Chilled exorcist

One of the hunters, tall and broad-shouldered, stood up and pounded his fist on the table. "The employer must provide his hunters with good, or even the best weapons he has. That is the law!" roared the huge man, who looked more like a bear.

The Count turned his head and leaned to the side.

"You will have a full hunter's kit. You'll get everything you need near the stalls, as well as a horse," the descendant of the Feanoth family commented disapprovingly on the assassins' performance.

"That's another matter!" The big man rejoiced and sat down at the oak chair. It rattled under such a large man. I realized why the giant had stood up. He would not let the earl say anything, such as rebuking the other hunter for insulting the dignity of his house. I don't think the Count would do that, though. Except that he doesn't blow dust off us.

The lord of the borderlands raised his face and addressed the crowd. His tone was now completely impassive, "We have held a tournament and summoned knights to fight evil. They will march ahead of you straight down the path and crush everything they see on and along the road. Your task is to go near the path and destroy all the lairs and everything that will be farther away, but represents a serious danger when moving along this path. You need to make sure the knights don't miss anything."

There was a creak in response, one of the exorcists of the chill took out a knife and scraped it across the beautiful oak table, leaving deep nicks. Then he raised his weapon and looked at its sharpness.

"You don't need to tell us how to do our job. It will be done…better. As best as it can be, after this shitty oser...." he spat out.

"If that is all, then I dare not detain you any longer." The Count's response was a mass shifting of chairs and a clamor of black robes.

Chapter 7: "The Descendant Witch"

The whisperers-in-the-night, are a strange group of people, among them are assassins and hunters, witches and enchanters. More like castes, the ruling system can't tolerate one thing: a mute-born. This girl is born every time the previous one dies. To the whisperers-in-the-night, she is an outcast that must be banished, but to the Crown of Grave Mohawk, she is a valuable advisor. Because of this, when the mute-from-birth reappears among them, she is whisked away at the age of sixteen to the Emperor's court when she finishes her training.

Back in the era of Terressia's exploration, the mute-born ordered a settlement of sisters to be established in the Dark Forest. All because of what dwelt in those forests. Kostegrad's expedition threatened to simply end up in these parts if no one could confine the monsters of the eerie thicket that stretched as far north as the mountains and swamps to the south. It was only the help of the whisperers-in-the-night that remedied this situation. The Laughing Sisters had mysteriously subdued the wild beasts that had attacked the tiny outpost of Kostegrad, a piece of land that people had clung to with their teeth.

And now we were walking with my companion of the forest huntresses through the remnants of a once great oak forest. The last green spot on the maps, north after the endless swamps. Wild stunted trees sprouting in all directions had been replaced by noble giants with spreading crowns, and gullies with broad roots. I knew from the Castle Keeper's memories that Darkwood had lost much of its lands to the north and east. It had disappeared beyond Kostegrad and near the rebel lord's fortress, losing nine-tenths of its forests. And only in this place, where the Laughing Sisters live, did the oak tree mysteriously still stand and successfully resist the infestation.

The cliff lifted the small, forgotten village above the verdant sea of forest. Perhaps it would have been utterly wild, being in the depths of the Dark Forest, were it not for the ancient stone walls and equally ancient temple buildings at the very top. There was a fire burning in the middle of it, with an old witch sitting by it. When she saw us, she broke away from the hazy brew on the fire and, splashing her hands like a kind grandmother, sat down on a small bench.

"Come, child," she beckoned closer to the girl who had brought me to this place.

"Sister Huntress, you have brought a man into our camp..... A man," the Old Witch wagged her finger. Her voice creaked at the last word, and then she laughed with recognition, and realizing who I was, she continued in a softer tone. "You have brought us a hunter of the creatures of the canopy!"

The woman looked at me eagerly and even fidgeted on her stool like a frog, preparing to spit her tongue at me.

"All the old women in the camp have exhausted their strength. I'm the last one to keep the gray land from moving south of the Dark Forest for untold years. My domain, by the way!" The witch's eyes fixed on me with greed.

"There in the north of Darkwoods, the gray earth cuts into the forest itself, and in the south before the sanctuary, the river serves as a natural barrier to the oser." The witch's unblinking eyes fixed on me. She was like a blue-barefoot, peppering the wooden beads with small fingernails. For a moment I saw her facial features grow younger, and so I turned my head slightly to the side to avoid making the connection. The witch giggled at her innocent joke; apparently she had already read my thoughts. Then she turned serious again.

The witch wiped her face with her hand, becoming old and tired again. A wrinkle creased her forehead.

