NOVEL SIMPLE 154. Sol Henrietta.
Afternoon.
Castle Ruins.
"Bang~"
A dark stone was pushed aside, revealing a pitch-black passage.
Inside Viscount Hudson's castle, it seemed as though flames had scorched everything, leaving behind blackened traces, as if a great fire had turned the place into ruins. But in reality...
The main structure of the castle was mysteriously intact.
"This must have been done by someone," Allen thought.
If a real fire had broken out, even the sturdiest rocks would have cracked under the high temperatures. In the previous life, even cement buildings struggled to survive the merciless flames; how could a medieval castle remain so intact?
"Um... Allen, should I apply the specter oil on the silver sword like this?"
Vesemir hesitantly asked as he took out a bottle of oil with a faint blue glow from his waist pouch. Although he had learned the formula for necrophage oil, he had never used this concoction, which Allen referred to as sword oil.
After all...
For him, whether he used the oil or not, dealing with drowners and ghouls was just a one-sword matter.
"Yes, Master Vesemir."
Allen said as he took out a bottle of specter oil from his own pouch. Even though he didn't know the specific formulas or the mixing methods for the locked sword oils and witcher potions...
He still remembered some common solvents used in the formulas. So, considering that he might come across the formula outside...
Before leaving Kaer Morhen, Allen specifically took some dwarven spirits, dog fat, and bear fat from the sorceress—common solvents for potions—and packed them in his bag.
Just after obtaining the formula, he spent 30 copper coins at the herbal shop in White Orchard to buy six portions of Arenaria, and 1 copper coin to borrow the shopkeeper's cauldron. He quickly concocted six bottles of specter oil.
It didn't hinder the continued exploration of the castle ruins at all.
"Pop~"
He opened the cork, slowly poured a third of the sword oil onto Elsabeth.
Rotating the blade...
After two or three circles, a thin layer of faint blue light covered the beautifully decorated silver sword.
Vesemir carefully watched Allen's movements and then mimicked him, applying the sword oil to his blade. After that, the two exchanged a glance, lifted their silver swords, and stepped into the dark passage...
----------
Adáe Town.
Count Burns' Estate.
Adáe Town wasn't far from White Orchard. After settling the injured Fargo, Serio and Fowler only had to ride for half an hour at a fast pace.
The estate, surrounded by trees and heavily guarded, soon appeared before them. Serio glanced at Fowler, who was leading the way on horseback in front, and quietly guided his horse next to Bowen, whispering: "Bowen, Fargo was injured and couldn't come. Fowler heard he was wounded by a specter..."
"Our visit to the abandoned castle can't be hidden."
Bowen gently tugged on the reins, slowing his pace, and said: "I've been thinking about this the whole way."
"Captain Serio, we should just tell the truth."
"Tell the truth?" Serio said in surprise, then realized his voice was a bit loud and glanced at Fowler ahead. Fowler was still leading the way as usual, and the sound of hoofbeats covered their conversation.
"You don't know who the mastermind is. Aren't you afraid of being exposed?" Serio asked.
Bowen shook his head and said: "As you said, Fargo was injured first, and the specter has been exposed. Our interaction with the witcher in the castle ruins can't be concealed."
"Witchers normally accept contracts. If someone asks, they might not even help us cover it up."
"So, this is something unavoidable."
"Since we can't hide it, let's openly test the king's attitude."
"My family and I only aim to reclaim the castle and our fief. Compared to that, the truth about Viscount Hudson's family's death is insignificant."
"Besides, no matter how you look at it, the death of the viscount's family and the burning of the castle happened ten years ago."
"No matter who the mastermind is, even if it's the king, after such a long time, whatever needed to be done has already been done, and whatever needed to be gained has already been obtained."
"There's no reason for a king, who is often called the 'Big Eater' by commoners and nobles alike, to have too big a reaction to a normal claim of noble inheritance and the reclaiming of a fief."
Hearing this, Serio also sighed in relief. Indeed, even if the leverage is in the king's hands, as long as he hasn't officially declared anything, a noble's attempt to reclaim their family's castle and fief is a legitimate act. However...
Serio glanced at the young knight beside him, whose brows were furrowed. Clearly...
Bowen wasn't as calm as he appeared to be.
After all, although the claim is legitimate, the king, Henselt, who's often joked about as a "Big Eater," isn't exactly normal. But there's no other option.
The king's summons was too sudden, leaving them no time to prepare. So, even if they couldn't predict Henselt's reaction, they had to grit their teeth and stick to the new plan. Otherwise, if their concealment was exposed, as royal guards, they would only be in a more passive position.
