Manifested magical energy swirled around the Grapeshot bomb, gleaming like translucent pale-green glass. Victor glanced up at Síle on the cliff. She was using short-range teleportation to move around the area and establish magical nodes.
Apparently, trapping the Kayran here was a major undertaking even for the sorceress. After confirming that she was not watching him, the alchemist silently placed the magically infused Grapeshot into his herbal satchel and took out another Enhanced Hornet's Nest, which he tied to his belt.
When he finished, Victor met Geralt's gaze.
The white-haired witcher had clearly seen the blond witcher's little maneuver, but he said nothing. The Battle of Kaer Morhen and the time they had spent living together had established sufficient trust between them.
Victor smiled, walked over to the White Wolf, and helped him set up the Kayran traps.
They were essentially enlarged bear traps, but their biting force was astonishing. An ordinary animal that stepped into one would instantly lose a limb. Their disadvantages were that the heavy mechanisms were extremely difficult to pry open and that, to effectively restrain anything, they had to be secured to solid ground with numerous steel spikes.
"Is your silver sword ready for the monster?" Geralt asked.
"No problem. I even asked Triss to enchant it yesterday," Victor replied.
Based on their prior investigation, the two witchers had decided to use silver swords against the Kayran first.
The medallions of the School of the Wolf reacted strongly to the monster, revealing a distinct magical presence within its body. According to Geralt's assessment, it was not merely a creature that had arrived during the Conjunction of the Spheres. It had also been altered by a mage.
There was evidence supporting that theory.
Cedric had said that the Kayran's history could be traced back more than a century. When it had first appeared near Flotsam's trading post, it had naturally terrified the locals. However, they soon discovered that aside from its immense size, it was virtually harmless. As time passed, they even began calling it the Old Man.
In recent years, however, the Old Man had suddenly become aggressive. It attacked merchant vessels, destroyed fishing nets, and dragged people beneath the water.
When a monster suddenly changed its diet and entire way of life, blaming a mage was almost always the correct answer. Some dead or irresponsible mage had undoubtedly caused it.
"I do not know exactly how large it will be once it comes fully ashore. After we lure it out, we will mostly have to adapt to the situation. With your physical abilities, imitating my movements should be easy.
"Just remember that we are witchers. If the situation turns against us, we retreat. Do not take unnecessary risks. With a monster of this size, what appears to be a devastating wound might be nothing more than a shallow cut."
Geralt continued offering careful instructions while setting the traps.
When Victor nodded in acknowledgment, Geralt proceeded to explain his reasoning and approach.
For a young witcher, cooperating with a veteran was an exceptionally rare opportunity, especially when it involved practical hunting experience specifically directed toward enormous monsters.
Some time later, they finished setting up the numerous large traps together.
The two separated, moved some distance apart, and nodded to one another before looking toward Síle de Tansarville. High above them, the sorceress had also finished her preparations and appeared perfectly composed.
"To be honest, I cannot understand why anyone would deliberately make her hair look that terrible," Victor said.
"Never think that while standing in front of her. Sorceresses' mind-reading abilities are troublesome. You never know what they have discovered, and you certainly never know when their revenge will arrive."
After sharing that lesson born of painful experience, the white-haired witcher raised his left hand and drew a circle in the air, signaling that Síle could begin.
The blond witcher drew his silver sword with a hiss and smiled as he studied the blade.
This exquisite weapon had been specially created the previous day, when he had sacrificed his leisure time and gone to ask Triss for assistance.
The sorceress had repeatedly emphasized that the enchantment on such a magical sword would be rootless. Without a source replenishing its magical energy, its effects would quickly dissipate.
Victor had insisted, however, so she had eventually agreed to help.
As his understanding of magic deepened and his Miraculous Alchemy improved, the alchemist had become capable of constructing and stabilizing magic circuits. These circuits could draw ambient magical energy from the natural environment and provide a limited continuous effect.
Thus, this silver sword had been born.
[Name: Frost's Lament]
[Type: Weapon]
[Quality: Fine]
[Attack Power: Strong]
[Traits: Increased keenness,
increased sharpness]
[Enchantment: Merigold's Freezing Spell]
[Note: One day, my life will reach its end. And you... Wait... Why are you coming toward me!?]
[Note Two: Merigold's Freezing Spell differs from Merigold's Hailstorm by only a single word, and both spells share the same caster, so they may be called sister spells. The elder sister is a legendary spell capable of devastating an entire city. The younger sister is no less formidable, remaining utterly unrivaled in the field of refrigeration and food preservation.]
...
"Forget whether it is powerful for a moment. Just tell me whether it looks impressive! I have to say, this sword is unbelievably cool!"
Sapience Ignis
...
Once-glorious buildings had decayed into ruins. Towering pillars five stories tall stood as witnesses to the elves' lost past.
As the dense fog dispersed, was it pursuing the wind, or had the earth simply let it go?
When the sorceress began casting in the middle of that marshland, dark clouds gradually gathered across the sky and thunder abruptly roared.
