The Viper Medallion began vibrating violently, almost wrenching itself free from the Witcher’s neck.

At the same time, more than twenty “cataract patients” turned in unison toward the two men behind them. More than twenty pairs of pale, clouded eyes stared without blinking.

The room went still.

Something grotesque unfolded in the gloom of the morgue. The dead sat up on their beds, then twisted their necks with the mechanical movements of puppets. Some twisted their heads nearly 180 degrees to stare back over their shoulders with grotesque “affection.”

The firelight revealed the wounds covering their faces, some bruised and swollen, others reduced to bloody pulp. Patches of Livor Mortis and nauseating rot spread across them like garish makeup on a clown.

Across the room, the two men went rigid, scalps prickling, and instinctively moved back-to-back.

“Master, I’ll cover you. We’ll break out!” Todd tightened his left hand around the scalpel flashing with cold light and gripped the forceps-like Rib Spreader in his right. He kept his voice low, though excitement and fear threaded through it.

Anyone facing twenty or thirty resurrected corpses would struggle to stay calm.

“Remember, when a pack of starving mad dogs has its eyes on you, don’t be afraid. The more frightened you are, the more vicious they become. The moment you run, they’ll swarm you and attack your weak points.”

“If we run, we die for certain. If we don’t, we can still drag a few of them down with us.”

“Gurgle, gurgle…”

As he spoke, the Witcher had already swallowed Thunderbolt and Petri’s Philter. He tossed aside the empty Potion Bottle, and a row of black veins surfaced along his cheek.

A dark-red longsword covered in Rune markings appeared in his hand. He flicked the longsword through a brief flourish, scattering silver light through the air.

Cold radiance flickered in the Witcher’s narrow, vertical pupils as he looked toward the dead.

Revived One

HP: 80

Attributes:

Strength: 8

Agility: 7

Constitution: 8

Perception: 4

Willpower: None

Charisma: 0

Spirit: 2

Skills:

Body of The Dead (Passive Trait): An unknown force has temporarily returned the dead to the world of the living, but only The body remains. There is no soul.

It does not feel pain and is immune to mental attacks and toxins.

* * *

Roy withdrew his gaze and quickly surveyed the surroundings, studying the terrain. If he had been facing no more than five Revived Ones at once, he could still have fought and won. But there were simply too many of them, and he had no choice but to abandon the idea.

On the other hand, the corpses had not attacked immediately after reviving.

Whether their reactions were a beat too slow or they were still observing the situation, it undeniably gave the two men a chance to escape.

“Don’t make any sudden moves. Keep your movements slow and quiet. Move toward the door.”

“Understood.” Todd glanced at the bloody corpse beside him, its belly split open. “Can we take Aisha with us?”

He could not bear to leave his daughter to this pack of Devils.

“No chance. I guarantee that the moment we touch Aisha, these Monsters will pounce and tear us apart.”

He tried pointing the tip of his sword toward Aisha. The previously silent corpses immediately bared their teeth, rumbling and snarling in their throats like mad dogs ready to bite.

“Enjoy yourselves while you can.”

The two men began slowly retreating toward the main entrance.

The iron door at the outermost end of the Morgue had been slammed shut earlier, but the door to the innermost room where the Witcher stood was still open, leaving them a path to survival.

What was the person behind all this thinking? The Witcher had the distinct feeling that there was another purpose, perhaps to torment them.

* * *

The Witcher and the Mercenary moved, while the Revived Ones followed like shadows. Their bodies gave off a steady chorus of bones clicking out of joint as they shuffled closer, one step at a time, clumsy and expressionless.

They looked absurd. Their corpses were covered in ugly sutures from the autopsies, like enormous rag dolls that had been torn into pieces and sewn back together.

The coroner’s stitching had been uneven at best.

It had left the corpses twisted into bizarre shapes, with crooked necks, slanted eyes, and crippled legs.

From a distance, the mass of corpses huddled together looked like a troupe of models in grotesque costumes, striking bizarre poses in an eerie catwalk performance.

Leading them was the Half-Elf who had been castrated for stealing another man’s wife. There was not a hair on his bare lower half. His legs were uneven, forcing him to twist his hips with every step, lending his movements an almost coquettish sway.

Beside him came the Dwarf who had drowned in the cesspit. The poor stitching had left half of his stinking intestines hanging from his belly and dragging along the ground, like a fat cat pulling a tail behind it.

The two sides moved in lockstep. The Witcher and the Mercenary took one step back, while the slow-witted Revived Ones took one step forward.

One step from you, one step from us. They maintained a distance that was neither near nor far, sharing a strange, unspoken understanding.

Their footsteps fell into an inexplicable rhythm.

One step, two steps. One step, two steps.

The Witcher’s lips moved rapidly as he continued backing away.

One step at a time, like claws and fangs,

That is the Devil’s stride,

* * *

“Master, what are you humming?”

“Relax. Do you know how to relax?”

