The weather was bright and pleasant that day. South of the Pontar and north of Vergen lay the ancient battlefield of the Second Lormark War, the Siege of Vergen.
The Phantom Troupe had temporarily split up from Iorveth. The Scoia'tael needed to find somewhere to moor their ships and bring their forces into some semblance of order before they could conveniently notify Saskia the Dragonslayer of their arrival.
Having nothing to do with those matters, three humans and one dwarf had disembarked early and were now strolling leisurely toward Vergen.
Angoulême and Zoltan Chivay, who were familiar with the area, walked in front, arguing over which kind of red wine worked best for cheese divination. A few paces behind them, Dandelion and Victor were debating whether the rhyme scheme in a new poem should be loosened.
When the group rounded a thicket, more than a hundred armed dwarves suddenly appeared ahead of them.
These dwarves were equipped for a real battlefield. Swords, axes, and hand crossbows hung from their belts. They wore thick padded jackets, also known as gambesons, with additional layers of hardened leather protecting their chests and bellies.
With the situation still unclear, Victor hesitated for a moment. The commander on the opposite side noticed them, spread his arms, and strode over.
The dwarf had a long beard and was severely balding, with nothing but a thin, wispy comb-over remaining atop his head. His voice was rough and thunderous.
"Ha! By the Great Mother's tits! If it isn't Zoltan Chivay! And look at that! He's brought back Vergen's loveliest eyebrows, our darling Angoulême!"
Wait...
"Vergen's loveliest eyebrows?"
What in the world was that supposed to mean? Was he talking about those two caterpillars?
While Victor stood briefly dumbfounded, Dandelion had already spread his arms and stepped forward to embrace the dwarf, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Yarpen Zigrin! I'm delighted to see your long hair remains as flowing as ever and your beard just as luxuriant."
"You haven't done badly yourself, you powdered, perfumed peacock! The feather in your hat is still bright and glossy!"
"It's been years, you old bastard! It's good to see you." Zoltan followed by embracing him and loudly slapping him on the back.
Yarpen then hunched his shoulders and twisted his waist bashfully as Angoulême bent down to give him a brief hug.
Afterward, he looked at Victor.
"Either my memory's gone to shit, or I've never met this distinguished witcher. Who might he be?"
Vergen's loveliest eyebrows rose as Angoulême cheerfully introduced him.
"This is my boss, master of the Phantom Troupe, Dovahkiin Victor Corion."
The instant she finished, Yarpen struck his fist against his palm.
"Aha! I've heard of the Phantom Troupe! Was that you lot a few years back, selling those affordable erection draughts?"
The soul-piercing question made Zoltan's expression stiffen slightly, while Angoulême looked conflicted.
Dandelion's eyes widened. He had never known that the Dragonborn Bard had once sold virility potions.
As for Victor Corion himself, he remained perfectly composed and answered with calm pride.
"That's right! That was the Phantom Troupe, seller of the most cost-effective erection draughts in Vergen. Anything better cost more, and anything cheaper worked worse! Unfortunately, after reorganizing into a legitimate mercenary company two years ago, the troupe discontinued its potion business."
"Ah... What a terrible shame. Your reputation was outstanding!" the long-bearded dwarf said sincerely. "Not that I need any myself, of course, but I have a friend who'd very much like to arrange a regular supply."
"For purely personal use, Victor's Alchemy Workshop will be operating temporarily in Vergen within the next few days. Perhaps your friend could come and speak with me. I can offer him a few products at a friendly price."
Yarpen Zigrin happily agreed.
"What are you lot doing standing guard out here?" Zoltan asked once their conversation had ended, naturally changing the subject.
There was nothing shameful about selling erection draughts, but it was hardly something worth boasting about either.
Yarpen shook his head and pointed toward a nearby hill.
"Nothing much. Saskia and Prince Shit-ennis, ptooey, Prince Stennis, went to negotiate with Henselt. Far as I'm concerned, they should just fight. Fuck all that negotiating! Anyway, she posted me here to guard their retreat in case something goes wrong."
At that moment, a flock of crows suddenly took flight.
Victor's expression changed slightly.
The School of the Wolf medallion against his chest began rattling violently. It shot straight into fifth gear, vibrating at its highest possible frequency, the level he associated with Jacques de Aldersberg.
Everyone raised their heads.
Dark clouds converged overhead, while a cold, sinister wind drifted through the trees. Lightning flickered faintly around the hill, and a churning haze rose from the ground.
Every omen was terrifyingly dangerous.
Yarpen ran back toward his formation and shouted at the top of his lungs.
"Damn it, the sun's been blotted out! You there! Run back and fetch the sorceress!"
Victor drew a breath. The air was thick with the scent of magic.
His blue Rinnegan detected faint figures emerging inside the fog. They were wraiths, wraiths in the process of manifesting.
