The Witcher: Grinding Experience Starting as a Wolf School Witcher

Chapter 92 Demon Spirits

"Waaaaah..."

The wind kept blowing through the branches, making eerie sounds.

The badge, which had only stopped vibrating when the hellhound died, is now trembling again.

In the inky darkness, a gaunt figure emerged from beneath an ancient tree.

A tattered burlap hood covered half of his face, revealing two deep, unfathomable eye sockets, radiating resentment.

The exposed, ashen skin, like dried sheepskin taut over bones, revealed every rib clearly.

It has no legs and floats in the air.

His jaw was agape at an exaggerated angle, as if it were about to dislocate, and a long, red tongue protruded from between his yellowed, decaying teeth.

"ah!!!"

The sharp sound vibrates the eardrums.

Arwen stepped forward and made the Yarden sign with his left hand.

"Wait..." Holt raised his hand to stop him, "It doesn't seem to have any intention of attacking us."

Sure enough, the demon's body circled the ancient tree trunk and continued upwards, weaving through the boots hanging from the branches.

"Boots...boots..."

The demon made a hoarse and unpleasant sound.

It immediately sped up and flew to Alwin and Holt's side.

A putrid and chilling aura wafted over me.

Its dark eyes first stared at Holt's gray leather boots, then moved to Alwin's black spiked boots.

His tone became hurried.

"Boots...boots..."

As it spoke, it flew around the two of them once, then flew back to the foot of the ancient tree.

While pacing back and forth, he kept repeating the words he had been saying.

Holt crossed his arms. "Ghosts often arise from the convergence of resentment, boots..."

Alwin observed carefully and soon discovered a clue.

The path this demon takes around the ancient tree is different each time, but it always returns to the same starting point.

Moreover, that place was also the location where the demon spirit first emerged.

With that thought, he stepped forward, reached over his shoulder with his right hand, and drew his greatsword.

"Zzzzt!"

The greatsword's blade plunged into the earth, conveying a sense of relaxation.

Holt followed closely behind.

There's something down there.

……

Late at night.

A pit about one meter deep has appeared in front of the ancient tree.

Alwin clapped his hands and brushed the dirt off them.

Buried in the pit was a skeleton. Its clothes were rotten beyond recognition, except for the boot on its left foot, which, although torn in several places, was still relatively well preserved.

"Boots...boots..."

The spirit flew down, its tone filled with surprise and urgency.

Holt held a silver sword, separating the two.

"Boots! Boots!"

The spirit's voice grew louder.

Arwen knelt down and removed the boot from the bones.

"Um?"

A long, silver object slid out from it.

Picking it up, it was a silver-white dagger, with dark brown markings on the blade, dried bloodstains.

He reversed the dagger, his cat-like eyes narrowing.

On the other side of the blade, where the guard is located, is engraved a black bird.

A bird without feet.

"Buzzing..."

The sounds of insects chirping and flapping their wings continued to ring out.

The demon's terrifying body began to ethereal, emitting countless silvery-white specks of light, before finally coalescing again into a phantom image of a man.

The man looked to be in his forties and was wearing a black and white suit.

His unreal gaze held a sense of bewilderment.

"Who...who are you?"

He looked into Arwen and Holt's eyes, then exclaimed in realization, "Cat eyes? Oh, you're Witchers?"

Aside from a hint of surprise, the man's tone was completely devoid of the disdain that a typical nobleman would show towards a witcher.

Neither Alwin nor Holt answered.

The man wasn't annoyed. "That's not surprising. You've always been quiet and reserved."

"My name is Mitchell Forrest, the steward of the Marquis of Grafiacan. It's a pleasure to meet you."

As he spoke, he bowed, his movements very elegant.

These days, it's rare to encounter someone so polite to a Witcher.

Although the other party is not from this era.

Alwin presented the dagger in his hand to the man.

"Mitchell, do you remember what this is?"

After Mitchell saw the object clearly, his illusory body began to tremble.

"This...this dagger...Count...Count Grafiacan!"

"Kind witchers, have you seen Count Grafiakan?"

Seeing Mitchell's tense expression, Alwin said, "It is now Easter Sunday, 1230. The Earl of Grafiacan you mentioned is dead."

"Wh...what!? The young count is dead!"

Mitchell screamed, then clutched his head in his hands, his voice filled with sorrow and regret.

"1230? Yes, it's been over forty years. The young count is dead, and I'm dead too... I'm dead too..."

His body began to twist, and resentment once again drew his soul back towards the demon.

"Calm down," Arwen cast the Axii sign, forcibly calming the other person down.

"We're here to investigate the young count's death, butler. You must help us."

Mitchell's contorted body began to still, and she looked at him in disbelief. "You...you really want to help me?"

"No, I don't believe it. You wouldn't dare. When you hear his name, you're like hares under a hawk, scurrying into your burrows to hide."

Alwin went straight to the point: "Atamon, the dean of studies at Ban Ade Academy, right?"

Mitchell stopped instinctively when he heard the name.

"You...you know him? Aren't you afraid of him?"

Holt crossed his arms. "It's almost dawn, so you'd better keep quiet."

Mitchell lowered his head, murmured, "The young count... he died by my hand, but... but I couldn't control myself at the time."

Upon hearing this, Alwin and Holt's cat eyes lit up.

"The young count is the only son of the marquis. The marquis died young, and Madame Seville is a doting mother who spoiled her child. This raised the count to be an unruly person who has caused countless troubles. I'm always the one who has to clean up his messes."

"Forty years ago, the young count, accompanied by his guards, went to Shangxingbu to observe the people's conditions."

"I continue to manage my work within the Marquis's mansion as always."

"A wizard from the Ban Aard Magic Academy suddenly came to visit."

"Because of Atamon, there are often wizards coming and going in the manor, and I've gotten used to it."

"But this time, the wizard brought a letter and the dagger in your hand."

"The letter was written by Artamon. He suspected that the young count was in danger, but because he could not leave due to his academic research, he asked me to take this magic dagger with me to protect the young count."

"At that time, Atamon doted on the young count as if he were his own child, but he was unable to have children."

"I chose to believe the great wizard and rushed to the location of the young count without stopping."

"Then...then I saw the young count whipping the serfs, and I felt a surge of anger. I...I really just wanted to go up to him and calm him down, to stop this."

"My consciousness felt like it was being controlled... I... I put on a hood and slung an iron sword that was placed at the entrance of the tavern over my back."

"I...I stepped forward...and with the dagger in my hand, plunged it deep into the young count's abdomen...and then pulled it out. I...I hurt him!"

"I started to run away, and the guards acted as if they didn't see me, letting me leave."

"I ran all the way here, to this ancient red alder tree."

"It was shortly after the summer solstice, but I was covered in cold sweat."

"I don't know what to do. I stared blankly at the dagger in my hand."

"I knew I'd been tricked, so... so I put this dagger in my boot."

"Then... the sky turned dark red, and Atamon, dressed in a purple wizard's robe, floated in the air."

"He came to kill me and silence me, I hate him so much..."