The two men stepped beyond the doorframe. At last, the Revived Ones’ patience ran out. They exposed rows of black, rotten teeth and exhaled foul breath.

“Come on, you filthy things! The show’s about to begin!” Roy backed into Todd, forcing him behind the door, braced the iron door with the hilt of his sword in one hand, and produced a round glass jar with the other. “Have an alchemical bomb!”

Roy then made a textbook bowling motion. The glass jar rolled tightly along the floor until it reached the feet of the Revived Ones.

The creatures were enraged by the Witcher’s movement. The leading Half-Elf lunged forward at a speed that exceeded its Agility. Its body cut through the air, and the sudden burst of power caught the Witcher completely off guard.

“Intimidate!”

Crimson tendrils emerged from the void.

However, just as the Witcher had expected, creatures with no Willpower and no Soul were completely unaffected by the ability.

The lunge still carried tremendous momentum.

The Witcher immediately changed tactics.

“Thud!”

His long leather boot struck the Half-Elf squarely in the chest and sent it sprawling.

Two more Revived Ones lunged after it, their stinking mouths nearly brushing the Witcher’s face.

The next moment, they shrieked and staggered back toward the corpse pile, smoke pouring from their bodies.

A conical dragon of flame had erupted along the Witcher’s hand gesture, igniting both Revived Ones. Its force carried onward, and the flames licked across the bomb on the floor.

“Bang!”

The Witcher slammed the door shut with lightning speed. He and Todd pressed against it from opposite sides, blocking the iron door with every ounce of strength they had.

The next second, the entire Morgue shuddered like an earthquake. The shock wave made the torches flicker violently, plaster sifted down from the ceiling, and a string of muffled pops came from behind the door, sounding like someone breaking wind.

Faint Wails and grotesque cries mingled with the noise.

After roughly five minutes, everything fell silent. The two men exchanged a glance and breathed heavily.

“Master, you knew there was something wrong with the Morgue? How did you happen to be carrying explosives?”

Todd’s broad, fleshy face was filled with astonishment and solemnity. He had not even seen where the Witcher had produced the bomb or the weapon from. The man clearly had no pockets or bag.

“There are several Witcher schools. I belong to the ‘Explosive Flying Serpent’ school. I often study the art of explosions. Heard of it? Throwing a few Bombs around in a sealed structure like the Morgue would be a waste otherwise.”

Roy waved a hand as he spoke, though his expression remained tense.

In the Template, there were only two records of XP gained:

“Defeated Revived One, XP +5.”

“Defeated Revived One, XP +5.”

* * *

Witcher Lv7 (1800/4500)

There had been more than twenty Revived Ones in total.

The Witcher had expected an “alchemical bomb” to be incapable of killing every last one of them, but the Defeated count was still far too low. It had fallen well short of his expectations.

As he thought this, another bomb appeared in the Witcher’s hand.

“Such low XP. It seems the Revived Ones have a problem with their Soul as well. Still, if one isn’t enough, we’ll use another. Who told you to attack me in a place like this?”

But reality had other plans.

Roy had not yet had time to throw the bomb when a white mist suddenly spread through the air.

What trick was this now?

“Todd, stay close to me. Be careful!”

The Witcher put away the Bombs and raised the Silver Sword Aerondight once more.

In barely ten seconds, the hazy mist filled the entire room. Their vision was completely suppressed, leaving them almost unable to see their own hands.

They had no choice but to press themselves against the iron door, standing back to back as they covered each other.

“Jingle, jingle…”

“Jingle, jingle…”

The clear sound of bells drifted through the mist.

Then an enormous force slammed into the iron door.

Roy’s back felt as though it had been kicked by an elephant, and his entire body flew into the air.

But Agility several times greater than an ordinary man’s gave him excellent balance. In midair, he adjusted his posture like a falling kitten, stretching out his limbs and arching his back.

The instant his toes touched the ground, he rolled across it.

“Jingle, jingle…”

By the narrowest margin, he felt a foul wind scrape across his scalp. If he had not rolled, the consequences would have been unimaginable.

A pained grunt sounded from the white mist not far away.

The Witcher’s expression darkened. He quickly formed a Quen Sign.

Yellow light covered his body.

He lowered himself into a half-crouch and advanced in quick, sliding steps before darting forward.

He did not believe Todd could withstand a Monster’s attack with nothing but a clumsy scalpel and a Rib Spreader.

“Swish, swish…”

Accompanied by the smells of medical disinfectant and burnt flesh, two Revived Ones suddenly burst from the white mist.

They blocked the Witcher’s path, foul wind wrapped around them as they attacked from both sides.

They threw themselves forward without the slightest concern for their own safety, leaving themselves wide open.

Just what he wanted.

The Witcher stopped dead. In the instant before the two attacks connected, an Aard Sign knocked away the Revived One on his left.

He lowered his head. In his right hand, Aerondight carved a crescent-shaped arc through the white mist.

