A special witcher

(Already 50 chapters. I can hardly believe I've written so many, and yet… Considering what I have planned for the future, I honestly think there could be another 100 chapters to come. ^^

Happy reading and have a great day!)

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Arriving in the grand hall where contracts were handled, I was immediately struck by the bustling activity. Adventurers and knights in gleaming armor spoke loudly or studied the mission board. The quests seemed varied: gathering rare herbs, escorting merchants, or more commonly, hunting creatures like ghouls or drowners. The latter, though dangerous, were prime targets for seasoned warriors.

I approached the counter, where a middle-aged man, busy scribbling in a ledger, managed the contracts. Without looking up, he asked in a weary voice:

"What can I do for you today?"

I pulled a piece of parchment from my coat and handed it to him.

"I'd like to know more about this contract."

The man took the document, and after a quick glance, his eyebrows shot up. He grabbed a cloth to clean his glasses, then looked at me with a curious expression.

"Are you a witcher?"

"Hmm. Yes, and from what I've heard, this contract is causing serious trouble for those involved."

He nodded with a sigh, then rose slowly.

"Kerry, take over for me. I need to speak with this witcher."

A young man, who looked bored probably his assistant glanced up and stepped forward to take his place at the counter. The man motioned for me to follow him to a small adjoining room.

He gestured toward a couch and sat across from me, carefully placing his glasses on the table.

"It's surprising to see a witcher in Toussaint. It's been years since any of you set foot here. Most avoid the region because of the rumors… You know, those stories about witchers dying under strange circumstances."

I shrugged.

"The one who trained me never mentioned anything about that. But I'm not here for rumors. This contract caught my attention. Are there witnesses or clues? All I've heard so far is a drunk telling me not to go."

He poured water into a glass before answering.

"Unfortunately, survivors are rare, and those who make it out… well, most are deeply traumatized. Some can't even remember their own names."

I frowned.

"What do you mean by that? Have they forgotten their age or even where they lived?"

He nodded gravely.

"Yes. Some can't even speak anymore. They're like lost souls, trapped in a world only they can perceive. It's unsettling."

I rested my chin on my hand, thinking. A creature capable of causing such effects must possess considerable psychological or magical powers. Hypnosis? Bewitchment? Maybe mind manipulation?

"The site of the attacks… and the bodies. Are there any?" I asked finally, breaking the silence.

The man remained pensive for a moment before replying.

"The location is Count Salamar's vineyard. It's known for its unique spirits, distilled with snakes. But it's been months since he's delivered anything, and people working for him have vanished without a trace. Investigations were conducted, but they led nowhere."

"And the bodies?"

He hesitated, then shook his head.

"There weren't any until recently. A young man named Carl took this contract before you. His father, a soldier sent to investigate, was killed. Carl swore to avenge his death, but…"

"But what?"

"He wasn't ready. He lacked the training and the means to succeed. People called him a fool, but he was determined. It's been several days since he left. I fear the worst."

I stood, adjusting my gloves.

"Thank you for the information. I'm heading to the vineyard."

The man rose as well, visibly concerned.

"Witcher, be careful. And… if you find Carl, try to convince him to give up."

After a moment of thought, I replied:

"I'll do what I can, but if he persists and endangers my life, I won't hesitate to defend myself. I'll do everything I can to help him… but I won't take unnecessary risks."

He lowered his eyes, disappointed, but murmured:

"That's fair. Thank you, and good luck, witcher."

Without another word, I left the room, my goal clear: Count Salamar's vineyard.

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Arriving at the vineyard's entrance, an unsettling sensation immediately gripped me. The air felt heavier, laced with a sickly-sweet, almost animalistic odor that churned my stomach. Workers tended the fields, but the moment I came into view, every one of them stopped. Their gazes turned toward me in eerie unison. The collective murmurs escaping their lips sounded like a distant echo, devoid of any emotion.

I dismounted from Ganon, my trusty steed. Loyal and, at times, far too prideful. As if testing their patience, he stopped in the middle of the vines and relieved himself on the carefully maintained soil. The workers didn't react. Not a word, not a movement. The murmurs continued, uninterrupted.

Frustrated by their indifference, Ganon stepped forward, nudging one of them, but I placed a firm hand on his mane.

"Easy, Ganon. Something's wrong here. Listen to me: if things go south, run. Don't wait for me. I'll manage."

