System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 142
Under the pitch-black vault of the sky, one wooden boat after another cut through the fog and entered Black Gull Island.
Soldiers of the Order of the White Rose disembarked in orderly fashion, hauling the boats into nearby grass to conceal them.
Beyond the grass, the land along the island’s edge had been scoured by lake water for years, damp and spongy underfoot, leaving behind rows upon rows of dense footprints.
When the dim oil lamps swept across the ground, amid the chaotic human boot prints were countless malformed three-toed webbed tracks.
“Vodyanoi...”
Roy and Letho each took out a bottle of the prepared Cat Potion and drained it in one gulp. Dark veins rose across their faces, and in an instant their vertical pupils glowed faintly, like those of cats and wolves.
The slightly blurred world sharpened until it was clearer than daylight.
His gaze followed the line of twisted webbed tracks, crossed the empty stretch of beach, and extended into the pitch-black forest ahead.
The trees towered overhead.
On an island in the middle of the lake, there stood an unexpectedly dense forest.
“Your Highness...” Roy drew close and spoke in a low voice, “have you been inside before?”
Adda shook her head, following his line of sight. “The first two times we only operated along the lake’s edge, never set foot on the island, let alone the forest. This time counts as a major success.”
As she spoke, she propped her small chin with the riding crop in her hand. A flicker of doubt crossed her eyes. “But how is it that there isn’t a single Vodyanoi in sight on the island? Could it be that during the attack just now, they all came out in force?”
“Best if that’s the case ... but no one can afford to relax,” the Witcher warned. “Stay sharp. It could be a trap.”
It was clearly their sleeping hours, yet the degenerate vodyanoi had launched a sudden assault, as if they had foreseen the operation.
That was a very bad sign. No one could say for certain what else might be waiting in the forest.
...
Shield-bearing Knights crouched as they advanced cautiously at the front. Knights with crossbows followed behind, eyes bright, scanning their surroundings with care.
Roy’s fingers moved lightly through the air, tracing an inverted triangular Yrden sign. As the light flickered, an ochre oval field was born from the sign, wrapping over his body and flowing with intermittent glimmer.
“That’s a spell? No incantation?” Protected tightly between the two Witchers, Adda asked with curiosity.
“A Witcher Sign...” Roy explained in a low voice, then lifted a finger to his lips to signal silence.
Inside and outside the forest felt like two different worlds. The moment they stepped in, a wave of cold, clammy air rushed over them.
The leading Knights went pale and halted abruptly. A chill crept along their backs and necks, as though invisible, pallid hands of the dead were brushing their skin.
It was not just cold. An instinctive fear surged up, an overwhelming urge to turn and flee.
Long years of formal training forced them to suppress it and press on.
“Too quiet ... everyone be careful!”
The ground beneath their feet was no longer the soft, granular sand of the shore, but a thick layer of humus.
Among the blackened dead branches and leaves were other things mixed in. Underfoot it felt sticky, clinging to their boots, giving off a faint stench of rot and fish.
At the same time, the surroundings grew darker and more constricted. In the torchlight, towering ancient trees stood silently on all sides, casting savage shadows over the group.
They stretched their limbs to the utmost. From the branches hung long, slender vines, weaving together into a green veil.
The wind howled through the forest. For a moment, vines and branches swayed together, like countless nets being spread, ready to drop over their heads at any instant.
“Kid, stay alert,” Letho scanned the area warily. “There’s something wrong with this forest.”
Roy nodded and suddenly closed his eyes, releasing his Perception.
A moment later, a disturbing illusion rose in his mind, as if the entire group were standing on the tongue and stomach lining of some colossal beast.
He drew Gwyhyr in a clean motion and stabbed it hard into the ground. When he pulled the blade free, however, there was nothing on it but a thick coat of filth, no blood, no torn flesh.
“Am I overthinking this?”
Another stretch of grinding tension followed.
The formation tightened inward again, drawing together like a turtle shell.
Roy quietly passed Letho a round, heavy, dark object, a bomb, Dragon’s Dream.
He noticed that despite the forest’s biting cold, and despite the lack of strenuous movement, several Knights were already drenched in sweat, breathing hard.
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