The blade was impossibly sharp. Its dark-red Edge cleaved through the Revived One’s waist without resistance, cutting it cleanly in two.

“Splatter, splatter…”

Amid the stench of blood, red and green fluids sprayed across the floor.

The Witcher touched the ground with his toes and leapt to the left. He angled the Silver Sword downward and drove it into the skull of the fallen Revived One.

He pulled the Edge free in one clean motion.

With a sharp twist of his wrist, he shook the blood from the tip of the sword.

“Defeated Revived One, XP +5.”

“Is the head one of its weak points?”

The Revived One that had been cut in half continued clawing at the ground with both arms, stubbornly dragging itself toward the Witcher.

Roy had pierced its heart with his sword, yet it was still crawling.

“Looks like the only weak point is the brain.”

The Witcher shoved the corpse aside.

Another series of “jingle, jingle” sounds rang out. Three Revived Ones with their lower bodies charred black emerged from the mist, wearing feral grins.

“Bang!”

The Aard Sign shattered the white mist and sent the two growling Revived Ones crashing backward.

The remaining one had already lunged in front of the Witcher. Its pallid arms wrapped around his waist, while its rotten teeth, stained with Black Blood, snapped toward the major artery in his neck.

“Crack!”

With a terrifying force behind the bite, the Revived One missed and instead chipped one of its own front teeth loose. It shook its head in confusion.

Its target had vanished.

The Witcher had pivoted lightly on his toes, slipping past the creature’s lunge and circling into the blind spot at its side. The slender muscles in his arm swelled in an instant, drawing together into a single surge of strength. Aerondight’s dark Edge swept through the air, rose high, then came crashing down.

Clunk!

A moment later, the ugly head, as large as a washtub, fell to the floor.

The headless corpse remained hunched in its previous half-crouch, rotten Black Blood seeping from the severed neck. On the ground, the head snapped uselessly at the air.

“Hah…” The Witcher let out a breath. The brief burst of movement had lasted only a few seconds and looked effortless, but it had consumed a great deal of his strength. Sweat covered his brow, and his body was drenched beneath the armor.

He had no time to think further. The other two Monsters rose and came at him one after the other.

The Witcher stood his ground as a small, finely crafted Hand Crossbow appeared in his hand from nowhere.

His fingers pulled the trigger repeatedly, so quickly that afterimages seemed to linger. There was no need to draw a string, load a bolt, or even aim.

“Whoosh, whoosh!”

When the Revived One was less than two yards away, black Arrows shot from the weapon in rapid succession and struck it squarely in the forehead. At such close range, the tremendous force carried the creature off its feet.

Half the Arrowhead tore through its brain and protruded from the back of its skull.

Splut!

The corpse hit the floor.

At once, the Witcher shifted Gabriel from a horizontal grip to a vertical one and slammed it into the attacker on his left like a shield. With his other hand, he smashed the weapon’s hilt into the creature’s face.

It shrieked and lost its balance. The Witcher took advantage of the opening and drove his sword into its pale eyeball.

The blade sank deep.

The Revived One made no sound. Its body went limp.

Defeated Revived One ×3

XP +15.

“Good thing these things are practically brainless.”

Roy exhaled. If he had been facing elite soldiers with the same physical abilities and proper tactical training, he would never have dealt with them so easily.

With the fingers of his left hand, he traced the ocher triangular Signs and once again covered his body with Quen.

Roy rotated his wrist, shaking the blood and viscera from the blade.

The battle was still raging. Behind him, crimson tentacles emerged from the air and waved with garish elegance.

Yet the Revived One possessed no Willpower. It was completely unaffected by the tentacles that pierced the mind and Soul.

The Witcher flashed into the white mist and sprinted toward the place where the muffled grunt had come from.

The dense mist and dim firelight restricted his vision, but his Perception exceeded that of ordinary men, so he did not need to rely entirely on sight.

His ears listened. His nose caught the scents. The combined information from sound and smell guided him constantly.

For instance, ten yards to his left came the stench of decay mixed with medical disinfectant, accompanied by two different sets of limping footsteps and the clear jingling of bells. The Witcher understood at once. Two Revived Ones were there.

It was a strange sensation.

Although he could not see with his eyes, his Witcher Senses, built from smell and hearing, rapidly formed a map in his mind of the Monsters nearby.

“This way!”

A fresh blood scent entered the Witcher’s nose, utterly different from the corrupted blood of the Revived Ones.

After a few strides, he heard clearer breathing and vaguely made out the outline of a person standing motionless against a blackened wall.

“Todd?”

Roy used a miniature Aard to disperse the mist before him for a moment, then met the other man’s stare.

The Mercenary was in far worse shape than he was. A large chunk of flesh had been bitten from his right thigh. Blood covered his body, his face was pale, and he looked thoroughly battered.

His scalpel was nowhere to be seen. All he had left was the deformed Rib Spreader in his hand, smeared with filthy flesh. Beside him lay a Revived One with its skull smashed open.

