Suddenly, more than a dozen figures appeared at the stairway, surrounding the two intruders from all sides.
Most of these people were clad in crude metal armor. Their skin was ashen and dull, as though they hadn't seen sunlight in years—like corpses that had risen from the grave. Every inch of their flesh was covered with densely packed blasphemous symbols, chaotic tattoos twisting across their bodies, reflecting the madness etched into their eyes.
Among the dozen or so who approached, nearly half of them had bloodshot eyes filled with a crazed hunger for flesh and blood. Their teeth had mutated into jagged rows like a shark's, forcing their mouths to stay permanently open. Thick saliva dripped down their chins, stringing between their fangs.
The sharp teeth were uneven and disorderly, and Aldric could clearly see one of them accidentally bite off his own tongue as he roared—yet the creature merely chewed the mangled flesh a few times and swallowed it as though nothing had happened.
Heavy chains were fastened around their necks, linking them to a figure in a black robe who stood behind them. Like a man walking a pack of beasts, he tugged at the chains, struggling to restrain the monsters at the other ends, trying desperately to keep them under control.
"How do you want to handle this?" asked the female warrior calmly. She swung her flail in wide arcs to keep the surrounding creatures at bay. The grotesque, humanoid monstrosities made her frown slightly in disgust.
"They're corrupted," Aldric replied, twin blades in hand, his tone cold. "There's no saving them. My mentor would usually grant such souls a final mercy… but right now, our priority is to find out who's in charge here."
He raised his eyes toward the upper platform of the warehouse. There, a figure was slowly materializing from the shadows—his form flickering in and out of existence until it fully solidified.
It was the same shadow assassin who had attacked Aldric before—Colin.
So it really is you. Aldric narrowed his eyes. The moment he let his guard down, this assassin had seized the opportunity. He realized now that he had underestimated the intelligence of these so-called "NPCs."
The assassin sat casually on the railing of the upper platform, clapping his hands softly as if in applause. "Such sharp instincts! My stealth couldn't fool your eyes. I've met plenty of witchers before, but aside from the old ones, you're the only one who's ever spotted me."
"So, this is your trap, then?" Aldric asked, his tone even, his guard unwavering. "I didn't know when the Shadow Assassins started mingling with the filth of Chaos."
"How could that be?" Colin replied with a smirk. "I merely noticed the traces you left on your way here and decided to tip off the owner of this fine establishment—just a little precaution, you see."
With that, Colin leapt from the five-meter-high platform, landing soundlessly like a black cat.
"You see," he continued, brushing off his coat with a hint of arrogance, "I should be thanking you. If it weren't for you, I never would've stumbled upon such a lucrative business. To deal with you and your master, I had to make a few preparations. After all, witchers are among the hardest targets to kill anywhere in the world. But I didn't expect that by digging deeper, I'd uncover the young count's little secret—and his plan."
As he walked leisurely past Aldric and Vittoria, tendrils of dark mist coiled around his body, distorting the air. The nearby Chaos cultists instinctively stepped aside, careful not to block his path. One unfortunate corrupted creature reacted a moment too late—and in an instant, one of its arms vanished into the mist without a sound.
Colin strode unhurriedly toward the warehouse door. "This has nothing to do with Chaos, or factions, or faith," he said smoothly. "For me, it's just about the numbers on the contract. Since Count Anthony was willing to pay me more to see his plan through, I suppose it's time to bid farewell to that idiot Antoine."
With each step, he smiled faintly at the two. "Unfortunately, both sides of my employers feel uneasy having a witcher wandering the city. So, for you, the result's the same. I wish you an entertaining time here—do say hello to your new friends for me. Killing a witcher brings serious consequences, you see. I have other business to attend to, so whether you live or die… that's up to you."
Colin waved mockingly from the doorway and slammed the heavy warehouse doors shut. The already dim light vanished, and crimson chains slithered like serpents along the walls, sealing the exits tight.
In the darkness, the mindless corrupted ones turned their glowing green eyes toward Aldric and Vittoria, their breath ragged and eager.
"Got any bright ideas?" Vittoria asked evenly, her tone unshaken.
"Now that the toughest one's gone, the rest won't be too hard," Aldric replied. "But stay alert. This place gives me a very bad feeling."
Back to back, they prepared for battle.
The next instant, the shrieking howls of the mutants filled the air—and the fight began.
Vittoria's movements were brutally efficient. Raise shield. Block. Swing flail. Every defense angled perfectly, sending enemy weapons sliding harmlessly off her shield's surface. Every counterstrike unleashed the full momentum of her weapon. The sound of metal crushing armor echoed through the warehouse. Blood sprayed. Skulls shattered. Those unfortunate enough to be hit in the head died instantly, their brains bursting like overripe fruit.
Though Master Gonz had once warned that corrupted humans possessed monstrous endurance and regeneration, even their mutated bodies could not withstand the sheer force of Vittoria's heavy strikes.
Together, the two advanced step by step toward the staircase leading to the second floor, covering each other flawlessly.
Aldric's two sabers flashed with lethal precision, stabbing into unarmored bellies and twisting viciously. The cross-shaped blades tore open gaping wounds, blood pouring freely down the steps, staining them crimson. The iron scent filled the air, thick and choking.
Aside from the few archers stationed on the second floor, who caused them only minor inconvenience, the battle was one-sided from the start. Numbers meant nothing here. Against two highly trained, heavily armed warriors from a modern age of warfare, the cultists and their warped pets stood no chance.
The pair fought with the rhythm of professionals—efficient, ruthless, and in perfect sync. Each strike served a purpose. Each motion flowed into the next. The corrupted fell one after another, regardless of whether they were armored monsters or still-human cultists. Under the twin blades and the crushing flail, they all received the same mercy—death.
Both Aldric and Vittoria were soldiers. Once they had chosen their targets, hesitation had no place in their hearts. Their decisive, merciless efficiency shattered the morale of every enemy who still possessed reason.
After losing nearly a dozen men, the cultists commanding the monsters finally panicked, retreating in disarray toward the upper floor. Without unified command, chaos spread through their ranks like wildfire. The attempt to regroup turned into a full-blown rout.
In mere moments, the warehouse fell silent—save for the dripping of blood and the echo of retreating footsteps.
(End of Chapter)