Wisps of mist spread from the mountain forest, drifting toward Arwen and the other four.
"Blyde's" cries kept circling in their ears.
A faint yellow speck of light suddenly appeared in the distance, like a firefly at night, giving off a wavering glow.
"It's a Foglet! It's that damned beast!"
Aiken tightened his grip on his silver sword, ferocity in his green cat eyes as he growled under his breath.
"It has to be him. Vesemir said Foglets mimic the voices of their prey. He killed Blyde!"
Paul and the other three wore grim expressions.
Blyde had been assigned to gather herbs in the mountains on the night of the summer solstice.
According to the rules, he was to gather herbs only near Kaer Morhen, and his target was ordinary celandine. He should have returned to Kaer Morhen that same night.
But when night came, Blyde did not return.
Vesemir led the five of them out of the castle to search, and they finally found Blyde's body in a patch of woodland scrub.
Even now, Arwen had not forgotten that sight.
Blyde's leather jacket had been torn to shreds. Not a patch of skin on his body remained intact, all of it covered in marks where a monster had gnawed on him. His abdomen was hollow and shriveled, his white bones exposed.
His head, especially, had been mangled beyond recognition. Something sharp had pried a large hole in the top of his skull, leaving it empty inside.
Blood and mud had matted his gray hair together, and it lay scattered everywhere with pieces of his torn-off scalp.
"Aiken... help..."
"Vesemir... where are you... sob... it hurts so much..."
The sobbing came again.
Aiken could no longer bear it. He stepped forward, about to head toward the source of the light.
"Damn it!"
Arwen grabbed his shoulder.
"Calm down."
Aiken shook off Arwen's grip and snarled under his breath, "That's Blyde! Our brother!"
Horton stepped forward to reason with him. "Aiken, this isn't the time to be rash. We're in the Trial of the Mountains. Before we came, we agreed the trial would take priority."
"Foglets are elusive. If we let it go now, we might never get another chance to avenge Blyde."
Paul hesitated for a moment. "A Foglet isn't a simple monster like a Drowner. Even full-fledged witchers have to be careful around one. With just us..."
Aiken looked at the last member of their group. Winston turned his head aside and said nothing.
Gritting his teeth, he swept his gaze over the four of them. "Fine. You cowards can follow Arwen and finish the trial. If you won't go, I will!"
"What nonsense are you talking about!"
Horton sounded furious as he reached out to grab Aiken.
"Get out of my way!"
Aiken snapped, then lunged forward and knocked Horton aside.
Seeing this, Winston stepped forward to help.
In an instant, Aiken took three steps, evading their pincer movement. His silver-studded gauntlets struck them beneath the ribs, forcing both of them several steps back.
As the prodigy among this year's apprentices, he could defeat any of the others in a single exchange, apart from Arwen.
As he turned, he found a black-haired figure blocking his path.
Arwen said nothing, merely watching him with a frown.
Aiken froze for a moment, then his lips curled into a crazed smile, his voice hoarse.
"Arwen, you'll regret stopping me."
As his words fell, silver flashed.
This time, Aiken raised his silver sword and brought it down in a heavy, powerful slash.
Everyone else's heart raced at the sight.
Arwen raised an eyebrow. The silver sword on his back flashed into his hand, but he used its pommel rather than its edge.
The blow was as swift as lightning, hammering into Aiken's chest before he could bring his sword down.
The next moment, Aiken's green cat eyes contracted sharply, and his mind went blank. As though he could not draw a breath, his whole body began to go limp.
Thud.
Someone brutally clamped down on his shoulder, forcing him straight to his knees with a dull impact against the ground.
His silver sword fell to the ground. By the time he came to his senses, Horton and Winston had already pinned him down hard, and even Paul had rushed over.
"Aiken, you've completely lost your mind."
"You son of a bitch! You actually swung your sword at a companion!?"
Curses rang in his ears. With his head pinned down, Aiken stared fixedly at Arwen's mud-covered hobnailed boots, able only to glare upward out of the corner of his eye.
His eyes slightly lowered, Arwen silently picked up the fallen silver sword and slid it back into the scabbard on Aiken's back.
"I already told you to calm down."
The ferocity gradually faded from Aiken's face. He was clearly stunned.
Even now, he could not make out the path of Arwen's attack.
He had thought that, by training hard every day without rest, he would eventually catch up to him.
But the truth was that the gap only kept widening.
If Arwen had intended to kill him, that strike would have been enough to pierce his chest.
The Foglet seemed to have noticed the commotion, and its voice drew ever closer.
The evening wind blew through the forest, making a hair-raising sound.
"Arwen... sob... is that you?"
"Have you come to save me... I'm so scared..."
At that voice, Arwen abruptly froze. Something vicious stirred beneath his seemingly calm gaze, and his chest rose and fell slightly.
Taking a deep breath and forcing himself to remain calm, he told Horton,
"Take Aiken to the cave entrance first. With the mountains behind it and Old Spearhead's scent there, the Foglet won't dare approach."
With that, Arwen turned away.
Horton watched his retreating back, taking a long moment to react.
"Arwen, are you going to hunt that Foglet?"
Arwen did not reply. He merely glanced out of the corner of his eye at the lake behind him.
He estimated it was only about thirty paces away. At a full sprint, two breaths would be enough.
If he could not beat it, he could use [Underwater Breathing] to hide in the water.
Aiken felt the heavy pressure lift from his shoulders.
Ever since the Drowner trial two years ago, when his reckless pursuit of glory had gotten Blyde injured and earned him Vesemir's reprimand, guilt over the incident had weighed on him.
Looking at Arwen's back, he slammed his fist into the ground and pleaded bitterly,
"Arwen, please, kill that beast..."
Arwen strode toward the light in the mist, giving only a single nasal syllable in response.
"Mm."
Horton swallowed and exchanged a glance with Paul and Winston.
They knew their own limits. Staying to help in this thick fog would only burden Arwen.
Each taking hold of Aiken with one hand, they hauled him up and headed toward Old Spearhead's cave.
Arwen stared straight at the dim yellow light in the mist.
His footsteps rustled intermittently through the nettles. His heartbeat grew faster and faster, and his adrenaline began to surge.
Ten meters, eight meters, five meters...
The thick mist churned, and the dim yellow light gradually stretched into a phantom roughly one meter seventy-five tall.
The phantom wore a tattered leather jacket and carried a sword on its back, but its neck was broken at an unnatural angle no living person could possibly manage, its head drooping limply onto its shoulder.
"Arwen... you're here... heh, heh..."
The hoarse whisper sounded like a devil roaring in hell.
Arwen gripped his sword hilt with both hands, his gray cat eyes narrowing to pinpoints.
Memories of his time with Blyde flashed through his mind.
Since it's left me in such turmoil,
I'll just kill it.