“Shh.” The bearishly built Todd crouched in the corner and nervously pointed to the left, then raised a finger to his lips.

The Witcher nodded, crept over, and sat down beside him. As if performing a trick, he tossed Todd a Celandine Potion and gestured for him to drink it.

Then he pointed at himself and raised all ten fingers, indicating, I killed sixteen.

With an inquiring look, he pointed at Todd, asking, How many did you kill?

Todd raised five fingers.

“That means there are at least fourteen Revived Ones left.”

The Witcher lifted the darkened Silver Sword and prepared to move left, but Todd anxiously seized his arm and shook his head.

His mouth moved without sound.

The Witcher read the words from his lips.

“Something big?”

“Jingle, jingle…”

“Jingle, jingle…”

The sound of bells came through the mist again. This time, however, more than a dozen bells jingled at once, as though a whole group of Revived Ones were moving together.

Then “a head” emerged from the white mist on the left.

Calling it one head was not quite accurate.

It resembled an obese lump of flesh that had been smashed beyond recognition, assembled from more than a dozen faces. Numerous mouths opened and closed at once, smacking wetly as saliva, blood, and tissue fluid dripped from them.

Densely packed noses pressed against the floor, sniffing like a Hunting Hound.

Then a mass of pale, clouded eyes, like a fly’s compound eyes, turned toward the Witcher and the Mercenary in perfect unison.

A still larger shadow emerged from the fog. More than a dozen deformed arms and legs had been grafted onto both sides of its body, which had been pieced together from different torsos, front and back.

It looked like a gigantic Centipede with human faces.

Giant Revived One

The Revived Ones that had been blown apart until only their heads remained began searching for the rest of their bodies. In the end, they discovered that other people’s parts were better. Driven by the desire to Devour, they fused together, and this Monster was born.

HP: 200

Attributes:

Strength: 16 (Giant Monster +8)

Constitution: 20 (Multiple Hearts +10)

Agility: 10 (Multi-limbed +5)

Perception: 14 (Omnidirectional Sensory Organs +10)

Willpower: None

Charisma: 0

Spirit: 2

Skills:

Body of The Dead

* * *

“…So this is the thing that smashed through the iron door and sent me flying at the beginning?” The Witcher could not stop himself from baring his teeth. He had seen his share of repulsive things, but the creature before him had still managed to overturn his understanding of the possible.

This belonged in nightmares and horror stories, nowhere else.

A choking, bloody wind swept over both men.

Roy seized one of Todd’s arms and, amid the Mercenary’s pained grunt, flung him aside. The instant the shadow covered them, Roy slid forward along the floor and slipped beneath the gap under the stitched Monster’s head.

The next moment, dust billowed through the air. Amid a deafening crash, the wall split open, leaving a gaping hole. Several faces on the stitched Monster’s head wore dazed, vacant expressions. Clearly, the collision had injured it badly as well.

Todd, lucky to be alive, struggled to prop himself up. When he saw the damage, he drew a sharp breath. If that blow had struck a body of flesh and blood, it would probably have turned the victim into minced meat.

Where was Roy?

He looked around anxiously.

Then red light suddenly surged from beneath the Monster. Three of its legs on the right were severed in an instant, and a blood-soaked figure rolled out with a sword in hand.

Roy was in terrible shape.

He had clearly overestimated his own skill. He had avoided the stitched Monster’s frontal charge, but its massive body had still crushed his back. Pain throbbed through him, and his internal organs seemed to have suffered damage. Even so, he had used the opportunity to carve a huge opening through the Monster’s soft chest and abdomen.

His HP had instantly fallen by half.

An even greater crisis descended.

“Activation!”

A cool sensation spread through his body, gentle as a massage.

His HP and mana rose by one-third.

Roy’s spirits lifted.

The pain in his back and the wounds on his skin vanished at once. His movements nearly returned to their peak.

Badly wounded, the Monster fell into a rage. The eyes at the back of its head instantly found the one responsible. It twisted around and hurled itself toward the Witcher.

Roy was a step too slow. This time, he failed to evade the attack and was sent flying into the mist. Yellow light flashed as the Quen Shield around him broke apart like paper, but it stubbornly absorbed the final force of the impact.

The Witcher landed safely, though he staggered. Gabriel pointed toward the enormous shape in the mist.

“Whoosh, whoosh!”

Guidance plus Stunning Arrow.

Several Arrows pierced the Monster’s ugly mass of faces.

“Crack…”

Dragon’s Dream shattered in the corner.

Roy thrust his left hand forward.

A surging Fire Serpent ignited the mist and white smoke.

“Boom!”

The entire room trembled in the small explosion, mixed with eerie howls that sounded like sobbing infants.

Through the white smoke, dark-gold pupils gleamed.

The Giant Revived One’s head was bristling with Arrows, making it resemble a charred hedgehog. It rolled across the floor again and again, trying to extinguish the flames covering its body.

