No one paid the drama-obsessed wraith any more attention.
They stepped forward in unison—and the medallions on their chests all began to vibrate. Not due to the Red Miasmal Wraith itself, but because the stone pillars sealing Reinald were inscribed with glowing magical runes.
Yennefer observed the formation for a while, visibly impressed by the arcane mastery of the elder witcher from the Wolf School. Then she took matters into her own hands, calling out instructions for the rest to follow.
The witchers—despite their usual distrust of Yennefer and sorceresses in general—obeyed without resistance this time. All except Geralt moved quickly and cooperatively. Soon, Reinald's body was covered with densely layered runes and markings, emitting the complex, pungent scent of magical alchemy.
As Yennefer chanted loudly, the runes began to glow in unison, illuminating Reinald like a miniature sun. At the peak of the radiance, the light abruptly died down, and the runes faded—vanishing beneath his skin.
Yennefer nodded toward the group, signaling that everything was ready.
"Lann."
Geralt suddenly placed a hand on Lann's shoulder.
"Mind if I borrow your Lady of the Lake sword for this?"
Lann glanced at Lambert, who was already impatiently pressing his hand against one of the stalagmites, and shrugged.
"Go for it. Knock yourself out."
...
With a thunderous crack, the stalagmite—three meters tall—shattered under a burst of telekinetic force, and the witcher suspended above it dropped to the ground.
His complexion was pale as death. Dust and dried blood that had accumulated over the years covered his body. Bits of frost still clung to his hair and eyebrows—remnants of Lann's earlier Aard Sign.
He showed no intent to interact with the people before him. Even as he fell, distortions rippled through the air. A rolling red mist poured from every pore of his body—as though something inside him was trying to break free.
[Boom]
A flash of light erupted from the runes etched into his skin. The red mist was forced back inside his body, and he lost his balance in midair. Like a sack of rags, he smacked hard onto the stone floor.
Yennefer smirked, visibly pleased.
Lann slapped his left palm onto the ground, activating a massive Yrden Sign that enveloped the entire cavern. Then he stepped back from the battlefield. That Sign would be his only contribution tonight.
The Wolf School had some personal business to settle.
"Ah… ah…"
Only now did the Red Miasmal Wraith begin to understand. Controlling Reinald's corpse, it wheezed and lifted its head, speaking in a voice both ancient and joyous.
"You finally came to save me! Did you hear the guiding voice earlier? That was me…"
[BOOM!]
A Sign cut him off mid-sentence.
Lambert, always the most hot-blooded among them, slammed his palm into Reinald's chest with a fierce "Hrah!" A burst of Aard energy exploded point-blank, sending the Red Miasmal Wraith hurtling backwards with no chance to resist.
A mouthful of rancid, putrid blood burst from his lips, scattered and dispersed by the tailwind of the Aard Sign.
Purple energy clung to the Wraith's torso, slowing its airborne body mid-flight.
Eskel was already waiting downrange. Lambert had aimed his Sign to send the target straight toward him. Before the creature even touched the ground, a second Aard wave hit it squarely in the back, slamming it into the stone tiles, cracking several of them—then bouncing the body back into the air.
"W-wait! I'm still conscious! I'm just like you—I'm a witcher! You came to save me—remember?!"
Eskel's scar twisted with rage. Drawing a breath into his belly, he twisted his wrist to reverse his grip and brought the back of his blade crashing down against the side of the Wraith's face with a brutal clang.
The blow visibly warped its stiff face, the crunch of splintering bones echoing through the chamber. A few blackened teeth flew out, flung in the same direction as the Wraith's twisted neck.
Witchers are no soft-hearted saints. They aren't cautious, hesitant souls to be manipulated.
Lann had already explained: his healing powers could restore Reinald completely—even injuries as horrifying as those Kiyan himself once endured, when his very skin had been flayed.
As long as no beheading or dismemberment occurred, the rest… could be dealt with however they liked.
After all, it was the Red Miasmal Wraith that was still clinging to this body's final breath.
"What are you doing?! Wake up! I'm—"
The Wraith, still controlling Reinald's body, tried to argue. Reflexively, it reached for the steel sword on his back to prepare for battle.
[Shing—]
A golden arc flashed.
Geralt, wielding the rune-engraved sword, stood with a cold expression.
The Wraith looked down—only a rusted hilt remained in its hand.
"…What—"
Before it could react, Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert closed in again, their expressions grim and merciless.
Putrid blood splattered. Screams echoed in succession. Stalactite columns collapsed one after another, and the stone tiles beneath them cracked with each blow.
