Chapter 340: A Wicker Man Cures All Evil
"Lady Eithné, clearing out the cultists won't be a problem for my companions and me, but how do we cleanse the corrupted lake?"
Eithné's expression softened as she saw Lynn's willingness to help.
She turned her wrist, and a small, eye-dropper-sized glass vial appeared in her hand, filled with a shimmering liquid.
"This is the purest Water of Brokilon. All you have to do is pour it into the lake, and it will be cleansed of its corruption."
...
Back outside, Lynn found Gared and Mousesack and asked for their input.
After hearing about Brokilon's plight, both were willing to lend him a hand.
Mousesack's willingness went without saying. As a druid, he couldn't stand the thought of a forest being desecrated.
Gared, on the other hand, was simply acting out of a sense of justice.
In truth, that was the nature of Witchers. They didn't always act for coin. When others were in danger, they would draw their swords to help, even without a reward. It was just that too many people in this world spread rumors about Witchers, and the ignorant common folk, unable to tell right from wrong, simply followed the crowd.
Most Witchers were disillusioned by the harsh realities of the world, which was why they had become so cynical.
They rested for a night in Duén Canell, and the next morning, the three of them followed the same dryad who had guided them there to the affected area.
It took about half a day for them to reach the lake occupied by Dagon's cultists.
Hidden among the trees, Lynn was able to observe the cultists' lair.
The lake, which should have been sparkling like a mirror, was now completely transformed. The entire surface was a thick, dark green, devoid of its former vitality, appearing bleak and decayed.
It also gave off a foul stench.
The vegetation growing along the shore had withered and died, leaving behind a large patch of ground that resembled a fungal mat.
Countless cultists wandered across this large mat.
Lynn counted roughly two to three hundred people.
This was a considerable number. No wonder Brokilon's dryads couldn't handle them.
After his observation, Lynn handed some potions and alchemical bombs to Gared.
But just then, Mousesack stopped both of them.
He stated that he would handle the cultists himself.
First, Mousesack drew a circle on the ground about a meter in diameter. He then used sticks to arrange a totem-like shape in the center of the circle.
He then stepped back outside the circle and began to chant a series of incantations.
As the spell was chanted, flames surged up around the circle.
The next moment, a burning wicker giant rose from the magical array.
The giant was about ten meters tall, its entire body woven from wicker. It had no head, only a face carved into its chest. Its massive body was like an open-air crucible, with raging flames burning inside.
The moment the wicker man appeared, it drew the attention of the cultists.
Even the cultists were stunned by its arrival. They never would have expected such a terrifying monster to appear in their place of desecration.
Under Mousesack's command, the wicker man didn't stand still.
The flames on its feet flared, and it kicked the ground.
A shower of fireballs shot toward the cultists.
Dozens of cultists were instantly killed by the fireballs or set ablaze.
The scene was horrifying.
The remaining cultists finally came to their senses, but instead of fleeing, they charged forward fearlessly.
Such a charge might have been difficult for a human army to handle.
But the wicker man Mousesack had summoned was entirely on fire.
Just by stomping its foot on the ground, a shockwave of fire spread out in all directions.
The cultists' bodies were tough, but that was relative. They were clearly no match for the wicker man's iron fists and flames.
Before long, the two hundred or so cultists were reduced to either pulp or charred remains.
After the battle, the wicker man, which had displayed such power, seemed to deflate. It shrank rapidly, finally disintegrating into a pile of burnt twigs that still gave off wisps of smoke.
With everything concluded, Lynn walked alone toward the lakeshore.
The ground along the shore had been turned into a fungal mat. Strangely, this stuff ignited easily under the wicker man's flames and burned away quickly, leaving little behind. Once the mat was gone, the fire went out on its own. Since the area was mostly bare ground and the trees were far away, there was no risk of a forest fire.
Standing on the shore, Lynn took out the vial of Water of Brokilon that Eithné had given him and poured it into the polluted lake.
The bottle's contents were emptied in the blink of an eye. Whether it was Lynn's imagination or not, a subtle freshness now mixed with the putrid smell, and the dark green surface of the lake seemed to lighten a little.
It was clear that the pollution wouldn't be reversed in an instant.
However, since the cultists had been cleared out, the dryads could probably handle the rest of the cleansing themselves.
The journey to Brokilon was now at an end.
Although the forest of Brokilon looked to be in a bad state, Lynn, who had read the books, knew very well that it would endure even to the time of The Witcher 3.
With the First Northern War, the human nations bordering Brokilon were too preoccupied with their own survival to bother with conquering the forest. The Second and Third Northern Wars only made this more so. After the Third Northern War, the Nilfgaardians occupied Temeria. They had to constantly deal with endless guerrilla warfare and had to be on guard against their own rebellious populace, so they had no time to invade the forest.
Still, he was about to poach one of Eithné's own, and would need a steady supply of Water of Brokilon in the future, so maintaining a good relationship with Brokilon was essential.
In fact, if necessary, once the survival rate of the Trial of the Grasses was improved and the number of Witchers increased, he could send some to help Eithné protect the forest.
Of course, he wasn't worried about this alienating human nations. He didn't even need a Charm of Deception; a simple, full-face helmet would be enough to conceal a Witcher's distinctive features.
(End of Chapter)
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