System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 232
Long after the sun had gone down, the three Witchers arrived in old Vizima.
It was a cold deep night, dust drifting in confused swirls through the air. Beyond the bridge, the lights of Vizima shifted in the darkness.
Within the ruined walls of the old palace stood a few heaps of rubble, rotting beams, and a fence in utter disrepair. At the very center of the main hall lay an uneven stone slab, and beneath it a pitch-black stairway leading down into the crypt, where a double sarcophagus had been placed, the very coffin that once held Adda and her mother.
But the bones in it had long since been removed. Now a fiend nested there.
Around the palace, tents had also been pitched in disorder, with heaps of household refuse piled nearby.
Those had belonged to the homeless vagrants living here, but after the disturbance last night, the Knights of the White Rose had temporarily driven the residents of the area into the Temple Quarter.
Now the ruins were utterly silent.
In a ruined wooden shack beside the palace, the three Witchers sat at a filthy table, making their preparations with cold care.
According to the sorcerers, the Striga would not leave her coffin before midnight, so they still had time.
Roy set his alchemy satchel on the table and took out a heap of small black glass phials. He picked up one for himself, while the Orin brothers each took two.
With practiced understanding, they drew the swords strapped across their backs, then began smearing the blades with an ointment-like liquid. When the entire length of steel had been coated, they gave their wrists a testing flick, and pure silver light rippled through the room.
After that, Roy murmured an indistinct incantation and drank the potion he had set aside earlier, while the Kael brothers downed their two potions one after the other.
Then the three wrapped their bodies in ash-gray cloaks, closed their eyes, and sat motionless on the floor.
Their breathing began in steady rhythm, then turned quick and taut. Under the catalyst of the potions, their faces soon changed drastically, pale to the point of bloodlessness, with purple-black veins writhing over them like worms, while their irises were swallowed whole by their pupils.
But their gaze pierced through the thickest dark and began to reflect a ghostly sheen.
...
“Crk...”
Not far away, in the middle of the palace hall, a faint scraping sounded, softer than a mosquito’s whine, but the Witchers heard it clearly. It was the friction of a sarcophagus lid being pushed aside.
Only a few seconds later, the great slab sealing the entrance to the crypt was shoved open as well, and a deformed monster leapt out.
It matched Foltest’s description exactly.
On a thick, stunted neck sat a head grotesquely out of proportion to the rest of the body, tangled with red hair, its eyes glowing red in the night like a beast’s.
Though it was called a Striga, it looked nothing at all like a bird. It was more like a heavily muscled humanoid beast, still retaining some traits from before the transformation.
Such as her full female form, the breasts hanging like a pair of waterskins.
Age: 19
Gender: Female
Identity:
Princess, Cursed One (The curse cast by Ostrit has erupted for the second time, transforming her once again into a savage and powerful Striga.)
HP: 300
Attributes:
Strength: 8 → 20
Agility: 9 → 20
Constitution: 8 → 20
Perception: 7
Willpower: 5 → 6
Charisma: 7 → 3
Spirit: 5
Skills:
One-Handed Sword Mastery LV3: Proficient in one-handed sword combat, enhancing efficiency and control in close quarters.
Dagger Specialization LV2: Skilled use of daggers, improving speed and precision in short-range attacks.
Bow Mastery LV2: Competent in archery, increasing accuracy and effectiveness at range.
Cursed Body (Passive Trait): The curse is both a boon and a torment etched into the bones, preventing the bearer from easily finding release in death. Max HP +100; the heart is no longer a vital weakness.
Rapid Regeneration (Passive Trait): The cursed body possesses abnormal vitality, allowing rapid healing of minor injuries, and by devouring the flesh of enemies, can quickly recover from moderate injuries and restore HP. Constitution +10.
Striga
...
“Hiss ... those attributes are even nastier than Master Berengar’s.”
Roy felt nothing but relief that he had brought the other two this time.
The harpy suddenly began to scream. That ghastly, crazed howl tore through the night sky and shook the old palace walls. The sound rose and fell, trembling, as though it were venting some deeply buried emotion...
Then its cruel gaze collided with the three pairs of eyes watching from outside the palace, and settled on Roy. A trace of confusion surfaced on its ugly, savage face. It seemed to retain a sliver of memory, as if trying to recall who this familiar face was.
But very quickly, the beast in the harpy crushed the last trace of humanity within it. It bared its mouth viciously at the Witcher, exposing a mouthful of shark-white teeth, then snapped its jaws shut with a crack, a gesture of pure menace.
It broke into a run toward them, utterly soundless as it moved, like a gust of wind.
The three Witchers faced it and calmly cast Yrden. Rings of dreamlike violet light rose from the ground, marking out a zone of restraint.
The violet circle became a cage. The instant the harpy charged into it, its body visibly slowed, as if it had stepped from level ground into a bog. Its speed dropped sharply, and its dagger-like claws struck nothing but air.
The three seized the moment to leap outside the Magic Circle. They split into three different positions and began circling it clockwise, sword tips fixed on it all the while, like three cunning leopards hunting a great wild bull together.
The harpy gave a low growl, twitching its pointed head as it watched the three Witchers in slight confusion. In the end its crimson gaze locked onto Roy, and repulsive saliva began dripping from its jagged teeth.
Its first instinct had chosen the weakest-looking Witcher as prey.
Roy remained utterly calm. Facing it, he circled in a nimble half-arc, using alternating fast and slow footwork to throw off the harpy’s rhythm and deny it any clean chance to spring.
Then, the moment it tensed to leap, the Kael brothers shot in like lightning from the other two directions and stabbed twice into the backs of its legs. Their swords bit and withdrew at once, drawing out short bursts of blood.
The holy silver of Witcher weapons, together with the blade oil smeared across them, both inflicted added pain and damage upon the Striga.
The harpy howled in pain, immediately abandoning its original target and spinning toward the Orin brothers with bared fangs.
Its barren wit could not grasp that this was exactly what the Witchers wanted. The instant it turned, the other side of its body opened into a fresh weakness.
In the darkness, Aerondight flashed in Roy’s hand, weaving a blinding storm of sword-light. In the next instant, shhk, shhk, shhk, three slashes ripped across the harpy’s back in rapid succession.
The Witcher was holding back, unwilling to take the harpy’s life, but the Lady of the Lake’s sword was far too sharp. It still cut the harpy open, splitting hide and flesh and scattering a spray of glaring blood.
The harpy’s red hair began to tremble with rage. It shrieked furiously, letting out one harsh cry after another.
It did no good at all. No matter which Witcher it showed the slightest intent to attack, the other two immediately punished it in turn.
The Striga itself was powerful enough, more than enough to be a grave threat to a Witcher in a duel, but under the encirclement of three Witchers, it had no strength to resist at all.
When one Yrden faded, another was quickly cast, again and again, always keeping the monster trapped in the mire.
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