Chapter 8: Trump Card
Wraiths in the world of witchers are ugly—that was Kirillman’s first impression.
If he had to describe them, it would be like a corpse that had been buried and rotting for several months suddenly lurching forward, claws outstretched, putrid flesh flying, and a hideous face lunging at you.
The moment the wraith appeared, Kirillman’s body moved.
Without the hesitation or fear a normal person would have towards a monstrous wraith, he took two quick strides and charged in front of the ghost, sweeping his sword horizontally towards its waist.
The silver-white blade was incredibly fast, cutting through the wraith’s body as if it were tofu, instantly causing its translucent, mist-like form to dissipate considerably.
However, wraiths are different from ordinary flesh-and-blood monsters; their bodies are primarily composed of necromantic energy, they have no physical form, and there are no so-called fatal wounds, making them highly resistant to physical damage.
As long as they disperse their bodies like mist, unless they reappear, even a silver sword or ordinary magic would find it difficult to strike them again.
After the sword strike, presumably due to the wraith oil and silver sword, the wraith in front of him let out a mournful wail, then began to emit mist from its entire body, seemingly attempting to escape.
However, just as its body began to turn into mist and disperse, before it could spread out, Kirillman, who was already prepared, immediately extended his left hand and cast an Axii Sign.
Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle!
A faint glow emanated from his hand, enveloping the area in front of him.
The wraith, in the process of misting, was frozen in place, then, like an invisible wisp of smoke facing a powerful vortex, it wailed and twisted, transforming into a small, struggling ball of light that was finally absorbed into Kirillman’s forehead.
Only a pile of cold, dusty ash was left on the ground.
After a brief struggle, the small ball of light was swiftly crushed, eroded, and absorbed by the invisible storm within the soul space.
Then, the familiar mechanical voice sounded... “A weak soul has been absorbed, Soul Power +3...” Phew!
Kirillman exhaled, his heart filled with joy.
The Axii Sign was indeed powerful, and as he had predicted, it was extremely effective against ghostly creatures, practically a bane to specters.
This was a conclusion he had reached after extensively absorbing monster souls during this period.
He recalled that the spirits of low-level monsters like ghouls and drowners had no power to resist when facing the Axii Sign.
A wraith’s soul was certainly stronger than theirs, but its overall power should still be in the same tier, which was why he dared to hunt these wraiths without knowing other Witcher Signs.
And the wraith’s recent escape behavior, directly dispersing its body into mist, was practically like voluntarily dropping all defenses and rushing into the enemy’s blade to seek death.
However, precisely because he knew wraiths would employ this logical behavior, he seized the opportunity to use the Axii Sign to defeat the enemy in one blow.
After easily dispatching the enemy, Kirillman did not relax his guard; he still gripped his longsword, vigilantly watching his surroundings, wary of sneak attacks from other wraiths.
He remembered clearly that there was more than one wraith in this graveyard, at least three or more; if there had only been one, then Kolgrim, who was killed by a wraith, would have been too weak.
However, for some unknown reason, after waiting for several minutes, no other wraiths appeared, seemingly confined to the crypt, unable to come outside, just like in the game.
Seeing this, Kirillman no longer hesitated, letting out a soft breath and walking with firm steps towards the crypt.
It was dusk, and looking through the narrow crypt entrance, the crypt was completely dark, without a single ray of light.
Only gusts of cold wind, mixed with the smell of decay, blew out, like a terrifying ghoul opening its mouth, waiting for its prey to fall into its trap.
Even a witcher, without the Cat potion, could not fight in such an environment; even with a trump card against wraiths, Kirillman was not confident he could defeat the elusive wraiths in the dark.
However, Kirillman’s expression remained calm, clearly having been prepared.
He reached forward with both hands, and a burning tinderbox and a torch appeared out of thin air in his hands.
Then, he lit the torch, approached the entrance, and threw it into the darkness.
The orange-yellow flame, moving with the torch, quickly illuminated a large area, breaking the darkness of the crypt and making it seem less terrifying.
However, after throwing one torch, Kirillman’s movements did not stop; another torch quickly appeared in his hand, lit by the tinderbox, and thrown into another corner.
Following that, the third, fourth, fifth... until he had thrown a full ten burning torches, illuminating the entire crypt brightly and dispelling all darkness, only then did Kirillman stop, grip his silver sword, and walk into the crypt.
Wooo! Wooo!
Perhaps his recent actions had angered the wraiths in the crypt.
The moment he stepped into the crypt, cold winds immediately surged around his body, causing the flames on the surrounding torches to flicker continuously.
Accompanied by a chorus of wraith wails, three wraiths, covered in rotting flesh and wielding dark, sword-like weapons, emerged from three directions, surrounding Kirillman.
No words were needed; wraiths inherently hated living beings, and any creature that approached them would be attacked by the wraiths until they fled or died.
As soon as the three wraiths appeared, they simultaneously raised their black swords and slashed at Kirillman in the center.
Facing this situation, Kirillman was not flustered at all; he raised one hand above his head, and a thick wooden shield appeared in his hand, precisely blocking the attacks of two wraiths.
His other hand, holding the silver sword, ruthlessly chopped downwards, blurring the form of the wraith in front of him and eliciting a mournful shriek.
This wraith clearly didn’t know what had happened outside, and like the previous wraith, after suffering heavy damage to its body, it immediately began to turn into mist and flee, attempting to get away from the witcher in front of it.
Unfortunately, Kirillman was waiting for this very moment.
The longsword in his hand instantly vanished, and the wooden shield creaked under the blows of the other wraiths.
In less than a second, the gesture for the Axii Sign was already complete.
In a flash of silver-white light, just as had happened before, this wraith, halfway through misting, had its soul body frozen in place.
After only a moment of resistance, its soul, under the influence of mysterious power, turned into a cluster of light and was absorbed into Kirillman’s forehead.
The other two wraiths, seeing this, seemed to sense a fatal threat.
Without giving Kirillman any time to react, their bodies turned into mist and dissipated.
After all, they were wraiths transformed from humans; although their intelligence had degenerated significantly, when faced with an irresistible enemy, even wraiths knew to temporarily avoid the confrontation.
From the start of the battle, in less than half a minute, the crypt seemed to return to silence, with only the crackling sound of burning torches in his ears.
After waiting a few more minutes, until he confirmed that the wraiths would not reappear for a while, Kirillman exhaled.
He took a glass bottle from his storage space and carefully collected the wraith dust left behind after the wraith’s death into the bottle.
This was good stuff, much more expensive than ordinary monster materials.
A small bottle, filled with three portions of wraith dust, if sold well, could fetch over a hundred orens, enough to buy a cow.
