The deeper Zelin ventured into the forest, the more jumbled the footprints became.

  Yet, along with the chaos, additional signs emerged: human - made impressions, scratch marks marring tree trunks, and the distinct tracks of ghouls.

  To his dismay, Zelin also stumbled upon a human corpse.

  Judging by the state of decomposition, the person had been dead for roughly a week. Among the tattered remains of the clothing, he discovered an amulet.

  Once he resolved the current situation, Zelin intended to take the amulet to the nearby village, inquire about any missing individuals, and then inform the family of the tragic loss.

  It was the least he could do for someone likely slain by a monster. "May you rest in peace," he murmured, sighing as he snapped his fingers.

  Instantly, the corpse at his feet erupted into intense flames, as if doused with accelerant.

  The firelight blazed, illuminating the surrounding forest and filling the air with the acrid smell of burning flesh.

  Wrinkling his nose in distaste, Zelin turned and resumed trailing the humanoid footprints.

  Mere seconds after he departed, the corpse reduced to ashes, carried away by the howling night wind.

  When it came to corpses, Zelin adhered to a crucial rule. If a body couldn't be promptly laid to rest in a graveyard and no scavengers were around to dispose of it, cremation was the safest option.

  One could never predict whether a corpse would simply decay into bones or transform into a wraith.

  When a person died with unresolved anger or unfinished business, their soul often lingered, risking transformation into a malevolent wraith.

  For threats like ghouls and werewolves, well - trained elite soldiers could, at a cost, eliminate them.

  However, wraiths were an entirely different matter; the steel swords of soldiers were useless against these spectral beings.

  Witchers frequently encountered notices on bulletin boards about haunted locations.

  Typically, such postings signaled the presence of a wraith or a godling, accompanied by a substantial reward.

  People seemed more willing to part with large sums for supernatural threats, deeming them worthy of the expense.

  Leaving the unknown corpse behind, Zelin pressed on, eager to locate his enemy before the sword oil's protective properties dissipated.

  The increasingly chaotic footprints suggested the target had been active in the area.

  Strangely, though, Zelin's enhanced, beast - like vision detected no signs of a struggle nearby.

  The scene wasn't indicative of a battle, nor did it resemble the activity of a social creature.

  This frequent movement without conflict could only mean one thing—he was closing in on his target.

  Indeed, after trekking over a thousand meters deeper into the forest, a hill came into view.

  Its slopes were densely packed with trees.

  In the springtime, the lush foliage obscured the view just a dozen meters up. Still, a distance of ten or so meters was sufficient for Zelin to determine if the footprints led up the slope.

  If the creature's lair was on the hill, he'd have to consider the possibility of encountering a harpy. While Zelin could easily defeat a harpy on its own, the real danger lay in the stench of their lairs, a foul odor so potent that even rats couldn't abide it.

  Compared to that stench, the potion he'd consumed tasted like sweet nectar.

  Thankfully, the footprints vanished into the bushes just a few meters up the slope. Pushing through the sparse undergrowth, Zelin finally discovered a cave nestled among the trees.

  "Hmm... A cave—perfect for a foglet," he mused, eyeing the entrance.

  Roughly two meters high and wide enough for two adults to pass side by side, it fit the typical habitat of the creature he suspected.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The continent's terrain was peculiar.

  While humans settled on river - plain areas, mountainous regions were dotted with all manner of strange natural caves.

  Sometimes, these caves served as solitary monster lairs; other times, they were ancient elven ruins, abandoned since the Conjunction of the Spheres 1,500 years ago.

  In terms of danger, the latter posed a far greater threat, as elven ruins were often infested with wraiths and ekimmas.

  Lured by tales of elven treasures, countless people ventured into these ruins, only to have their souls added to the ranks of the undead.

  Thankfully, this cave appeared to be a simple karst formation.

  The griffin emblem around Zelin's neck remained inert, and no residual magic lingered in the vicinity. It seemed safe—at least on the surface.

  Narrowing his eyes, Zelin tensed every muscle in his body, gripping his silver sword tightly with both hands as he cautiously entered the cave.

  He knew that even seasoned Witchers had met their end through carelessness, and he had no intention of becoming a cautionary tale for future generations.

  Shortly after stepping inside, Zelin's sensitive ears picked up an odd cracking sound—the faint pop of burning wood.

  Logically, most monsters lacked the ability to start fires. This was especially true for foglets, which, among known monsters, had minimal intelligence for tool use.

  The grave hag was one of the few exceptions, but foglets not only couldn't start fires—they actively avoided light.

  Doubt gnawed at Zelin.