Several clouded eyes rotated in their sockets. Cold killing intent washed over him.

The Hand Crossbow switched to the Silver Sword.

The Witcher added another Quen Sign.

His expression remained as calm as still water. He held the Silver Sword behind him, its motion like the tail of a Dracolizard about to strike.

He charged the enormous creature as it rolled like a hill of flesh.

With a light leap, he landed firmly atop its many-mouthed, many-eyed head and sprang onto its body. The Edge in his hand twisted, then drove downward into its skull.

Aerondight surged forward with the Witcher’s rushing stride.

A dark-red Blade-Glint swept through the room like a comet.

The Blade-Glint passed from the Monster’s head down across its neck and back, carving a blood line more than ten yards long.

The sword’s momentum finally stopped.

The Monster’s huge, twisted body crashed to the ground and split apart along the center of its head, tearing into two halves with a wet roar.

“Defeated Giant Revived One, XP +50, Witcher Lv.7 (1900/4500).”

“Whew…” Roy’s limbs went weak. He collapsed onto the floor and could not be bothered to move even one finger.

“Master, we actually won?!” Todd hobbled over with the Rib Spreader in hand and stared at the grotesque carcass on the ground, his face full of disbelief. The mist had hidden the battle from him, and he had not understood how the Witcher had killed the terrifying creature.

“You think that was easy? If I hadn’t won, I would have left you behind and run for my life!”

Roy spoke between ragged breaths, then suddenly noticed that the death of the Giant Revived One had caused the mist throughout the entire basement to dissipate rapidly.

The room came back into focus.

The two men kept their weapons raised and remained on guard as they searched the surroundings.

Their expressions froze.

The corpses that had littered the floor, including the enormous Giant Revived One, had all vanished. No one knew where they had gone. Only a thin smear of blood remained.

It was as though the slaughter had been nothing but an illusion.

But the XP added to Roy’s Template, and the wounds on Todd’s body, were proof enough that it had happened.

The two men gathered themselves and continued deeper into the Morgue. The astonishment on their faces grew with every step.

It was as though some unfathomable power had returned every corpse to its original position.

The Revived Ones that had previously bared their teeth and attacked with savage ferocity now lay obediently on the wooden tables once more, reduced to corpses.

At last, both men’s eyes settled on the same direction, the place where Aisha’s corpse lay.

Roy raised an eyebrow.

The Mercenary’s mouth fell open. Shock spread across his face.

Every terrible wound left by their earlier examination had vanished from the surface of the corpse. Even the pile of internal organs and ribs that had originally filled the tray had disappeared without a trace.

Where had they gone?

Her body had been restored to its complete, beautiful form. Not a scar or wound remained.

She lay quietly on the wooden table, like a little princess asleep.

Morgue

The rekindled braziers drove back the chill and cast two rigid shadows across the walls.

The Witcher and the Mercenary stared at each other.

“Master, were we dreaming just now? The resurrected dead, that disgusting Monster, were they all fake?”

“Touch the wound on your right leg. Does it hurt?”

“Ah…” Todd sucked in a breath. “Then it was real? But how did it suddenly disappear?”

A thought struck him. He limped toward Aisha, who lay quietly on the table.

He placed a palm against her forehead. Her temperature was frighteningly low.

She still had no breath or heartbeat.

She was still, by every proper measure, a corpse.

The astonishment on Todd’s face deepened.

* * *

The Witcher, meanwhile, pulled back several shrouds and examined the other corpses.

A Dwarf, a Half-Elf, and a human.

They were more or less unchanged from before.

But Roy remembered one of the Dwarf’s faces. During the battle, he had cut off that creature’s head. Yet the corpse, which had clearly been severed, had somehow been forcibly pieced back together by some uncanny power.

The Witcher bared his teeth. His head throbbed.

He had never encountered anything like this. After a vicious battle in which he had hacked his enemies to pieces, everything had returned to its original state, as though all his exertion had been nothing more than a ridiculous clown’s performance.

And who, exactly, was controlling all this from behind the scenes?

His dark-gold pupils turned toward Aisha’s corpse and narrowed to slits, wary and guarded.

She was spotless, pure, and beautiful, utterly different from the shattered, filthy, blood-soaked corruption around her.

The events of the night had turned the living into corpses and raised the dead again. They matched perfectly with the words the Witcher had read from her skin.

And when he considered the time of the coroner’s and assistant’s deaths, both of which had occurred shortly after she was delivered, there could be no doubt. She was the source of all these anomalies.

But what was she now?

How could something that resembled a corpse wield such extraordinary magic?

Could it be forbidden Necromancy?

“Master Roy, what happened to my Aisha? Is she… is she still alive?”

“I’ve never seen anything like this. I can’t say yet.” Roy paused. “But she may be in a state of false death. No breathing, no heartbeat, no body heat, yet the flesh does not decay. Her Soul is bound within it.”

