I am currently still writing my third remake of The Witcher and the Hammer, so don't worry, but for now, I am still writing it. It will take some time, but I will write it.


Reikland: 2504

The Grand Principality of Reikland is one of the founding electoral provinces of the Empire.

It is located in the southwestern Empire, in the center of the Old World continent. Reikland was one of the provinces created at the founding of the empire during the reign of its first emperor, Sigmar Heldenhammer. Indeed, in the eyes of the Imperial citizenry, the territories of the Reikland are considered the very heartland of the Empire, culturally, politically, economically, religiously, and in every other way that matters. But now it is in danger of splitting in two as secessionists become hostile to Karl's election as emperor.

So when the newly-crowned Emperor and his third son returned from a tour of Reikland, they found the capital, Altdorf, besieged by spider-riding greenskins. It was at that moment that the secessionists finally rose up in full revolt in the south, trying to form a breakaway province.

So Karl Franz sent his fourth son, Rudolf von Franz of the house Holswig-Schliestein, to secure the town closest to Altdorf, while Karl personally led his armies south to bring the rest of the chartered towns back into the Imperial fold by force if necessary; however, because they are still fellow Reiklanders, they would pardon their soldiers, whereas the leaders of the secession would be executed or have their lands and estates taken away and redistributed to the nobility and the people.

Rudolf was tall for a young man and athletic, though he had yet to fill out other places. He had inherited the strong jaw of his father's family and the aquiline nose of his mother. He was dressed in black armor, decorated with symbols of both Sigmar and Morr. Many raised an eyebrow at his choice of patron deities, but he paid them no mind. Though it was in Sigmar's name that he fought, he, like every other man, was destined for Morr's Garden.

Known as the Chivalric Prince or the Warrior Prince for some, he is a capable commander who would personally lead his men into the thickest of the fighting to inspire the men under his command to fight harder, while at the same time being a military innovator to improve the empire's armies' tactics. At the same time, he would also be somewhat of a scholar and philosopher if he wanted to.

He is currently leading a state army of 1,000 and 970 soldiers to the Axe Bites Pass to assist his father in putting an end to the secessionist revolt before it could spread. Comprising of three hundred cavalry light and heavy, five hundred spearmen, five hundred halberdiers, two hundred swordsmen, four hundred handgunners, and crossbowmen made up the army. In his opinion, it is a well-balanced army, with eight motors and four great cannons liberated from the secessionists for artillery. Riding beside him is the only person he could trust to be his second in command.

Wolf Von Polheim, his personal counselor, and Chamberlin were personally assigned to him by his mother to help him open up to strangers. Being born into an upper Reikland noble family, he was raised to the status of a baron and, on the same day, became a full member of the Grand Order of the Reiksguard Knights at the young age of 23. It took the prince some time to fully trust Wolf, but Rudolf eventually warmed up to him, as he soon became the only person outside of his family who he could trust and fully rely upon for certain tasks.

It was almost sundown when they arrived at the entrance to Axe Bite Pass, where Karl Franz had set up his war camp just outside the fortress town of Helmgart. An imperial fortress and market town nestled in the Grey Mountains that guards the Bretonnian border at the only pass wide enough to allow armies in and out.

Regimental banners from all across Reikland were waving above the hundreds of tents that housed the state troops right outside of the rebels' range of fire. While trench works were already set up for a prolonged siege of the fortress town, the town was already flying Reikland banners atop its three solid granite walls. as well as the numerous regiments that came from Helmgart, the most famous of which are the handgunners known as Mackensen's Marauders, who are celebrated for retaking their hometown.

His Chamberlin smiled as he turned to his friend: "Looks like your father succeeded—and without damaging the town, no less."

"Helmgart is not just an important trade route; it guards the only border between the empire and Bretonnia," Rudolf told Wolf as they rode past the hastily constructed fortifications. "If we turn Helmgart into rubble, it will not only deny Reikland a source of income but also leave us exposed to the knights of Castle Montfort."

"But I thought the Bretonnians—" Wolf started.

"The Kingdom of Bretonnia is an important ally, yes." Rudolf cut Wolf off, but do not forget that countless battles have been fought in this valley between these two castles, for the peace between the Bretonnia dukedoms and the Empire in this sheer-sided valley is a fractious thing, and there has been blood spilled on numerous occasions on both sides for the last hundred years.

