.
But then the Dark God entered the equation.
That changed everything.
Allen had been marked by the Dark God simply for passing near a lowly altar constructed from drowner skulls.
Approaching the "Count" now, let alone destroying the monstrous nest, was no longer feasible.
Without taking precautions, who knew what might happen near the "Count"?
Dark Gods were loathsome beings, like reeking, muddy swamps—merely passing by them could cost you something or leave you cursed.
The closer you got, the worse it became.
Allen's expectations plummeted. After deducing the "Count's" connection to the Dark God, he abandoned all thoughts of destroying the monstrous nest.
He immediately ordered Arthur and the younger witchers to leave.
Fortunately, they'd followed his instructions. Otherwise, protecting them would have been an impossible task.
"Good thing I sent Arthur and Erni away," Vesemir muttered, standing atop the flat rock. His golden cat-like eyes glared at the trembling forest ahead.
"Has 'Good Girl' arrived?" He tilted his head slightly.
"She's close, but it'll take a little more time," Allen nodded, mentally estimating the griffin's position.
Seven days ago, the griffin had dropped him off at Ellander and returned to incubate her eggs.
Fortunately, Vengerberg wasn't far—just an hour or two of flight away. The griffin had been waiting nearby for Allen's call.
Allen surveyed the terrain around them. "We chose a good spot."
"That's reassuring," Vesemir exhaled.
"Rumble—"
The ground trembled violently. The witchers' keen vision caught glimpses of dark red and corpse-white shades swaying in the shadows beneath the canopy.
"Get ready, Allen!" Vesemir gripped his silver sword tightly. "We've got a fight on our hands before 'Good Girl' arrives!"
The moment the voice fell—
"Crack!"
The sound of splintering wood echoed closer and closer.
Suddenly—
A shadow streaked through the air with an explosive roar.
Allen and Vesemir moved in perfect sync, leaping to the sides.
A massive tree hurtled past their faces, crashing down the mountainside with a thunderous roar.
"Roar!"
A alghoul, bristling with black spines, lunged forward, its claws gleaming coldly as it struck at Allen.
"Clang!"
Allen blocked with his sword, used the force to leap back, and twisted his waist.
A sharp cold light flashed.
"Puff~"
In mid-air, he swung his sword and cut the ghoul with a smelly mouth behind him into two. Then the deep blue cat eyes glanced left and right.
As his boots hit the ground, Allen rolled smoothly to the side and planted his fingers firmly into the dirt.
Aard Sign.
"Boom!"
Two grotesque rotfiends were hurled backward by the telekinetic blast, slamming into the hulking alghoul.
Before they could recover, a white-hot serpent of flame streaked toward the rotfiends, igniting the foul gases leaking from their bodies.
The hulking alghoul widened its eyes in terror, raising its spiked arms defensively to shield its head.
"Boom!"
The fiery explosion erupted, consuming the rotfiends in a deafening burst.
The blast's shockwave tore one of the alghoul's arms apart, exposing its white bone underneath. Off-balance, it tumbled backward.
Vesemir seized the opportunity, his sword a blur as he swung in a wide arc, severing the creature's remaining arm and left leg.
"Roar!"
The alghoul howled in agony, its massive maw reeking of decay as it glared at Vesemir with bloodshot eyes, preparing to lunge at him.
"Whoosh!"
Through the dust and smoke, a figure shot forward like a lightning bolt, sword cleaving downward.
"Squelch!"
The monstrous head rolled to the ground, its rancid, brownish-red blood soaking into the pale stone.
"Nice teamwork!"
Vesemir praised lightly, spinning around to slay two charging ghouls before leaning back against Allen.
"Boom!"
In the fiery aftermath of three rotfiends ignited by Allen's Igni Sign, the two Witcher masters stood back-to-back.
Swords raised defensively, their eyes locked on the encroaching shadows of the forest beyond the smoldering carcasses.
Feeling the firm support against his back, Allen smirked, pleased with the seamless execution.
In less than a minute, a alghoul, two rotfiends, and three ghouls had fallen to the Witchers' blades.
Even though alghouls were among the weakest of the larger monsters, their efficient work was still impressive.
By that estimate, the two Witchers could theoretically kill 120 alghouls in an hour. Clearing out seven monster nests seemed feasible.
But as the ceaseless growls and howls filled the air, neither Allen nor Vesemir entertained such optimism.
If monsters were truly weak, hunting in hordes wouldn't be their strategy.
Besides, the strength of alghouls lay not in brute force, but in their cunning. Like now—
"Roar!"
Another alghoul burst from the forest, its entourage of minions close behind.
This one didn't attack immediately.
Its blood-red eyes darted around, scanning the corpses on the ground before baring its yellowed fangs in a grim sneer.
It retreated a few steps, ordering a dozen ghouls and rotfiends to form a barrier between it and the Witchers.
Noticing the marks on the decapitated alghoul's corpse, it even directed several rotfiends to move northward, creating an equilateral triangle formation with the alghoul and its minions.
"Clever bastard!" Allen cursed, recalling how much effort it had taken to behead the first alghoul. "alghouls are truly loathsome!"
No sooner had the words left his mouth than another alghoul emerged from the dense forest, its pack in tow.
There was no time to waste.
Allen reached into his alchemy pouch while giving Vesemir a light nudge with his back.
The next moment, the two Witchers wordlessly charged in opposite directions, each targeting one of the alghouls.
"Northern Wind!"
Allen shouted a warning.
Under the heavy gray skies, two glass vials glowing with blue light sliced through the air toward their targets. The alghouls instinctively leaped backward, narrowly avoiding the bombs.
Futile effort.
"Boom!"
"Boom!"
The vials shattered at the center of the ghoul horde.
The alghouls glanced at the blast zones, their eyes filled with confusion.
A moment later—
"Whoosh!"
A howling gale erupted.
Frigid winds swept the gravel at the forest's edge.
"Crackle! Crackle!"
Frost and ice blossomed from the epicenter of the blast, spreading rapidly outward.
Caught off guard, two alghouls and their minions were frozen solid in moments.
But it wasn't over.
Allen and Vesemir charged into the frozen ranks, their timing impeccable.
With precise footwork and a surge of momentum from their twisting movements, their swords slashed through the icy ghoul sculptures.
In the blink of an eye, over twenty ghouls shattered into shards of red, blue, and purple, clattering onto the pale stone ground.
"Crack! Crack!"
The frozen alghouls struggled in vain, their terrified eyes trembling as the icy blades approached.
"Roar!"
A desperate roar broke through the azure ice but abruptly ceased as the blades severed their heads.
There was no time for Allen and Vesemir to exchange praise this time.
Before the severed heads hit the ground, five more alghouls charged out of the forest, accompanied by a swarm of ghouls and rotfiends.
And behind them, barely a dozen paces away, loomed an even greater threat.
"Thud! Thud! Thud!"
The ground quaked under massive footsteps.
A towering creature, far larger than the alghouls, with pale skin bristling with crimson spines, emerged.
Shrouded in a noxious, yellow haze, it trampled ghouls underfoot, snapping thick birch trees like twigs as it charged forward like a living mountain of flesh.
"Scurver!"
Vesemir's golden cat-like eyes widened in horror as he shouted.
"Allen, run!!!"
.....
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