He turned his head toward me, as if hesitating to abandon me, but I ran a hand over his muzzle to reassure him.

"Trust me."

Grasping my silver sword and Noctalgivre at my belt, I began walking toward the main house. The workers continued to stare, their murmurs fading to near silence, as though they were choking on their own words. As I drew closer to the large house, they started to move, slowly forming a circle around me. A human wall, murmuring in unison.

When I reached the door, it opened on its own, revealing an old man. His posture was upright, his face deeply lined, but it was his smile that unsettled me the most. Wide, exaggerated, it felt unnatural. His eyes, disturbingly empty, glimmered faintly in the light.

"Witcher, we've been expecting you," he said in a respectful, almost ceremonial tone.

I frowned.

"You knew I'd come?"

"My mistress informed me of your arrival. She predicted you'd take the contract, despite a drunken man's warnings at the tavern. Isn't that true?"

His smile stretched even further, and a growing tension weighed on me. If this "mistress" could predict my actions and control so many people remotely, then I was facing an adversary of formidable power.

"Your mistress is expecting me, then?"

He nodded with an unsettling calm.

"Indeed. She invites you to dinner. I, Albert Salamar, her faithful steward, will be your host for the evening."

He motioned for me to enter. I hesitated, but with the workers still encircling me, cutting off any chance of retreat, I decided to follow him. My hands lingered near my weapons, ready to draw at the first sign of danger.

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Inside, the dining room was sumptuous but suffused with an oppressive atmosphere. The walls, covered in red velvet, absorbed the candlelight, diffusing a dim and unsettling glow. A large table stood at the center, laden with dishes and bottles of finely presented wine.

At the far end of the table sat a woman, calmly sipping a glass of wine. Her slender silhouette was barely covered by a sheer veil, revealing more than it concealed. Despite her undeniable beauty, an aura of danger radiated from her.

Beside her stood a young man, frozen in place, his gaze vacant. His tattered clothes and rigid posture immediately made me think of Carl.

My hand moved to the hilt of my sword, but before I could act, the woman raised her eyes to me and smiled. Her slit pupils, like those of a serpent, glimmered momentarily in the candlelight.

"Witcher, I'm so pleased you accepted my invitation. Please, take a seat."

I remained standing, wary. The woman clicked her tongue in annoyance and gestured to Salamar. Without a word, the steward approached Carl and placed a knife to his throat. The young man didn't react.

"I suppose our dear Witcher wouldn't want this young man's death on his conscience, would he?"

Frowning, I slowly sheathed my sword and took a seat at the table. Salamar stepped away from Carl and quickly poured me a glass of wine. The woman extended her feet toward Salamar, who immediately bent down and kissed them with devotion, like a loyal dog.

She looked at me again with a smug smile. "Isn't it amusing how devoted men can be to a beautiful woman? And you, Witcher, what do you think?"

Ignoring her question, I replied in a firm voice, "What are you?"

Her smile widened as she pushed Salamar away with a kick. He stumbled back but remained seated at her feet like a pet. Her reptilian eyes focused on me.

"Witcher, would you like to hear a story? A tale of betrayal, vengeance, and transformation?"

I stayed silent, letting her continue.

She slowly twirled her glass between her fingers, staring at the red liquid as if it held her past. Then she spoke, her honeyed tone masking a simmering rage.

The woman smiled and began to recount, spinning her glass and gazing into it:

"Many years ago, a woman fell in love with an extraordinary man. He was perfect wealthy, kind, and noble. The woman, a commoner, was astonished that she could attract such a man, especially given her status."

"Imagine her surprise when she fell madly in love with this man. They lived a wonderful life. They traveled together from the North to the South, even exploring the landscapes of Skellige and its people."

The woman stopped twirling her glass, set it down, and rested her chin on both hands, smiling at me all the while.

"Yet despite their great love and the child they were expecting, the woman couldn't help but wonder why the man she loved always insisted on making love in the dark. For years, she didn't question it, following her beloved's wishes."

She paused to take a bite of food before continuing:

"But one day, the man began returning home less and less, and when he did, it was only to be intimate. One day, the woman's curiosity got the better of her. She smelled her husband's clothes and was shocked to detect another woman's scent."

Suddenly, she shattered the plate in front of her, a bloodthirsty smile spreading across her face.

