Chapter 166 166: Morkvarg the Cursed
Anyone who sees Nilfgaardian ships drawing near must return to the village and inform me. No one is to approach them alone. Whatever appears in the surrounding seas belongs to all of us, and we will seize it together.
, Donar an Hindar
...
It was hard to connect the name Victor had seen signed on the notice board that afternoon with the old man before him. His hair was gray-white, his features dignified, and he wore the traditional garb of Clan Heymaey. He did not look fierce or overbearing in the slightest. He looked more like a polite, gentle grandfather who had brought his grandson to ask for help.
As for Otrygg, the brown-haired, brown-eyed heir of the clan looked only a little older than Victor. He sat stiffly at the side, his expression full of worry.
Last was Cerys, the lively Sparrowhawk who had already left a deep impression on Victor back in Urialla Harbor. Her face now was just as grave. She was clearly deeply troubled by Clan Heymaey's plight as well.
Before long, the guards cleared the tavern and made room for a private conversation. The moment they had the space, Cerys impatiently began explaining the trouble on Hindarsfjall.
"Dovahkiin, we need your help. Svani is trapped inside Freya's Garden, pinned down by that damned cursed beast, Morkvarg. No matter what, we have to get her out."
Svani an Hindar!?
Thinking back to that woman who looked like a war goddess in the flesh, Victor was certain that without potions, he would not be able to beat her. It was not just brute strength either, there was some different kind of grace upon her.
"I've met Svani. Freya's blessing is plain to see on her. Under normal circumstances, no ordinary monster should be a match for her," the boy said calmly.
Cerys nodded. "That's right. Since she was trapped, Clan Heymaey's warriors have killed Morkvarg many times, but the curse revives him again and again."
"A curse that brings a monster back to life?" Victor raised a brow. "Tell me the details. Do you know the exact nature of the curse, and who cast it?"
"The one who laid the curse... was Archpriestess Ulve. The curse binds Morkvarg to the garden forever. Even if he's killed, he returns there."
"A curse cast by one of Freya's priestesses? To earn the hatred of the clergy, that isn't something simple. What exactly is Morkvarg supposed to be?"
Cerys tilted her head toward Donar. After a brief exchange of glances, the lord nodded.
She continued, "He wasn't always a monster. He was a man, the worst bastard Skellige ever produced. He attacked his own clan's lands without caring about anything, stole gold, murdered pregnant women on the verge of giving birth, and slaughtered children..."
"Yeah, I know the type. A man who has completely lost his humanity."
"Exactly. But after Morkvarg was driven out, he never dared set foot on Hindarsfjall again. People said the only thing Morkvarg feared was the wrath of the gods.
"So not long ago, while Svani was away, he landed on the island and wrecked the goddess's garden, trying to prove to the people, and to himself, that the rumors were false...
"Archpriestess Ulve stood in his path. He drove a blade into her ribs and shoved her into the mud. Bleeding out, the priestess cursed Morkvarg and turned him into a monster."
"Can you be more specific? There are a lot of kinds of monsters."
Cerys shook her head to show she did not know either, then looked toward the sharp-eyed old man.
Lord Donar said, "I'm sorry, I don't know that part either, because I've never seen him myself. But I can call for Einar, Toradar's son, and let you question him. He witnessed Morkvarg and his men laying waste to the garden. Sadly, of all the pilgrims there that day, he was the only one who survived."
Victor picked up his cup and drained it. "Not yet. Prepare three good horses. My companions and I will go first and see whether we can pull Svani out of that garden. From the way you describe it, she may be trapped, but she can still hold out for several more days.
"From that alone, whatever kind of monster Morkvarg is, he cannot be all that much. Revival may be troublesome, but it will not block Dovahkiin's path."
Seeing the confidence and force in the boy, the Sparrowhawk's eyes lit up. "Lord Donar, give us four horses. I want to act as their guide and go with the Dragonborn. We will bring Svani back."
At that moment, the lord of Clan Heymaey looked like nothing more than an ordinary grandfather. Rising to his feet, he bowed. "Then I entrust everything to you."
Otrygg also stood, expression solemn. "Please, I leave my sister in your hands. Please save her."
...
Late the following night, the four of them, the Phantom Troupe plus the Sparrowhawk, arrived at Freya's Garden. Once it had been a beautiful place. Now it was barren, eerie, broken, and ruined. Morkvarg and his lot had truly made a masterpiece of destruction.
