The Witch's Skull

Letho had seen his fair share of storms in his decades of life, but he rarely encountered such an unconventional brat. He wasn't afraid of Witchers, nor did he shy away from them like they were plague rats.

This wasn't a joke; many children would cry from a Witcher's strange appearance and demeanor.

Roy's face showed no hint of disgust. He looked at the three Witchers with a peculiar gaze, tinged with a faint closeness, perhaps admiration?

Perhaps it was old age that made people sentimental. Letho couldn't help but get lost in thought for a moment, though his face remained a stern, deadpan mask.

He suddenly remembered himself from many years ago. He was young then, brought from his hometown of Goulart to Gwyntd, a fortress in the Tir Tochair mountains, the stronghold of the School of the Viper.

He hadn't undergone the Trial of the Grasses yet. Every day, he would watch his guide—a Witcher mentor, the founder of the School of the Viper, Grandmaster Ivar Evil Eye—standing on a high platform, imparting knowledge and life experience to over a dozen Viper apprentices below.

He himself had once looked at him with the same childlike gaze.

Alas, times had changed. Decades ago, Ivar Evil Eye disappeared while hunting a bat-winged brain demon. Coupled with the School of the Cat's frenzied slaughter of humans at the time, which brought much negative public opinion upon Witchers, the School of the Viper gradually fell apart under the double blow, with fewer and fewer apprentices joining Gwyntd.

Now, the Viper school was so depleted and in decline that only a few remained. Besides the three of them, two other companions were lost somewhere.

In the last twenty years, no apprentice from the School of the Viper had survived the Trial of the Grasses.

"Revitalize the School of the Viper, hunt down the school's nemesis, and find Ivar Evil Eye!" This was Letho's greatest wish and the motivation for their journey north.

Thinking of this, his gaze towards Roy gradually softened.

May Goddess Melitele bless us, it was a bright and sunny day.

Before setting out, the three of them made quite thorough preparations. None of this was hidden from Roy; ordinary people simply couldn't learn it.

With practiced movements, they took a bottle of viscous amber liquid from their leather pouches, poured it onto the blades of the short swords they took from their chests, and spread it evenly. Their movements were slow, yet filled with an inexplicable tension.

After the short swords were covered in a layer of amber sheen, they repeatedly checked the quantity and usage of the potions on their belts, tying alchemical bombs of various colors to places within easy reach.

When everything was ready, it was noon. Roy, as agreed, quietly followed the Witchers after they left the village, unbeknownst to his parents.

A few curious villagers also followed.

Half an hour later, Roy, who had been running non-stop, was gasping for breath, clutching his stomach, and retching. The three Witchers looked calmly at the graveyard not far away, their pupils contracting.

"Roy, you stay here. We'll call you after we've dealt with the grave witch."

"Please, remember to let me kill it myself!"

Witcher Letho remained silent. He, along with Oakes and Cerret, took out the brown potions they had prepared, swallowed them in large gulps. Startling, worm-like black veins immediately appeared on their cheeks, their expressions turned ferocious and sinister, and the killing intent in their eyes was palpable.

Roy felt a chill run down his spine just looking at them.

Next, Letho, with a agility uncharacteristic of his build, stooped and tiptoed like a hunting cat, silently slipping into the graveyard. Cerret and Oakes flanked from the other two sides.

Under the scorching sun, every corner of the graveyard was clear. Besides the piled bones in the disturbed graves, there were two shriveled, grayish-brown corpses. Letho cautiously approached and examined them. Judging by their skeletons, the deceased were tall and likely adult males in life, but their bodies were severely decomposed, their true faces completely unrecognizable.

The traces indicated a violent struggle before death, with multiple fractures throughout their bodies, and each bone had holes pierced by sharp objects.

After analyzing, Letho quietly closed his eyes again, his nose twitching in the air like a hound. The strong stench of decay couldn't block his keen sense of smell. Soon, his gaze focused on the low house in the center of the graveyard. He calmly took out a transparent, long-necked bottle from his pouch and searched around the tightly shut house.

Grave witches feared the sun, so their dwellings were usually built tightly sealed, with no gaps for sunlight to penetrate.

But this house was originally built for a gravedigger; it couldn't possibly lack a ventilation opening!

