"...Oh, you're a patient. We only care for mild cases here. For severe cases, please see the commander..."
Lynn glanced at the Aberration on the rotting wooden table.
"What are you doing here? Are you... treating corpses?"
The female physician hurriedly shook her head. "No, no! Of course they aren't corpses. Heavens, how could you think something so dreadful? I'm only helping them receive medication to ease their suffering."
Lynn nodded, then asked softly, "Are you Elma?"
Elma covered her mouth in surprise.
"How do you know my name?"
"Casti told me, of course."
Elma asked in confusion, "You know the commander? Wait, why have I never heard her mention your name?"
Lynn said calmly.
"That's because I only met Casti relatively recently. Anyway, Elma, is there anyone else here besides you?"
Elma's voice sank.
"The commander, Randy, and Andy are in the innermost chamber, helping operate on the severely ill patients. You have no idea how many there are. The commander and the others can barely keep up. I want to help, but I'm not capable enough..."
Lynn comforted her. "You've already done very well, Elma. Don't be too hard on yourself."
"Thank you, kind sir."
"You're welcome. It's my pleasure. We should go, Elma. We need to see Casti about something very, very important."
Elma nodded understandingly.
She turned around, her back to Lynn once more.
Just then, the silver sword coated in Specter Oil pierced Elma's heart.
"Rest in peace, Elma."
Looking at Elma's body on the ground, Lynn snapped his fingers.
He watched the female physician's corpse burn fiercely before him.
"I was wondering when you would realize she wasn't the real Elma."
Geralt spoke beside him.
"The books at Kaer Morhen mention cases like this. She's an extremely unusual and rare kind of 'evil spirit.' Compared with a true wraith, she's far too kind and weak, but even so, she shouldn't remain in this world."
Lynn sighed. "Putting her to rest was the best choice."
Next, after confirming there was no danger nearby, Lynn and Geralt began preparing for the final battle.
First, they checked how much of the effects of their previously consumed potions remained.
They drank more potions as needed.
Next, they checked that the alchemical bombs strapped to their waists were all positioned where they could grab and throw them at any moment.
Once all this was done, Lynn strode forward.
"Let's go. Let's end this."
The cavern at the deepest part of the mine had been converted into something resembling a makeshift field hospital.
Numerous Aberrations lay like wounded patients on wooden planks serving as stretchers.
Of course, those planks had long since rotted beyond recognition with the passage of time.
At the very center of the cavern stood a wooden table serving as an operating table.
An Aberration lay on that table as well.
Three figures in tattered blue physicians' robes stood around it.
"The purpose of surgery is to relieve pain, an extension of mercy. When I gently stroke the correct nerve, let us see how the patient responds."
Casti, commander of the Order of Benevolent Apothecaries, looked withered, her face wrinkled like an apple drained of moisture, her eye sockets holding nothing but endless emptiness and darkness.
"Listen to its comfortable murmurs. Listen to the melody of mercy itself."
"Pray, Andy. Show us the limits of your good deeds."
The figure called Andy, his face wrapped in bandages like a mummy, slowly picked up a scalpel and carefully cut a bloody wound across the Aberration's belly.
"Stop. Steady your hand. Where gentleness is needed, you must not be heavy-handed. We can no longer hear the patient's soothed sighs."
"Perhaps this unexpected listener is making you tremble."
As Casti spoke.
All three figures turned toward the cavern entrance.
Lynn and Geralt walked in through the entrance, silver swords in hand.
Casti offered an invitation. "Come, step forward. Welcome. I can see that you two have come seeking treatment."
Although they had never met before, Lynn could still distinguish their identities from their noticeably different attire. "Casti?"
"That's me. Do you know me? I don't remember you, but that doesn't matter."
Casti tilted her head in confusion, then strained to force a "gentle" smile.
"I can see you're in pain. We don't want to see you suffer like this. Come, you and your companion, lie down on the operating table. Let us heal you."
Lynn shook his head.
"Casti, we came here to fulfill the wish you left unfinished all those years ago."