Wolf cringed a bit at how harshly his liege said it, since it was kind of a sour subject for him: "What about Sir Charles Le Magne of L'Anguille?" "He has a noble soul, doesn't he?"

The fourth prince scoffed "While I do agree that Le Magne is different from the rest of the dukes and even genuinely wants to improve the lives of all Bretonnians of low birth, the fool's mind is still set in the old way of thinking like the rest of the " Rudolf grumbled, making his chamberlain raise one of his eyebrows.

"Is this about him unhorsing you during last year's tournament, or is it about the time you and Le Magine went out hunting in the Drakwald forest?" Wolf said so simply, infuriating the young man.

"Both," he answered bluntly, causing Wolf to say nothing but smile as his charge continued, "but that is not what's important right now." "What matters is that Le Magne is the second son, not the first, so he will not inherit his father's land, and his family is only minor nobility at best."

Deciding to change the subject, Wolf turned to the secessionists' blue flags and skulls, which were either burned on a fire or buried in the dirt.

"At least this civil war is finally over." Wolf, I had spilled enough Sigmarite blood to last two years.

"Indeed, although this conflict seems strange the more I think about it,"

"What is strange, your highness?"

"Do you find this rebellion strange, Rudolf, because it began as a simple riot before escalating into a full-fledged rebellion?"

Wolf shrugged his shoulders. "I am not a witch hunter your highness, but the answers might be revealed if we look close enough."

Rudolf's sharp eye caught the sight of the pike head of the count responsible for this rebellion while soldiers spouted insults at it, muttering, "Perhaps."

They were met at the entrance of the camp by a pair of halberdiers, wearing Reikland colors and bearing the symbol of the House of Holswig-Schliestein, as Rudolf approached them and spoke, "I am Prince Rudolf Franz Holswig Schliestein, son of Emperor Karl Franz. With me is my personal Chamberlin, Wolf Von Polheim. "Let us pass; our journey was long, and our army needs to set up camp, and I urgently need to speak with the Emperor."

The two guards nodded and allowed them to pass. Several of his men led the army down a separate path, where the tents were set up, while Rudolf was led towards the center of the camp, where no doubt Karl Franz had established his command tent.

Taking a deep breath, Rudolf calmed his nerves. Speculating would get him nowhere, and showing signs of nervousness in front of his father would not help his cause. If he were to secure enough backing, he might step out of his brother's shadow, and then he would have to act with the dignity and self-respect that were required of a Prince of Reikland.

While riding through the camp, Rudolf observed more state troops celebrating what seemed to be a bloodless victory, as he could see secessionist troops marching in defeat. Standing in single file, they threw away their blue rebel colors onto an ever-growing pile as they were welcomed back into the Reikland fold, which was kind of strange in his opinion since rebels were usually severely punished for trying to succeed in their home province and thus weakening the principality of Reikland.

Halflings from the moot: half cooks, half supply train drivers for the army's food.

Imperial dwarfs, who stood out from their mountain-dwelling kin with their clothes in Empire fashion, worked to deconstruct the camp's fortifications and maintain the state troops' weapons. Engineers from the Nuln worked on the artillery pieces that Rudolf could only dream he could possess, and lastly, the warrior priests of the cult of Sigmar, resplendent in their shining armor and mighty warhammers, navigated the tents, seeing the men's spiritual needs and hearing the confessions of the rebels.

"It was not quite a large force that drove the beastmen from Atel Loren." Rudolf commented.

"But numbers don't tell the whole story, especially when the Emperor's words can mean so much," Wolf said, smiling.

"Too true, Too true."

After a few more minutes of navigating men and tents, the prince and his chamberlin came upon the tent of Karl Franz; it was easily the size of two small houses put together, surrounded by Reiksguard knights, and flying the stylized griffon and "KF" that served as the Emperor's seal.

"Into the lion's den we go, I suppose," Wolf said with a grin as he and Rudolf dismounted. The knights recognized them and let them through, one even holding open the tent flap for the prince to pass. Once inside, he was met by field commanders and nobles from across Reikland, as all of their attention was focused on what looked like rebels. who was kneeling before the emperor himself, Karl Franz Holswig Schliestien, at his chair, clad in gromril armor made from Magnus' own pieces, and holding the warhammer wielded first by Sigmar Heldenhammer and then by every emperor since him, Ghal Maraz.

