Chapter Sixty-Four: You Illuminate My World

“When a man is alone, his true character is most clearly revealed.” This proverb from Bell Town aptly describes the torment the witcher apprentice now faces.

If it were only those three ghouls feasting on a “male platter,” he was confident he could dispatch them with his silver sword after a prolonged skirmish. But if, during that fight, several more decided to join the carnage, he would be forced to use a Wolf School secret technique to resolve the situation.

He did not wish to use such techniques: the “Beehive” detonates with a thunderous roar and leaves traces that could reveal the presence of expertly made bombs; as for “Dancing Star,” he was even more reluctant—he’d already used up most of his precious Sericanian Blasting Powder on the Giant Thorn Tree, and wanted to save his remaining firebombs for a truly dire moment.

Another reliable option was potions. If he drank Blizzard, Thunderbolt, and Tawny Owl—the trio of combat elixirs—and coated his silver blade with a vial of Necrophage Oil, he could handle far more than three ghouls, even if four or five leapt out to join the feast.

But again, he sought to conserve his potions. Blizzard and Thunderbolt both required rare ingredients; Thunderbolt called for Endrega embryos, and Blizzard needed either a golem’s heart or a Chichimo gland as substitutes. Neither of these could be bought on the market, and neither had been seen near Vizima. It was a frustrating predicament.

In just a few minutes, the boy realized his weakness: not only was he a frugal man, but in the absence of Lambert or Angoulême, he also lacked that brutish courage, that fearless toughness.

Though he had experienced some battles, he still preferred the guidance of Eskel: “When you have a choice, you always pick the safest way.”

So, step by steady step, just as he had come, the boy began to retreat. He’d already decided that tomorrow he would lay a dozen bear traps for them, each jaw smeared with necrophage oil, and easily bring down all the ghouls. And this safest of safe methods would only cost him two hundred Orens.

Unfortunately, just then, Victor suddenly heard a low, heavy breathing behind him. A chill of mortal danger shot from the base of his spine to the back of his skull—

…

No—

Angoulême woke with a start from her nightmare, springing upright in bed. The commotion startled Catherine, her companion perched by the window, who flapped her wings and flew over, chirping anxiously, trying to calm the sweat-soaked girl.

Realizing she was in her own bed, that it had all been a dream, Angoulême let out a breath and gently hugged her companion. “Gods, it was terrifying. Catherine, do you know? I just had the most dreadful nightmare.”

“Vuun… vuun…” Catherine crooned softly.

“What!? You want to know what I dreamed?”

After catching her breath, Angoulême’s mood slowly settled.

“…All right, I’ll tell you, just for you.
I dreamed… the captain and I were in some desolate graveyard, surrounded by an endless horde of ghouls. They kept coming, drooling, baring their fangs and claws, lunging at us again and again. We fought desperately, hacking and slashing, but in the end, when we could hold out no longer—
—Victor suddenly shouted, ‘I’m done being human!’
Then lightning split the sky, and the captain erupted in steam, ballooning with a ‘boom’ into a giant naked colossus. The ordinary ghouls weren’t even as big as his nostrils. Then, with a single slap after another, he smashed them into pulp, and there was one fat one he hung upside down and tore in half…”

“Gawk!” Catherine chirped in protest, as if to say this dream had too many absurdities to even begin to comment on.

Yet Angoulême continued her lengthy recounting of the nightmare, showing no sign of stopping anytime soon.

…

At present, the situation was like that saying all wise men know: “These are dark times, but everything is still under control.”

Turning slowly, Victor saw that the heavy breathing behind him belonged to two regular ghouls who had missed out on the “male platter” feast.

Drool dripped from their open mouths as they bared their teeth, growling in warning. It seemed they were surprised to find living prey here—he did not smell as enticing as a decaying corpse, but he still smelled quite good.

The boy kept calm. At moments like this, facing a wild beast, panic or flight would only trigger its aggression, and might even attract the three others feeding nearby.

He quietly drew from his pouch a genuine “Dancing Star.” This was not some mixture of powders, but a masterful product of alchemy, integrating Sericanian Blasting Powder, sulfur, saltpeter, and Stanford’s Dust.

With a graceful flick, Victor tossed the “Dancing Star” over his shoulder to where the three ghouls feasted intently.

As a thunderous explosion erupted behind him, the real man never looked back at the blast. He drew his silver sword, and as the two ghouls before him were distracted by the firelight, he lunged, swiftly severing one ghoul’s entire arm.

Then, before the first snow could fall, muscle memory from countless “comb pile” and “windmill” drills guided Victor to pivot and retreat, narrowly dodging the other ghoul’s pounce and restoring their standoff.

Noticing the one-armed ghoul, blood gushing from its wound, showed no fear but instead descended into a frenzy, the apprentice was more pleased than alarmed. Monsters, for all their otherworldly traits, were still “creatures”—they only “seemed” immune to pain. If the ghoul had fled, he would have had to worry about it returning with reinforcements.

This is good… let’s end this quickly. He raised the sword hilt above his head, the tip angled slightly back.

When he first learned this “high guard” stance, influenced by games, he would point the tip directly backward or downward, until Vesemir corrected him. And when Lambert and Eskel returned for the winter and saw his attempt at the witcher master’s form, they mocked him for half a month—so much so that they couldn’t help grinning at the sight of any apprentice.

Hilt above the head, tip angled slightly back—should your foe charge in blindly, this “high guard” lets you finish the fight with a swift, powerful chop.

Most opponents would anticipate this and react accordingly, but a frenzied ghoul was not among them.

As the mindless monster lunged, in that instant, Geralt, Sekiro, William, and I were one.

The silver sword came crashing down—Victor sends you his regards!

…

The rest of the duel was unremarkable. To ensure the freshness of ghoul blood, ghoul teeth, monster liver, and venom glands, the last ghoul did not share its companion’s mercy of a swift end, but died slowly and painfully.

A few nights ago the moon was a crescent; tonight, its light was even dimmer. Fortunately, the three ghouls bathed in the Dancing Star’s flames drove away the darkness, burning themselves to illuminate the tomb and Victor’s world.