"You... all of you are already dead. Now, you should rest in peace."
Those words seemed to serve as a signal.
Beside Lynn, Geralt flicked his left hand.
A Grapeshot Bomb traced a beautiful arc, flying straight toward Casti and the other two.
It exploded in midair, scattering countless fragments that riddled all three of them, along with the Aberration on the stone platform, like a violent storm.
Andy and Randy collapsed without so much as a sound.
But Casti remained standing, her entire body studded with fragments.
And she let out a banshee-like howl.
The terrifying sound wave carried a surge visible to the naked eye, carving a furrow through the ground as it bore down on the two men.
Lynn and Geralt leaped to opposite sides.
They dodged the sonic attack.
The sound wave also acted like a horn summoning companions. The Aberrations lying on the rotting planks suddenly sat bolt upright from their deathbeds and surged toward the two like a tide.
Rather than retreat, Lynn advanced.
Charging at the Aberrations like a direwolf, Lynn sidestepped the foremost one's lunge as his silver sword traced a silver gleam through the darkness.
The blade opened the patient's belly, and dark red blood, already as thick as slime, spilled in a messy shower.
Lynn drew his hunting knife with his left hand and threw it forward.
A scream rang out.
The hunting knife easily struck another Aberration's forehead, burying itself to the hilt.
But more Aberrations emerged from every corner.
Screaming, they surrounded the witchers from all sides.
Lynn formed the Yrden Sign and slammed it onto the ground.
Purple light rose from the ground, and every Aberration that entered the Yrden Trap slowed.
It was as though they had stepped into a swamp.
Seizing the opportunity, Lynn lunged forward.
His wrist turned, and the coldly gleaming blade swept horizontally in a semicircle, slicing open the chests and bellies of three Aberrations that had entered the Yrden Trap together.
Then he leaped backward, bringing his silver sword up to split the jaw of an Aberration approaching from another direction.
But more and more Aberrations closed in from every side.
For every one killed, two more appeared.
Like a tide, they seemed impossible to kill or eradicate completely.
Lynn and Geralt fought as they withdrew.
They gradually retreated into the mine tunnel they had entered through.
Although the two seemed to be driven back step by step by the Aberrations, against two witchers with master-level swordsmanship, the Aberrations had to leave several corpses behind for every step they advanced.
Cold light flashed, sword shadows danced, and flesh and blood flew.
And once the two retreated into the tunnel, its narrow confines greatly restricted the Aberrations' numerical advantage.
This meant Lynn and Geralt only had to face no more than four Aberrations at a time, immediately easing the pressure.
Geralt sliced open two Aberrations' bellies with one stroke and used the opening to slap a Yrden Sign onto the ground.
Lynn followed with an Aard Sign, blasting the lunging Aberrations back.
Geralt shouted, "Now!"
Hearing him, Lynn acted.
He pulled a Dragon's Dream Bomb from his waist and threw it without hesitation.
The Dragon's Dream landed among the charging Aberrations without reacting.
Then Lynn snapped his fingers.
The Igni Sign ignited the Dragon's Dream's fuse.
The next second, a violent eruption of flame swallowed the surging Aberrations.
That blast burned at least a dozen Aberrations to death.
Unlike the Grapeshot Bomb, which resembled a fragmentation grenade, the Dragon's Dream Bomb released flammable gas that would burn fiercely upon exposure to flame.
Alchemical bombs were extraordinarily effective against both humans and monsters.
But witchers rarely used alchemical bombs.
They were too expensive.
Using alchemical bombs in battle wasn't spending money-it was burning it.
Often, a witcher's payment might not even cover repairs to his silver sword and armor.
Let alone the use of alchemical bombs.
But things were different now.
Because Grand Elder Brovar supplied all their alchemical bombs, along with the ingredients for sword oils and potions, free of charge.
They could use as many bombs as they wanted without feeling the slightest pinch.
Thus, even Geralt, who had spent half his life wandering, had never fought a battle this well supplied.