The emperor had an expression on his face that betrayed no emotion, but his son, who knew him the best save for the Empress, could see in his eyes that his father was in no mood for games this day. While a priest of Sigmar was reciting a litany of penances and forgiveness that lasted several long minutes, once it ended, the emperor stood up from his chair.

"Rolf Von Holsten, Frederick Von Barbaro, and Otto Von Khan: for your actions in convincing the rebel garrison to relinquish Helmgart peacefully and defending it from attacks from Bretonnia, I bestow upon you three the estates and lands of former lord Ottocar Von Reich and admit you into the ranks of the greatswords."

"We are forever thankful, my emperor," one of the former secessionists replied, but the Emperor wasn't finished speaking.

"As you should be, however, I expect you to fight three times as hard, for you three were once part of the force that tried to succeed in Reikland, thus spilling the blood of fellow Reiklanders." Karl said sternly glaring at the men before him like a hawk as he continued "I expect you three to fight even harder than ever before if you seek redemption, not just in my eyes but in the eyes of Sigmar for your predecessor's rebellion."

"Ottocar was a mad man

The three loyalists bowed low to Karl Franz and, without saying another word, left the tent, walking past Rudolf without saying a single word.

"All of you, leave; there is much for my son, and I have much to discuss."

The Nobles bowed to Karl Franz and left the tent, with Wolf placing a comforting hand on Rudolf's shoulder before he left, leaving Rudolf alone with his father.

"Have a seat, Rudolf," Karl said, gesturing to a chair.

"I've heard that you distinguished yourself well during several battles against the succession," Karl said as he poured a glass of wine. "I'm pleased to know that I've successfully raised another warrior in the family."

"I merely did my duty, papa," Rudolf replied as he sank into a plush chair. Now that they were alone, they could drop the formality.

"I expect nothing less from one of my sons." Karl replied, passing the glass to Rudolf, who took it carefully in his armored hands: "In the end, all we can hope for is that we did our duty, whether it was to Reikland, the Empire, or our family." "You've made remarkable progress since you received your first commission; now I've selected you for an important task."

"What sort of task, papa?"

"One of Count Alberich Haupt-Anderssen's lords has assembled a force of 20,000 mercenaries and state troops from Stirland to invade Sylvania." He said, pointing to a distinct area on the map of the empire that was hosted behind him." According to Imperial spies, the damned fool is hoping to take the former Sylvanian Capital of Waldenhof."

"I must find a general to command an army to march to Stirland to intercept any sort of retaliation from the Vampire Counts of Sylvania if that fool gets himself killed. But if that man miraculously somehow succeeds, then Northern Sylvania will be the perfect buffer, not just for Stirland but for Ostermak as well, including opening up trade with the dwarves of Karak Ankor. However, it needs to be someone with both experience and loyalty to the Empire, and one that I can trust."

Karl leveled his steely gaze at Rudolf.

"I suppose in this case, two out of three will have to do."

"Wait, you're picking me?" Rudolf was so shocked he almost stuttered, "But I'm not even twenty-three yet." "Surely someone with more experience would be better suited."

"Tell me, Rudolf, how many fourth sons inherit anything of worth?"

"I...what? I mean, little father. Fourth sons inherit little.

"Exactly. Luitpold is going to be a prince of Reikland and Altdorf and, if he plays his cards right, could become emperor one day. Siegfried is going to come into a large castle along with the West March, as well as several smaller ones, and Kurt will spend the rest of his days as the lord of a handful of country estates. which leaves you, Rudolf. The best a fourth son can hope for is money, which you will of course receive upon my death, but that's not enough for one of my sons. That's why I'm giving you this chance to prove yourself.

"To prove myself?" "I thought I already proved myself in Nordland against the Norscan barbarians or when we led the army of Wissenland against that horse of Minotaurs."

"You already proved to me that you can lead an army," Karl admitted as he looked at the map of the empire. "But despite Luitpold's growing confidence in statecraft and his fair character, your brother does not command the affection of Altdorfers, not to mention he remains indecisive and naif." "It might not be good for the empire if he becomes emperor." In which case, if your brother is not an effective leader, you will become the next prince of Reikland."

"I... am honored, Father." Rudolf said, "But do you think I am ready to rule?"