“You mean she can still be saved?” Todd’s face lit with desperate hope.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do anything.” Roy paused again. His tone turned cold. His cheeks tightened, and his expression sharpened like a blade. “Only the one who set the trap can undo it. We must find the true culprit who took Aisha, Matteo Sicula. Only then can we save her.”

The Witcher also had a debt to settle with that degenerate.

Once he found the man’s whereabouts, he would call on Kaen and make him pay.

“The crisis in the Morgue has been dealt with for now. There shouldn’t be any further trouble tonight.”

“Let’s leave first and pay a visit to Corinne Tilly.”

Perhaps the Oneiromancer could provide more information.

* * *

The Slums, a three-story white house.

A bright Magic Lamp illuminated three very different faces around a round table.

The burly man, his thigh wrapped in bandages, was so anxious that his lips had gone pale.

The handsome Witcher sat in silence.

The beautiful woman in a nightgown kept yawning. Her slender brows were knotted, and irritation had settled across her pretty face.

“Do you know what time it is? Three in the morning, by Melitele Goddess. Staying up late is the enemy of beauty! Couldn’t you spare a woman approaching thirty and come tomorrow morning instead?”

Corinne Tilly’s chest rose and fell sharply. She was clearly furious.

“Listen, just because I accepted your money does not mean I’m your slave, available at any hour of the day or night! Two grown men entering the home of a woman who lives alone in the middle of the night is improper as well, don’t you think?”

“Lady Corinne, I sincerely apologize. We had no wish to disturb your sleep, but the matter is urgent, and a life is at stake.” The Witcher tapped his index finger against the table. His dark-gold pupils fixed on her amber eyes, and the woman’s aggressive expression faltered beneath his gaze.

“It concerns the same matter we discussed this afternoon. Have you experienced Todd’s dream again? Did you get a clear look at the murderer?”

The Oneiromancer suddenly crossed her pale hands over her chest and pressed her red lips together. A trace of hesitation passed across her face.

“You found something, didn’t you?”

“Before I give you the answer, I want both of you to promise me something. You must keep this secret. Do not let a word of it leave this room, and do not connect me to it in any way.” The woman’s pretty face tightened, and her voice acquired what little firmness it could manage. “Otherwise… I’ll simply return your money.”

Roy and the Mercenary exchanged a glance before straightening in their seats.

“Agreed. I swear on the honor of the Viper School…”

“I, Todd, swear on the names of my dead kin…”

“Then I did see the man’s face clearly.” Only after that did the woman nod. She walked halfway around the table and described him without hesitation. “Short purple hair, an expensive silk robe, handsome features, fair skin, and a neatly trimmed beard on his chin. Around his neck was a crystal-clear Moonstone pendant…”

Roy listened, and a powerful sense of familiarity rose within him.

His thoughts returned at once to the altered warehouse where he had met Novigrad’s three giants several days earlier.

The kindly Beggar King Beryn, wearing a Golden Signet Ring. The seemingly genial Butcher Clive, with his Mohawk hairstyle. And then…

“Whew…”

Roy exhaled slowly and rose to his feet. Surprise flashed across his face, followed by sudden understanding.

“No wonder I found peat beneath Aisha’s fingernails.”

“The bathhouse belongs to him, and the hot water requires a great deal of peat.”

“I should have realized it sooner. The name Collector refers to his own experimental subjects. His hobby is merely a cover for a series of depraved experiments.”

“Master Roy, you… you know that bastard?” Todd’s breathing grew heavier, his expression uneasy.

“That’s right. According to Lady Corinne’s description, the man is one of Novigrad’s three giants, Collector Olof Bild.” Roy’s dark-gold pupils swept over them both. “You’ve only just returned to Novigrad. It’s normal that you don’t know him.”

“Of course, he also has another name, Matteo Sicula, the man who took Aisha away for experiments.”

“That bastard. I’ve been searching everywhere for him.”

Todd immediately held his breath. His fists clenched, and his teeth ground together.

The Oneiromancer’s pretty face went pale.

That was precisely why she feared him. Collector controlled one of the three great gangs, and his influence was so immense that even the Eternal Fire treated him with caution.

With a single gesture, he could make a nobody like her disappear from the world.

“Master Roy, Mr. Todd, remember your promise. Whatever you intend to do to him…” Corinne Tilly asked nervously, “do not involve me.”

Roy nodded. “This is a matter of hatred between men. You will not be dragged into it.”

“Still, Lady Corinne, once this is over, we’ll remain friends, won’t we? We may need to ask for your help again.”

“Ah…” Corinne bit her red lip. “As long as you both keep your promise and prove yourselves men of good reputation, I won’t refuse your business.”

Provided you survived.

* * *

“Master Roy, thank you for all your selfless help these past few days.” Todd drew a deep breath. His bear-like body straightened, and determination crossed his fleshy face. “You don’t need to concern yourself with what remains.”

“I’ll settle the account with that man and make him restore Aisha to normal.”

