[Slayed Foglet, obtained Foglet mutagen 25%] [School of the Wolf Witcher Swordsmanship experience +2!] [Healing Spell, Quen Sign, Aard Sign experience +1!]
Arwen glanced at the panel.
From last year's spring equinox to this year's autumn equinox, only the Quen Sign among his basic witcher Signs had reached Lv2.
Yet he had gained no talent. According to the system's notification,
although there were five witcher Signs, they complemented one another, and all of them had to reach Lv2 before he could obtain a talent.
It was a little troublesome, but it also gave Arwen plenty to look forward to.
It should at least give me a yellow one, like the Drowned Dead's.
Suddenly, Arwen heard another rustling sound.
It was the sound of hobnailed boots moving through bushes, coming from the direction of the lake.
Arwen looked over with his cat eyes, and a tall, burly figure gradually emerged from the mist.
"Arwen."
Paul strode forward, delight appearing on his face. "I've come to help you."
Arwen straightened, his gray slit pupils contracting. The smile on his lips abruptly turned cold.
Without the slightest hesitation, he raised his hand and cast an Aard Sign.
Boom!
A fan-shaped shock wave burst forth, breaking through the mist once more.
A gaunt, gray figure appeared and was knocked to the ground.
Terror and confusion appeared in its hideous eyes. It had no idea where its imitation had fallen short.
Arwen understood perfectly.
From what he knew of Paul's temperament, two years of training had made him much stronger, but his deeply ingrained love of gossip, bragging, and gambling, as well as his cowardice, had not changed.
If told to wait by the cave, he would absolutely stay there until Arwen returned.
And there was one more crucial point: since when did witchers make footsteps? Even when walking across wooden attic floorboards, they made no sound whatsoever, like humanoid ghosts.
The Foglet quickly scrambled up, trying to flee.
But having already witnessed a Foglet's speed, Arwen was prepared.
It was not as lucky as its companion.
As he charged, his left hand had already formed a Sign, and he swiftly pressed it toward the ground.
Violet points of light rapidly condensed into a six-pointed star formation, its magic making the air as thick as a mire.
The Foglet had only risen halfway when it felt as though a thousand-pound boulder had been loaded onto its back.
Arwen stepped into the formation with his sword in hand. Reflected in the Foglet's despairing eyes, he raised the hilt high in both hands and cleaved all the way down.
Foul blood splashed onto the grass. The Foglet's head slumped onto its shoulder as it dropped straight to its knees.
[Slayed Foglet, obtained Foglet mutagen 25%] [Yrden Sign experience +1!]
His Foglet mutagen acquisition had reached 50%.
Arwen flicked the foul blood from his silver sword, speculating that the talent obtained from Foglets should have something to do with illusions.
He picked up the two Foglet heads. His surroundings suddenly grew much brighter, and the mist around him was rapidly receding.
He looked overhead. Moonlight washed over his face as the clouds parted and the mist dispersed.
It was now well past midnight, the planned time to pass through Old Spearhead's cave.
He hurried toward the cave.
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a dense patch of gray mist still gathered along the shore not far from the lake.
Within it were numerous dim yellow points of light, flickering in response to one another, with faint ghostly wails and howls drifting out.
A pack of Foglets.
Arwen immediately quickened his pace.
Fighting just one Foglet had left him injured. How would facing a pack be any different from courting death?
In a thicket not far from the lakeside cave,
Paul, Aiken, and the others were pacing back and forth, filled with unease.
Horton frowned. "Why has he been gone so long? It's been almost an hour. Could something have happened to him?"
Winston paused thoughtfully. "No. He's the strongest among us."
Paul remained silent, but worry showed in his cat eyes.
Aiken punched the ground and picked up his silver sword. The injury from Arwen's earlier blow, which had left his chest tight, had completely healed.
"Wait here. I'll go see what's happening."
"Wait..."
Horton pressed a hand onto Aiken's shoulder, earning an impatient look from him.
"Look. Hasn't the mist thinned a little?"
Aiken's green cat eyes quivered.
According to The Book of Monsters, dispersing mist was a sign that Foglets had left.
"What are you all doing?"
A familiar voice came from beside them.
Delight appeared on everyone's faces.
"Arwen, you're back."
"Mm." Arwen emerged from the woods and lifted the two hideous heads.
"Foglets?" Paul exclaimed. "Two of them?"
Everyone was deeply shaken, especially Aiken, who could not help drawing a sharp breath.
Not only would Aiken alone have been unable to guarantee killing a single Foglet, but even with Paul and the other two helping, he would have had no assurance of success.
Yet Arwen had killed two in one go.
It was simply too shocking.
Sure enough, not all witcher apprentices were alike.
Arwen tossed the two Foglet heads onto the ground and glanced at the night sky.
"Hide these two heads first. Once we've passed the trial, we'll come back for them and take them to Kaer Morhen as an offering to Blyde."
Everyone came to their senses. They all understood the reasoning.
Taking reeking, bloody Foglet heads into Old Spearhead's cave would certainly not be a clever move.
Together, they dug a small pit and buried the heads, then poured some Necrophage Oil over the mound to keep Ghouls from smelling them and digging them up to eat.
The late-night autumn wind was bleak and biting.
The five of them finally arrived at the entrance to Old Spearhead's cave.
Arwen's expression was solemn as he lowered his voice.
"We need to move faster. Let me stress this one more time."
"Look carefully at the ground before every step. Don't make a sound."
Aiken and the others nodded solemnly. Paul even sang a verse that every School of the Wolf witcher apprentice knew.
"Old Spearhead lies fast asleep. Whoever wakes him will sleep still deeper."
"Good. Drink your potions."
All five took black potion bottles from their belt pouches, pulled out the oak stoppers, and drank them dry.
The cold liquid flowed down their throats into their stomachs, then burst like a ball of fire.
Arwen's face twitched. Black, toxin-laced veins bulged like earthworms, crawling up from his neck and spreading across his entire face.
Their cat eyes lit up with an eerie glow one after another, and the pitch-black cave immediately became as bright as day.
Arwen took a deep breath. After quickly adjusting to the changes in his body, he entered the cave first.
The thick stench nearly brought tears to his eyes.
Aiken and the others immediately followed, maintaining their formation.
Before he had taken thirty steps, Arwen saw countless heaps of bones. Some had long since weathered white, while others still had scraps of rotten flesh that had not been gnawed clean.
There were Drowner remains and Foglet remains. One corpse even had a decaying silver sword stuck in it.
It belonged to a witcher apprentice.
Complicated emotions flashed through their eyes as they continued forward.
At last, a smooth stone wall a full three meters high blocked their way.
Vesemir's words echoed in their ears once more.
"Witchers are solitary hunters, but even those who travel alone need help from their companions."