The Acting Witcher

Coming to the wine cellar entrance, Letho descended the stairs, lit several torches, and exposed the dwarf to the firelight.

"Roy, you stay here with Mr. Sevir. I'll go in and kill that thing!"

Letho looked intently at the dwarf and solemnly instructed, "Stay quiet and try not to be scared, or Him will draw strength from your fear, making my job harder."

Upon receiving the order, Sevir remained still like a startled hedgehog, almost holding his breath.

"Roy, you must comfort him!"

The latter nodded, also looking as if facing a great enemy.

"Sevir Hog is truly a peculiar fellow. To have reached his current position, it's probably as he said, most of the credit goes to the brothers who became corpses in the barrels."

Only when the bald Witcher's mountain-like back disappeared behind a pile of wine barrels in the depths of the cellar did the two stare at each other, the atmosphere terrifyingly quiet.

"Mr. Sevir, would you like to play a game with me..."

Roy grinned widely, revealing an honest and simple smile, "Let's do something beneficial for body and mind, how about a thrilling Gwent match!"

The dwarf wine merchant wasn't lacking money, but Roy was.

Sevir placed his index finger on his thick lips, surrounded by a dark brown beard, and turned to glance at Letho, seemingly uninterested in the proposal.

"The more you worry, the easier it is to attract Him. Besides, in this situation, can you think of any other activity that passes the time better than Gwent?"

As soon as he heard the name Him, the dwarf instinctively pressed himself closer to the wall, his pupils shrinking. He then noticed that the young man with the harmless smile opposite him had inexplicably produced two Gwent decks.

"Sorry, I don't play Gwent," the dwarf shook his head, politely declining Roy.

Roy, however, did not give up. He continued to persuade with a smile, "The rules are very simple, I guarantee you'll learn in no time, and you'll discover there are things more wonderful than drinking."

His attention was clearly captured by this statement, and he stopped craning his neck to glance at Letho's position. "I didn't expect you to be a gambler at such a young age. But you're wrong. Besides ore, fine wine is the heart and soul of Mahakam dwarves. Gwent is just for passing the time occasionally."

"Listen to my advice. Cooperate well with Master Letho's work. Save up some money later to start a small business, get a wife, and continue the family line. Don't always think about Gwent. Otherwise, one day, you'll lose everything, even your underwear."

"If you don't want to play, then don't," Roy shrugged, not forcing the issue, and muttered softly, "What a shame, I really wanted to see the Scoia'tael deck."

"What?!" Sevir suddenly roared, standing up like an angry little lion, his dark, thick eyebrows almost standing on end. "Where did you hear about the Scoia'tael?"

His tone was curious and urgent, even suppressing the fear of Him that had been lingering in his heart.

"Scoia'tael, aren't they the coalition of non-human races rebelling against humans?" Roy's face stiffened. Before the First Northern War, the Scoia'tael were still operating underground and hadn't officially appeared. He had accidentally let slip.

Sevir's features contorted, his expression extremely strange. "A few years ago, an organization called the Scoia'tael, with extreme racist slogans, enticed many Mahakam dwarves away. Elder Brouver Hog's neutral faction of Mahakam dwarves were at odds with them. But this secret was only circulated among ancient races."

"It's not strange that I know, but how did you find out?"

"Bang!" Suddenly, a short, sharp impact sound interrupted their confrontation. This sound had an indescribable magical quality, making the dwarf recall the moment a battering ram hit a city gate. The entire cellar floor seemed to tremble slightly.

The two couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement.

"That's... the Aard Sign! Him is in trouble!"

Roy roared, seizing the opportunity to shake off Sevir and run to the front row of wine barrels, peering into the depths.

Sevir's thoughts were also interrupted by this unexpected event. He stopped pursuing the matter of the Scoia'tael and looked over nervously.

"Disgusting demon, your tricks are useless before me!"

A powerful roar echoed from the depths of the cellar. At the same time, the bald Letho leaped nimbly from behind the pile of wine barrels like a large cat. Whether intentionally or not, he turned his head and glanced at the two.

Fierce!

Letho's smooth face was covered in black, twisted veins.

"Ah!" Sevir cried out, his rough face contorted with worry and fear. "Is Lord Letho's face injured? Has he been cursed by Him?"

Roy lowered his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. "Don't worry, Lord Sevir. The abnormality on his face is just a side effect of the Witcher drinking potions. This demon is no match for Letho!"

As soon as he finished speaking, a dazzling burst of sparks shot out from behind the wine barrels that concealed the Witcher and the demon. The sparks were as beautiful as meteors and fireworks, but the extremely high temperature scorched the surrounding air, making the torches in the depths of the cellar less clear.

"Igni Sign, Letho is going all out!" Roy gave the dwarf a reassuring look. The latter immediately stared expectantly in that direction, then something came to mind, and his bearded face showed deep bitterness. His voice, like that of a resentful woman in seclusion, was faint, "Lord Letho... be careful of my wine... that's fifty-year-old Dwarven spirit!"

"Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh..." Letho's figure reappeared in their line of sight, but it was only his shadow cast on the wall by the lamplight.

The dark silhouette of the Witcher darted back and forth like a startled rabbit, lunging into the darkness. The two long, slender swords in his hands swung in countless afterimages, like the venomous fangs of a viper, agile and deadly!

Next came a series of sharp, fierce screeches like a file, each one striking Sevir's heart like a drumbeat, making his face tremble!

But soon, the screeches changed tone, becoming mournful and pained, making the dwarf subconsciously think of a wounded wild dog with its tail between its legs!

"The outcome is decided!" Roy's tone was firm as he made the final judgment. Almost simultaneously, a strange shadow was cast on the wall.

It was a creature with slender limbs like withered branches, its figure so tall it almost reached the cellar ceiling. It had a basic humanoid shape, but its head was a triangular cone, topped with countless twisted, spiraling antlers.

At this moment, Roy also showed a look of surprise for the first time, gazing in that direction, his mind racing.

Ignis Fatuus in the mist, the voodoo doll of the swamp witch, the dryads in the primeval forest, the Leshen – none could describe its strangeness. It was ethereal, its body constantly changing, twisting, and shaking, evoking the image of leaves rustling in the wind.

In just a few seconds, which felt like an eternity, its strange shadow let out a long scream towards the Witcher behind the wine barrels. Then, its body gave a final shudder and collapsed to the ground like a melting ice sculpture!

"Hoo..." Sevir, witnessing this, let out a long sigh of relief. His slightly hunched back straightened quietly, as if a heavy burden had been lifted, radiating a peculiar radiance.

"It's over!" He foolishly showed a relieved smile.

Indeed, in less than a moment, the Witcher Letho emerged slowly from the shadows of the cellar depths, his footsteps making a "tap, tap, tap" sound.