“How do you intend to do that?” Roy shook his head, curiosity showing in his eyes. “You’re an ordinary Mercenary. What can you use to oppose one of Novigrad’s great powers, a powerful Sorcerer?”

“I still have some savings. I’ll exchange all of it for Dimeritium. That should be enough to deal with him.”

“And what will you do about his bodyguards? Are you certain you can get close to Olof?”

Todd’s face flushed. He stammered for a while before finally saying, “Collector’s influence is too great. I can’t drag Master into this.”

Roy felt a trace of relief. At least the man had some conscience. His free efforts had not been wasted.

It was true that the Witcher had signed an agreement with the three giants.

He could not openly turn against them.

Because of the recent massacre at the manor, if anything happened to Olof, whether he died or disappeared, the Eternal Fire, the Beggar King, and the Butcher would certainly turn their suspicions toward Roy.

The peace agreement they had worked so hard to reach would most likely collapse.

But now that the Witcher knew the man’s true identity, he could not simply let him go.

“I’m not doing this solely to help you. Matteo also owes the Witcher a blood debt,” Roy said. “But we can’t charge in and confront him recklessly. We need to discuss a workable plan.”

“Come with me, Todd. I’ll introduce you to a few other companions. We’ll discuss how to deal with him together.”

Continuous drizzle fell from the sky, silver threads veiling the earth.

By the canal in Novigrad’s southern district stood the Witcher’s cottage.

A bitter wind swept through the curtains, setting the wind chimes tinkling and making the Magic Lamp sway precariously. The distorted light revealed several faces with bestial pupils.

“Brothers of the Viper School, Kaen and I have fulfilled our duty. We killed several Drowners blocking the way, dove into the freezing seawater, and successfully found the wreckage of the Flying Stag!” Griffin’s gray-green eyes held a trace of pride. From the bundle pressed against his body, he took out a complete, yellowed Blueprint and placed it on the round table.

Roy picked it up and glanced over it.

“cat school crossbow… Black Iron Ore, Ruby Dust, Monster Claw… astonishing craftsmanship. A perfect design.”

Judging by its forging materials alone, the cat school crossbow was far more valuable than the original Gabriel. However, after his bound weapon had undergone repeated enhancements, its power had long since surpassed the crossbow.

The Blueprint passed through the hands of the four Viper School Witchers. The Auckes brothers and Letho examined it with open admiration.

They had not expected the Cat School Blueprint collection to progress faster than the Viper School’s.

“We’ve collected five Blueprints now. We only need the steel sword and Silver Sword Schematic to complete the set.” A smile lifted the corners of Griffin’s mouth, though he could not conceal his excitement. “Only by wearing the inherited set and wielding the steel sword can one truly be called a cat school Witcher.”

Since the founder of the School of The Cat had led his followers away from Stygga Castle more than a century ago, Griffin had never heard of anyone accomplishing such a feat, collecting every lost Blueprint.

“I also know roughly where the remaining two Blueprints are,” Kaen said, his voice hoarse. “One lies within the Aethyelle Elven Ruins near Oxenfurt. In fact, all seven Blueprints were excavated from that Ruins.”

The crimson eyes beneath his sunglasses lowered. Kaen seemed to have recalled something unpleasant.

“Several decades ago, I accompanied an Oxenfurt Academy archaeological team into the Ruins. We recovered six of the Blueprints. Four were later seized by Steingard and taken to the laboratory beneath Temple Isle.”

“One remained aboard the Flying Stag.”

“As for the last one, I gave it to the final heir of the Sea Cat Dynasty, Prince Adrien, who lived in Drash Castle south of Novigrad.”

“But I heard that castle became a ruin long ago.”

Everyone noticed the weight in Kaen’s voice. They listened in silence and tactfully asked no further questions. Even Auckes managed to restrain his curiosity.

“The Gvaed Potion Shop is still being renovated. If none of you object, we could go to Drash Castle in the south first and find the Blueprint. The castle isn’t far from Novigrad, anyway.”

“Sorry, lads, but we have another problem to deal with first.” Roy interrupted them, his expression solemn. “I found the researcher who escaped from Temple Isle, Matteo Sicula…”

“What?!”

Kaen erupted like a volcano catching fire. The heaviness in his voice vanished, replaced at once by agitation. His voice rose several degrees, and his body trembled beneath the black cloak with excitement and rage.

“Where is he?”

“He’s in Novigrad.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, Mercenary Todd recounted the entire story of Aisha’s disappearance before the others.

“That bastard escaped the laboratory, changed his name, and ended up living even better than before?” Orin stared with wide amber eyes. “He actually became one of Novigrad’s three giants.”

“The last time I saw Olof, I could already tell from his attitude that he held a deep prejudice against nonhumans. So this is where it came from.”

“Even if he became an emperor, it would not erase the crimes he committed in the past. Anyone who dares lay hands on a Witcher…” Letho rubbed his gleaming bald head. His pupils narrowed like a serpent’s. “He must pay the price.”

