Upon hearing the familiar cry like a high-pitched vomit, Geralt put out his torch. The zigzag of a tunnel fell into pitch black, save for two dots of twinkling orange glow like the eyes of a cat. His enlarged pupils filled the entire eye, took in the dim light reflecting off the crisscrossing wooden beams that supported the tunnel. "No Aard here," he thought to himself, "unless I wanna bring down the tunnel on me."
There were three feeding on a corpse, and a fourth further away. With luck it won't even catch the sound of battle until the three were dealt with. The silver sword silently flied into Geralt's hand, giving off a brief, dim glow of purple rune words. Its hilt was engraved with a delicate head of a leopard. And just like a leopard, Geralt suddenly leapt forward, three steps, then thrusted his sword accurately into the stomach of a Devourer. The beast froze with its claws halfway in the air, still clutching onto a piece of rotten, human flesh. Geralt pulled out his sword and tumbled backward in one motion. The strong gastric acid that helped the devourer digest even bones and hairs now flowed out of its stomach, quickly melting through his organs while producing chemical fume that bloated its body.
Geralt had seen monstrosity too often to feel anything at this most unnatural sight of death. In his mind there was only the danger of explosion and the opportunity of using that explosion to kill off the other two, both of which had leapt to their feet. With a quickstep Geralt easily dodged the dash of the first, and his sword traced a semicircle before clashing with the claws of the second. He sidestepped, then back thrust, followed by two quick swings that built up momentum as he rotated a full circle, ended with a powerful swing forward. As expected, the swing hit nothing but air. But that was all Geralt needed to scare the devourer into a backward jump, right next to the bloated one. Blast. A thunder of death and a rain of blood covered the small tunnel. Distracted by the explosion, the third one looked away for a second, exactly as Geralt expected. In half a second his body already span a semicircle, giving his sword just enough momentum to send the devourer's head flying.
The fourth one ran rabidly towards the explosion and leapt at Geralt. He pirouetted and quickly cut across the devourer's chest. The latter howled with pain. The necrophage coating on Geralt's sword immediately kicked into its nerve system. There is no better time. Geralt's left hand reached forward, drawing the sign of Igni. From his fingertips there outflowed a current of flame and sparks. Its extra sensitivity to pain and heat completely immobilized the corpse eater. Geralt lifted his sword high above his head, imbuing his superhuman strength into a decisive rend. Slash! Then only half of the devourer was left standing, still dripping out of it a mixture of blood and acid.
"It's clear."
Few minutes later a group of people descended to the witcher that would make the most bizarre company up ground, for there were around five or six well-armed witch hunters, one of them apparently a commander, and two priests of the Eternal Fire. They cursed the smell as they came. One of the priests, with the focused countenance of a monk dedicated to theology and theology only, approached a wall ornamented with dusty fresco. The other held up a torch for him. Geralt could hear occasional, raucous "yeah…" from him as he traced the fresco. Finally, he pressed on a brick painted red, and a segment of the wall opened.
Before them stood a small but well-furnished laboratory. Wherever the torch light touched there were books, containers and other unnamable objects. The limited space of the underground tunnel did not limit the owner's ambition to stuff the lab with fancy trinkets that sent Geralt's wolf medallion into a constant humming.
"Well, well, who'd have thought? A bunch of greedy, tunnel-digging thieves really opened up the way for us."
"You don't say. Had they taken a stroll in here they would've realized this is worth more than the Vivaldi bank!"
"Had they known how to open it up, they wouldn't be so stupid to bring down the tunnel and the entire building onta themselves!"
"Ha, hard to argue against that. But enough chatter. Start searching!" Then the lab was thus sent into a further disarray.
"Ahem…" Geralt reminded cautiously, "now that the job is done…"
"The job is done only when we all emerge out of these blasted tunnels back into civilization in one piece," said a witch hunter commander, "until then, do be so kind to cherish the moment with us. Not every day we get a chance to work with a freak." Several others let out a dry laughter.
Geralt leaned back in an armchair and watched, with somewhat amusement, at the busywork of the witch hunters. Gotta say, they hunted for magical artefacts with the same professionalism of a witcher hunting a kikismore. Well within half an hour, a small pile of mirrors, and any bauble with a reflective surface, stood before the witch hunter commander.
"Quite a beauty lover, this Felicia Cori, with all her mirrors."
"Heard she was a hair dresser back in Vergen."
"Should've kept that line of work. Might've kept her life."
"I think 'tis the one. Shit, I look good in this!" One of the witch hunters picked up an especially delicate mirror. The two priests inspected it and nodded.
"Lemme see it!" another one took over and looked into the mirror. "Wow, with a face like this I'll get in every brothel around town for fre…" then he stopped under the priests' watchful eyes.
"Witcher, wanna see how your mug shows in this bauble?"
With grim curiosity Geralt looked into the mirror. The face he saw he would hardly have recognized had it not for the white hair. The face that stared back at him had natural colors on its cheeks, its scars gone without a trace, its edges delicate and refined yet with all the subtle wildness and masculinity intact. For a lack of words to describe, he simply saw a better-looking version of himself. A much better-looking version.
Even the commander was stunned a bit by his magically handsome face in the mirror. "So the sorceress told the truth. The Magic Mirror, one that makes you beautiful! Very good. Burn the rest. Chop chop."
As the first tufts of sunlight pierced through the shroud of night, Novigrad began to reluctantly wake up from its deep yet haunted night. Bandits started to scatter, drunkards began to sober up, dock masters began to kick the dockhands awake and drag them to a new day's labor, and witcher Geralt came out of the sewer with witch hunters. It was dawning, the underground excursion took longer than he expected.
"We part here, witcher. You are a freak, but a handy one. Gold for the freak then."
"How'bout that," Geralt grinned at the satisfying weight of the gold pouch, "they always say gold is the universal tongue that breaks down all social boundaries."
"It's your bones that'll break down if you don't quite that smart talkin'. Don't take the venture together as some kinda association with you, freak. 'Tis only business."
"Never took it beyond that." Geralt shrugged and walked away, a hand still on the pouch. Job done beautifully, and nobody suspected. Now it is high time to report everything to Triss Merigold. With that, he strode toward Rosemary and Thyme.
