Chapter Twenty-Six: My Alchemy Knows No Bounds

It was summer once again—a year before, in the library at Kaer Morhen.

“Ghuls are creatures that arrive when celestial spheres align. They are short, about three to four feet in length, though some rare variants can reach five feet. Their skin is pale, they have long and wide jaws, sharp teeth and claws, possess simple intelligence, and are accustomed to attacking in groups.”

Vesemir clapped his hands twice. “A near-perfect description, child.”

The boy smiled but did not stop there. He continued, “Their flesh is coarse and unfit for consumption. Their blood, claws, and eyes can all be used as alchemical ingredients. The heart of an albino ghul is a catalyst for special potions.

A silver sword, together with dried and crushed moon rose petals boiled with bear fat to make ogre oil, can greatly increase lethality.”

“Impressive!” The witcher master nodded in satisfaction.

...

In actual combat, a single ghul poses little threat. Their pounces and bites, though swift and powerful, are limited by their size; no matter how fierce, they are no more dangerous than a large predator. The real danger arises when their numbers give them the advantage, allowing them to attack from all sides and strike at vulnerable spots.

Fortunately, for the company, the leather armor reinforced with iron plates that Fergen procured was not mere decoration. Everything varies in quality; even leather comes in grades. Back then, the unassuming Victor naturally chose the best hard-tanned leather.

With excellent armor, sharp weapons, premium sword oil, and their bellies full of potions, the battle began as the first ghul charged from afar. Victor split it in two with a single downward stroke of his silver sword, slicing it from head to spine.

Suddenly, guttural shrieks of ghuls echoed from all directions. The two found themselves surrounded by these squat monsters—the irreconcilable conflict between hunter and hunted erupted in full force.

With the boost from potions, Victor’s heightened reflexes and strength made him more than a match for the encircling monsters. Even the one or two ghuls that tried to burrow underground for a sneak attack were detected and pinned down before they could strike. In the face of his silver blade, none could withstand him.

Angoulême, already formidable, was even more so after taking the potions. Though her Mahakaman steel sword lacked the monster-slaying effects of silver, the ogre oil sufficed to let her perform a dazzling dance through the swarm.

In the moonlight, the girl’s performance reached its peak as she weaved through the melee. She chopped, slashed upward, then chopped again in swift succession, felling three ghuls with three strikes and cutting them into six pieces.

Truly, that scene—a rain of blood beneath the moon—was as poetic as it was striking.

Victor feinted to provoke a ghul’s pounce, sidestepped, and, with a quick advance, sliced upward through its chest. The remaining five or six ghuls howled, leaving behind twice as many of their kind dead, and scattered in all directions.

They arrived in a rush and departed just as quickly. In an instant, calm returned, leaving only a scene of chaos, the sole testimony to the fierce struggle for survival that had just taken place.

In the cool night breeze, Victor and Angoulême exchanged glances, exhaled deeply, and then both burst into laughter—the release after facing an unknown threat and surviving its tension.

As the laughter faded, Angoulême returned to the campfire and dropped heavily onto the ground, staring vacantly at the flames, lost in thought.

Victor approached her. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head.

Victor took out a tin of ointment, dabbed some beneath his nose, and handed it to her. “Rub it under your nostrils. You won’t smell the stench for a while.”

Then he drew his short blade and ambled off toward the treasure trove scattered across the ground—a very smelly treasure.

...

“Honestly, I’m curious, Captain—just how bad do you smell right now?” Dawn was breaking as the girl asked, walking beside him.

Victor had finished collecting the loot, somewhat disappointed at not finding an albino ghul heart. Seeing the sky lightening, the company packed up and moved on. But Katherine absolutely refused to perch on the girl’s shoulder anymore, since Victor was walking right next to her.

“If you really want to know, I can give you the antidote to the nose-blocking salve. Personally, I’d rather not find out,” Victor replied, deadpan.

Angoulême considered this, spat to the roadside, and muttered, “Forget it… Katherine says it’s terrifying.”

A golden ray of sunlight broke over the distant horizon.

With Katherine no longer chatting with her, Angoulême reverted to her old habit of chattering to Victor. “Captain, what were those three potions we just drank? After drinking them, I felt full of power, like I could do anything!”

“Those are witcher enhancement potions. Normally, ordinary people would be poisoned by them. What we took were improved, non-toxic versions with much weaker effects.”

Hearing this, Angoulême exclaimed, “And that’s with weak effects? If I could have a set before every fight, I’d feel invincible!”

“Oh… Confident enough to beat Iorveth?” the boy retorted coolly.

The boast caught in her throat. She lowered her voice. “...Probably not.”

“With your skills, you want a full set every time? Dream on. Do you know how many crowns those raw materials cost? How much the potion is worth once brewed? Do you even know that sword oil needs to be boiled with bear fat? It took me all morning, leaping about, to get that bear and scrape together the fat! Last night’s extravagance was a necessity under uncertain circumstances. The more I talk about it, the more it pains me… And that’s not even counting the wear and tear on my steel and silver swords, let me tell you…”

Victor, thoroughly unsparing, launched into a miserly lecture about the cost of supplies, leaving Angoulême with nothing to say and hurrying on, crestfallen. The lecture lasted until past noon, when the distant silhouette of Aerlinde finally came into view.

...

At the city gate, Victor noticed the guard’s unconcealed disgust at his stench. Smiling, he raised the long string of ghul ears in greeting, causing the man to stumble backward in fright, nearly slipping.

Angoulême, hood pulled low, kept a careful distance from Victor as she entered the city. Soon after, she stopped in front of “Lame Anton’s” inn, knocked three times on her sword hilt, and went inside.

Hearing the knocks, Victor glanced back at the sign and the girl, then continued on his way.

It was his first time openly using his identity as a witcher. The string of ghul ears could be exchanged for a bounty at the town hall. Out of caution and to avoid unnecessary trouble, he’d had Angoulême keep her distance and seek her own lodging.

He still needed to visit the Temple of Melitele, and if all went well, he would stay there. Angoulême loathed all temples, even those dedicated to Melitele, the ancient goddess of love and peace.