They were standing upon an ancient battlefield. A widespread disturbance involving this many wraiths was no laughing matter.
Throughout their journey, Iorveth had constantly sung Saskia's praises, preaching about her beauty and recounting her feats of courage. Victor had no idea whether the Dragonslayer and object of the elf's affection could handle wraiths.
The young man rubbed his chin.
"Angoulême, I'm going up there to see what's happening. You, Zoltan, and Dandelion need to return to Vergen immediately. This entire area will soon be crawling with ghosts and wraiths.
"Tell Yarpen that the witcher recommends a complete withdrawal. Numbers are meaningless in a situation like this."
After giving his instructions in a grave voice, Victor drew his silver sword, Frost's Lament, and ran up the mountain path.
As he ran, he coated the blade with Specter Oil made from bear fat and arenaria. Then he drank Maribor Forest to empower his Signs and amber-colored Tawny Owl to bolster his Vigor.
...
Not long before, when Henselt ordered the arrest of Saskia and Stennis, a battle between nearly a hundred people had immediately erupted atop the hill, plunging the area into chaos.
The moment the fighting began, Saskia charged Dethmold with astonishing speed.
Her fierce sword strikes suppressed the sorcerer and denied him the time needed to cast any powerful spells. Every quick-cast fireball he directed at her was easily evaded by the Dragonslayer, and cold sweat soon poured down Dethmold's face.
Fighting a mage was not especially difficult for Saskia. In a duel, a mage would quickly exhaust himself and be forced to withdraw.
However, she was not blindly optimistic. She still needed to remain wary of the other sorceress present.
Yet when the Dragonslayer glanced to the side, she was astonished to discover Síle de Tansarville repeatedly blinking from place to place, avoiding the bolts, swords, and axes of several courageous dwarves.
It was difficult to believe that a mere handful of warriors could keep her occupied, but the facts were before Saskia's eyes. She intensified her assault, hoping to defeat Dethmold as quickly as possible.
Among the countless screams echoing across the hill were two particularly distinguished cries of pain.
They belonged to Stennis and Henselt, who had fought each other in single combat.
Their duel had ended with both men injured. The prince had taken a sword thrust to the chest, while a gash had been opened across the king's left temple.
However, just as the fighting grew increasingly intense, ominous clouds suddenly descended and a sinister wind began to howl.
A bizarre and terrifying atmosphere engulfed the hill. Everyone sensed that something was terribly wrong, and both sides naturally stopped fighting.
Saskia retreated two steps as well, immediately sensing that the spirits were in turmoil.
The whispers of the dead filled the air above the hill. The heart of the magical tide was located near Stennis and Henselt, around a strangely shaped stone sculpture resembling an enormous disk.
When the disturbance reached its peak, the wraiths of Aedirnian knights, burning skeletal wraiths, and countless hulking draugir began crawling from the earth, each gruesomely recreating the condition in which it had died.
Síle's expression changed drastically.
Realizing that they were truly in mortal danger, she finally used her full strength. Before the turbulent magical vortex could completely seal the area, she opened a portal leading to the northern bank of the Pontar.
Dethmold hurried over and helped the injured King Henselt to his feet. They rushed through the portal, followed closely by Síle.
A second later, one of the soldiers who tried to escape after them was left with only half his body. The other half vanished with the collapsing portal, leaving behind a perfectly smooth cut.
The chaotic magic had clearly formed a spatial anchor, completely sealing the battlefield.
Within the murky spectral mist, countless beings that hated all living things moved like indistinct shadows.
These monsters brandished their weapons and yearned to butcher the living. They were known collectively as the Wraith Army, for their numbers were legion.
When Saskia saw wraiths approaching the injured prince, she immediately moved to protect him.
She was dissatisfied with the weakness Stennis had displayed before Henselt, but he remained Aedirn's public standard and was therefore indispensable.
Broghan, the prince's loyal guard, and Reverend Olcan also rushed over to help Stennis to his feet.
With Saskia clearing a path in front, the group of more than a dozen survivors began making their way down the mountain.
During the fighting, the experienced Dragonslayer quickly discovered how these wraiths differed from ordinary ones.
They were divided into two opposing armies. If no living creature approached, they would reenact the final actions of their lives, battling one another until they fell.
However, if someone disturbed them, that person would immediately face attacks from wraiths belonging to both sides.
Whether the wraiths defeated one another or were destroyed by the living, they merely dispersed temporarily. The surrounding magic soon caused them to re-form and rise again.
They were terrifying, inexhaustible enemies that could never truly be killed.
After much stumbling and struggling, the group finally reached the mountainside.
Reverend Olcan suddenly released a terrified cry.
A hulking draugir in the distance had noticed them. With a roar, it charged toward the group.
The ground trembled beneath each of its enormous strides.
Its attack also drew the attention of the surrounding wraiths. In an instant, more than a dozen spirits encircled Saskia and her companions.