Letho found a place that was once a window without much effort. It was now tightly sealed with clay by the monster, but it wasn't solid rock after all. The Witcher easily chipped away an opening with a throwing knife and then hurled an alchemical bomb inside.

"Crack!" A crisp sound of breaking glass echoed. Letho retreated rapidly, leaping onto the roof in a flash. At the same time, he made a gesture, and Oakes and Cerret, who had been waiting on either side, quickly moved to the sides of the main entrance.

Cerret drew a symbol in the air with his right hand, resembling two opposing triangles stacked vertically like an hourglass, and pushed it out. A faint white light, visible to the naked eye, rose, and a circular magic circle with a radius of about 10 feet appeared out of thin air on the ground, beginning to flash with a faint glow.

Oakes drew a symbol of two nested triangles, one upright inside the other, with his right hand, but didn't push it out, keeping it ready.

With a loud "Bang!", the door was kicked open, and a deformed figure with a belly as big as a cauldron shot out! As soon as it jumped out of the door, its body seemed to be hit by an invisible sledgehammer, trembling violently and losing its balance as it fell forward.

Oakes, who had been holding his Sign without acting, decisively pushed out his Sign at the opportune moment. Amidst a dazzling yellow light, a cone of orange flame erupted from his palm, hitting the disheveled figure.

Before this, the grave witch's body had already been contaminated by the alchemical bomb Letho threw into the room. Its body, as if coated in oil, was instantly ignited by the Igni Sign, turning it into a fireball.

The burning grave witch let out a series of piercing shrieks like an owl towards the sky, then raised its chicken-like arms and charged towards the outside of the Yarden Sign that was suppressing its body.

In an instant, a figure leaped from the roof like a phantom, blocking the grave witch's path. Then came a storm of attacks. The short sword wove a dense arc of silver in the air, reflecting light like two ribbons flying around it, cutting like a meat grinder.

Roy, watching from afar, strained his eyes but couldn't see the Witcher's movements. They were too fast. Even though only Letho was attacking, three afterimages appeared around the grave witch simultaneously.

In just a few short breaths, the grave witch, more than half of its body scorched, covered in sword marks, and its body intact, collapsed to the ground. A second later, its limbs detached from its body with dark green blood, leaving only a struggling, writhing, dying "stick" in the middle.

Oakes stepped forward, pinning its back with his knee. With his right hand in a leather glove, he quickly pulled out a terrifyingly long, thin tongue covered in thorny flesh from its mouth.

Completely ignoring the monster's inhuman wails beneath his knee, he cut off the entire tongue and dropped it into a pre-prepared jar.

Letho took out a blue cloth from his pouch and gently and meticulously wiped the two short swords stained with dark green blood. Despite the grave witch's gruesome state, he had no blood on him and his breathing was steady, not even panting. It was as if the figure that had transformed into a whirlwind wasn't him.

The battle was considered over. Cerret, wearing a red headband, called Roy, who had been hiding in the distance, over.

"This thing has one foot in the grave. As agreed, the final blow is yours." Cerret glanced at Gabriel on Roy's wristband. "Are you going to finish it with this thing?"

Roy, who had observed the entire process from a distance, looked at the "human stick" crawling on the ground before him and was momentarily speechless. The harsh words he had prepared to say to it couldn't come out.

Even though he had prepared himself mentally, the skill displayed by the Witchers far exceeded his imagination. The entire battle had only taken a mere two minutes. While others hadn't even started the foreplay, the Witchers had already completed the commission.

This terrifying monster that had easily slaughtered the blacksmith Fletcher and his son was utterly defenseless against the "Regicide" combo.

Perhaps he should show them a little more respect.

Roy crouched down, pulled out the short sword sheathed at his lower back—the one he found at the Butcher's house—and pressed it against the Grave Witch's neck. Gazing at the two corpses in the graveyard, he forced a smile uglier than a cry. "Uncle Fletcher, Uncle Pusig, little snot-nose, I've avenged you!"

Shing— The blade flashed, and the Grave Witch's ugly head separated from its neck, rolling to the bald man's feet.

A beautiful line of text appeared in Roy's status panel:

[Killed Grave Witch, gained 100 Experience Points (103/1000)]

The Experience Points from this Monster were ten times that of ordinary animals.