--------------
After entering the estate, Serio and Bowen were guided by the estate's servants to remove their armor and weapons and change into noble attire. Even as the king's guards, these noble heirs found it difficult to earn the king's complete trust. Whenever they had an audience with the king, they had to remove all their arms.
"Squeak~"
The dark wooden door opened. The smell of roasted meat and wine wafted in.
"Your Majesty."
After entering the room, Serio and Bowen kept their eyes straight ahead, knelt on one knee, and paid their respects. The sound of chewing, "Huff, huff," stopped.
"Did you encounter... hmm... where's the other person, Serio? Were you attacked by the specter?"
Henselt put down the bone he had been gnawing on and immediately noticed the anomaly.
"Your Majesty, Fargo was wounded by a specter and is currently being treated at the mayor's place in White Orchard."
"A specter?"
A deep voice suddenly came from Serio's right side.
Who dares to be so bold? To speak so rudely in the king's presence… Serio instinctively turned his head and was met with a pair of silver cat eyes. Looking down, a flat silver metal medallion gleamed.
A witcher of the School of the Wolf?
No, the medallion of the School of the Wolf isn't like this.
"This is Sol Henrietta, a Grandmaster Witcher of the School of the Wolf, also known as the Dragon Slayer, and formerly the Duke of Toussaint's son."
From Serio's left, someone seemed to see through his thoughts and spoke in a deep voice.
It really is a witcher of the School of the Wolf, but this voice is...?
Before Serio could turn to look, the voice continued: "I am Jenks, the deputy head of Ban Ard."
"Jenks!" Henselt growled.
"Apologies, Your Majesty, I forgot I shouldn't use mind-reading in your presence..."
The voice replied flippantly, clearly not caring much about Henselt's attitude. Hearing this, Serio was suddenly filled with dread and quickly turned his head. A young man with a long, pointed hat looked him in the eye and even smiled at him.
He was mind-read?
What did he read?
"I didn't read anything just now," the flippant voice continued.
"Don't worry, under the dragon-like majesty of your esteemed king, I'm already trembling so much that I can't read anything."
"I figured it out from your straightforward expression."
"Jenks!!!" Henselt, with a darkened face, threw the bone in his hand into the silver basin and shouted loudly.
"Alright, alright, I'll shut up..." The sorcerer named Jenks shrugged, smirked, and then smiled at Serio.
Serio didn't dare to look at him for long and quickly lowered his head. A witcher, and one who has slain dragons at that—no wonder the king called back his guards.
Seeing that Jenks had quieted down, Henselt was about to continue asking for details when something occurred to him. He frowned and asked, "Wait, did you say Orchard?"
Watching the king's contemplative expression, Serio felt a sinking feeling in his heart.
How could an ordinary little town provoke such thoughts from the king? This was bad news for both him and Bowen. He regretted it a bit. The waters surrounding the castle ruins seemed deeper than he had imagined. But since the king had asked, he had to brace himself and respond, "Yes, Fargo is currently recovering at Orchard."
At this moment, the male sorcerer beside Jenks seemed to remember something, and his face suddenly changed drastically.
He leaned closer to Jenks's ear, his mouth moving rapidly. Jenks's expression shifted from casual to increasingly serious.
"You mentioned Orchard... Is there a castle ruin nearby?" he asked.
Serio glanced at the king, saw Henselt frowning, nodded, and then said, "Yes, there's a castle ruin in Orchard. That's where Fargo was injured by the wraith."
Upon hearing this, Henselt instinctively exchanged a glance with Jenks. Seeing Jenks nod, Henselt's face immediately darkened, and he was about to reprimand someone. But then he noticed Sol standing nearby and suppressed his anger, asking instead, "What's the current situation with the castle ruins?"
----------
Castle ruins.
The sound of clashing metal echoed, and sparks flew from the collisions, briefly illuminating the sharp, handsome features under a wide-brimmed black hat.
In the next moment.
A spin.
A slash!
A pale blue light followed the force of the strike, quickly spinning into a bright arc, piercing through the wraith's abdomen.
"Swish!"
The sound was like water suddenly vaporizing. At the intersection of the silver sword and the wraith's body, a large area twisted violently before the wraith's semi-transparent form suddenly froze. In the next second, it shattered into countless green, blue, and purple particles. But the witcher in the dim room, still wearing that peculiar hat, did not stop to rest after killing one wraith. Instead, he turned his gaze to the next wraith.