The crisis came without warning.
Fortunately, at that very moment, a shout echoed through the mist.
"Aard!"
A powerful shockwave hurled the leading draugir backward.
A man and his sword then swept gracefully into the fray, placing himself between the monster and the survivors.
"I'll handle the big one. You command your people and deal with the rest."
Saskia glanced at Victor. Reassured by his presence, she led her remaining fighters against the burning skeletal wraiths.
Draugir were the souls of warriors bound to the wreckage of war.
The objects anchoring them included, but were not limited to, shattered weapons, armor, siege machinery, and even their own corpses. Under the influence of chaos magic, they reconstructed their bodies and endlessly repeated the final moments before their deaths.
However, the same powerful magic that sustained them also brought them close to materialization, causing them to lose the advantages normally possessed by incorporeal spirits.
Ordinary swords and axes could damage them, while silver swords were even more effective.
Victor had fought his way up the mountain and was already certain that, aside from their overwhelming numbers and ability to return endlessly, there was nothing particularly remarkable about the Wraith Army.
At least, enemies of the draugir class were easy to handle.
The more troublesome draug class undoubtedly existed somewhere within the mist.
Draugs were the commanders of the draugir and were usually found at the center of the battlefield. As long as they stayed away from that area, they would be fine.
Aard's shockwave, combined with Yrden's slowing field, allowed Victor to wield Frost's Lament with effortless freedom. The silver blade, coated in Specter Oil, soon brought the draugir crashing down.
Elsewhere, the Saint of Aedirn led her followers in eliminating the monsters that had been drawn into the battle.
Finally afforded the leisure to observe her, Victor had to admit that Saskia was indeed a remarkably beautiful woman.
Iorveth had not lied. Her eyes, nose, and lips were all perfectly proportioned, creating an exceptionally lovely face.
"Victor Corion, Dovahkiin and Dragonslayer, what brings you here?" Saskia naturally called the witcher by name.
The Dragonborn grinned and placed a hand over his chest in salute.
"It is the greatest honor to be recognized by Lady Saskia, Dragonslayer and Saint of Aedirn!"
"Your pupils are quite distinctive. Anyone who sees them once is unlikely to forget them. I have also heard a great deal about you, of course, partly because we share the same title."
Her eyes shone as she spoke.
She truly was a spirited beauty.
After exchanging a few brief pleasantries, the group prepared to continue onward.
At that moment, an owl descended from the chaotic, mist-covered sky and landed upon Saskia's shoulder.
It transformed into Philippa Eilhart.
The woman Victor had not seen in a long time remained as dignified and beautiful as ever. A gentle light radiated from her body, enveloping and protecting everyone nearby.
The instant the spectral mist touched the light, it dispersed.
She was the Jewel of the Court at Tretogor and one of the most formidable sorceresses on the Continent.
The moment Victor saw her, he knew they would encounter few further problems.
Sure enough, as they continued, none of the monsters could withstand the repeated bolts of lightning Philippa unleashed from between her raised hands.
With little else to do along the way, Victor once again used his magical perception to study and imitate the structure of her spell.
It felt somewhat similar to the Yrden Binding Seal.
After some time, they reached a point not far from Vergen's gates, and the last of the haze and mist finally dispersed.
Yarpen and Iorveth came forward together to greet them.
Iorveth's lieutenant, Lansi, was not by his side. Perhaps he was still organizing the troops.
Philippa glanced at Iorveth, then turned toward the Dragonslayer.
"I hate flying through fog, especially magically created fog. Saskia, are you all right?"
Saskia waved dismissively.
"They are only superficial wounds. We owe our survival to your timely arrival, yours and the witcher's. We all owe both of you our lives."
Philippa responded calmly.
"Protecting you is my responsibility. As for you, Victor Corion, you are a rare visitor indeed. I never expected to meet you here. Should I call you a witcher, or would you prefer Dovahkiin?"
"Witcher will suffice. I'm tracking the kingslayer who abducted Triss Merigold. Perhaps you would be willing to provide me with some assistance."
"You are welcome to visit me later. If there is anything I can do to help, I will."
Yarpen raised a hand to attract their attention.
"Saskia, you need to return to the city as soon as possible. The people are frightened. First the dark clouds appeared, then the Scoia'tael arrived, and now we've had this enormous fog. None of it was expected. The people need your guidance."
"I understand. Summon every commander to the council chamber.
"Iorveth, give me a little more time. You arrived earlier than expected, and I have not yet prepared them for this.
"Witcher, Philippa, I also insist that both of you attend the meeting later. I want to hear what caused these abnormal phenomena and how we should respond.
"Yarpen, do not worry. The Dovahkiin whose might has shaken kingdoms and the illustrious Philippa Eilhart will surely have a way to deal with these maddened wraiths."
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