Revo Town is located about fifty miles north of the capital of Sintra.
The rolling hills and lush vegetation along the way filled the air with the unique scent of fresh grass and wheat, characteristic of harvest season.
At dusk, the sky had already grown dim, and the golden-red afterglow of the setting sun spilled over the fields of wheat, looking like bleeding wounds.
I rode my horse to the outskirts of the town, seeing the church spire and smoke from stone houses in the distance.
The town was not large, with a hundred or so families scattered across the gentle slope, interspersed with sheep pens and granaries.
In the town square stood a heavily weathered statue of the goddess Melitele, holding wheat ears and a water jug, compassionately looking down at the hurrying villagers.
Before I could even dismount and shake off the dust of my journey, someone noticed the Griffin School medallion on my chest.
“You are… a Witcher?”
The voice trembled but was not without hope.
I turned around to see an old woman wrapped in a wool cloak, her stooped body almost entirely supported by a walking stick, her wrinkled face etched with the marks of time and memories.
“Jerome Morlu, Griffin School,” I nodded slightly, “I saw the bounty on the notice board, and I’m here to investigate the matter of the night specter.”
“May the Goddess bless us…” She murmured a few holy words, trembling, “The mayor is waiting for you at the ancestral hall, please follow me.”
The ancestral hall was small, with mottled stone walls, and a few oil lamps lit inside.
Herbs and holy candles burned before the shrine, and the air was mixed with the scent of incense ash and old wood.
Mayor Alred was a tall, thin man in his fifties, with deep-set eyes, as if he hadn’t slept for many nights.
He rose to greet me, his eyes filled with unease.
“Master Witcher,” he said in a low voice, “Three people in Revo Town have already died at the hands of the specter.”
I sat on a long bench, took off my gloves, and nodded, signaling him to start from the beginning.
“Initially, it was ten days ago,” he sighed, “At night, a farmer said he saw a dark shadow lurking in the fields and heard crying.
We thought it was a wandering spirit, so we asked the priestess to sprinkle holy water and burn herbs.”
He paused, seemingly choosing his words carefully, “Until the third night, Joseph’s daughter went out to relieve herself and was found hanged the next day on the old locust tree by the threshing floor.
Her eyes bulged, her tongue was bitten through, and her nose and mouth were full of blood.”
“And after that?” I asked.
“On the fifth day, a drunkard returned home late at night, and the next morning he was found lying in the wheat field, a smile on his lips, but utterly lifeless, as if his soul had been sucked out.”
“On the seventh day, the priestess went to exorcise the evil with holy fire, but only her shoes were found—right there in the swaying wheat.”
I was silent for a moment, then said softly, “All of this happened at night?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever dug up the victims’ graves?”
“We wouldn’t dare,” Alred shook his head, “It is said that the dead should not be disturbed.”
“You have already been disturbed by the dead,” I said calmly.
I took out my travel journal and wrote down the time and place: “In these past years, have any women died unnatural deaths, especially those who died with resentment?”
Alred looked hesitant, then finally said in a low voice, “Five years ago, there was a girl named Sally… sixteen years old, who was raped by the tavern owner’s son and then hanged by the threshing floor.
It caused quite a stir at the time, but the girl’s parents took hush money, and the villagers were afraid of trouble, so no one spoke out.”
I closed my notebook: “Take me to the place where it happened to her.”
---
The old locust tree by the threshing floor was tall and ancient, its bark cracked like the wrinkles of human skin, and the wind blowing through its branches made an unsettling creaking sound.
The setting sun stretched its shadow long, like a withered hand hanging over the earth.
“That night, Sally’s body was hanging on this tree,” the villager leading the way whispered, “People said her feet were still gently swaying, and even the wind didn’t dare to blow her.”
I bent down to examine the ground beneath the tree; faint traces covered with incense ash were still visible, and the remnants of broken candles, half-buried in the soil, still had unburnt red wicks.
“This is her soul-field,” I murmured as I stood up, “And she… may have already transformed into a night wraith.”
I immediately headed to the graveyard.
Revo Town’s graveyard was built on the edge of the stone forest to the north; the gravestones were simple, many just rough upright stones with names smeared on their surfaces with charcoal.
