Near midnight, no new patients had been brought in for some time. In front of the temporary hospital, Angoulême sat on the steps, nodding off.
None of the other guards beside her wanted to disturb her. On the contrary, they all consciously lowered their voices, because this was a woman who could practically stand against a hundred by herself.
When they arrived in the afternoon, there had not been a single person who was not shaken by the mountain of corpses and sea of blood at the scene. From then on, the name of the Phantom Troupe's Golden Eagle, Angoulême Corion, was branded into everyone's hearts.
And behind her was another even stronger one. Supposedly, he was the leader of the Phantom Troupe, someone who had frightened off over a hundred elite Scoia'tael with his face alone. These deeds made the guards feel deeply reassured. As long as they kept watch for undead dogs and Headhunter Lickers that might spring out from who knew where, they should be able to get through tonight safely.
Unfortunately, reality did not change according to human thoughts. Faintly, a staggering shadow approached, causing everyone to raise their guard.
Only when it drew within thirty yards did Angoulême open her eyes and suddenly leap up. "Uncle, it's you? Why are you here!?"
The person who had come was none other than the White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia. He did not seem injured, but his condition could not be called perfectly intact either. At the very least, his armor was in tatters.
"Angoulême!?" Geralt was also very surprised that he would run into the girl here. He had originally only been passing by the hospital and, seeing the light, thought of coming over to rest for a moment.
...
After dragging Geralt to her own room on the temporary hospital's second floor, then getting some food and drinking water, Angoulême intended to properly interrogate her dear uncle about exactly where he had gone during the time since they had parted.
Some time later.
Angoulême leaned beside the table, propping her cheek with one hand. "...I see. When the riot broke out in the city, you and Triss went to destroy Salamandra's base and thwart their conspiracy! Then where's Triss? Why isn't she with you?"
Putting down his cup, Geralt shook his head. "The operation was a success, but also a failure. Although we destroyed another of their bases, Azar Javed and the Professor still escaped! As for Triss, King Foltest seemed to have some urgent matter summoning her, so she teleported to the palace first."
Angoulême broke the bread into two pieces and handed half to the witcher. "Then, Uncle, what do you plan to do next? If there's nothing else, stay here in the hospital! I think you need to rest properly.
"It's so chaotic outside right now. The Order and the guerrillas are fighting all over the city, and there are those messy undead dogs and Lickers too.
"If you don't want to get dragged into it, staying in the hospital is a very good choice. There are only a few rioters, and no large groups of Scoia'tael will come here."
After considering it for a moment, the White Wolf nodded. When he finished eating, he found a corner of the room and sat upright in meditation to rest.
Angoulême cheerfully cleared the table.
...
The underground crypt built from stone bricks seemed to have been abandoned for a long time. The air in some of the burial chambers was murky, so Victor put on the fox-shaped mask that had originally been used to guard against Devil's Puffball.
Advancing carefully step by step, the witcher softened his footsteps. If possible, he wanted to discover the striga first. Even if he could only observe it for a short while, he would be able to grasp more information.
Unfortunately, ideals were full and reality was bony. Encounters between people were often that sudden and impossible to guard against, like the way a certain song sang about suddenly seeing her at the next corner, with a beautiful smile.
Looking at each other from across a burial chamber, Victor admitted that Geralt's description had been perfectly fitting. If he had to describe her himself, however, he would say that if one doubled a werewolf's degree of beastification, made the teeth more protruding and sharper, adjusted the body type to become bulky and stout, and added long red hair, that would be her.
The striga clearly had no desire to admire the witcher's appearance. Pushing off the ground with all four limbs, she crossed the distance in just a few bounds and pounced toward tonight's midnight snack like a wolf and a tiger.
With his palm facing outward and his middle finger slightly bent, Victor's Aard Sign erupted. As if she had pounced into a wall, she was directly knocked flying backward.
She hit the ground with a bang and quickly flipped over, landing on all fours again. Although she was not injured, the impact had caused pain, and it also stirred up certain memories in her. Thus she began cautiously observing her prey.
Facing off against the striga, Victor waved the silver sword in front of him, using fierce wind and silver light to intimidate the monster while setting a new plan.
Although the first few burial chambers he had checked also had sarcophagi, they were clearly not the one she lived in. The method of lifting the curse that Geralt had told Velerad was partly correct but not precise. Perhaps the White Wolf had spoken more obscurely back then for certain reasons, just as Victor had not told the truth either.
He had always known the correct answer. The book recorded that one only needed to keep the striga outside the sarcophagus that belonged to her before the third cockcrow at dawn, and the spell's effect would end. This was the consistent method for dealing with a striga.
