The sky was overcast, and dark clouds overseered the land. It felt like rain was coming, but not a raindrop fell. Thanks to that, the marks on the ground remained. The witchers tracked the bandits down with these marks. It went on for a day and a night, and eventually, they came to a great forest.
The air was filled with the scent of blood. They settled their horses and went into the woods, the ground squelching under their feet. The umbrella-like canopy blotted out most of the light, obstructing their view. The witchers could only see the tall branches and short bushes near them, though they were perfect camouflage.
They curled up like cats and darted around from cover to cover on their tiptoes. About five minutes later, a moose came out of a bush, and a corpse was lying in its path. It was a man, and he was lying beside a fir tree. He looked about thirty years old, and his crude hemp shirt was covered in blood. His biceps were as big as basketballs, and his chest was filled with thick black hair. He would fit in with a bunch of bears. Even so, someone still killed him in one blow. He failed to even draw his weapon.
Roy checked the corpse, and the cause of death was a wound on his neck. It was precise, clean, and as minuscule as a thread. The wound was just deep enough to cut open the artery. Roy imagined how the fight went down as he touched the wound. The man was relieving himself in front of the tree, and the ambusher closed in silently. He covered the man's mouth and sliced his throat open, then the killer retreated into the shadows.
"He's a pro," Letho said curtly. He touched the blood. It was still warm. "Didn't even waste one ounce of his strength. This guy has perfect control of his body."
"Of course he does," Auckes whispered. "Those madmen spend all their time sharpening their swordsmanship."
Roy had a feeling that he would not get the EXP he so wanted this time. Aside from the neck's wound, the guy was missing his ears as well. There were only two gaping holes instead. Witchers would only do something like that to monsters, not humans.
"He's a madman alright."
"Probably just wants to let the kid have it. As proof that he avenged the villagers."
The witchers went deeper into the woods and saw the second corpse lying in the middle of three trees. He was killed in one blow, and his ears were cut off as well. There was a dead deer beside him, so he might have been ambushed while he was hunting.
"He's patient. He followed them and only started hunting them down after they split up." Roy mocked, "It's pretty much common sense to always avoid the woods. These guys went against that. Wonder how many of them survived."
He got his answer not long after that. They came to a clearing in the center of the woods. There were about five or six tents around. A big bonfire stood in the middle. The wood was charred, but there was no fire burning. The cauldron was toppled over and lying on the ground.
A circle of corpses were lined up around the cauldron, and they were in a much more horrific state than the first two corpses. Their shirts were turned into tatters, and their chest was mangled. There were at least ten wounds on every corpse there, but there were barely any signs of struggle. That was proof that the battle did not last very long.
"Odd…" Auckes was surprised. He could not imagine how the killer managed to attack so many times in such a short period of time.
"I think I know how." Roy unsheathed his blade and stood where the presumed killer was, and he started doing something. Roy flicked his wrist, and the blade spun around, clockwise. The blade buzzed, and Roy moved ahead, spinning around like the wind at the same time. He was moving clunkily, however, as his basics were not solid enough yet, though it was more than enough for the veteran witchers to imagine how the battle went down.
Auckes looked at him. "How'd you come up with that?"
"I think I read it somewhere," he half-lied. "It's all I can do to imitate it, and it's a poor imitation at that. I'm still a long way away from the real Cat School swordsmanship. I still can't show you its real form.
"Cat School swordsmanship, eh? I'll have to spar with that guy if I have the chance." Auckes cocked his eyebrow. He was getting interested in that sword fight.
It had not even been two hours since these people died, and their ears were still intact. The killer probably did not have time to cut them off. He had to chase down the stragglers.
The witchers searched through the tents. The luggage and riches were still there, but there was no one inside. A messy row of footprints sat in front of the tent, pointing toward the trees.
Blood covered the mulch formed by branches and fallen leaves, and a crimson trail showed up in the air. The witchers went into the woods, and they found four more corpses in a sea of bushes. Roy noticed that one of the corpses had his ligaments cut, and he had to crawl. A trail of blood followed behind him, and he was still extending his hand ahead, the ghost of his last scream etched onto his face.
His wounds were draped haphazardly, and most of them were redundant. The fatal wound was the sword's thrust that pierced through his back and chest. The killer must have stepped on him and pinned him down with the blade.
At this point, the killer had gone into a frenzy. Murder alone could not satisfy him, so he started torturing his prey.
"I told you those guys are mad." Serrit crossed his arms. He had a look of disapproval on his face, clearly disgusted by what the killer did.
"But he didn't do anything wrong," Roy objected. "These animals aren't worth any mercy. They should die a painful death.
"Wrong, Roy. I do not pity him, but there's no need to torture a dying enemy. Any unnecessary emotions will lower your efficiency and chances of winning. The enemy can also make a comeback."
Before they could finish the argument, a bush started to rustle, and they heard a ragged breathing, then sounds of footsteps approached them. A moment later, a bloody man came out of the bush. His eyes widened, the sight of the witchers a welcome one for him. He thought he was saved, and surprise showed on his face. "Help… Save me!" The man's voice trembled, and he extended his hand with difficulty.
He gritted his teeth, trudging over to the witchers. The man picked up his pace, and the witchers went to him as well, but someone was faster. A silhouette leaped out of the bushes, craning its neck and stretching its limbs like a feline.
He jumped up higher and landed behind the man. The silhouette circled it, and blinding flashes of light arched through the air. The man broke into pieces when he was done. The pieces of his corps flew everywhere, and his head rolled over to the witchers.
His lips moved, a smile curling them. He thought he was saved.
The witchers looked up. A leanly built man stood not far from them, wiping the blood off his blade. He gave the witchers a toothy grin.