Chapter 113: Tonight We Have an Appointment at the Cemetery (Part II)

Deep into the night, the blazing bonfire in the cemetery could still be seen from the high platform in the village.

Clad in plate armor, Victor sat before the fire in meditation. Angouleme, also armored, rested against the wall inside the shrine. Their two horses had been tethered a safe distance away, but "Teddy" had been left behind to keep watch alongside Katherine, allowing the girl to relax without needing to maintain constant vigilance.

The new silver sword was not yet forged. Victor was currently using a steel blade that Yuna had crafted previously. While not as specialized as his usual weapon, it was at least far superior to the one he had brought from Vizima. He had evenly coated the blade with necrotic oil and laid it across his knees.

Autumn had arrived, and the air was growing chilly.

"Vic, have you ever seen a Grave Hag before?"

"No."

"...Neither have I."

"Relax. Deal with it the right way, and it will be over quickly."

"You said that last time, too..."

"..."

Suddenly, Katherine let out a sharp eagle screech, and Teddy began to bark with a frantic, bone-chilling intensity.

Victor opened his eyes to welcome the arrival of the "pretty girl"—the Grave Hag.

The firelight clearly illuminated her silhouette. She had long, flowing hair, large and expressive eyes, smooth skin, slender fingers, and a full bosom barely covered by her tattered rags.

Plague take it; credit goes to Lambert for the new "model" he had set for this "pretty girl." After seeing her, there was truly no one left in the world who could be called a "pretty girl." Victor dared say that compared to her, Eskel could be considered a beauty.

"Thief... he stole the skull... my skull! If you want it, dig it yourself..." Her voice was hoarse, her words slightly slurred.

Victor rose, sword in hand, lowered his visor, and assumed the stable Plow stance, focusing all his energy on the monster before him.

A gust of wind blew, causing the trees to rustle.

The Grave Hag watched the witcher apprentice. After a moment of standoff, she opened her mouth, and with a sudden "thwack," Victor recoiled, his visor struck by her tongue.

Had it not been for the protection of his plate armor, that strike would likely have pierced his face. The monster was faster than he had anticipated; perhaps it was because he hadn't consumed a "Blizzard" potion for his first hunt, and he wasn't accustomed to it yet.

The firelight flickered, and her tongue darted in and out like a viper's strike.

The boy tried to close the distance, but as he took a step forward, his shoulder took a sharp "clang." He had been struck again. Tilting his head, he saw a slight, blackened dent where the impact had landed—this set of armor was going to be hard to resell.

The tongue’s retraction was swift and vicious. It seemed that only with the supernatural reflexes of a witcher—the kind that could swat away crossbow bolts—or under the effects of a Blizzard potion would one be able to sever her tongue.

Claws met steel. After a few exchanges, realizing where his limits lay, Victor slowly retreated and sighed, "I really didn't want to use this move!"

Having finally waited for that line, Angouleme, who had been hiding behind the shrine and growing impatient, rolled her eyes and prepared to trigger the trap.

She could not fathom why the leader had set that specific sentence as the signal. Hadn't they spent the entire afternoon busy preparing for exactly this? Using such a cryptic, nonsensical phrase as the code was beyond her.

First came the heavy crossbow mechanism. Aiming at the target and adjusting the position, Angouleme pressed the lever with a sharp click!

A shrill, piercing scream echoed as the bolt struck the Grave Hag precisely, passing through her chest and out her back, spraying a mist of blood.

Severely wounded, the hag lunged toward Victor with explosive speed, but the boy, well-prepared, sidestepped and pivoted out of the way.

"Snap!" As she lunged into the pit trap, the Grave Hag plummeted through the hay. At the bottom lay a dense array of iron spikes and bear traps. The sound of the mechanisms clashing and snapping was relentless—a sight that would make the heart ache and the eyes tear.

Pulling a Dancing Star bomb from his herb pouch, Victor tossed it into the pit. Fire was always effective against necrophages.

With a deafening boom, the hag howled in her death throes amidst the dancing flames. True to her title as a "pretty girl," she actually managed to leap out of the pit, though she was now engulfed in fire, dancing and shrieking wildly through the graveyard.