But now, before he had even found the sarcophagus, the battle had already begun. If he still insisted on not killing her, then he would have to play with her until dawn, then stop her from entering the coffin at cockcrow.
A prolonged battle would be a great test of both body and spirit. A slight mistake could cost him his life. He really did not want to use that method.
If I beat her until it hurts, will she flee back?
With this thought flashing through his mind, Victor decided to try close combat. He reached into the herbal satchel with his left hand and wrapped the Oathstrike Wraps around it, then sheathed his sword and switched to wrapping his right hand.
And when the intimidation of silver light disappeared, the striga, who had long been itching to try again, immediately pounced once more.
"Fus, Ro, Dah!!!"
The Dragon Shout he had long been waiting to unleash thundered out. In the enclosed environment, its power was amplified, and it forcefully stunned the monster, whose physique was far stronger than a bear's.
Flashing to the side, he aimed at the striga's right thigh, and his cloth-wrapped fists struck down like a storm.
He did not dare recklessly strike her body with heavy blows, worried that if he hit too hard, he might beat her to death. Although the striga looked knotted with muscle, thicker, fiercer, and more powerful than a werewolf, she was ultimately not a werewolf and was not known for powerful regeneration.
Instead, it was better to first strip away her running speed. After that, whether he wanted to fight or leave, carrying it out would be much easier.
...
Name: Oathstrike Wraps
Type: Clothing
Quality: Epic
Defense: Rather weak
Trait: Potential Awakening
Enchantment: None
Law: Victor exclusive, punching power slightly penetrates muscle and fat
Note: Bare-knuckle brawling! A real man's favorite!
...
An owl cried at midnight. Outside the heavy iron gate of the striga's crypt, Velerad and Roderick sat beside the campfire, waiting in silence, surrounded by more than twenty knights wearing lily emblems.
In terms of command, half of the people present answered directly to Mayor Velerad, while the other half, after Adda transformed, had temporarily come under Captain Roderick's command.
Suddenly breaking the silence, the Lily Knight asked, "Mayor, do you think Victor will succeed?"
Velerad rubbed his chin. "I observed him on the way here. Although he only just completed his mutations, he looked very confident. I think he will succeed, just like Geralt of Rivia fourteen years ago, bringing our little princess back."
"Indeed, exactly the same as what I think." Roderick picked up some firewood and tossed it into the fire.
"But the question he asked me stirred up my memories and made me recall the instructions the witcher left behind after lifting the curse back then. Perhaps..."
Just then, the sound of dogs barking came through the wind, shrill and ferocious. Everyone immediately thought of the undead dogs that had become notorious over the past two days, and the Headhunter Lickers in the darkness.
"Prepare for battle!" Roderick shouted.
...
Separated by the iron gate, Victor knew nothing about what was happening outside the crypt. Even if he had known, he would only have taken pleasure in their misfortune. Who told them to lock the door? Besides, he was currently very busy.
After the striga's right leg was repeatedly beaten in the chaos, she lost her wind-like running speed. She was still very fast, but no longer difficult to avoid. And when the witcher struck her right claw again and again, she suddenly let out a cry of pain, turned, and fled deeper into the crypt.
Seeing this, Victor gave a dissatisfied snort. He had originally planned to make three of her limbs suffer hairline fractures. He had not expected the monster to realize something was wrong so quickly.
But her fleeing also suited his intentions. As long as he tracked her trail, he could find her sarcophagus, and then the initiative would truly fall into his hands.
He took out a vitality broth to replenish his stamina. With his extraordinary senses, he tilted his ear and listened, but did not hear the striga's roar.
With his thumb and little finger bent inward, the Quen Sign activated, and a magical shield surrounded the witcher's body. He stepped out of the burial chamber where the fierce battle had just taken place.
In the very next second, he was knocked down and pinned to the ground. It turned out the striga had been guarding a blind spot, waiting to ambush him. The Quen shield, torn apart by her sharp claws, bought him this one second of time.
"Aard!" A powerful telekinetic wave struck directly, blasting the monster into the wall.
Springing up from the ground, Victor spread into a brawling stance.
The striga, whose ambush had failed, bared her teeth and gave an angry roar, then turned and fled deeper once more.
Loosening his neck, the witcher formed the Quen Sign again. Although this Sign was not very strong and could not compare to a mage's magical armor, being able to block even one hit was still one hit. Just now, if there had been no Quen, then he could only have prayed that she attacked a part covered by leather armor. Otherwise, he would definitely have been wounded.
