Chapter 157: A Fates-Entwined Romance in the Mists of Edburg

Soron was an eighteen-year-old sailor with blonde hair, a well-proportioned physique, a thick beard, a fresh breath, and boundless energy.

Hailing from the Tursyuch family, he was unmarried, in robust health, and full of vitality, with a skilled sweetheart named "Justide" waiting for him in the port of Vivala.

This time, alongside a few companions, he had accepted employment from the Dragonborn to sail a pleasure vessel, with wages sufficient for him to spend the winter in comfort.

Yet this simple and ordinary coastal voyage was to become the greatest misfortune of his brief, happy life.

Misfortunes rarely arrive in solitude. Just like tonight, first the light of the Aldeburg Lighthouse suddenly went out, and the loss of guidance caused their vessel to crash against the coastal rocks.

Then, emerging from nowhere, a horde of pirates seized the exact moment to charge forward and pillage. They were merciless, leaving no survivors, and all the sailors on board were hacked to death on the spot.

And when Soron finally managed to struggle ashore, a sudden, dense fog enveloped the entire Aldeburg Island...

...

At the exact same time, on a certain beach of Aldeburg Island.

"F***... that bastard up in the lighthouse is definitely in cahoots with the pirates." Amidst bitter curses, Viktor landed ashore in a wretched state, his right hand gripping Angrignon tightly.

Walking beside the youth, the scoundrel's face was dark with anger, his blue eyes flashing with a sinister glint. He was currently so furious he wanted to kill someone—to kill that son of a b***h guarding the lighthouse!

As a Skellige native, the moment the ship hit the rocks and he saw the charging pirates, Vig had instantly understood the cause and effect. The problem was that he had just assured the master that the journey would be completely safe, and this incident made him lose face entirely.

Finding a patch of flat ground, the youth knelt on one knee and placed the waterlogged girl's abdomen over his bent thigh, her head hanging downward. He gently patted her back, letting her vomit the accumulated water from her stomach.

He didn't blame the lass for nearly drowning yet again—the ocean and rivers were two entirely different things. Fortunately, the scoundrel could take care of himself; he certainly didn't want a grown man draped over his thigh.

And right at that moment, a thick, white fog suddenly rose.

Eerie and viscous, it caused a slight tingling sensation against the skin. This was not ordinary mist; it was the taste of magic.

The Wolf School medallion vibrated on par with a massage device on its third setting.

Hazily drifting and floating, suddenly, faint shadows glowing with a cyan light flickered in and out of view... They carried oillamps in their left hands and sharp blades in their right, moving like ghosts through the dense fog, ruthlessly slaughtering the rampaging pirates one by one.

What the hell... they're wraiths...!

This definitely wasn't a normal phenomenon. Viktor glanced at Vig, who looked equally dumbfounded.

The youth pulled out his Wolf School medallion, briefly assessed the density of the magic, hoisted Angrignon onto his back, and commanded, "Follow me!"

Leading the scoundrel, the three members of the Phantom Troupe kept their feet moving, running toward the higher ground of the island. The dense white fog currently covered only the coastal beach; the mist higher up the mountain seemed somewhat thinner.

"Aldeburg" itself was a functional island. Aside from rocks and a sparse covering of vegetation, nothing could grow there. The only two buildings were the lighthouse and the keeper's cottage.

Hazily drifting and floating, Vig, as he ran, felt the fog around him growing thicker, slowly rolling in pursuit from behind. He couldn't help but quicken his pace—after all, the thick fog was filled with those greenish monsters.

Approaching the stone-built house, Viktor pushed the door open and rushed in without hesitation. He first placed Angrignon onto the fur mattress, then opened his herbal pouch, took out mistletoe branches to hang above the door, and followed up by scattering rock salt across the threshold and beneath the windows.

Having completed all these actions, he exhaled a breath, pulled over a fur cushion, and sat close to the burning hearth in the center of the room to warm himself, while also moving Angrignon's bed closer to the fire source.

Vig, who had run along behind them, was still somewhat dazed, but, influenced by the youth's current leisurely attitude, he too pulled over a cushion and sat near the fire.

"Master, what... what is going on here?" the scoundrel asked somewhat cautiously.

Viktor picked up a piece of firewood and tossed it into the hearth. "Those are wraiths—souls that died in anger and agony. If they fail to move on to the unknown world and instead linger in the mortal realm, they transform into wraiths.

Such ferocious entities usually haunt the wilderness, graveyards, crypts, and other similar places."

"Or perhaps—they are anchored to the very place where their anger and agony were forged." It was the girl, sitting upright upon the fur mattress.

The youth nodded. "Not bad. You actually remember what you read in the books."

"Uh... so... what on earth is happening?" The scoundrel still remained somewhat clueless.

Viktor retrieved a small flask of cherry brandy from his herbal pouch and shoved it at Angrignon, saying, "Just take a couple of sips." He then drew out a bottle of rum, took a swig himself, and handed it to Vig.

