The Witcher: The Alchemist Who Walked the Witcher’s Road

Zoro was an eighteen-year-old sailor, blond-haired, well-proportioned, thick-bearded, fresh-breathed, and bursting with energy. (TN: Not a translation error, he's blonde here. Unless his hair color magically changes later, which sometimes happens)

Born into Clan Tuirseach, he was unmarried, healthy, and full of life. Back in Urialla Harbor, he had a skilled lover named Jastrid.

This time, he and several companions had accepted employment from the Dragonborn to sail his sightseeing vessel, and the pay was enough for him to live comfortably through the winter.

Yet this simple, ordinary coastal voyage became the greatest misfortune in his short and happy life.

Disaster rarely comes alone. Just like tonight, first the light of Eldberg Lighthouse suddenly went out. Without its guidance, their ship struck the coastal reefs.

Then a large band of pirates appeared from nowhere, charging in at exactly the right moment to loot the wreck. They struck without mercy and spared no one. Every sailor aboard was cut down on the spot.

And when Zoro finally struggled ashore, a sudden blanket of dense fog enveloped the whole of Eldberg...

...

At the same time, on a stretch of beach somewhere on Eldberg.

"Fuck... that bastard on the lighthouse was definitely working with the pirates." Cursing bitterly, Victor stumbled onto land in a wretched state, one arm hooked around Angoulême.

Walking beside the boy, the rogue wore a dark, furious expression. A ghostly glimmer shone in his blue eyes. He was so angry he wanted to kill someone, kill that son of a bitch tending the lighthouse!

As a Skelliger, the moment the ship ran aground and he saw the pirates rushing in, Vigi immediately understood the whole story. The problem was that he had only just assured sir that the journey would be perfectly safe. Something like this made him lose all face.

Finding a flat patch of ground, Victor dropped to one knee and draped the waterlogged girl's stomach over his bent thigh, head pointed downward. He patted her back and let her cough out the seawater she had swallowed.

He did not blame the brat for nearly drowning again... the sea and a river were two different things. Luckily the rogue could take care of himself, because Victor had no desire at all to let a man sprawl over his thigh.

And right then, thick white fog suddenly began to rise.

It was strange and sticky, and his skin could feel a faint prickling sensation. This was not ordinary mist. It smelled of magic.

The School of the Wolf medallion vibrated like a massage wand on its third setting.

Wavering and drifting, ghostly figures glowing blue-green flickered in and out of sight. Lanterns in their left hands and blades in their right, they came and went through the thick mist, slaughtering the rampaging pirates one by one.

What the hell... wraiths...!

This was definitely not normal. Victor shot Vigi a glance. He looked just as stunned.

Pulling out the School of the Wolf medallion and making a quick check of the density of the magic in the air, Victor hoisted Angoulême onto his back. "Follow me!"

Leading the rogue, the three members of the Phantom Troupe ran nonstop uphill across the island. For now, the thick white fog covered only the shoreline, while the mist higher up the mountain seemed thinner.

Eldberg itself was a functional island. Aside from stone and a thin layer of scrub vegetation, nothing could be grown there. The only two buildings on the island were the lighthouse and the keeper's hut.

Wavering and drifting, Vigi kept running, but the mist around him felt thicker and thicker. It was slowly spreading after them from behind, and he could not help quickening his pace. After all, that dense fog was full of those green monsters.

When they reached the stone hut, Victor shoved the door open without hesitation and rushed inside. He laid Angoulême down on a fur mattress, then opened his herbal satchel and took out sprigs of mistletoe, hanging them over the door. After that he took out salt and sprinkled it across the threshold and beneath the windows.

Only after finishing all of that did he let out a breath. He dragged over a fur mat and sat near the fire burning in the middle of the room to warm himself, then moved Angoulême's bedding closer to the flames as well.

Vigi, who had run along behind him the entire way, was still somewhat dazed. But infected by the boy's calm attitude, he also pulled over a mat and sat near the fire.

"Sir... what is all this?" the rogue asked stiffly.

Victor picked up a piece of firewood and tossed it into the flames. "Those are wraiths, souls who died in anger and pain. If they fail to pass on to the unknown world and remain in this one instead, they become wraiths.

"Brutal creatures like that usually appear in the wilderness, graveyards, crypts, and similar places."

"Or, the place that holds their anger and pain," the girl said, sitting up on the fur mattress.

Victor nodded. "Not bad. At least some of what you read actually stuck."

"Uh... so... what exactly is going on?" The rogue still looked confused.

Victor took a small flask of cherry cordial from his herbal satchel and handed it to Angoulême. "Just two sips." Then he pulled out a bottle of rum, took a swallow, and passed it to Vigi.

