Chapter Forty-Four: I Love the Water Ghost, and the Water Ghost Loves Me

“Timid by nature, the water ghoul usually subsists on leftovers unearthed from rubbish and the corpses of animals. Only when a solitary traveler or an unwary fisherman strays into their domain will the water ghoul initiate an attack.

Their appearance is like that of a human corpse dredged from the bottom of a pond—skin tinted blue or green, pores weeping with slime and muck, their bodies exuding the sour stench of rot. Yet in truth, they are not transformed corpses of the drowned. Their scales, gills, and dorsal fins reveal that water ghouls are a wholly different breed. These features make them exceptional swimmers, able to drag unsuspecting victims into the depths with swift efficiency.

If not immediately hungry, the water ghoul will store its prey submerged for days, letting the flesh soften and decay, until it melts away in their mouths.

That afternoon, beyond the walls of Vegima, along a stretch of the Ismina River not too far from the satellite town, Victor stood on the shore with one foot forward, arms folded, explaining the habits of water ghouls. Angulan, meanwhile, crouched in the river, her body submerged up to the neck, her face a portrait of reluctant misery.

“Come on, Captain, is this really going to work? I’ve been soaking here for half an hour!”

“Just a bit longer, have patience. They’ll be here soon—the footprints along the shore are clear as day. There’s definitely one nearby. Besides, with weather this hot, isn’t it nice to cool off in the water?”

“If it’s so nice, why aren’t you down here with me?” The thought of being used as bait to fish for water ghouls made Angulan both nervous and resentful.

“Tsk! Clearly, you didn’t listen to a word I said about their habits. Water ghouls are timid. The scent of a lone woman is far more tempting. If both of us went in, we’d catch nothing.

A bet’s a bet. You lost the dice, so you have to play your part. Don’t worry—it’s still hours before dusk. Only a handful of desperate water ghouls come out at this time.”

The captain’s words soothed his restless companion, and he continued, “But come evening or night, especially when it rains, water ghouls become much more active, sometimes even venturing briefly inland.

When they come ashore, it’s usually in packs. Though they’re fast on land, they’re still feeble against anyone other than fishermen or washerwomen. Which is why the saying goes: ‘When monsters are hopeless alone, they band together for comfort.’”

Even as he spoke, a mechanical snap sounded behind the girl, followed by a splash. “Get out of the water, we’ve got one!” the boy shouted.

At once, Angulan sprang from the river as if chased by fire, leaping up the bank in a few quick steps. She saw Victor hauling on a rope, dragging something toward the shore.

Their catch secured, the girl eagerly joined to help pull. The weight was immediately apparent. “Hey, this one’s heavy! Must be a big one!”

Together, they soon brought the trapped water ghoul to the surface. Its body was deep blue, hooked claws curling tight around its torso, and from the wounds, its fluids trickled out in dark streams.

With guttural howls and frantic thrashing, it was dragged to shore. The boy wound the rope around a stake to secure it, then stepped forward and, with a swift motion, decapitated it with his silver sword.

Gloved, they hauled the remains up onto the bank. Victor took the lead, with Angulan assisting, as they performed a thorough harvest—skull opened, chest laid bare—gathering every useful material from the corpse of the corpse-eater.

Not long after, as the swift currents of the Ismina swept away the last traces and stench, Angulan tossed her dice, chin raised toward Victor in a challenge. “Round two!”

…

“You see, these monsters—caught by traps, slain by mages, by soldiers, even by villagers banding together—can all be killed. But why are witchers alone called monster experts?

…That’s the essential difference: a layman ignores cost; an expert controls it. A layman disregards efficiency; an expert pursues it.

Take the simplest corpse-eater oil, for example. All you need is dog fat and dandelion. Mix, simmer until it thickens, and it’s ready. Quick to make, devastating in effect.

So, when facing any predictable kind of monster, you can skip many preparations, but never go without the right sword oil. The herbal manual I gave you teaches you to recognize ingredients. As for the formulas for each kind of monster’s oil, I’ll teach you those by word of mouth.

Live and learn, remember? Don’t complain if I ramble—”

With the evening sun slanting across the riverbank, Victor had a campfire going. A small cauldron bubbled with the corpse-eater oil as he shared his wisdom, words droning on.

Angulan sat opposite, drying her clothes. She had lost four rounds that afternoon—not a single win in their best-of-five matches, a twelve-game losing streak that nearly shook her faith in luck. If the dice hadn’t been her own, she’d have accused the captain of cheating.

The more she thought about it, the more it bothered her. She interrupted his lecture. “Vic, if we were going to end up like this, why did we bother fishing for water ghouls all afternoon?”

His spoon paused in the ointment, then continued stirring.

“Well… truth is, I’d never fought water ghouls before. I wanted to be prepared. To know what they look like, what they smell like, how it feels to strike them, what wounds guarantee a kill.

After a few rounds of baiting and butchering, I’m not nervous anymore, right?”

He took Angulan’s Mahakhan blade, ladled the oil evenly over its length, then did the same with his own silver sword. The dusk air was thick with the faint, briny scent of blood—time was almost up.

The water’s rush grew louder, and with it, water ghoul heads surfaced, one after another. “Five… eight… ten… thirteen!” Angulan called out, sword in hand.

One by one, the ghouls hauled themselves ashore. Though human-shaped, they were no cleverer than fish. They eyed the two figures—wondering, perhaps, why their prey did not flee. But, emboldened by numbers, they spread their toothy jaws and let out shrieks of delight and menace.

“Watch the danger zone. Don’t be foolish enough to step into our own traps,” Victor warned Angulan, expressionless, silver sword poised. This wouldn’t be a heroic clash; the outcome was decided before the battle began.

Unless, of course, the unexpected occurred. For instance—

“Danger! Run!” Under the newborn crescent moon, a shout shattered the tension. At once, the ghouls lunged at the Phantom Brigade.

Though surprised, the content of the warning betrayed friendly intentions. Neither youth paid it much mind, dispatching the water ghouls methodically, as if it were just another sword drill.

When the sounds of running from behind ceased, their two-person sword dance became a trio. In the corner of his vision, Victor saw that the warning—and the timely assistance—came from a knight of obvious skill, whose breastplate bore the emblem of a burning rose.