The tides of magic seemed to breathe with a life of their own.
Floating in the air upon those flowing currents, Síle de Tansarville appeared to have light shining within her eyes. Her clothes billowed around her, and her overwhelming presence was unmatched.
Under her guidance, bolt after bolt of lightning struck the water without pause.
Then the river suddenly began to bulge.
No, it was not the river rising.
The Kayran had emerged!
Victor's eyes widened. This was the second time he had seen the creature, but the first time he had been so close to it.
Once any living creature reached a certain size, one could do nothing but look up at it.
Imagine that less than the length of a basketball court away, an enormous monster three stories tall suddenly rose with a thunderous rumble.
Now imagine that this monster happened to resemble an octopus, and that a single strike from one of its tentacles could instantly flatten a person from three dimensions into two before sending them respectably into the afterlife.
When the Old Man made his dazzling entrance, no one noticed the brilliant smile spreading across Corion's face.
"Fucking hell! I love fantasy worlds!"
Victor cast Aard.
His silver sword, Frost's Lament, glowed with a hazy blue light and radiated bitter cold. Threads of magical energy extended from its skull-adorned curved guard and wrapped themselves around his wrist.
The earth shook with repeated booms as the Kayran endured the lightning crashing into its body and advanced onto the shore one step at a time.
Its window-sized eyes swiveled intelligently. They quickly located the likely culprits responsible for its predicament, and it glared viciously at the two tiny figures on the ground.
Whoosh!
A tentacle rose high into the air.
Victor watched it slam downward. Feeling the tremendous acceleration behind the strike, he dodged at the last possible moment, allowing the tentacle to smash a long cylindrical gouge into the earth.
Victor avoided the attack in time, and Geralt was equally capable.
The tentacle aimed at Geralt not only failed to hit the White Wolf, but landed directly on a Kayran trap.
"SKREEE, KRAAAH!"
The black-steel teeth snapped shut mercilessly.
Amid the monster's earthshaking roar, the trap tore away a section of the tentacle.
Unfortunately, it had caught a portion near the tip. Although that particular tentacle had become shorter, it still possessed tremendous destructive power.
Furthermore, as everyone knew, there was only one Earth, but an octopus had eight tentacles.
An injury of that degree merely marked the beginning of the battle.
Once Victor confirmed that the Old Man's wildly flailing tentacles were not as tough as he had imagined and that the traps could easily sever them and inflict meaningful damage, he relaxed.
He began imitating Geralt, standing beside the traps and enticing the tentacles to strike.
After several unsuccessful swings, the Old Man suddenly raised its body slightly, exposing its anus-like mouth and aiming it directly at Victor.
The opening wrinkled and contracted as though the creature were preparing for a particularly violent attack of diarrhea.
"Careful! It is about to shoot!" Geralt shouted.
The fleshy opening blossomed.
Honestly, Victor did not need the warning. The sight alone was enough to send his adrenaline surging.
His potential erupted in an instant. He drove his right foot into the ground and propelled himself five yards sideways.
A second later, pitch-black venom erupted from the anus...
No, from the mouth.
The foul-smelling torrent splattered across the ground, leaving dark stains everywhere.
Even with the Mongoose potion protecting him, meaning that a direct hit would probably not kill him, Victor felt that being sprayed even once would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Síle's eyes brightened from her position above.
For a moment, Victor had moved so quickly that he left an afterimage. His physical abilities were indeed formidable.
Choosing him as the first candidate for a Kingslayer had clearly been the correct decision. Had it been him, then perhaps things would not have...
...
While continuously evading the monster, Victor found an opportunity to glance toward the sorceress atop the cliff.
She stood high above, directing the barrier while lightning struck the Kayran again and again, preventing it from retreating into the water.
Not even the slightest movement of magical energy in the air could escape Victor's perception.
He suddenly realized that the operation of this stabilized barrier bore numerous similarities to the Yrden Sign.
An ordinary witcher would never have detected such a resemblance, but the magical perception granted by Victor's second mutation allowed him to understand the flow and operation of magical energy with ease.
Just as the projection in Alzur's Tower had said, Signs were merely extremely simplified spells.
In other words, perhaps he could produce an effect approaching that of a true spell by adding a few magic circuits of his own.
Despite being in the middle of a battle, Victor still had ample attention to spare for contemplation.
Every tentacle whipping through the air and every stream of venom fired from the creature's mouth was perfectly reflected within his Nine-Tomoe Sharingan. Nothing escaped his sight.
Within only a few minutes, five of the Kayran's tentacles had suffered varying degrees of amputation from the traps.
At that moment, an instinctive warning suddenly arose within Victor's mind.
He leaped high into the air, avoiding the Old Man's sweeping tentacle.
The unexpected attack proved extremely effective.
Although it failed to strike either witcher, it swept away all the remaining traps without suffering any injury.
The Kayran then roared continuously, raised its body to expose its mouth, and sprayed venom horizontally, forcing the witchers to retreat to avoid it.