Kiyan raised his hand to shield his face slightly from the gust stirred up by the Aard Sign, watching Geralt's Lady of the Lake sword in admiration.
"That's a fine sword," he commented.
Then his gaze shifted to Reinald's armor.
"This set of armor isn't bad either. It looks like standard medium gear, and it must've gone centuries without maintenance—but even now, it still hasn't broken!"
Lann nodded.
"This armor's craftsmanship is one of my main objectives here. Beyond its defensive properties, the alchemical enchantments built into it greatly amplify the power of a witcher's Signs."
"If Mousesack's second-stage mutation research succeeds, and we pair that with this armor... you'll all be physically on par with higher vampires."
Kiyan's crimson eyes gleamed even brighter.
At last, Vesemir joined the fray.
With a decisive blast of Aard Sign, the armor on the Red Miasmal Wraith's body finally shattered.
Tiny streams of blood were squeezed from countless pores on his back, splashing like rain into every corner of the chamber.
Red mist surged repeatedly across his body but was forced down again and again. Yennefer's incantations were growing faster, more urgent.
Then, at one fateful moment—
The Wraith's eyes turned clear.
"Osmund... finally sent someone. Seems the gods haven't forgotten this cursed valley after all…"
After lying motionless on the ground for a while, the scarred witcher Reinald opened his eyes again. His voice was hoarse and steady, much more fatigued than when he had just been possessed by the Red Miasmal.
It seemed he hadn't spoken in so long that even stringing words together was a struggle. But perhaps that was to be expected.
"I don't know… how he managed to gather so many of you…" Reinald shook his head weakly. "But thank you… for letting me live…"
His words trailed off abruptly as he lowered his head and finally got a clear look at his battered body:
shattered armor, caved-in chest and ribs, soaked in blood, legs twisted at unnatural angles.
His muddled speech wasn't just from disuse—he barely had any teeth left.
Reinald's expression turned to horror. "I… I'm still alive?"
The members of the School of the Wolf didn't lower their swords. They knew all too well what tricks a monster that had lived for centuries could pull. This man in front of them might just be using another kind of illusion.
But Lann waved a hand, signaling them to stay calm. He strode forward and leaned down, explaining the current situation.
"You're not safe yet. The Red Miasmal is still inside you. Our sorceress used a magical seal to prevent it from leaving your body. And your body—after enduring centuries of decay—has long since died. Right now, it's the Red Miasmal that's keeping the last thread of your life intact."
Reinald's mind was still foggy. He stared blankly at the lion emblem on Lann's chest. "I've never seen that badge before… Which school are you from?"
"W–wait! Did you say centuries?" Reinald suddenly gasped, his eyes wide. "What year is it?"
Lann shook his head slightly. "It's 1265."
"Let me think… I came in around 970… no, maybe it was 980, my head's all messed up…" Reinald clutched his head. "But Osmund… he promised he'd come for me! A year, five at most, maybe ten… He said he would come back to save me!"
A red mist burst once again from the old witcher's body. The Red Miasmal seemed to seize the moment of emotional turmoil to attempt breaking the seal—but in an instant, Yennefer suppressed it once more.
Kiyan muttered sympathetically to Chappelle beside him, "He's been trapped for nearly three hundred years…"
…
Lann raised his left hand. A pale, cool light enveloped his fingertips and drifted gently toward Reinald's head.
"Calm yourself. We did come to save you, didn't we?"
[Axii Sign – Magic Burst]
It was equivalent to hypnotizing both an old witcher and a Red Miasmal simultaneously, but with a continuous stream of magical power, Reinald finally quieted down.
"I'm beyond saving. Just look at this body." Reinald spoke with resignation. "But using a magical seal was the right move. Now's your best chance—kill me along with the wraith before it breaks free and spreads its plague…"
Even now, he was thinking only of sparing others from harm.
Lann shook his head and placed his left hand on Reinald's shoulder, earning a puzzled look.
"In the past three centuries, many things have changed out here. But the most important one for you… is me." Lann tapped his chest with a soft chuckle.
"I can save you. In a moment, my power will enter your body and begin to restore it. But you mustn't resist—this is your only chance."
As Reinald stared at him in disbelief, equal parts stunned and hopeful, Lann's consciousness sank into his system interface.
He spent one ability point to unlock a new follower panel. It was the last point he had, one he'd recycled many times before.
Immediately, his experience points plummeted like a stone, quickly dropping into triple digits—those couldn't be reused. Lann suddenly realized it had been ages since he last leveled up.
But the cost was worth it.
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