Letho lit a few torches when they arrived at the cellar’s staircase, illuminating Seville. “Stay here with Mr. Seville, Roy. I’ll go in and kill that monster.” Letho gazed at Seville, his eyes gleaming. “Keep quiet and try not to feel any fear, or the hym will grow stronger by absorbing it. It’ll take more work to kill it then.”

Seville froze after getting this order. He would’ve even stopped breathing if that were possible.

“You’ll have to talk to him, Roy.” 

Roy nodded, looking concerned. Seville Hoger’s one bizarre dwarf. That corpse in the barrel is probably a big part of the reason for Seville’s success.

After Letho had disappeared into the wine cellar, Roy and Seville looked at each other, an eerie silence descending upon them. “Let’s play a game, Mr. Seville.” Roy gave him a toothy grin. “Let’s play something good. How about a Gwent match?” Money wasn’t a problem for Seville, but it was for Roy.

Seville put his index finger against his lips and turned away to look in the direction Letho left. He was uninterested by Roy’s proposition.

“The more you’re worried, the higher the chance the hym will come to you. Besides, is there anything better than a Gwent match to pass the time in this kind of situation?”

The mention of the hym made Seville lean against the wall by reflex. He had a look of surprise on his face when Roy pulled out two Gwent decks out of thin air. Roy still had that toothy grin on his face. 

Seville shook his head and declined the offer. “Sorry, but I don’t play Gwent.” 

Roy didn’t give up, even after the refusal. On the contrary, he kept trying to persuade Seville. “The rules are simple. Once you master them, you’ll find it’s even better than wine.”

Seville’s attention shifted, and he stopped craning his neck to look at where Letho went. “Well, didn’t expect someone as young as you to be a gambler, but you got one thing wrong. Aside from ores, wine is the best thing for us Mahakaman dwarves. Gwent is just a pastime for us. Take my advice and work with Letho. Once you make some money, open up a business, get a wife, and have some kids. Don’t keep playing Gwent, or it’ll bite you in the ass one day.”

“Alright, fine.” Roy shrugged and stopped trying to persuade Seville. “What a shame. I wanted to see what the Scoia’tael deck looked like,” he mumbled.

“WHAT?” Seville roared, and he shot up like a bristled lion. Roy swore Seville’s bushy eyebrows were standing upright. “Where did you hear about Scoia’tael?” He was curious and panicked, the urge to know pushing his fear for the hym away.

“Scoia’tael’s the alliance against humans made up of non-human species, isn’t it?” Roy covered his mouth the moment he said that. Scoia’tael’s movements were mostly underground before the first Northern War. They hadn’t appeared in public yet, but Roy had let it slip.

Seville’s face scrunched up, his expression bizarre. “A few years ago, an organization by that name lured a lot of the Mahakaman dwarves away with their extremely racist ideology. The neutral Mahakaman dwarves, led by Brovar Hoger, stand against them, but only the ancient races know about it. Naturally, it’s normal for me to know about it, but how did you manage to find out about Scoia’tael?”

Roy was about to answer when an abrupt and big crash stopped him. There was inexplicable magic within the crash, and Seville was reminded of the moment a siege weapon crashed against a city gate. Even the cellar’s ground trembled slightly. Roy and Seville were also shivering.

“T-this is Aard! The hym’s going to die soon!” Roy roared before leaving Seville for the barrels in the front, craning his neck to look inside the cellar.

Seville’s train of thought had been interrupted by the commotion the Aard sign had caused. He’d stopped asking Roy about how he knew about Scoia’tael, and instead looked inside nervously.

“Your tricks are useless against me, foul demon!” A strong roar came from deep within the cellar, and Letho leaped over the wine barrel, agile as a cat. When he glanced at Roy and Seville, his face was filled with black, gnarly veins, and he looked like a creature from hell.

Seville screamed, worry and horror showing up on his face. “Is Letho’s face hurt? Did the hym curse him?”

Roy stared down and heaved a sigh. “Don’t worry, Mr. Seville. That’s just the side effect of the witcher’s potion. That demon is no match for Letho.”

The moment he said that, sparks suddenly flew from the barrels that were covering Letho and the monster. The sparks moved gorgeously, like comets across the night sky, but the heat was contorting their surroundings, blurring the cellar. “That’s Igni! Letho’s going all out.” Roy gave Seville a look of reassurance, but Seville looked on in horror. Then he realized something, and the dwarf had a bitter look on his face. He requested, almost inaudibly, “Be careful, Letho. That’s a barrel of fifty-year-old dwarven liquor.”

Letho leaped through the cellar, but Roy and Seville could only see his shadow flying across the wall. He jumped everywhere, attacking the darkness again and again and again. Afterimages of his short sword lingered even after his attacks were done, and he moved like a viper —  swift and deadly.

And then they heard wails that could only come from a monster. It was shrill, bloodthirsty, and fierce. Every time the creature shrieked, Seville would tremble in fear. 

“It is done.” Roy had judged that with certainty, and at the same time, a bizarre shadow appeared on the wall. It was a creature with limbs as gnarly as branches, its torso as tall as the cellar itself. It looked humanoid, but was trapezoid in shape, and countless twisted antlers protruded from its sides.

Roy finally showed surprise, and he tried to recall the monsters that matched with the silhouette on the wall. Not even ignes fatui —  which haunted the mists —  dolls of water hags, woodland spirits, or leshens of the forest were as bizarre as the creature was. The monster looked incorporeal. Its body was shifting, contorting, and trembling, as if it were a leaf being blown by the wind.

It had only been a few moments since the monster had appeared, but for Seville, it had felt like an eternity. The shadow roared at the witcher who was taking cover behind the wine barrel, and it trembled for one last time before melting like ice under the hot sun.

After witnessing the monster’s demise, Seville heaved a sigh of relief, and he stood up straight. A heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He looked cheerful, energetic even. “This is the end of it, then?” He grinned toothily.

A short while later, Letho’s footsteps reached them, and the witcher came out from the darkness of the cellar.