Chapter 155: The Gloom of Innsmouth
"Geralt and I will take the lead, followed by Sir Massimo. Lord Regis, please cover our backs."
Lynn laid out the formation.
The higher vampire nodded, accepting the witcher's arrangement.
"No problem, but Lynn, isn't it time you just called me 'Regis'? After all, we've shared so many adventures together."
Lynn had no objections, naturally.
But Massimo found a problem.
His position in the formation was the safest.
With two witcher masters scouting ahead, he didn't have to worry about being attacked from behind.
Normally, he was the one protecting others, not being protected himself.
This made him feel instantly slighted.
"Master Lynn, please allow me to scout ahead with you. I am perfectly capable of protecting myself."
Lynn smiled.
"Of course, I don't doubt your abilities, Sir Massimo. It's just a matter of specialization."
"Ranger-knights excel at charging into battle, while we witchers excel in environments like the one we're currently in."
"Here, let me show you."
Lynn pulled out a copper coin.
He flicked it.
The coin became a blurry phantom, shooting into a patch of reeds somewhere in the swamp.
Boom!
An explosion sounded.
Foul-smelling sewage and mud splattered everywhere.
It also drained all color from the ranger-knight's face.
Ordinary people might not have noticed what was hidden in that swamp.
But the witchers' unique enhanced senses, brought by their mutations, could easily detect the spike traps buried there.
No wonder the Lady of the Lake said that ordinary people couldn't even get close.
In Lynn's eyes,
This entire swamp was filled with glowing spike traps, densely packed.
As for the mist that previously shrouded the swamp, it probably wasn't natural but caused by a holy artifact bestowed by the evil god Dagon.
This was also why this cultist gathering place had existed for so long.
Actions spoke louder than words.
The ranger-knight no longer objected.
So the group slowly entered the swamp.
It proved to be an incredibly sound judgment to have Lynn and Geralt lead the way.
In this swamp, any place that could conceal a trap—such as shallow pits filled with murky water, densely growing reeds, or small mounds disguised to look normal—
all had spike traps buried within them.
Judging by the destructive power seen earlier, an ordinary person stepping on one would likely have half their body blown to pieces.
Therefore, Massimo and Regis obediently followed behind the two witchers, stepping precisely in their footprints.
After they had advanced a certain distance, Lynn found a glint in a rare water pit that had no traps buried in it.
He bent down and picked it up.
Wiping away the mud.
It was a pendant.
But it was corroded beyond recognition.
The photo inside the pendant was already blurred and indistinct.
"This is..."
Massimo's eyes lit up, and he quickly followed Lynn's footsteps to his side.
He took the pendant from the witcher's hand.
"That's right, this is Thorin Oakenshield's pendant. It even has his family crest on it."
"He was the previous captain of the Ducal Guard, and one of the rare non-humans in Toussaint's history to serve Her Grace the Duchess."
"A few years ago, his wife was tragically murdered. After a heavy drinking binge, he resigned from his position as Ducal Guard captain, vowing to eliminate all evil in the world."
"But he disappeared not long after."
"People said he died in some cave while fighting monsters."
"I never thought it would be here, not in a cave."
Massimo rubbed the texture of the pendant in his hand, then recalled the scene Lynn had just shown him...
The ranger-knight couldn't help but shiver.
It wasn't hard for him to imagine.
Poor Thorin Oakenshield must have lost his way in the dense fog and stepped on a trap, leaving no trace of his body here.
Finally, the group, after several close calls, safely reached the village in the center of the swamp.
The entire village had a rotten, dilapidated appearance.
Unlike the villages in the North that had been burned to ashes by armies,
this wasn't caused by fire, but by time.
Only villages that had been uninhabited and uncared for over a long period would decay to this state.
The humidity in the village was extremely severe.
Even though it hadn't rained since Lynn arrived in Toussaint,
there was standing water everywhere on the ground, and the village buildings were soaked, even dripping.
"What in the hell is this?"
Massimo, with a mixture of nervousness and horror, stared at the wall of a house.
On the wall of that house, countless barnacles grew, densely packed.
Lynn stopped the ranger-knight's impulse to draw his sword. "Relax, Sir. Those are barnacles; they don't bite."
Massimo was a Toussaintois.
Toussaint was an inland country surrounded by mountains; many people had never seen the ocean in their lives, so they naturally didn't know what barnacles were.
"More importantly, have you noticed how unnervingly quiet it is?"
Any inhabited place should have constant barking dogs.
Villages usually kept dogs.
Dogs were one of humanity's best and most loyal friends.
These farm dogs would warn their owners and protect them when necessary.
Besides dogs,
there should also be chickens, ducks, and geese running around.
But now,
there was no sound at all.
Even with the witchers' enhanced senses, they didn't hear even the slightest chirp of an insect or bird.
The entire village was eerily silent.
"Lynn, Geralt, come quick! Over here!"
Not far away, Regis waved them over.
Everyone went to him.
Just beside Regis, there was a long trail of footprints leading up the hill behind the village.
Lynn half-crouched, frowning at the marks.
The footprints weren't shoe prints, nor were they human footprints.
They were webbed prints.
Geralt, standing nearby, couldn't help but wonder, "These cultists... aren't human?"
Creatures with webbed feet easily brought to mind half-fish humanoids and drowners.
However, judging by the architectural style of this village, the cultists living here should be human.
Despite their confusion, the group decided to follow the trail.
Following the footprints, after about fifteen minutes, a cave by the swamp came into view.
And several villagers, armed with pitchforks, guarded the cave entrance.
Each of these villagers was hunched over, with sparse hair, large, protruding, fish-like eyes, and chins that trembled continuously like gills.
What was even more unsettling were their feet; their toes had already developed prominent webs.
....
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