These two movements were clearly new responses the creature had learned during the battle by observing its opponents.
It appeared the Old Man genuinely possessed basic intelligence.
Victor continued evading while waiting for instructions from his senior, curious to see whether Geralt had a solution now that they had lost their traps.
As expected, Geralt had not spent a century as a witcher for nothing, and the Sword of Destiny never disappointed.
"Vic, use Yrden in Binding Mode! We will cut through the tentacles with our silver swords!"
The moment Geralt's instructions reached his ears, Victor understood.
Although the Old Man's body contained magic, it was merely a naturally entangled mass of energy. The chaotic power within it could not be consciously controlled.
Yrden could therefore produce an exceptional effect against it.
Under normal circumstances, Yrden created a field that slowed anything within its bounds.
When switched to Binding Mode, however, the highly compressed Sign gained the ability to immobilize its target.
Geralt's intention was obvious. They would advance methodically and carve the Old Man down into a tentacle-less stump.
Yrden's Binding Mode required a small amount of time to condense the necessary magical energy.
Considering the deeply suspicious lady above them, Victor deliberately formed his Yrden Sign slightly more slowly than Geralt did.
When the next sweeping attack came, the tentacle struck the Yrden Binding Seal.
Magical energy erupted with a thunderous burst, instantly locking the tentacle firmly in place.
A sweeping attack might have ripped the physical traps from the ground, but the magical binding seal had fused with the earth in a radius of one yard.
No matter how powerful the creature's physical strength was, it could do nothing against it.
Geralt and Victor each rushed toward the sections immobilized by their Signs and began hacking at them without mercy.
The soft tentacles could not possibly withstand their ruthless silver swords. Three or four powerful chops were enough to sever a section.
Such a powerful Sign had only a few weaknesses.
First, once a Binding Seal had been anchored, another could not be cast until the first was triggered.
Second, it emitted frequent flashes of light that made it look extremely dangerous. No creature with even a little intelligence would willingly step onto it.
It was exceptionally effective only against monsters whose attacks covered such a broad area.
Realizing that the two tiny figures showed no sign of being crushed into meat paste and were instead gradually approaching its main body, the Kayran sensed danger.
It endured the lightning and retreated step by step, attempting to force its way through the barrier and return to the water.
"Ha! Stay here, darling. Do not imagine you can simply leave!"
Standing above, Síle spread her arms and drew upon the barrier, firmly sealing the monster's path of retreat.
Victor took the opportunity to gain an even deeper understanding of the massive magical formation she was controlling.
...
The mortally wounded Kayran went berserk!
Realizing that neither venom nor tentacles could stop the approaching witchers, it violently struck the surrounding pillars of the ruins, wrapped its tentacles around the fallen stones, and hurled them.
The rocks whistled through the air.
The monster had seemingly transformed into a rapid-firing catapult, making these attacks far more dangerous than direct strikes with its tentacles.
Had the Kayran used this tactic from the beginning, the battle might have been considerably more difficult.
However, the witchers had already forced their way close enough.
After avoiding several stones, Geralt was the first to use one of his bombs, hurling it toward the monster's eye.
The approaching silhouette of the Grapeshot was clearly reflected in the slick eyeball of the aquatic creature.
Then it exploded.
The monster released its loudest roar since the battle began, or perhaps its loudest scream of agony.
They had to strike while it was wounded.
Victor immediately hurled another Grapeshot and destroyed its other eye.
Having lost its sight, the monster could no longer launch any coordinated counterattack.
It could only flail its steadily shortening tentacles in a frenzy, battering the ruins until the structures trembled and shattered stones collapsed all around them.
By this point, all three understood that, barring an accident, their victory was assured.
The final accident of the battle came in the form of a broken support pillar.
When it fell, its immense weight came down with a sharp edge pointed directly toward the Kayran. It struck the monster's head with tremendous force and tore open a massive hole from which bodily fluids poured.
The moment he saw that opening, Victor needed no reminder from Geralt.
Corion held a bomb in his right hand, and a savage smile spread across his face.
He drove his rear foot against the ground.
His waist twisted, his body turned, his arm swung, and his wrist snapped forward, every movement flowing seamlessly into the next.
The Enhanced Hornet's Nest traced a beautiful arc through the air and flew directly into the hole atop the monster's head.
For that single second, time seemed to compress and solidify, slowing almost to a halt.
"Bang! SPLURT!"
A second later, countless streams of bodily fluid erupted from the opening.
The Kayran suddenly swayed.
Its movements, powerful and swift only moments ago, now became slow and trembling, like those of an Old Man.
It was three o'clock in the afternoon.
Confronted with that sight, none of them attacked again.
Moved by some unspoken sentiment, they stopped in silent agreement and waited for the enormous creature's final moments.
Gurgle, gurgle.
Its tentacles twitched feebly several times.
The Kayran raised its body and released one long, mournful moan before crashing to the ground.
Dust spread through the air.
The witchers flicked the slime from their swords and stood proudly amid the ruins.
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