"At the spot where we just shipwrecked, with so many shattered vessels, one can guess they certainly haven't been doing this just once. Long-standing resentment combined with magic to form a curse, which is how such a large-scale 'poltergeist phenomenon' could occur.

Although this is my first time witnessing such a situation, it will surely subside significantly by dawn. Let's rest here until tomorrow and discuss it then. With mistletoe and rock salt warding off evil, the wraiths cannot break into the house."

Taking the rum, Vig's eyes lit up. He quickly gulped down two mouthfuls before respectfully returning the flask.

And right at that moment, someone slammed the door open with a loud "Bang!", letting in a gust of wind and snow. The person darted inside, slammed the door shut tightly, and threw the bolt, as if something outside were hunting him down.

Viktor gestured toward the blazing hearth, and Angrignon and Vig understood.

The man turned around, instantly startled by the gaze of three pairs of eyes, pressing himself flat against the door. He wore the attire of the Drummond clan, layered with a thick leather cuirass, and attempted to conceal a severely receding hairline with a side-parted fringe of hair from the side.

His teeth chattered incessantly. "W-Who are you? How did you get here?"

Viktor spread his hands. "What do you think? This is an island. We certainly didn't swim here."

"And who are you? The lighthouse keeper? What's your name?" As he spoke, Vig directly drew his steel sword, baring his teeth.

The short-tempered scoundrel frightened the man into speaking immediately: "I... I'm Mikhail, Mikhail of the Drummond clan, from Ard Skellig. The keeper of the Aldeburg Lighthouse."

One had to admit that Vig's demeanor—ready to hack someone to pieces at the slightest disagreement—was performed with completely natural flair. Viktor doubted he could pull that off himself, because he was genuinely prepared to start hacking at the slightest disagreement, making it a genuine performance.

The youth waved his hand to signal the scoundrel to sheathe his sword, then motioned for the keeper to come sit by the hearth. The man's face was covered in heavy stubble, his cheeks greasy with sweat, looking intensely paranoid and deeply unsettled.

Viktor shoved the remaining rum into Mikhail's hands. "Where do those wraiths come from? Do you have any idea? This is my first time seeing such a spectacular sight; there must be plenty of aggrieved spirits and ghosts roaming around here."

Trembling in hands and feet, the man accepted the bottle, took two large gulps, and gasped for breath. "I... I don't know either! They just popped out of thin air! That's the strange part! Just moments ago, the fire went out, the wind suddenly stopped, and then the weirdness started.

I stepped out of the lighthouse to fetch oil, looked up, and noticed the air was foggy. Then those ghosts appeared! And they came straight for me! I was so terrified I didn't care about anything else, ran back here, and then I ran into you lot."

After listening to the keeper's account, the scoundrel kept a cold face and remained silent, the girl stared into the fire as intensely as if it contained an entire garden, while the youth closed his eyes in thought.

The subtle reactions of the three made Mikhail increasingly anxious, forcing him to take another gurgling gulp of rum to steady his nerves.

The hearth fire crackled, and the scoundrel tossed in another piece of wood.

"Thud! Thud!" Something was lightly striking the windowpane.

Then came a chilling moan, a clear and unmistakable call: "Mikhail... Mikhail...... Mikhail........."

Before the others could react, Vig walked over to the window first and whistled softly. "Whoa! Now that's a fine specimen! There's a party going on outside, and there's one particularly large wraith—bigger than all the others. The freezing breath blowing from its mouth has even frosted the window glass."

"Let me see." The youth approached the window, pushing the scoundrel aside to observe. It was indeed much larger, and unlike the other ordinary wraiths glowing with green light, its skirt and hood were red, featuring white patterns across its black torso.

"Angrignon, come take a look too. This is a penitent—rumored to be a dangerous type of wraith that specifically hounds sinners who have committed evil deeds."

With that, Viktor walked over to the lighthouse keeper, gently placing both hands on his shoulders. "Mikhail, truthfully speaking, these wraiths couldn't have appeared for no reason at all. Something must have attracted them here. Do you have any thoughts on the matter?"

Feeling the gentle pressure on his shoulders, an unreasoning terror gripped him. "I... I don't know! There's nothing here—the lighthouse, my cottage, and nothing else besides rocks. Even drowners know there's nothing on Aldeburg."

"Indeed, there is nothing here. But aren't there still 'you'?"

In an instant, the keeper felt the blood in his veins freeze into ice, a chill shooting straight from the base of his spine to the back of his neck.

"I'll say it again: that creepy thing is a penitent. This kind of wraith punishes wrongdoers who have committed sins or people who have done evil," the youth said in a haunting tone.

"But I'm the only one who lives here! I've never harmed anyone! I've never disturbed a soul!"

"Perhaps you haven't physically harmed anyone, but as for the lovely deeds you pulled at the lighthouse, you have three surviving victims right before your eyes." There was no anger in Viktor's voice, only a clear, profound indifference.

