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

The duke buried his face in his hands, his heart pounding wildly, the bloody scent of his wife and children so wonderfully sweet. As his muscles swelled, his body expanded, and his noble clothes split apart across the marble floor.

"My dear, you... why are you getting furry? You're a werewolf!?" Isabella's face went pale. "Does this mean you don't love me anymore?"

In answer, she heard a terrible howl.

, Excerpt from The City of Dead Light

...

Under the dim light of the waxing moon, on the grass outside the cave, the Phantom Troupe and Cerys drew their steel swords.

Now that she was finally seeing a werewolf with her own eyes, with its sharp claws and fangs, its strong, fur-covered body, Angoulême had to admit she was a little disappointed, because Morkvarg was not nearly as big as she had imagined.

Yes, the werewolf before them was at most six foot six, not even that much taller than Svani. His muscles were certainly impressive, but that was all.

"Awooo... awwooo..." It split its maw wide and lunged at the Phantom Troupe with ravenous hunger, and Vigi raised his iron shield in front of the group.

With a thunderous bang, the rogue was sent flying backward, obviously nowhere near a match in a contest of raw strength, but if the fiercest thing the werewolf could manage was a charging leap like that, then its end was already decided.

Victor did not waste any time. He hurled two Superior Dancing Stars in quick succession, and the furry monster was immediately set ablaze, howling and screaming as it rolled across the ground trying to extinguish the fire.

While Cerys was still standing there in a daze, Victor had already taken a crossbow from his herbal satchel and began firing bolt after bolt into the werewolf on the ground, each one smeared with Cursed Oil.

Angoulême stood guard with sword in hand and did not advance, while Vigi, having climbed back to his feet, returned to Victor's side with shield raised. Clearly, this was a method of fighting they had already discussed.

Whenever the flames began to weaken, Victor simply tossed in another bomb. As long as the monster kept struggling, the crossbow bolts showed no sign of stopping.

With sword in hand, the princess of Clan an Craite shook her head with a bitter smile. The Dragonborn's way of fighting was completely different from what she had imagined. She had expected a blood-pumping, hard-fought battle, but what she got was a one-sided slaughter.

Still, she had to admit that this was the royal road, crushing the enemy head-on with superior equipment.

Every bolt that sank into the werewolf's body carried dog tallow mixed with wolfsbane in the Cursed Oil. Each impact made the monster convulse in agony and weakened its regenerative ability. Before she knew it, Victor had emptied an entire case of bolts. Faced with the werewolf barely clinging to life, he threw in one final Dancing Star and then called the others forward to hack it into pieces.

...

Some time later...

In the square before the garden's meeting hall, beside a newly lit fire, Svani sat wrapped in a cloak, warming herself while eating heated rations and vegetable soup, with Angoulême keeping her company.

"Thank you again. If you hadn't made it in time, my luck in battle would probably have ended there..." After finishing her soup, the princess set down her bowl and spoke softly.

Angoulême made a face at her. "You've said that like five times already. Are we sisters or not? Of course we were going to save you."

Smiling, Svani nodded, then watched Vigi gathering together the bodies that had been mangled by ghouls so he could douse them in oil and burn them. "Do you know what the Dragonborn is looking for in the hall? Should we go inside and help? In another two or three hours, Morkvarg will revive again."

"It's fine. We've got plenty of time, we'll be heading back to Larvik soon enough. He's reconstructing what happened that day and looking for the key to breaking the curse. If we go in now, in Vic's words, we'd just be getting in the way."

Seeing how certain Angoulême sounded, Svani decided that was fair enough. At worst, they would just have to beat Morkvarg to death one more time, and this time, with her helping, they probably would not even need to waste that much powder.

Just as she was thinking that, Victor and Cerys pushed open the door and stepped out of the meeting hall. The boy wore an expression of complete confidence, while the princess of Clan an Craite looked utterly impressed.

On his way over, Dovahkiin stopped and exchanged a few words with Vigi, then strolled over and sat down by the fire. "Found quite a bit. No need to worry, I'll have a way to deal with Morkvarg soon. But for now, it's time to leave this place. Svani, is there anywhere nearby where we can rest for the night without having to worry?"

The battle priestess smiled faintly. "To the south is Lofoten, to the east is Freya's Temple. I can promise you that either place will be more than willing to take us in."

...

It was well past midnight, but with a battle priestess speaking for them, Freya's Temple was indeed more than willing to open its doors. Once the young priestesses learned that Victor was the one who had led the rescue of Svani, they became even more enthusiastic. Every last one of them admired her.

Seizing the chance, the Phantom Troupe took a brief look around the temple. The main attraction, of course, was the enormous diamond written about in the travel guide, the Gem of Passion.