"The castle, in the south. I sent my sisters there, but no one came back. That weakened me even more." She grabbed my hand, peered down and looked at my palm, studying the old scars and calluses from the crossbow. She drew my hand to hers for some reason, almost under my nose, and then let go, losing interest. "I need you to clean it completely. Only then will my children be able to read the ritual on top of it. It should help stop the sulfurization of the southern lands."

"Do you have any black arrows?" I got right to the point.

"Now you're talking!" clapped her hands and beckoned the two girls over. "Better, my dear, better! Here, back-splitting arrows!"

She pulled back the cloth, and I saw the arrows shimmering with secret incantations.

"She'd pulled forty from her stockpile, and it had been a long time since we'd had hunters." The witch's eyes lit up, or maybe it was the fire's glow from the new wood.

"I've never seen one of these before, how do you use them?" I lifted one arrow that shimmered with light.

"Have you seen Kostegrad's arrows?"

"Yes, I have seen them," I agreed.

Kostegrad is a dark city with a grim reputation. Poverty-stricken neighborhoods along the walls, fighting arenas underneath. They say they keep the spite down with the beggars' blood. And as for arrows, yes, they have a special guard that protects the Lord Protector and the Bourgeois.

"Every shot fired by Costegrad's special arrow hits its target. Then the arrow disappears and reappears in the quiver, and so three times," I voiced my knowledge.

"These arrows are better, better! Precious, where do you come from? Their wizards are no match for my skill, I am a descendant of the whisperer-in-the-night. Maybe the last true witch on the continent. My arrows will go back ten times, and then blacken, not disappear like a Milchemist fake," the hag smiled conspiratorially. She looked like a kindly grandmother slipping a sweet candy to her grandson while no one was looking.

"These are very valuable arrows in a case like this. The law…"

"And yes, the law forbids," she interrupted me, raising her hand, "to take more than a gold piece. But you're not forbidden to take equipment more expensive than you need."

I shrugged my shoulders in agreement.

"Then the fee is one gold piece," I folded my arms across my chest in a playfully serious manner.

"What a sneak," she wagged her finger in a kindly manner and smiled.

"My girl, escort this rascal out of my sight, let him rest," the witch said kindly, and then suddenly squeaked her voice like a cutoff." Then you will take him to the castle.

She laughed again, and then she looked at us.

"Come with me, killer of the cold, there's a place where you can rest," the girl beckoned me after her.

Chapter 8: "Spear and Crossbow"

Many hunters of the higher undead piled up near the stables, causing the land to be full of rumors. The local servants were scattered around the castle in terror and recounted the news that the stableman had a terrible illness and now the hunters, acting alone as usual, had come to kill him all together. And the local garrison officer is issuing the killers with cooled ammunition, since the young man is about to turn into a creepy monster, and that's why they need so many weapons.

Here was another local commoner, stopping in the corridor, and wishing to impress, interrupting himself with his voice, whispered to the maid he had met another version of this unprecedented sight. The maid froze in front of him and covered her mouth with her hand, hiding her fear. I just waved away – I'd rather stay near this unfortunate man than walk around the castle listening to all this "folk art". But to be honest, there was nothing to do there while the local quartermaster went for weapons.

Clinging to the parapet, I climbed to the roof. A light breeze filled my cloak, and then a gust blew downward, where the cook boys were whispering, peering out from under the cook's hem. She herself, too, was wary of such a cluster of hunters in one place from behind the kitchen door. One of them spotted me on the roof almost immediately and spat on the ground, complaining about the speed of the weapons.

Castle life moved at its own rhythm. Guards were taking off and taking up their posts, servants were going somewhere. Five noblemen were chatting on the balcony about the past tournament, and in the garden walked the one for whom everything was planned. And she was really beautiful. She was tearing red roses in a lush dress and putting them into a huge bouquet. I stopped, mesmerized by this sight, and she raised her eyes to me. Her eyelashes fluttered. The girl was staring into the deep shadows, and I met her gaze. Flawless in her beauty and young years.

The instant the earl's youngest daughter saw the monster killer, she pricked her finger on a rose thorn. Licking the snow-white skin, the heiress of Theanotus gave a quiet yelp, but when she looked for the mysterious hunter again, she no longer saw his silhouette in the shadow of one of the columns. I am sure she will long remember the massive figure propped up on the marble pillar with his shoulders, and the strange gleaming, even in the gloom, glasses. She looked for him, standing upright and lifting her flower basket. But he disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared. The hunter left no trace.

I was back in time. One of the hunters was fixing a saddle by the stalls. And the stableman was unconscious in the mud for some reason. The castle quartermaster had just finished distributing weapons. When he saw me, he handed me a bundle of forty black arrows.