"No... no...... no, you can't do this!" The lighthouse keeper struggled, but the hands on his shoulders exerted force, pressing him down so he couldn't move.

Recalling what he had just observed outside, Mikhail couldn't help shouting, "I can't go out there! It will kill me! I can feel it! Maybe you can... aren't you... aren't you a witcher? You have to protect me."

Viktor smiled faintly. "No, I'm not yet. I haven't completed my mutation. And compared to another much more difficult method, I'd rather try satisfying their demands and let them naturally disperse.

Vig, come help. Angrignon, open the door. Don't worry, with mistletoe around, it can't do a thing to us."

At this juncture of life and death, Mikhail thrashed his limbs and struggled frantically, but the two men of the Phantom Troupe were both exceptionally strong, leaving him powerless to resist.

"No! You can't do this! You despicable murderer, are you going to stand by and watch me die?"

"Don't worry, I certainly won't stand by and watch you die. I'll close my eyes.

The crew of the Golden Merry, along with the victims of past shipwrecks, are all waiting for you right outside."

The door opened. The lighthouse keeper was thrown out. The door closed.

...

Not long after, the door opened once more. Viktor stood face-to-face with the "penitent." Frankly, the appearance of the wraith species was hardly flattering, featuring two hollow black sockets for eyes and their defining trait—a long, thick, protruding tongue.

Beside the youth, Angrignon frowned. "The ordinary cyan wraiths have all dispersed, but why is this big one still lingering here?"

"Looks like it wants to finish us off. Is there anyone among the three of us who hasn't sinned?" Viktor replied casually.

Following Vig's usual style, he would have raised his weapon and rushed out to hack it to pieces by now. But after receiving the Big Sister's basic education, he knew the Phantom Troupe had its own way of doing things. To follow the Dovahkiin, one had to remain calm now.

The scoundrel asked, "So are we charging out to attack it? Using those soy sauces the master usually prepares?"

With a "Bang!", the door shut, and Viktor walked straight over to lie down on the fur mattress.

"...It's sword oil, not soy sauce. I said it was tricky earlier because in the dark, it's hard to break a penitent's defense. When it blends into the dense fog formed by numerous wraiths, it becomes very troublesome.

Yet where there is fire or light, it weakens, becoming no stronger than an ordinary wraith. So let's sleep for tonight!

Tomorrow morning, when we wake up and apply sword oil, the three of us working together, supplemented by a 'Moon Dust' silver-shrapnel bomb to pin it down, beating it to death will be even simpler than beating up a drunkard."

"Knowledge is power!" The Big Sister's words flashed through his mind.

Vig clenched both fists, gazing at the back of the Dragonborn—who had rolled over and was now breathing evenly—deeply moved.

...

The next morning, the winter sun shone warmly.

Waking up and kicking things off with a Moon Dust bomb, with their weapons coated in specter oil, the three members of the Phantom Troupe swarmed the penitent in broad daylight and beat it to death right outside the cottage door.

Next came thoroughly gathering resources. Such an entity provided the alchemical material "Wraith Dust," a material that was both rare and common—rare because it was not easily obtained, yet common because killing just one yielded plenty.

Afterward, they marched imposing and strong toward the Aldeburg Lighthouse—the very place where the sudden blackout had caused their shipwreck. The locked tower door was no match for Angrignon, who was well-versed in lockpicking.

After a thorough search and rummaging session, they finally found on the second floor of the lighthouse—

《Letter to the Lighthouse Keeper》

I have a job for you, Mikhail.

A ship loaded with furs is sailing from Kaer Trolde to Ard Skellig. Turn on the lighthouse lamp at midnight, and turn it off when we give you the signal with a torch.

We'll split the spoils as usual; one-tenth of what comes ashore goes to you.

See you around.

...

Having let Angrignon read the letter that proved the lighthouse keeper's guilt, Viktor specifically read it aloud once more for Vig, then tucked the note away into his herbal pouch with satisfaction.

"Let's go! Everything here is done. Next, we head to Ard Skellig, secure three horses, and ride to 'Hemmelskeld Port' to buy a new ship." With that, the youth led his two companions away from the lighthouse.

Walking in front, he failed to notice his subordinates gossiping behind his back.

"Big Sister, why does the leader insist on looking for evidence? From my perspective, we don't need proof; Mikhail definitely did it, the penitent was shouting his name the whole time."

"You need to get used to Vic's ways. He gets hung up or takes pleasure in certain subtle matters—sort of a trademark from being born in Bell Town..."

After being tempered by Yuna and Fergus, the girl was now quite adept at explaining the leader's quirks in simple language.

...

Strolling southward, the trio crossed the suspension bridge before noon, only to unexpectedly spot someone some distance ahead.

Upon seeing the Phantom Troupe, that person leaped up with joy and waved frantically.

Although Viktor didn't know his name, Vig did.

It was Soron.