The most striking thing in the temple's main hall was naturally the statue of the goddess. Worshippers placed offerings before it, and there was a great stone basin on the altar. All around it stood little statues of cats and hawks, her sacred animals.

After the tour, back in a safe place and on her own ground again, Svani was so happy that she pulled Cerys and Angoulême into the same bed with her, and the three of them slept side by side.

The next morning, Angoulême's scream shook the heavens.

...

In the blink of an eye, two days had passed, at Larvik harbor...

"Jory, you idiot, if you drop that again I'll throw you into the sea!" roared a dark-bearded man with a horse-like face as he cursed out one of his men.

Einar, son of Toradar, together with his sailors, all fully armed, was preparing to set sail.

"Got a moment?" A young voice cut off his scolding.

He turned and looked the newcomers over from head to toe. The group of two men and one woman was an odd one. The leader had four scar lines on his face, and his leather armor looked a little like the style worn by Clan an Craite, though the details clearly were not. The woman was dressed much like he was. As for the last man, his armor was definitely from Clan Tordarroch, and his face seemed oddly familiar.

With irritation plain on his face, he snapped, "Where the hell did you outsiders come from? Can't you see I'm getting a ship ready? We're heading out to hunt down a few Nilfgaardian lapdogs."

"Other than Clan Dimun, I didn't know Clan Heymaey had taken up winter hunting," Victor replied coolly.

He had not expected the other side to point out the flaw so casually. "What the hell is it to you? Keep talking and I'll beat the piss out of you."

Angoulême remained calm, because in her eyes, this bastard was about to have a very bad day, and not just because her captain was petty.

Vigi, on the other hand, was already unable to hold back. He jumped forward and barked back, "Do you know who you're talking to? Go ahead and try it, you son of a bitch!"

Einar turned his head and shouted in annoyance, "Boys, we've got trouble. Teach these people what Clan Heymaey is made of!"

In an instant, twenty or thirty men on the dock started closing in, every one of them broad-shouldered and thick-armed, hands resting on the steel swords at their waists.

Then he glared at the Phantom Troupe. "Now do you know who's in charge here, outsider?"

Victor reached out and held Vigi back. "Let's not do this. I'm not here to start trouble. I'm here for you specifically, Einar, son of Toradar."

Hearing his own name, the man looked surprised. "Then spit out what you want already, so I can decide whether or not I need to beat some manners into you."

"Morkvarg." Victor noticed the way Einar, son of Toradar's pupils contracted at the name. "We are the Phantom Troupe, and we've come here to deal with the beast ravaging Freya's Garden, Morkvarg.

"When Morkvarg destroyed the garden, I heard you were there, and that you were the only survivor. Tell me exactly what happened there that day. Any information you provide will be a great help to us."

After hearing the question, Einar froze for a moment, and much of his swagger faded. He then waved his hand, signaling for the sailors to return to their work.

"So you're another one who came here to die... Fine. I'll answer whatever you want. Yes, I was the only one who escaped that day, all thanks to the Great Mother's grace."

Victor folded his arms across his chest. "Strange. If she really favored you, why didn't Freya save the priestesses too?"

Ignoring the boy's doubt, he continued, "First, Morkvarg had the priestesses bound. Then he slit their throats the way a man would slaughter horses for sacrifice, and then he started laughing. Can you believe that? He actually laughed."

At that point he let out a long sigh, his face full of miserable grief. "And then Archpriestess Ulve, ah, she truly was a holy woman. With her last breath she laid the curse, 'From this moment on, you will remain a beast forever!'"

"And then what happened to Morkvarg?" The boy rubbed his chin with one finger.

"It was unbelievable. Thick fur started growing all over him, and his mouth jutted forward like a dog or a wolf. After letting out a howl of agony, he pounced on his own men.

"They tried to run, but Morkvarg was fast as lightning. And when he bit through their throats, the flesh he tore away turned to ash at once. I saw it with my own eyes, that ash spilling out from between his fangs."

"That sounds bad. The curse wasn't simple at all. It's a nasty one."

He placed a hand over his chest. "That is the Great Mother's divine power!"

"Come to think of it, if you're really as devout as you claim, why didn't you help the priestesses?"

"What could I have done? I'm just a sailor. How was I supposed to beat that mob of thugs? And I don't like the way you're looking at me right now."

"My look? Maybe contempt. It just feels strange. You lot talk about honor and courage all day long, but when it comes time to actually show either of them, you tuck your tails and run. That's quite the contradiction."

Einar lowered his head. "I think it's shameful too. Ever since that day, I've wanted to die an honorable death at sea, but clearly the goddess hasn't chosen to call for me yet."

