Geralt's Commission (5/5)

At three in the morning, he arrived at Hubert's home. This two-story residence was located on Altland Avenue, its interior exquisitely decorated, with views of the harbor and the sea visible through the windows. He Shenyan walked straight into the basement, casually dispelling the protective magic the vampire had placed at the entrance.

The place was dark and damp, and the wooden shelves on the walls were filled with all sorts of human organs. The variety and sheer number made He Shenyan regret not torturing it for a little longer.

He was usually not this impulsive, and his attitude toward non-human creatures was considered mild among mages. But when dealing with this kind of thing, he couldn't be bothered to reason.

In the corner of the basement lay four female corpses, their abdominal cavities hollowed out. The blood seemed to have drained away completely; they stared at the basement ceiling with vacant eyes. One of them, the youngest, looked to be only in her teens, the childishness still lingering on her face.

"Sigh." The black-robed mage let out a long breath.

Flames appeared in his palm, illuminating the gloomy basement. The four corpses burned slowly within the fire, their ethereal souls emerging from the remains, dissipating gradually with expressions of confusion and pain. He Shenyan stepped forward, carefully and patiently scooping up their ashes into a box he had just conjured, ensuring not a single speck was left behind.

After a moment of hesitation, he said, "May Melitele bless your souls."

He then walked to the desk, opened the drawer, and took out an exquisite diary. He didn't even want to open it; seeing what the vampire had done once was already disgusting enough, and he didn't want to see it a second time. He left it spread open on the table and departed.

"Good heavens! He looks absolutely horrific!"

"Who's to say otherwise?"

"Hey! Jerry! Get back here! What kind of spectacle are you running off to see, kid? Do you want a beating?"

The clamor of voices echoed at the mouth of the alley. The gravedigger shouted in annoyance, "For the sake of the gods! Can you all just disperse and go about your business? Has no one ever taught you to respect the dead?"

His irate voice finally caused the crowd to thin out, or at least the discussions grew quieter. The gravedigger used his shovel to place the three parts of the man's body onto his cart. He had been in this line of work for many years and had seen at least ten thousand corpses, but rarely one that had died so miserably.

He muttered to himself, guessing it was the work of some lunatic. Likely one of those mutated mongrels, damn it. He had seen one on the street just yesterday; what bad luck.

Despite his wandering thoughts, his hands moved quickly, and he soon delivered the remains to the coroner.

To his surprise, the moment the coroner saw the man's face, he turned pale and backed away repeatedly. Pointing at the mangled corpse, he asked, "Wh-where did you find him?"

The gravedigger was confused, but he knew this couldn't be anything good. He replied, "Sir, this has nothing to do with me."

"Who said it had anything to do with you? Tell me where you found him!" The coroner was nearly driven to a fit by the fool. Upon receiving the answer, he immediately reported it to the guards. That afternoon, the merchant guild received news of the death of the young and promising coroner, Hubert. They immediately dispatched men to clear out Hubert's house, taking whatever they could. Two of the workers opened the basement door and let out a scream.

Geralt carefully observed the messy traces inside the room. The man beside him was anxiously stroking his already thinning hair, looking as if he wished to make it even sparser.

Feeling somewhat disturbed, the witcher glanced at him and said, "Can you be quiet for a moment?"

"Who? Oh, me? Right, right." It took the man a moment to realize he was being addressed, and he immediately fell silent.

Geralt looked again at the cluttered living room. Clothes and various plates were strewn across the floor. Amidst the chaos lay a twisted, blackened, and hideous arm. Large amounts of blood were splattered throughout the room, from the ceiling to the floor; the sheer volume made him suspect five people had died here.

But, other than that, there was nothing.

No footprints, no scent, no signs of a struggle—only an arm that had appeared out of thin air and a massive amount of blood.

The witcher, wearing a brand-new set of studded leather armor, sighed. He rarely encountered such thorny matters; the clues were pitifully scarce. He loosened the strap on his shoulder so he could reach the silver sword on his back at any moment, then asked the man, "Tell me the details."

The man wore a mournful face: "I've already told you! Master! I woke up this morning to find these things in my house; it nearly scared me to death! I didn't dare report it to the guards. My wife said we had to hire a witcher, and it took me forever to find you."

"Yes, you did say that. Did you hear anything in the middle of the night?"

"I'm a heavy sleeper, Master, but you can ask my wife."

After saying this, the man shouted toward the outside of the house: "Aurelia! Get in here! Quickly! The witcher master has questions for you!"

A woman in a long-sleeved shirt walked in, her chestnut hair messy and her brown eyes filled with unease: "M-master, is something the matter?"

Her husband grabbed her roughly, and the woman let out a cry of pain. The man said, "Did you hear any noise last night?"

"Uh... nothing but your snoring."

The woman's answer silenced Geralt, who had already held little hope. He said, "My advice is to move out."

Ignoring the man who had become agitated by this statement, he turned and walked toward the arm, observing every finger carefully. Gradually, a hypothesis formed in his mind. He stood up and said in a hoarse voice, "I don't mean you have to move permanently, just stay somewhere else for a couple of days. A hotel, or a relative's house. I don't care where, but it's best not to stay here for the next two days."

"Then, what about you, Master?" the woman asked.

Geralt pulled over a chair and sat down: "I'll wait here to see if that thing appears again."

"Also, could you please call in my companion who is outside?"

Upon hearing this, the woman said excitedly, "Oh! Is it that black-robed gentleman? I'll go!"

"Hey! What black robe? You crazy woman, get back here!"

Her irate husband shouted behind her, but the woman paid no mind. Two minutes later, a black-robed Eastern man walked into the room and greeted Geralt.