"Sigmar no." Karl answered bluntly, "When you were a child, we trained you how to be a soldier, not a ruler." That is why I will send far more experienced men to serve as your advisors when the time comes. "They will be intelligent people, and if you want to succeed, you will listen to their advice in all situations, even if it is unpleasant to hear... especially if it is directed at you."

"I understand, Father."

"Good. When we return to Altdorf, I will also be watching your duel with the noble from Middenland, the one who is trying to get your sister's hand in marriage. He is constantly trying to wed her, even though she does not love him to the point of obsession; thus, he challenged you to a duel to prove his worth. It is a delicate situation because his family has close ties with Todbringer, but it will suffice. "Let it never be said that a member of our House would ever back down to such a challenge."

"Is it Von Milstein again?" Rudolf spat out in cold rage "The one who tried to pick a fight with Nordland?"

"The one and the same." Karl sighed as he refiled his glass "I know our family and the Von Milstein have a difficult past when I married your mother, but you must remember, they are still servants under Boris Todbringer, much to his constant frustration."

"I don't understand why Todbringer tolerates that wretched pig of a man. Did he not call his daughter a worthless whore right in front of him?"

"That he did, and received a black eye in return," Karl said letting out a small chuckle, Todbringer can be difficult at times but he can be a very useful ally.

"But still this challenge can not be ignored

"Then I accept their challenge, Father."

"Good. As of now, the duel with Von Milstein's champion is in five days' time. "So you have plenty of time to prepare for the duel; they're making it some kind of special event for all to see."

"This must be the second time they've tried to embarrass you, father." "Why do they choose to come after us so?"

"The Milstein's always hated your mother's family since they are the descendants of Count Stefan Von Kessal of Ostermark" Karl answered without missing a beat." According to the prisoners, they are the ones who supplied the rebels with money and weapons."

"The rebels? But that's treason?!"

"That it is." Karl agreed, as took a long sip of his win before putting it down on the table," Unfortunately, we do not have substantial proof that they supplied the secessionists with money and weapons, much less charge them with conspiracy. But like all cowads they will slip up in time, and when they do, I will deal with them personally."

"If I may inquire, papa, who undertook the challenge to unearth this information?"

"Magnus Gault of the holy order of Sigmar, a witch hunter. He was able to acquire a basic understanding of how they got the weapons to the rebels."

"How long did he-"

"Under half a minute." Karl said, "He tortured the smugglers we were able to apprehend during the siege and persuaded them through, harsh methods of persuasion," and that was all the answer Rudolf wanted, fearful of prying further into the witch hunter's affairs.


What is with this world and rain?

Ciri sat in the back of the first wagon in complete silence with a thin piece of cloth wrapped around her body in an attempt to keep warm, listening to the sound of the tapping feet of the horse's hooves on the muddy road from yesterday's rain, followed by the metal clang of weapons that were mere inches from her and that would make noise with each bump on the road. And like a cherry on top of a freshly baked cake, it started raining again, but more heavily this time.

Knowing that the clothes she wore weren't suited for rainy weather, she instead used the remains of a regimental standard as a makeshift blanket to keep herself dry. It didn't work. since the rainwater would seep through it, like a sponge, causing the piece of fabric to become soaked with even more rainwater, leading her to become wet.

The soldiers, on the other hand, were watching the forest with torches in one hand and weapons in the other, as if it were about to unleash another horror. Those who had been injured were becoming increasingly agitated by the pain, but they did their best to ignore it. knowing that there were only minor injuries that the body could heal over time, provided they had a good rest. For now, the soldiers would focus on getting to Templeoff so they could be safe for the night.

Ciri looked out to the "Hunger Wood," as captain Theoderich calls it, for the third time in a row and didn't see anything that alarmed her, besides an eerie mist that she first saw upon arrival. To make things even worse, the roads were not properly maintained, so at times she had to help the soldiers push the wagons out of some holes, covering her clothes and equipment with mud. Fortunately for her, she eventually got used to it after years of traveling.

When she wasn't helping, Ciri would try to get some information from the captain to pass the time, and it was...sort of useful. She just learned that she was extremely lucky to get out of the Hunger Wood, because according to Captain Theoderich, the Hunger Wood, also known as the Verhungern, is actually a massive death trap. The woods are a spirit-infested maze of briars and bogs, in which the unwary are easily trapped. Travelers that venture beneath the contorted boughs do not return.