"So that's everything? There's nothing else you want to tell me?"

"No. I've already told you everything I know. There's nothing more to add."

Victor nodded, pinched the bridge of his nose, then took out a pair of glasses and put them on. After that he pulled out a logbook and flipped straight to the last page, reading aloud as he looked at it.

Morkvarg's Journal

Day Twenty-Four.

Tjostar the Wise doesn't deserve that name in the slightest. He paid me not to raid his village, then got smug and called off the night watch. Things don't often go that easy. We slit the men's throats in their sleep, and had our way with the women until dawn. The loot wasn't much, but it was a damn good time.

Day Twenty-Six.

When we sailed out of Rannvaig, we heard owls calling. Bad omen, so I ordered us back to shore. Pukke laughed and said a man as brave as me was still scared of the gods, so I stuck a knife between his ribs and tossed him into the sea.

Still, I could tell the lads lost a little respect for me. I'll have to do something to prove I'm still the one in charge before they get any stupid ideas.

Day Thirty-Three.

Our trip to Hindarsfjall was a success. Priestesses dead, monument smashed, holy books burned, mead barrels drained dry.

We split up the silver. I took the votive offerings, Norulf, son of Oddleik took the bowls and spoons, Mons, son of Gudvar took the candlesticks and jewelry, and Einar, son of Toradar gave up his share because he was afraid Freya would punish him.

Fine by me. That just meant more for the rest of us. Tomorrow we sail for Spikeroog and see what the merchants there have to offer.

...

From the moment Victor began reading, Einar's horse-like face turned deathly pale. When the words Einar, son of Toradar were read aloud clearly, he closed his eyes and did not open them again until the boy shut the journal.

Victor removed his glasses. "Now then, is there anything else you want to tell me?"

"Fine, you got me. But you overlooked one thing. Everyone around here is one of my men, and every last one of them is armed. Let me introduce them to you." Einar snarled viciously.

Victor waved a hand. "We're not men of justice. Just a mercenary band passing through. We didn't come to drag you off for trial."

"Then why expose all this?"

"Same answer as before. I need to know exactly what happened in the garden so I can lift Morkvarg's curse.

"Ulve had no reason to curse that filthy beast to remain forever in Freya's Garden. That doesn't fit a priestess's devotion. So I considered another possibility. Who was it that witnessed what happened there and then told everyone the priestess had cast the curse?

"Einar, son of Toradar."

"You really want to break his curse? If you ask me, that bastard ought to suffer forever!"

"But the place he's ravaging is Freya's Garden, and my job is to get him out of it."

After a moment of silence, Einar put a hand to his forehead. "Before Morkvarg ordered us to Hindarsfjall, I thought the same thing, this was just a job.

"I'm a pirate. Killing women and children or raiding villages is ordinary work to me. But laying hands on priestesses? That I had never imagined.

"That night, after their evil was done, while Morkvarg and the rest of the boys were drinking and celebrating, I took this out."

Victor's eyes fell on the object in his hand. "A wolf fang pendant carved all over with runes!?"

"My old man gave it to me. He's an elder in our village. He said that anyone cut by that fang would suffer a fate worse than death. Looks like he was telling the truth."

"Did your father tell you how to remove the effect?"

"As long as the cursed man gets hold of this fang, the curse can be broken. But I'm not giving it to you. That bastard deserves to suffer."

The instant those words left his mouth, a flash of swordlight cut through the air. Einar, son of Toradar stared blankly, wondering why an arm was suddenly flying through the air. Then the wolf fang pendant landed in the boy's hand, and Victor cleanly and decisively tucked it into his herbal satchel.

Einar's scream carried far, and the moment the surrounding sailors saw blood spraying everywhere, they all dropped what they were doing, drew steel swords, and charged at the Phantom Troupe.

The situation was on the verge of exploding.

Then a clear, commanding voice rang out, filled with unquestionable authority.

"I declare Einar, son of Toradar guilty. Any man who stands with him and draws steel for him is my enemy, and enemies deserve to die.

"Those are my words, I, Svani, battle priestess of Freya, have spoken!"

Turning toward the source of the voice, every sailor saw the pride of Clan Heymaey with their own eyes, clad head to toe in heavy armor, wielding her unstoppable flail, with dozens of shield-bearing guards behind her.

Clang... clang...

From the first crewman throwing down his weapon to the last man disarming himself and bowing in submission, only a brief moment passed.

Svani and Cerys walked over to the Phantom Troupe.

Victor smiled and spread his hands. "Many thanks to both princesses for your cooperation. Freya's Garden will be reopened very soon."

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