"At the place where we ran aground just now, with so many shattered ships lying around, I'd guess they've been doing this for much longer than once or twice. Resentment built up for years, then mixed with magic and formed a curse. That's the only way you get a haunting on this scale.

"Even though this is my first time seeing something like this myself, things should ease up a lot after sunrise. Let's rest here until tomorrow and talk then. With the mistletoe and the salt keeping evil away, the wraiths can't enter the house."

Vigi took the rum with shining eyes, hastily gulped down two swallows, then respectfully handed the bottle back.

And just then, someone slammed the door open with a bang, blowing in a gust of snow and wind. He darted into the hut, slammed the door shut again, and dropped the bar into place as if something outside were chasing him.

Victor pointed toward the blazing fire. Angoulême and Vigi understood at once.

The man turned around, and the sight of three pairs of eyes fixed on him scared him so badly he flattened himself against the door. He wore the clothing of Clan Drummond, overlaid with a thick cowhide jerkin. His hairline had retreated badly, and he had combed the hair at the sides over to hide it.

His teeth chattered. "Wh, who are you people? How did you get here?"

Victor spread his hands. "What do you think? This is an island. We didn't swim here."

"And who are you? The lighthouse keeper? What's your name?" As he spoke, Vigi directly drew his steel sword, baring his teeth.

The hot-blooded rogue frightened the other man so badly that he hurried to answer. "I, I'm Mikkjal, Mikkjal of Clan Drummond, from Arinbjorn, keeper of Eldberg Lighthouse."

It had to be said, Vigi's way of acting like he was ready to chop someone down over the slightest disagreement was absolutely natural. Victor knew he could never imitate it, because Vigi was not acting at all. He really was ready to start chopping the moment things went wrong.

Victor gestured for the rogue to put his sword away, then beckoned the keeper over to sit beside the fire. He was covered in stubble, his cheeks greasy with sweat, twitchy and terrified.

Victor stuffed the remaining rum into Mikkjal's hands. "Do you know where those wraiths came from? It's my first time seeing something this spectacular. There must be quite a few restless dead around here."

Mikkjal took the bottle with trembling hands, drank two swallows in a row, then gasped for breath. "I, I don't know either. They just appeared out of nowhere! That's what's strange! The fire went out, the wind suddenly died, and then the weirdness started.

"I stepped out of the lighthouse to fetch oil and looked up, and there was fog in the air. Then those ghosts appeared! And they came straight for me! I was so scared I forgot everything else, ran back here, and then ran into you."

After hearing the keeper's account, the rogue remained silent with a cold expression, the girl stared into the fire as if an entire garden were hidden inside it, and the boy simply closed his eyes and thought.

The subtle reactions of the three of them made Mikkjal even more uneasy, so all he could do was glug down another couple of swallows of rum to steady his nerves.

The fire crackled. Vigi picked up another length of wood and tossed it into the flames.

Thunk. Thunk.

Something tapped lightly at the window.

Then came a cold murmur, clearly calling out:

"Mikkjal... Mikkjal... Mikkjal..."

Before anyone else could react, Vigi strode to the window first and let out a whistle. "Wow, now that's something. There's a whole feast going on outside, and there's one special big wraith out there, much bigger than the others. The frost from its breath is icing up the window."

"Let me see." Victor walked over, nudged the rogue aside, and looked out.

It really was bigger, and unlike the ordinary wraiths that shone green all over, this one had a red skirt and hood, with white markings across its black body.

"Angoulême, come have a look too. This is a Penitent. They say this kind of dangerous wraith specifically hunts down sinners who've done bad things."

Then Victor walked back to the lighthouse keeper and gently placed both hands on his shoulders. "Mikkjal, honestly, these wraiths could not have appeared for no reason. Something had to draw them here. Any thoughts?"

Feeling the gentle pressure on his shoulders, Mikkjal was seized by inexplicable dread. "I... I don't know. There's nothing here. The lighthouse, my hut, and other than that just rocks. Even drowners know there's nothing on Eldberg."

"That's true. There's nothing here. But isn't there still, you?"

In that instant, Mikkjal felt as if the blood in his veins had frozen solid, and a chill shot from the bottom of his spine straight into the back of his neck.

"I'll say it again. That thing is a Penitent. This kind of wraith punishes sinners, people who have committed crimes or done evil things." Victor's tone was low and distant.

"But I'm the only one living here! I've never hurt anybody! I've never even bothered anyone!"

"Maybe you never harmed anyone with your own hands, but the fine work you've been doing with that lighthouse has left three survivors right in front of you." There was no anger in Victor's voice, only clarity and indifference.

"No... no... don't! You can't do this!" The lighthouse keeper tried to struggle, but the hands on his shoulders pressed down so hard that he could not move.