Sally’s grave was in the outermost circle, a solitary stone marking her name and dates of birth and death.
I drew my silver dagger and gently cut open the grave soil, dripping an alchemical mixture powder into it.
Instantly, purple light patterns emerged from the grave soil, spreading like a spiderweb.
A faint, echoing cry was heard in the air.
“She was not properly buried after she died, only interred,” I said softly, “This was not a funeral; it was an abandonment.”
---
Late at night, I returned to the inn, placed my silver sword on the table, took out my potion bag, and began to craft tools to deal with the night wraith.
Specter Oil requires bear fat as a base, mixed with an infusion of fleabane, and slowly simmered until the oil turns dark red.
I carefully poured it into an applicator bottle.
Moon Dust bombs use high-purity potash as an igniter, mixed with mercury.
I adjusted the ratio to ensure it could temporarily dispel phantom forms upon explosion, making the entity manifest.
I replenished a bottle of “Thunder” and “Swallow” potions; the former enhances Sign intensity, and the latter improves recovery ability.
After the sword was wiped clean and the oil evenly coated the blade, guard, and spine, I closed my eyes and meditated for a long time, only setting out when the wind grew quiet.
---
Midnight, by the threshing floor.
I drew an Aard Sign under the old locust tree; a purple circle expanded, runes flickering, piercing into the darkness.
Initially, there was only the sound of the wind, and the wheat fields swayed.
Then, the chirping of insects disappeared, and even the low hum of night birds abruptly ceased.
I heard sobbing.
A low, broken cry came from the eastern wheat field.
It was not ordinary crying, but a suppressed wail bubbling up from deep within the throat.
Footsteps, rustling—the sound of bare feet treading through the wheat field.
She finally appeared.
Sally.
She was clad in a tattered black dress, its hem torn, her hair tangled around her face.
Her face was deathly pale, and a black, hole-like wound bloomed on her chest, as if torn from within.
Her eyes—empty, indifferent, angry, silent.
“Sally,” I whispered.
As if she heard me, she suddenly looked up, her face contorted into a shriek, and a blast of cold air shot towards me like an arrow.
“Yrden!”
I quickly activated the Sign, and the purple barrier blocked her attack.
Her figure flickered between solid and ethereal, trying to pass through the barrier.
I drew my silver sword, swung it sideways, and the blade sliced through her outline, emitting a sharp, cracking sound.
“Moon Dust!”
I threw a bomb, and silver light exploded, scattering dust.
Sally’s figure was frozen in the light, twisting in pain.
As she struggled, she let out a shriek, and the surrounding wheat fields surged, as if heaven and earth were raging together.
I seized the opportunity to charge, severing her left shoulder with a single sword strike, and black smoke emanated from the wound.
She broke free from the dust cloud, instantly appearing before me, her sharp claws almost tearing through my chest armor.
“Thunder!” I gritted my teeth, forcefully drinking the potion, and black, twisted veins appeared on my pale face.
A second Moon Dust was thrown, and silver light flared, freezing her wraith form.
I immediately unleashed “Igni,” and flames spewed forth, incinerating her decaying body.
“Return to dust!”
I roared, thrusting my sword through her heart.
Fire, cries, shattering.
She shattered in the flames and silver light, turning into countless specks of light that dispersed with the wind.
Night returned to silence, with only the wheat fields lying low and the old locust tree standing like a monument under the moonlight.
---
As dawn approached, I cleared the remnants of the battle, finding Sally’s leftover cloth hair tie and a broken ring in the embers.
Mayor Alred and several villagers were already waiting in the square.
“She is at peace,” I handed over the hair tie and ring, “She shouldn’t have said goodbye in pain.”
Alred was silent for a long time, then finally said in a low voice, “We all owe her… She loudly accused that man, but everyone just wanted to keep the peace.”
He handed over a ring: “This was made by her father; though it’s not worth many crowns, keep it as a memento.”
I took it, put the seventy crowns into my waist pouch, and turned to leave.
The sun rose from behind the mountains, its golden light spilling over the fields and stone forest, illuminating this redeemed land.
The specter was gone, and the journey continued.