"Here, just as you ordered. Here, this one too." The officer went to the wooden side of the weapon stand near the stalls and took a spear with an iron point from it.

I accepted the weapon and unwound it in my hand. Perfect balance, a little tilted toward the tip so I could comfortably grip it and throw it if I needed to.

"I need a horse," I reminded the supply officer of my needs.

"Come into the stalls and choose for yourself. The stableman has already had enough advice for today," the man assigned to us told me, checking the pulse of the young man lying in the mud.

"And who did he advise?" I grinned.

"This mare," the hunter pointed to the horse, who had hesitated with the saddle and was now watching me with interest.

I walked around the wooden stalls near the stone wall of the courtyard. There were still a couple of stunted horses here. It looked like someone had taken offense at being advised against a stallion. This horse looked much better against the others. I'm not proud.

"I'll take this mare," I pointed to the horse.

"Take the horse," sighed the anxious quartermaster, lifting the young man carefully out of the mud. With his other hand he called several servants, who, however, keeping order, surrounded the boy on all sides.

The hunter who had pointed her out laughed and rode out of the courtyard. Out of the shadows came a girl, unnoticed by me, the one who had been sitting in the meeting opposite. She winked at me approvingly and jumped on her horse, following the hunter. I decided that it was all foolishness and that the boy had been hurt for nothing, and then I sped up to keep up.

The long and piercing gaze of Count Mirtel from a small elevated terrace did not escape me. Now Pheanoth might even have regretted hiring us. He hardly cared about the fate of the stable boy; rather, he wanted to see who had snuck into the enclosed garden to see his youngest daughter. And this young man's story is just another stone in our garden.

Chapter 9: "The castle by the road"

As I walked away, the hag put a bag of food in my bag. The water in the flask was splashing again, "Take it, my dear – you need it more," she said kindly. We broke through the forest predators, and I wielded with dexterity the new carga's spear. My companion led me to the edge of the forest.

"We can't go any farther, there's the castle," she pointed ahead. Her bluish-black cat walked along the edge of the forest from side to side. The cat hissed and lost all patience when she saw the gray earth. Covering her nose with her paws and getting angry.

"Good." I stepped forward, and the ash-gray dust that had engulfed the plants near the forest crumbled to ashes under my boots, as did the grass itself, devoid of life. The girl looked at me again, probably wanting to say something. But she changed her mind, then ducked down and, beckoning the panther, disappeared into the forest.

I walked straight toward a barely discernible target, which for a moment appeared in the haze. The disease-ravaged brushwood crumbled to dust as soon as I touched it with my boot. The skulls of small animals that had been exposed to the sulfur that had forced them out of the forest crunched beneath my feet. Here, on the border, one could feel the struggle of the last guardian of the Darkwoods and the eerie gray earth pulling the life out of the entire forest.

"Yes, this was the castle to which the waystone pointed. There, at the crossroads, I made a note to the other hunters that I was leading the work here for them to move on. But it felt like there was no one behind me. How many of us were there? Fourteen? Fifteen if you count the hunter who took part in the tournament itself? This is definitely the place the forest villagers were talking about. Nearby, near it, there must be a village, what did they call it? Sgulli… Sgugli? I don't remember." The headwind gutted the remains and ashes, and even through the mask my throat choked and I coughed. I had to cover myself additionally with the edge of my cloak. The fine particles floated like mist, so I didn't see the charred hulk of the village building right away.

I wandered around the ashes. It was all that remained of what had once been a fairly large settlement. I saw an anvil among the ruins of one of the houses, and an unpleasant feeling came over me. With bitterness I remarked to myself, "There was even a smithy here long ago, but despite its size, the settlement still perished." My face was covered by the mask of a milchemist, so I wasn't afraid to breathe. But the air in this small depression in front of the castle where the village was located still felt stifling. Burnt houses and huts. What had happened here? The dust storm had intensified, but the Titan Jodkheim was at the zenith of its power, shining through everything for twenty meters around. A premonition visited me, and I raised my green lantern higher. Ahead, the silhouette of a stray dead man emerged from the shadows of the haze around him. He took a couple more steps forward, then jerked sharply and turned toward me. He saw me.

"Wheeewurrrgh!" came the shroud of mischief from all directions. The dead man ran when he saw his prey, and another and another followed him out of the mist with his hands out in front of him.

I stood in the protective stance of an aspid, lowering the sting of my spear downward. As soon as the enemy approached, I sliced him open with a swift thrust of my spear. Another swing followed, and then another. One blow, one corpse. All the dead came at me from the same direction. It was as if all the former inhabitants of the village had gathered in one place for some reason. I took step after step back under their onslaught, chopping up the mindless bodies.

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