Chapter Seventy-Three: The First Edition of Moon Dust

Leaving the blacksmith shop in the trade district, Angoulême carried two bags of alchemical materials in her hands.

Three mornings ago, Victor and she had gone to investigate the sewers once more. When she told him that the sense of danger she detected hadn’t lessened, only narrowed in scope, Angoulême could still recall the expression that crossed Victor’s face—a mix of fear, excitement, and anticipation.

He had then gone straight to the blacksmith to commission these two bags of silver grains, instructing the smith to melt the silver into the smallest possible pellets. Afterwards, he had rushed home to the basement for alchemical work, not setting foot outside for several days, busily crafting something with such focus that he even needed her help to fetch materials.

Opening the door and stepping inside, Angoulême entered the alchemy room and gently shook the boy napping in the recliner awake. He took the materials from her, pried open one of the bags, and grabbed a handful of the grains, letting them slip through his fingers back into the bag.

“How is it? Will it do?” she asked.

“If it won’t, there’s nothing to be done. The rest I’ll leave to alchemy.” With that, Victor poured a bag of silver grains into the cauldron of boiling water, glancing at Angoulême. “What is it? You look like you have a lot of questions. Ask them now—what comes next I’ve never done before and I’ll need my full concentration.”

The commander’s expression was serious, and as a member of his party, Angoulême knew that with him in this state, it was best to speak plainly.

“All right. First, I want to know—what kind of monster are we dealing with this time?”

“Our target this time should be a ‘Female Vampire,’ also called a ‘Phantom’—an ancient blood-drinking creature that came with the convergence of spheres.”

“A vampire!?” Angoulême’s face changed slightly. It was shocking enough to learn there were werewolves lurking in Vizima, and now she was hearing that vampires—an even rarer creature—had appeared?

—Though for the girl, it was not her first encounter.

The witcher apprentice continued, “Don’t be so shocked. It’s not a particularly formidable kind. If it were a true higher vampire, it wouldn’t live in a place like that. They blend into our everyday lives, almost impossible to distinguish, and even a witcher’s detection medallion is useless against them. Those are the true apex predators.

As for our current opponent, it’s far less threatening. Do you remember what that dwarf said that day? What did he claim to hear?”

Breaking free from her recollections, the girl thought for a moment and ventured, “Help me?”

Victor shot her a look, signaling her to try again. She recalled the dwarf’s words… uh, mother, don’t kill me—none of which seemed meaningful, until at last Angoulême said, “Where is she? Or is she there?”

He clapped his hands. “Exactly! The last cries of the victims—using ‘she’ to refer to the killer tells us the culprit appeared human, and with distinctly female characteristics.” Seeing Angoulême’s confusion, Victor explained, “Don’t forget, it was pitch dark down there. They had torches, but without clear features, it’d be impossible to tell male from female.

Next, with over ten people entering, all those torches shining, yet they still lost track of the enemy and had to ask each other for her location. That suggests two possibilities—either she’s extremely fast, nearly impossible to follow with the naked eye, or she can vanish from sight for short periods.

In the end, the exploration party was wiped out within three to five minutes, but sounds of fighting were heard before the last was over. So here’s the good news and the bad: the good news is she’s not so fast as to be unstoppable; the bad news is she can probably turn invisible or become mist.”

After hearing his reasoning, Angoulême hesitated. “Commander, if this creature is so dangerous, shouldn’t we leave it to the professional witchers? Even Yaven shouldn’t expect us to handle a vampire.”

Victor’s gaze was unwavering. “You’re right, but I still haven’t gotten my hands on ‘Ghoul Marrow,’ the ingredient I told you about for the ‘Mental Enhancement Potion’ formula—Kalkstein’s bounty from a month ago. I still haven’t claimed it.

Giant ghouls only appear where regular ghouls gather, where there are plenty of corpses to feed on. Around Vizima, there’s hardly any habitat for them.

Fortunately, Kalkstein agreed to accept something else instead—‘vampire blood.’ Since a female vampire has shown up, I want to give it a try.

If we can deal with her, I’ll get that formula. Even if the enhancement is slight, every beginning is important.”

After a brief silence, Angoulême accepted his reasoning for confronting such a monster. “Then why do you think it’s a female vampire and not some other kind?”

“If it were a Fleder or an Ekimma, a Katakan or a Garkain, those types of vampires would have torn the bodies to shreds. Ekimmas in particular love to rip victims apart and smear their lair with blood, then roll around in their guts.

But in a semi-enclosed environment like the sewers, we didn’t smell any overwhelming blood that day, so I’ve narrowed it down to the two more restrained subspecies among lesser vampires: female vampires or bruxae.

This time, it’s not like dealing with a werewolf. Though they possess speed and monstrous strength, a silver sword coated with ‘vampire oil’—if we can strike or stab them—can do fatal damage. Another huge advantage is that we know where she’s active.

Bruxae usually revert to human form during the day; their habits most closely resemble higher vampires. When we visited during the day and you still sensed danger, it meant she was still there. That’s why I deduced it’s a female vampire, whose greatest threat is her ability to become mist.”

The boy raised his hand to stop her next question, knowing what she wanted to ask—how to counter mist form.

“A proper witcher relies on Signs to counter mist-form: Yrden to trap, Aard to blast, Igni to ignite—all effective.

I may not be a witcher, but I can craft a weapon unknown to this world—at least undocumented in any record—to counter her. The concept is to replace half the iron filings in a ‘beehive’ bomb with silver grains. I’m certain this new type of bomb will hinder the monster’s transformation and harm her mist form.

And,” his tone rose, excitement evident, “your commander always does his best. Not content with merely blocking her transformation, he thought—what if the silver were finer still, as fine as dust, so that the monster would inhale it with every breath? Imagine the effect—just picturing it is enough to awe and terrify!

This special grade bomb—I’ve decided to call it ‘Moondust of Trembling’!”

They say that wealth must be flaunted at home and silk worn by day—meaning that true brilliance is only meaningful before those who understand it, otherwise no one grasps the significance of your epoch-making invention.

Thus, after Victor’s grand speech, faced with the girl’s half-dazed, half-understanding look, he could only wave her away with diminished enthusiasm. “Never mind, as long as you know your commander has a plan. Don’t wander around tonight! And when you go up, remember to hang the ‘No Entry’ sign so Dandelion doesn’t wander down and interrupt me. If he does, the cauldron might explode.”