“Have you forgotten? We signed a peace agreement with the three giants not long ago.” Kael shook his head. “How long has it been? Have you considered the consequences of breaking it already?”

“The two unfinished shops will certainly be taken back. We won’t be able to survive in Novigrad afterward.”

“We need to consider this carefully.”

* * *

“Everyone, there’s no need to discuss it. Stay out of this matter.” Every muscle in Kaen’s body trembled with rage, though he struggled to keep his expression under control. His voice was firm and final. “You’ve already done more than enough for me. I’m the only one who has a grudge against Matteo.”

“I’ll act alone when the time comes. No one in Novigrad has seen my true face, anyway.” Kaen gave a bitter laugh. “Once I take off these clothes, who could connect me to a Witcher?”

“Oh, shut up. You’re trying to leave me out without permission?” Griffin folded his arms, a ring of wrinkles rising across his brow. His displeasure was plain. “We went to all that trouble to rescue you, and now you want to go and get yourself killed alone?”

“If you still consider me a companion, put that thought away. If the cat school acts, we act together.”

“Don’t worry, everyone. I’m not some ignorant fool charging headlong into danger. Why would I rush in and throw my life away?” Kaen patted his cat school companion on the shoulder, drew a deep breath, and forced himself back into composure. “I can wait. I endured thirty years of torment. What is a little longer?”

“Once I see Collector with my own eyes and confirm his identity…”

“I’ll keep watch over him, day or night, rain or wind, until he reveals an opening.”

“Then I’ll return to my old trade.”

Roy’s heart tightened.

He imagined a cat school Witcher with his face ruined, consumed by vengeance, staking everything on watching his enemy.

The thought alone was enough to make a man lose sleep.

The cat school had always been the School most skilled in assassination.

“Master Kaen…” Todd’s bear-like body edged closer to the figure wrapped in a heavy cloak. He looked pleadingly beneath the hood, but could not make out Kaen’s face. “Could I act with you and help capture that bastard? My daughter’s condition is still unknown. Only he can undo the wicked magic.”

The crimson eyes swept over Todd. Kaen nodded.

“By the look of you, you’re a capable fighter. I agree. But you follow my orders.”

* * *

“Count me in.” Orin stepped decisively to the cat school Witcher’s side and grinned. “An old friend is in trouble. I can’t stand by and do nothing.”

“And Collector despises nonhumans and is twisted in the head. He has no place in our alliance.”

“Roy still has a considerable sum of money left,” Orin continued smoothly. “Once we fall out with Novigrad’s powers, we can settle down in Kovir.”

Kael stared at his brother with a complicated expression. When it came to siding against his own people, no one could surpass him.

* * *

“All right, enough with the pessimism and extremes. There must be a safer way.” Roy interrupted the argument.

The difficulty was how the Witchers could capture Collector without exposing themselves or destroying the alliance they had formed.

“Why not ask a Spellcaster for help?” Kael looked toward Roy. “Ask Lytta Neyd. Sorcerer against Sorcerer, perhaps she’ll have an inspired solution.”

Roy hesitated, his expression troubled. He already owed the Sorceress several favors and truly did not want to drag her into this matter.

“Or we could use the simplest method. Create a series of alibis, stroll around beneath the three giants’ noses, and hire someone else to kidnap Collector.” Orin offered another idea.

“Idiot. How much are you planning to pay to kidnap one of Novigrad’s three giants?” Kael scoffed. “Even if someone accepted that Contract, I guarantee they would sell us out immediately and collect the bounty.”

“Then come up with an idea yourself. Is it even possible to capture Collector alive without letting the Eternal Fire, the Butcher, or the Beggar King notice something is wrong?”

“Why not contact the Eternal Fire directly?” Griffin suggested. “Novigrad’s largest organization has never been fond of Spellcasters. Our peaceful coexistence is only a façade.”

“If we propose cooperation, the Eternal Fire will surely take advantage of the opportunity, eliminate Matteo, and clean up the aftermath for us.”

“You think the Eternal Fire doesn’t hate Witchers? Cooperate with them, and after removing Matteo, they might immediately betray us and join forces with the Beggar King and the Butcher to attack us.”

Kael rejected the idea.

The possibility was too real. Everyone fell silent.

The discussion had returned to its starting point.

“No one can know that Collector has disappeared,” Letho said casually as he rubbed his polished bald head. “Unless we take him away and find someone to temporarily fill his place, keeping up appearances.”

“You mean finding an acrobat to disguise himself as Collector?” Orin shook his head. “Too troublesome. He’d be exposed sooner or later, and we’d have another witness to deal with.”

* * *

Disguise himself as Collector?

Roy’s thoughts suddenly stirred, and memories rolled through his mind like a rising tide.

He had just realized that the vast city of Novigrad concealed another rare and little-known kind of creature.

“Why don’t we replace Collector permanently?”

“Take his place for good.”

“What do you