Raising his weapon, Victor delivered a "frontal" strike, hacking from her shoulder down to her waist, then circled behind to aim for the hollow of her knees, severing the tendons with a horizontal slash.

Angouleme emerged from the shrine just in time to see Victor pinning the Grave Hag’s spine with his foot, checking for a clean kill. Just as she thought the boy might need her help again, Victor drove his sword down, pinning the monster through the back of the head into the soil.

As Angouleme approached, she heard Victor muttering to himself, "So, humanoid monsters are fine, and being able to talk doesn't matter—it’s just humans that are the problem."

Glancing at the blood-soaked Grave Hag, she asked, "Do you need to collect the blood?" She knew the leader often required various alchemical ingredients.

"No, that’s fine. Her blood isn't very valuable." The boy drew a short blade and carved off the monster's ears; "Grave Hag Ears" were always useful.

"Let’s see how our luck is this time." Turning the monster over and slicing open her chest, Victor poked around with his blade, carefully sorting through the remains.

A moment later, he fished out a small, indescribable lump. "Not bad, a Grave Hag Mutagen."

Angouleme’s face turned pale. "You’ve got to be kidding. Witchers actually inject this stuff into their bodies?"

"Of course not by eating it raw or injecting it directly. It has to undergo various scientific processes first."

Angouleme shook her head, choosing to remain silent.

Making a face and giving up on the explanation, Victor kicked the hag’s remains into the grave she had dug. The Phantom Troupe began to clean up the mess in the cemetery.

...

As dawn broke, Victor and Angouleme walked leisurely back to the village with Teddy. From afar, they could see the village elder, the gravedigger, and a few brave villagers waiting at the entrance.

Although the village was some distance from the cemetery, the roars and screams from the night before had been audible, and they were anxious to know the outcome.

Having been stuffed inside his armor for half the night, Victor looked far from pristine. He walked straight up to them and held up the blood-stained cloth bundle in his hand, pulling back the wrapping.

"There! That’s the monster. Pretty, isn't she?" The villagers, who had seemed bold a moment ago, turned pale and stumbled backward at the sight of the Grave Hag. The more timid ones scrambled and fled back into the village.

Only the village elder and the gravedigger managed to keep their composure—one was experienced, and the other had seen it from a distance before, so they were not completely caught off guard.

Words became pale and hollow in the presence of this "pretty girl." The elder weakly produced a pouch of orens, which Angouleme stepped forward to accept.

Victor re-wrapped the monster's head and placed it on the ground, not expecting anyone here to dare take it from him.

"Thank you... thank you, my lords!" the gravedigger and the elder said in unison, their voices sounding genuinely relieved.

"We are the Phantom Troupe, not 'lords.' We are the Phantom Troupe, remember that!" Angouleme interjected with a casual correction. If they weren't going to get rich, they at least wanted the reputation.

The contract was finished.

The world had returned to peace, for the moment.

Shaking his head, Victor set off toward the village.

"P-please, wait a moment," the gravedigger asked, trembling. "What about... what about the child that was taken?"

Victor turned and swept his gaze over the expectant faces. "I found him. But he was in a cooking pot. Do you need a more detailed description?"

Everyone’s faces drained of color. The elder waved his hands in front of his chest. "No... no, that’s quite enough. You’ve already said too much."

Victor could feel that, compared to before, the way the elder, the gravedigger, and the villagers looked at him now carried a different weight.

It was the scent of fear—fear of the witcher, or perhaps fear of the Phantom Troupe.

But after the thrilling life-and-death struggle of the previous night, these hostile gazes felt insignificant. As Lambert would say, "I don't give a damn!"

...

Ten days passed in the blink of an eye. Fergus’s smithy closed its doors. The Phantom Troupe, along with Yuna and Fergus, packed a four-wheeled horse-drawn wagon full of tools and goods. Victor and Angouleme each took a horse, and the four of them set off for the north.

Their route was planned to take them across the bridge, through the village of Midcopse, and toward the border checkpoint.

It is worth noting that a few days after they left, a group of ten knights arrived in Lindenvale looking for the blacksmith. They were from the Baron of Crow's Perch; having heard of the master smith Fergus Graem, they had come to extend an invitation, but alas, the nest was already empty.