That's right.
This witcher was Vesemir.
And he was on a killing spree!
"Allen really is a genius. To think he could come up with a potion like Specter Oil," Vesemir thought, spinning and swinging his sword with exhilaration.
He hadn't paid much attention to the Necrophage Oil before. After all, those physical creatures only took one sword strike to deal with, and the effect wasn't very noticeable for master witchers like him. But Specter Oil was different. No witcher who had ever hunted wraiths could refuse Specter Oil.
Absolutely none!
Though he didn't understand why Allen's Witcher Sense could one-hit-kill wraiths, the speed of dispatching them wasn't much related to the witcher's own skill; it was purely about the slow neutralization between silver and spirits.
No matter how strong a witcher was, at most, they could handle multiple wraiths at once without taking damage. But it still took a long time to kill each wraith.
Vesemir had even calculated in his boredom before: an ordinary silver sword needed about 230 strikes to eliminate a single wraith. It was mechanical, tedious, and lacked the excitement and satisfaction of a typical battle. But with Allen's invention of Specter Oil.
Three strikes per wraith.
If the sword pierced deep enough into the spirit, it could even kill one in a single strike.
"Swish!"
Another wraith was vanquished.
"Nice!"
Vesemir shouted in delight, not even bothering to refresh the Yrden sign as he quickly lunged at the next wraith. Vesemir was having a blast. But, Not far behind Vesemir, Allen wasn't having such a good time.
He even regretted making Specter Oil in advance and giving it to the master witcher. He watched as Vesemir moved elegantly and fluidly through the dim castle. With each shift in the rhythm of his steps, a wraith would inevitably let out a final mournful cry, glowing green as it died and leaving behind materials before vanishing.
In just three minutes, of the ten wraiths they had suddenly encountered, six had already fallen under Vesemir's sword.
"Master Vesemir, don't kill them all—leave a few for me!" Allen shouted as he watched the master witcher dispatch yet another wraith.
He ducked under the slow swing of a wraith's long sword, pivoted on his left foot, and with a swift strike, he heard the same vaporizing sound from the wraith's abdomen, which then crumbled into black powder.
"Swish!"
The sound of intense vaporization came simultaneously from both sides of his body.
Allen turned his head to see.
The last wraith disappeared in a flash of green light, almost simultaneously with the one he had just killed.
"Ding!"
[Monster Group "Wraith" Lv38 Eliminated!]
[Reward Calculation: Overcoming the enemy, base rating D, killing beyond your level +3—C, decapitation deterrence +3—B[
[Final Rating: B]
[Loot Obtained: 2x Purified Spirit of the Wraith, 9x Experience Orbs, 4x Wraith's Treasure Chest]
Indeed.
Out of the ten wraiths, Allen only managed to get two.
After discovering the powerful effect of Specter Oil, Vesemir seemed determined to make up for all the past frustration of mechanically hunting wraiths one strike at a time. He only used Yrden once and went crazy slashing at the wraiths.
Cough cough~
"Allen, my apologies. I couldn't stop myself," Vesemir coughed awkwardly, trying to explain under Allen's resentful gaze.
Allen: "..."
When he reminded Vesemir, the master witcher had still been in the corner.
This wasn't a matter of not being able to stop—he just didn't want to stop because he was enjoying the fight too much. And this wasn't the first or second time. It had been the same with the three groups of wraiths they encountered after entering the castle.
"Uh, Allen... Your Specter Oil is really effective..." Vesemir tried to change the subject, but under Allen's silent stare, he finally agreed, "Next time we encounter wraiths, I'll leave... I'll leave a few for you."
Only then did Allen nod, gathering the loot from the ground into glass bottles. Looking at the two piles of loot left behind by the wraiths, Vesemir glanced at Allen and tactfully didn't mention the differences between the two piles of loot.
After gathering the loot.
The two witchers searched the entire castle but found no more wraiths.
Vesemir's promise went unfulfilled. But that wasn't the main point.
The main point was that although the two witchers had gathered all the bones, they only revealed that these people hadn't died in a fire—nothing else was uncovered. Especially not any clues about the human couple.
"There must be something wrong with the environment here; otherwise, these wraiths wouldn't appear during the day!"
"If only witchers could sense magic like sorcerers!" Vesemir lamented as he looked at the pile of pale bones.
Sense magic?
Allen caught on to the key term.
He gently touched the medallion on his chest, thinking:
"I might not be able to sense magic, but I can see it!"
....…
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