Breathing in the stench drifting through the air, and feeling the thin mist prickle faintly against his skin, Victor shook his head and sighed. "What a damned place... ghouls, wraiths, and on top of that some unknown monster that revives. No wonder Clan Heymaey couldn't handle it."
Cerys had heard countless reports beforehand, but only after arriving and seeing the ghostly blue lights flickering through the garden, and hearing the chaotic howls in the distance, did she understand just how bad things really were.
She asked seriously, "Do you have a way? By the time I got to the island, the lord knew how grave the situation was and had already sent people to Urialla Harbor and Kaer Trolde to ask the druids for help. If you're not sure..."
Ignoring her question, Victor walked along the garden's stone wall and iron fence, staring at the pale glow inside and examining the bloodstains around the perimeter, silently thinking.
Angoulême, on the other hand, stayed perfectly calm. She pressed a hand to her friend's shoulder and comforted her softly, "Relax. If Vic says something like that, it means there's no problem. We in the Phantom Troupe are professionals."
Cerys turned to look at Vigi and found the rogue looking just as unconcerned, standing there with his sword and glancing about lazily. After the three sirens on the Path of Warriors, the wraith revelry at Eldberg, and the battle of Tothheim, he had absolutely no doubt in the Dragonborn's victory.
Before long, the boy returned to the others and shot Cerys a glance. Then he suddenly asked, "I can trust you, right, daughter of Clan an Craite?"
Cerys instantly flushed red. The veins on her forehead nearly popped as she protested, "You can trust the people of Clan an Craite completely... Just like my father says, if need be, I'll give my life before I break my word."
Victor waved a hand. "No need to get worked up. If I tell you to stay here and wait for us, you definitely won't agree, so just two things. First, I have a spatial folding bag. Second, I'm an alchemist."
The princess of Clan an Craite heard him out and barely seemed to care. She patted her chest, making the motion rather dramatic. "I swear I'll never tell anyone."
Victor smiled and said nothing more. He was not nearly as obsessed with secrecy as he used to be. Things were different now. After receiving Corion's gift, the potential of his alchemy was steadily turning into real power.
He took out twelve potions from his herbal satchel, three in a set, divided into four sets, then picked up his own three and started drinking. "Drink up. They'll make you faster, stronger, and last longer."
The moment she saw the potions, Angoulême's eyes lit up. Ever since the challenge against the vampire lady in Vizima, it had been a long time since she'd used the Blizzard, Thunderbolt, and Tawny Owl trio. Thinking back on it now, she truly missed that feeling of reacting faster, hitting harder, and lasting longer.
Without hesitation she snatched up her share and gulped it down, then called to her friend, "Come on, drink. This is good stuff. Vic normally can't bear to bring it out."
Hearing that, and seeing Vigi already drinking too, Cerys, though still puzzled, picked up her own share and drank it. The surge of vitality that flooded through her body shocked her into speechlessness.
As the princess of Clan an Craite, she had of course heard of potions that enhanced the body, but every last one of them was either poisonous or came with brutal side effects. Yet neither Dovahkiin nor Angoulême had any reason to harm her. Did that mean Victor was a true master alchemist!?
Before she could recover, the boy tossed out four flasks of blade oil and started giving orders. "Specter Oil. Coat your blades with it. If a wraith closes in, just cut it. I'll pin the thing down so it can't turn invisible. And after we go in, don't stray too far from me. Tonight I don't have time to play close combat games with ghouls. We'll burn them all down from long range."
Angoulême and Vigi both nodded as if this were the most natural thing in the world, but Cerys was completely baffled. She had no idea how he planned to "pin the monster down," or what exactly "burn them all down from long range" was supposed to mean.
Just a short while ago she had thought Victor was lingering outside because he did not dare go in. Instead, the moment he chose to act, he was sharp and decisive to the extreme.
Before she could make sense of any of it, the boy had already smashed the gate and gone in.
...
Ghouls, corpse-eating monsters, old friends of Victor's from their first meeting in the Vizima cemetery. The reason they appeared here was obvious enough. Food had been abundant lately.
When the stench, the ugly twisted faces, and the pack after pack of them appeared before her, even bold-hearted Cerys felt her stomach turn.