Remembering what he had seen just now, Mikkjal could not stop himself from shouting. "I can't go outside! That thing will kill me! I can feel it! Maybe you can... you, you're a witcher, aren't you? You have to protect me!"

Victor smiled faintly. "No, not yet. I haven't undergone the mutations yet. And compared with the much harder alternative, I'd rather try satisfying their demands and letting them disperse on their own.

"Vigi, help me. Angoulême, open the door. Don't worry, with the mistletoe, it can't do anything to us."

At the edge of life and death, Mikkjal kicked wildly and thrashed with everything he had, but the two men of the Phantom Troupe were both far stronger than he was. He had no way to resist.

"No! You can't do this! You despicable murdering bastard, are you really going to stand there and watch me die?"

"Don't worry. I certainly won't stand there and watch you die. I'll close my eyes.

"The crew of the Going Merry, and all the people from the shipwrecks before them, are waiting for you outside."

The door opened, the lighthouse keeper was thrown out, and the door closed again.

...

Not long after, the door opened once more, and Victor found himself face-to-face with the Penitent. It really had to be said, the wraith family was not much to look at. Two huge hollow eye sockets, and as a signature feature, one long, thick tongue.

Standing beside him, Angoulême frowned. "The ordinary blue-green wraiths have all gone away, but why is this big one still hanging around here?"

"Looks like it wants to kill us. Out of the three of us, does anyone here not have sins to answer for?" Victor replied lightly.

Given Vigi's usual style, he would already have raised his weapon and charged out to start hacking. But after receiving the first mate's basic education, he knew the Phantom Troupe had its own way of doing things. If he wanted to follow Dovahkiin, he had to stay calm now.

The rogue asked, "So are we rushing out to attack it? With those soy sauce things you usually prepare?"

Victor shut the door with a bang and walked straight over to the fur bedding, where he lay down.

"...It's sword oil, not soy sauce. Earlier I said it was troublesome because without light, it's hard to break through a Penitent's defenses. When it's hidden inside thick fog made by a swarm of wraiths, it becomes difficult to deal with.

"But in firelight or daylight, it weakens and isn't much stronger than an ordinary wraith. So let's sleep for tonight.

"Tomorrow morning, once we've coated our weapons with Specter Oil, the three of us can join forces. Add a Moon Dust bomb to pin it in place, and cutting it down will be easier than beating up a drunk."

Knowledge is power!

The first mate's words flashed through Vigi's mind.

Clenching both fists, he stared at the back of the Dragonborn, who had already turned over and begun breathing evenly in sleep, and he was deeply moved.

...

The next morning, the winter sun was warm.

They opened with a Moon Dust bomb, coated their weapons with Specter Oil, and in broad daylight the Phantom Troupe beat the Penitent to death right outside the hut.

After that, they made full use of the resources. Creatures like this could provide the alchemical material Specter Dust, which was both rare and not rare at all, rare because it was hard to obtain, and not rare because once you killed one, you got a big pile of it.

Then the three of them marched to Eldberg Lighthouse, the place where the sudden darkness had caused them to run aground. The locked tower door was no obstacle to Angoulême, who was skilled at lockpicking.

After quite a bit of searching and rummaging, they finally found it on the second floor of the lighthouse,

A Letter to the Lighthouse Keeper

I've got a job for you, Mikkjal.

A ship carrying hides is sailing from Kaer Trolde to Arinbjorn. At midnight, light the lighthouse lamp, and when we signal you with torches, put the light out.

We'll split the loot the same as always. One tenth of whatever comes ashore goes to you.

See you soon.

...

After letting Angoulême read the letter that was enough to prove the lighthouse keeper's guilt, Victor deliberately read it aloud once more for Vigi, then tucked the note into his herbal satchel with complete satisfaction.

"Let's go. Everything here is finished. Next we head to Arinbjorn, get three horses, and ride to Holmstein's Port to buy a new ship." With that, the boy led his two companions away from the lighthouse.

He walked in front and did not notice the troupe members behind him whispering about him.

"Boss, why did the captain have to come looking for proof? As far as I'm concerned, there was no need for proof. Mikkjal definitely did it. The Penitent was literally calling his name."

"You need to get used to Vic's style. He gets hung up on certain subtle things, or gets happy about them. It's the mark of someone from Bell Town..."

After all the time Yoana and Fergus had spent tempering her, the girl was now very good at explaining the captain's odd habits in simple language.

...

The three of them strolled south and crossed the suspension bridge before noon, only to unexpectedly spot someone not far ahead.

And upon seeing the Phantom Troupe, the man began jumping up and down in delight, waving his arms over and over.

Victor did not know his name, but Vigi did.

It was Zoro.

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