I Love Water Ghosts, Water Ghosts Love Me

"Timid by nature, drowners usually fed only on leftovers dug out of rubbish and animal carcasses. They would only take the initiative to attack when a lone traveler or an unwary fisherman entered their territory.

They looked like human corpses dredged up from the bottom of a pond, blue or green in color, with mucus and rotting mud seeping from their pores, their entire bodies reeking of sour decay.

In truth, however, they were not transformed drowned corpses. Their scales, gills, and dorsal fins showed that drowners were an entirely different species. These physiological traits made them excellent swimmers, capable of dragging unsuspecting victims underwater and drowning them.

If they were not hungry at the time, drowners would keep their victims underwater for several days, letting the prey soften and rot until it melted in their mouths.

At dusk and during the night, especially when it rained, drowners became particularly active. They would even briefly leave the water and venture inland.

Drowners that came ashore usually hunted in packs, because although they were astonishingly fast on land, they remained pitifully weak against opponents other than fishermen or women doing laundry.

Just as the old saying went: 'When monsters are truly lousy, gathering in groups makes them happy.'"

That afternoon, outside Vizima—on a stretch of the Ismena River neither too near nor too far from the satellite town—Vic stood on the bank with his feet planted in a seven-three stance and his arms folded, explaining the habits of drowners. Angoulême, meanwhile, crouched in the water with everything below her neck submerged, her face full of reluctance.

"Captain, is this really going to work? I've been soaking here for half an hour!"

"Wait a little longer, just a little longer. Be patient—they'll be here soon. The footprints on the shore are so clear; there must be some nearby. Besides, it's so hot out. What's wrong with letting you cool off in the water?"

"If it's so great, why don't you come down and soak with me?" The thought of being used as bait to fish for drowners made Angoulême's skin crawl—and made her angry.

"Tsk! I spent all that time explaining their habits, and you didn't listen to the very first sentence. Drowners usually aren't very brave. The scent of a lone woman is highly enticing to them; if two people go in, it'll all be for nothing.

A bet was a bet. That was the will of the dice. Relax! It was still far from evening. Only a few hungry drowners would come out at this time."

As they spoke, there was suddenly a sharp clatter of mechanisms not far behind the girl, followed by splashing water. "Get up here, we caught one!" the boy immediately shouted.

At the shout, Angoulême sprang from the water as if her backside were on fire, scrambling ashore in a few quick steps. Then she saw Vic pulling a rope in his hands toward the bank.

With the prey hooked, the girl happily stepped forward to help haul it in. The moment she grabbed hold, she felt the weight. "Hey, this thing's pretty heavy! It must be a big one?"

Working together, they soon dragged the drowner caught in the underwater trap slowly to the surface. Its body was dark blue, its clawed limbs tightly curled around its torso, while bodily fluids streamed from the hooks.

Amid its snarls and struggles, they dragged it onto the bank. The boy wrapped the rope around a wooden stake to secure it, then stepped forward and cleanly took off its head with his silver sword.

After putting on gloves and dragging the remains farther ashore, Vic took the lead while Angoulême assisted, carrying out a cranial incision, a chest incision, and a series of other material-gathering procedures on the necrophage.

Not long afterward, they watched the rich, rushing waters of the Ismena River carry away every last remnant and trace of stench. Angoulême took out her dice and tossed them in her hand, lifting her chin at Vic in challenge. "Round two!"

"Look, these monsters could be killed by traps, by mages, by armies, even by farmers if they united. But why were witchers alone called monster experts?...

...That was the difference between experts and amateurs. Amateurs did not consider cost; experts controlled costs. Amateurs did not care about efficiency; experts pursued it.

A comparison made it obvious. Take the most basic Necrophage Oil, for example. All it required was dog tallow and dandelion. Stir them together evenly, then simmer them slightly until they reached a viscous consistency. It was simple and quick to make, and exceptionally effective in actual combat.

From this, we could draw a conclusion: when facing a predictable type of monster, other preparations could be skipped, but the appropriate sword oil always had to be applied thoroughly.

That herbalism book I had you read was for teaching you to identify ingredients. As for the sword oil formulas for different monsters, I'd teach them to you orally later.

You never stopped learning, no matter how old you got. And don't complain that I'm nagging..."

Under the slanting evening sun, Vic lit a campfire by the lake and set up a small cauldron. Necrophage Oil bubbled away inside as he prattled on, sharing his wisdom of life with his troupe member.

Angoulême sat opposite him, drying her clothes. She had lost four rounds that afternoon. In the best-of-five matches, she had not won even once. Twelve straight losses had made her question her entire life; if the dice had not been her own, she would have been certain that her captain was cheating.

The more she thought about it, the more wrong it seemed. Interrupting her captain's sermon, Angoulême voiced the question in her heart. "—Vic, if we were going to have to do this in the end anyway, why did we work so hard fishing for drowners all afternoon?"

The spoon stirring the ointment paused slightly, then continued turning.

"Mm... Actually, it was because I'd never dealt with drowners before, so I wanted to prepare myself mentally. What exactly did the opponent look like? What did it smell like? What did it feel like to cut one? What kind of wounds would definitely kill it?

After catching a few like this and slaughtering a few, weren't we completely unafraid now?"

Taking Mahakam from Angoulême as he turned sideways, Vic drizzled sword oil evenly over the blade, spoonful by spoonful. Then he drew his own silver sword and did the same. Smelling the faint damp fishiness in the evening air, he felt that the time was about right.

The sound of splashing water gradually grew louder as drowner heads rose from the water one after another. "Five... eight... ten... thirteen!" Angoulême called out loudly after taking Mahakam.

One drowner after another climbed ashore. Though they had humanoid forms, they were no smarter than fish. Looking at the two morsels before them, they found it strange that their prey was not running away.

Still, their numbers gave them a strong sense of advantage, so they opened their maws full of sharp teeth and took turns releasing hisses that were both threatening and delighted.

"Watch the danger zones. Don't stupidly step into traps we set ourselves," Vic reminded Angoulême expressionlessly. His silver sword pointed at the ground as he assumed a deceptive opening stance. This would not be a stirring battle. Victory and defeat had been decided before the fight even began.

Unless there was an unexpected variable... such as—

"—Danger! Run!" Under the first light of the crescent moon, the tense standoff on the verge of erupting was broken by a warning from a third party nearby. The pack of drowners immediately lunged at the Phantom Troupe with claws and fangs bared.

This development was unexpected, but judging from the warning, the newcomer was on their side. Neither the boy nor the girl paid it much mind. Just as they did in ordinary sword practice, they methodically cut apart the drowners rushing at them, one by one.

The two-person sword dance of monster slaying became a three-person sword dance once the footsteps running up from behind came to a stop. In the midst of battle, Vic caught sight from the corner of his eye of the skilled knight who had issued the warning and come forward to help—a burning rose was engraved upon the armor over his chest.