She saw that Angoulême and Vigi were completely unfazed. Gathering her nerve, she tightened her grip on her steel sword and prepared to deal with the ghouls' claws and fangs.
Then that was that...
She stared blankly at the six monsters that had been turned into living torches, burning themselves as they lit the darkness, all from a single Superior Dancing Star. That was the name Angoulême had whispered into her ear.
She had seen fireballs used as siege weapons before, but condensed into something that needed no ignition, could be thrown instantly, and still possessed such destructive power, this was almost equivalent to the threat posed by a high mage.
She glanced at Victor, who looked entirely at ease, and decided she understood why he had asked her to keep his secret. Bombs this light and this powerful were weapons of mass slaughter on the battlefield. Their maker was as precious as a beauty worth toppling kingdoms for. Ancient kings would have gone to war without hesitation to possess someone like him.
She quietly etched everything she had seen into memory.
And then, when the boy used another Moon Dust to pin down a wraith with ease, leaving the group to hack it to pieces, the princess of Clan an Craite was no longer surprised.
Just a little anti-monster tool, that was all.
Their group of four quickly pushed deep into the garden. Corpses lay everywhere, most of them chewed so badly by ghouls that they were hard to identify. Victor suddenly crouched down and examined the traces left on the blades and weapons, while the other three guarded him from the side.
The boy picked up a tuft of fur, looked up at the half-full moon, and his expression turned grim. "A werewolf... our Mr. Morkvarg appears to be a werewolf."
The moment she heard that, Angoulême tensed. She had not forgotten what Victor had said back in Temeria's capital last year when the topic of werewolves had come up.
"Don't even think about fighting one. You'll die for sure. Run... and scream for help!"
Vigi and Cerys both shuddered as well. If it was that kind of monster, and one that could revive endlessly on top of that, then the collapse of Clan Heymaey's guards made perfect sense. The warriors of any other clan would not have done better.
Tossing the wolf fur aside, the witcher apprentice rose and took out four more jars of blade oil from his herbal satchel. "Cursed Oil, for cutting werewolves. No need to be so tense. It's not a full moon, so there's nothing much to fear. With second-generation alchemical potions and enchanted armor, it doesn't have a decisive advantage, and Superior Dancing Star will make it suffer like hell."
As expected of Dovahkiin, the leader of the Phantom Troupe. Just a few simple words soothed his companions and put the princess of Clan an Craite at ease. The way she looked at him grew much brighter.
...
In the darkness, a shaft of light spilled through the hole in the ceiling, shining down into the cave where she sat with her eyes closed, resting. The exit had been completely sealed by collapsed stone. There was no breaking through it from the inside.
Svani an Hindar, eldest daughter of the direct Heymaey line, battle priestess of the goddess Freya, bitter as she was to admit it, after so many days she knew that before long, she would die here.
Staggering to her feet, she knelt by the underground stream, drank the running water, and ate the last of her rations. It had been about six hours since she last beat Morkvarg to death. That damned beast would soon revive again, leap down from the opening above, and then be beaten to death by her flail once more.
The battle priestess shook her head with a bitter smile. She had no idea how many more times she could kill it before she no longer had the strength to swing.
"What an impressive princess. No matter what, that's still a werewolf. It may not be especially strong, but being able to beat it to death again and again, you're terrifying."
The teasing murmur echoed through the cave. The voice sounded so familiar that her entire body shook. Looking up toward the opening, Svani saw the face she would never forget for the rest of her life, the face that made her smile every time she remembered it, Dovahkiin Victor Corion.
He vanished from the opening, and a bundle of rope dropped down from above. Then Cerys's face and voice took his place. "Tie the rope around your waist. While Morkvarg isn't here, we'll haul you up."
The mention of the werewolf jolted Svani out of the ecstasy of possible rescue. She hurriedly warned them, "Be careful. It should be about time for him to revive. Hide to the side first and let him come down to fight me."
Then Victor's voice rang out, clear and bright.
"Oh, Princess, that's not a very flattering thing to say. You really don't think much of me at all, do you? I'm Dovahkiin. Since when is a mere werewolf something that gets to look down on me?"
Cerys's face instantly vanished from the opening.
"And besides, it's already too late..."
"...Awooo, awooo, awwooooo...!"
The shrill howl of a wolf tore through the moonlit night just as the boy finished speaking.
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