  Had he misjudged his quarry?

  Zelin's frown deepened. Nekkers did have a penchant for starting fires in caves.

  But he had encountered a nekker lair before. He'd barely gotten close when he was set upon by several of them.

  Nekkers didn't understand the concept of lying in wait for intruders; all they cared about was turning any meat they saw—be it human or animal—into their next meal.

  If it wasn't a nekker, Zelin couldn't fathom that the one who took down the wolf pack was a human bandit.

  Someone with such skills had no need to scrape by as a criminal on the fringes of society.

  Even though the Nilfgaardian Empire in the south was showing signs of aggression and the life of a soldier wasn't as appealing as it once was, a person with these abilities could easily join a special forces unit.

  Just the recruitment offers from the Blue Stripes of the Kingdom of Temeria and the Order of the Flaming Rose would entice many, not to mention the Eternal Fire Church, which was actively hiring witch hunters and offered good rewards for experts.

  After a moment's thought, Zelin relaxed his grip on the hilt of his silver sword with one hand and reached for the steel sword on his back.

  As the old saying went, "Caution is the mother of safety." Making mistakes wasn't the worst part; what truly mattered was being willing to correct them.

  The interior of the cave was surprisingly spacious.

  Once he passed through the entrance, Zelin's field of view expanded dramatically.

  With a height of over five meters and a width sufficient for four horses to walk abreast, the cave provided ample room for him to engage in combat, even against a giant chort.

  He advanced slowly through the cave corridor.

  After rounding a corner, Zelin spotted the campfire responsible for the cracking sounds, along with the figure beside it.

  The moment the figure saw Zelin, it shot to its feet, snatched up a heavy sword with a blue hilt and a golden guard from the ground, and adopted a defensive stance.

  "Who are you? Identify yourself!"

  As the person stood fully upright, Zelin realized it was a petite figure, no more than 1.6 meters tall.

  The cave was vast and empty, and the campfire's light was feeble, casting the surroundings in deep shadow.

  The person's large cloak enveloped their entire body, making it impossible for Zelin to glean any identifying details.

  The voice that emerged was hoarse, likely from dehydration.

  Yet, Zelin could tell that, barring the use of magical voice - altering items, this was definitely a female—perhaps even a young girl.

  His attention then turned to the sword in her hand. Judging by its appearance alone, it was worth at least two hundred crowns.

  Moreover, the way she held it indicated she knew how to wield it, at least well enough not to accidentally injure herself.

  Zelin had witnessed more than one novice with no swordsmanship training accidentally cut themselves the first time they swung a blade, and this girl clearly wasn't one of them.

  "Who are you! State your name!" The girl, hidden beneath the cloak, demanded sharply when Zelin remained silent, sizing her up.

  She shifted her weight backward, stepped forward with her left foot, and raised the long sword to shoulder height on her left side, ready for a fight.

  "I'm just a Witcher trying to rid the countryside of pests. I happened to stumble upon a suspected cattle thief," Zelin sheathed his silver sword.

  He regretted the wasted sword oil but kept his grip on the steel sword.

  Zelin didn't judge by appearances. He'd met kind - hearted dopplers and succubi, as well as humans with beautiful faces but venomous hearts.

  "I haven't stolen anything," the girl declared firmly.

  Zelin took the opportunity to listen closely to her speech, attempting to determine her origin from her accent.

  But he found her accent didn't match any he'd ever heard.

  It had hints of the Temerian dialect, a touch of Aedirnian, and even resembled the speech of Nilfgaardian merchants he'd encountered.

  "Thieves never admit their crimes until they're caught red - handed," Zelin said icily.

  "Did you kill a pack of wolves outside this afternoon?"

  The girl nodded.

  "Did you hunt the wolves for food?"

  She nodded again.

  "Did you kill any villagers in the forest?"

  This time, she shook her head. The hood of her cloak obscured most of her face, leaving Zelin unable to read her expression.

  "A knight doesn't draw their sword against the defenseless," she stated firmly, not as a plea for innocence but as an established truth.

  This surprised Zelin, who was accustomed to seeing soldiers pillage villages during wartime.

  "How can I trust you're innocent?" After a moment's reflection, Zelin posed the most pressing question.

  Witchers relied on evidence and clues; they didn't let suspected targets go based on words alone.

  "How can you prove I'm not?" Instead of defending herself, the girl countered.

  "Your innocence..." Zelin's bright, golden, beast - like eyes scanned her from head to toe, as if trying to see through her very being.

  Still eyeing the petite figure before him, he reached into his coat pocket.

  "Do you know how to play Gwent?"