"Determined, the woman decided to set a trap for her husband. Without his knowledge, she purchased a glowing stone that would light up upon impact. When the time came, she activated the trap. The stone lit up, and what appeared wasn't her husband but a monster with horns."

"For years, the woman had been violated by a slave, an incubus. Overwhelmed by fear, the incubus struck the woman with all his might, hurling her against the wall. Blood began to pour from her abdomen, and that's when she saw it: the incubus kneeling at the feet of a witch. Her husband stood nearby, apologizing to the witch for failing their plan and declaring he would find another breeding vessel."

"For the first time, the woman felt an indescribable rage. A profound hatred. Her child was nothing more than the product of a demon and a vile plan. To her husband and this witch, she had been nothing but an object, despised and manipulated. As she lay dying on the floor, she cursed them both, consumed by her hatred. Then, she remembered her mother wearing a necklace passed down by their ancestors."

The woman removed the necklace still around her neck, and an image of a weeping woman appeared. She continued:

"Her mother had told her that their family was cursed by a powerful witch for daring to court her man. The curse had transformed them into horrible monsters, but that monstrosity had been sealed within the necklace."

"And so, driven by cold, unrelenting vengeance, the woman broke the seal. She transformed into a monster and killed her husband and the witch, who proved far weaker than she claimed to be. Yet even after that, the woman craved more. She envied women who had children and toyed with men caught in her charms, ultimately turning them into delicious meals. And so, to this day, no Witcher had come to face her."

Then the woman smiled and said:

"Tell me, Witcher… If everything you loved was destroyed, if those you thought cherished you saw you only as a tool, an object… Would you have acted any differently? Do you condemn me for reclaiming what was stolen from me?"

Stunned, I didn't reply immediately, unsure of how to react. On one hand, I felt pity for this woman, a victim of a fool blinded by power and a sordid contract with a witch. They had ruined her life, and worse, she had endured years of horrific assault at the hands of a monster.

Did I pity her? Yes.

Would I want to leave her be? Yes.

Do I think she was justified in her vengeance against her husband and the witch?

...

...

Yes.

However...

I turned my gaze back to the woman and declared in a serious tone:

"I can accept your vengeance. For that, you have my support, as even I wouldn't know how to react if my entire life were a lie."

The woman's smile grew even wider, almost triumphant, as she replied:

"Then…"

But I cut her off firmly:

"However, you attacked innocents, bewitched workers and the count, and you've threatened a life. No, I won't let you continue."

The woman, enraged, violently pushed her chair back, sending Salamar crashing to the ground with a sickening crack. His limp body collapsed with the chair. She screamed, furious:

"So you're just like all humans! You all want me dead!"

She shattered her pendant with a sharp motion, and her appearance changed instantly. The once-beautiful woman transformed into a terrifying reptilian creature. Her body elongated, shimmering scales covered her skin, and razor-sharp claws emerged. Her teeth, like daggers, glinted in the flickering candlelight. With a shrill cry, she swept the table aside with a powerful strike and lunged at me.

But I was prepared. During her story, I had discreetly set ice traps beneath the table, anticipating a violent outcome. As she leapt, the ice spikes activated, piercing her body. The creature howled in pain, but her rage outweighed her agony. She attempted to grab the young man, still motionless, but I reacted quickly. A Quen sign to shield myself, and an ice wall to protect the boy.

I charged at her with my silver sword, but she swung her massive tail, slamming me into the wall with crushing force. The impact knocked the wind out of me, and I spat out a bit of my lunch, pain radiating through my body.

Without wasting time, I retrieved my sword and got back on my feet. But before I could attack again, the monster let out a guttural roar and fled through a hidden passage concealed behind a tapestry.

Cautiously, I knelt and used my Witcher senses to track the trail of blood left by the creature. Every drop was a vital clue.

Pulling out a Thunderbolt potion, I downed it in one gulp. The bitter taste made me grimace, and the toxicity coursed through my body. My veins darkened, my muscles tensed, and my vision dimmed, but I stayed focused. From my satchel, I quickly prepared dimeterium bombs and Swallow potions in case the fight turned dire.

I exhaled deeply, trying to steady the tension in my body.

"Time to do my job," I muttered.

And without hesitation, I followed the monster's trail.

(Try to guess what monster it is. Here's a hint: it comes from a mythology in our world.)