However, as for whether this kind of cunning hunting mind belonged to the striga or to Adda, Victor, who had graduated from the Department of Philosophy, considered it quite worthy of discussion. Perhaps after handling this, he could ask her own opinion.
His extraordinary vision opened. The Sharingan saw countless footprints in the passage, and the witcher focused on the clearest ones, advancing step by step.
This kind of cautious tracking ensured that it would be very difficult for the monster to ambush him again. Unexpectedly, however, she did not attempt another ambush.
Finally, when the boy chased her to the depths of the crypt, he saw her weeping before an ornate stone coffin... Describing it that way was quite bizarre, but that was roughly the meaning.
Seeing the witcher, the striga did not immediately pounce. This development was somewhat unexpected. Could it be that Adda's consciousness still remained, and she could be negotiated with?
Once the thought came, he acted on it. Curling his ring finger, Victor formed the Axii Sign and stared into her crimson beast eyes as the azure Rinnegan rotated.
The next second, the furious striga flew at him, proving that both short-term mind control and animal pacification had utterly failed.
"Aard!" Blasting the monster away once more, Victor stepped forward and started punching, until she briefly fled the room because of the pain, vanishing to who knew where.
Jumping into the stone coffin, the witcher closed the coffin lid, then used the Yrden Sign to seal it shut.
He knocked on the four walls of the sarcophagus, confirming their sturdiness.
At this point, borrowing his predecessor's wisdom, lifting the curse was only a matter of time.
Taking out the music-box alarm clock and setting the time to wake up, Victor decided to get a good sleep. He had not rested for two consecutive days, and he felt that his temper was beginning to turn violent.
In that case, let it be Proof of a Hero!
...
The night passed without incident. Before dawn, in front of the temporary hospital, Angoulême was saying goodbye to Geralt. The witcher was going to Vizima Palace to find Triss.
The girl's expression was serious. "Uncle, be careful on the road. Although the Trade Quarter is relatively peaceful, you still need to watch out! Even though Victor always says there's no need to worry about you!"
Geralt said nothing. He merely reached out and tousled the girl's hair, expressing his affectionate thanks.
Just then, "Cough, cough, cough!" The witcher had a bout of coughing. Although he had meditated for one night, his injuries did not seem fully healed.
Thinking of something, Angoulême suddenly said, "Uncle, wait here. Wait right here. I just remembered a jar of amazing wound medicine that can make sure you recover your energy and return to your best condition! Don't leave!"
After saying that, she ran into the hospital without looking back.
Geralt's ears could faintly hear the girl's movements. She ran directly to the second-floor room and knocked on the door to find Doctor Shani.
Not long after, Angoulême walked out with a beaming smile and handed a jar of blue potion to the White Wolf.
"Uncle, your luck is really good. This is a potion specially refined by Vic. It can slightly treat injuries and greatly restore stamina. The effect is extremely good!"
Looking at the potion in his hand, Geralt said in a low voice, "Something with such a good effect, are you really giving it to me? Wasn't this something Victor specifically left for you?"
Angoulême shook her head very quickly. "No, neither Shani nor I will use this potion, because it has a very bad side effect I haven't told you about yet..."
Geralt curiously raised an eyebrow.
"After drinking it, you'll get diarrhea. Very serious diarrhea. But don't be afraid. It just clears out the accumulated waste inside your body. According to senior, it'll scrape your colon perfectly clean, so the amount will be a little more than usual!"
By the end, the girl was visibly a little embarrassed and turned her head away, not looking at the White Wolf.
Geralt shook his head and said very calmly, "Heh, if that's all, Angoulême, you're overthinking it. A witcher's body is extraordinary and has extremely strong resistance to all kinds of potions. If it's only a side effect at the level of making an ordinary person get diarrhea, then it will have almost no effect on a witcher!"
But as someone who had personally tried it before, Angoulême knew how terrifying it was, so she said seriously, "Uncle, don't refuse to believe it. This stuff really is frightening! Really overbearing! It doesn't care whether you're a witcher or not! If it says you're going to empty yourself, then you'll empty yourself until nothing is left!"
Looking at how earnest she was, the White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia, burst into laughter. "Honestly, after a hundred years, I have almost forgotten what diarrhea feels like. If it really can do that, perhaps I'll even find it rather fresh!"
The girl gave a faint sigh. "All right then! Uncle, if you don't believe it, drink it now. I'm going back to my room first. I won't stay here..."
After saying that, Angoulême fled back into the hospital without looking back, as if a monster were chasing her from behind.
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