Instead, they are doomed to wander until they are lost and crazed with hunger and thirst, forcing them to fall upon each other to feed and drink, devouring human flesh and drinking blood to survive. At first, she thought the captain was exaggerating like the rest of the continent's people, but one look at his serious face tells her otherwise. It was cold and wet inside the wagon, and the constant bumps were too constant to be comfortable to sleep on.

Look at me. Ciri thought. The former princess of Cintra has trouble sleeping in a wagon because she spent the last year in a proper castle.

She thought back to the events of that day and how she arrived in this world. It should have been just another day talking with Ihuarraquax about the Aen Elle elves. Until suddenly, the Wild Hunt appeared out of nowhere, arriving at their destination earlier than expected and hoping to catch her by surprise. After a long, hard fight, Ihurarraquax teleported her again, and here she was.

stuck in another world. under a magical moon with mutagenic properties, and with possibly xenophobic and religious humans that could attack her at any time. Ciri realized she had to be careful what she said because in the previous world she was a member of a group called the Inquisition, which nearly burned her at the stake.

Deciding to break the tense silence, the young woman started to speak up in an attempt to distract

"So if the Hunger Wood is truly as dangerous as its reputation says it is, then why do travelers still go through it?" Ciri questioned.

"It is only dangerous if you wander off the main road, and the wagons of Shallya were desperately needed because there was a major battle that happened here not too long ago." "Besides, it was the only quick route from Soegfriedhof to Templehof at the time, so we took the risk." The captain explained it to her.

So the three other wagons were carrying physicians and medics, meaning these people have some medical knowledge, but hopefully, ones who study in academies or universities instead of local quacks, charlatans, gammers, and pellers like on the Continent. But she was curious when she heard a tiny bit of reverence in the good captain's voice when he said that name. So out of curiosity, she couldn't help but ask.

"And who is this Shallya you keep mentioning?"Is she known throughout these parts?"

"Indeed, for Shallya is the goddess of mercy, compassion, healing, and childbirth." He exclaimed, giving the young witcher a quick glance before turning to the road. "Her priestesses and servants are always a welcome sight in the eyes of the sick and dying, for they are all blessed with or taught the arts of healing."

"So her cult prioritizes alleviating the suffering of others above all else."Cir declared that he had earned a nod.

"Correct, so it is common to see her temples, hospitals, or even a clinic belonging to the cult of Shallya or having her insignia of a dove in almost every city or town." There are even some small reliquaries in a couple of villages where people pray to her, if you know where to look. As the wagon passed another bump, Theoderich grunted and turned his head slightly towards Ciri.

"Do you not have any doctors who practice the art of healing where you came from?"

Ciri paused for a moment, thinking back to her home world before speaking: "We do have a few academies and universities that practice medicine, but not all of the people can study there, unfortunately." Because they are either too poor to enter or are born into a lower social class."

"That's a shame," Theoderich said, surprised that a kingdom would know so little about the medical arts. "The sisterhood of the Cult of Shallya doesn't care if you are low or high born as long as you treat both the injured and diseased."

"Don't get me wrong, there are a good number of mages, druids, and priests in the area of medicine." "It's just that most people do not trust educated doctors."

"Ah! Who wouldn't want to trust a man to close a laceration from a sword or claw with a needle and thread? to pull out the tip of a bolt lodged in his or her shoulder? "To know which disease is curable or not, I wouldn't, but you have to do it because if you don't do it, you'll find yourself in a grave in Morr's garden."

She didn't know what Morr's garden is, but Ciri knew what he was referring to when he said, "On that, we can agree."

"Good to hear," Theoderich said, his lips slowly turning into a smile, "but what about you?"

"Me."

"Yes, why does a monster hunter like you come to these cursed lands?" "I surely doubt that a maiden of your ability and experience would become a damsel in distress."

Ciri chuckled a bit, putting her hand against her mouth while speaking, "If I were a damsel in distress, then I must be the most armed damsel in this part of the world, and I highly doubt my rescuers would look like a person who was thrown in an oversized pig pen."

The soldiers around the captain couldn't help but laugh at that statement, brightening the dark, somber mood a bit.

"She's got you there, captain."

"Who would want to be rescued by the Lord of the Pigs?"

"More like wild boars!"

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, lads; at least I am the one riding with the beautiful ashen-haired women while the rest of you are walking," Theoderich said, even though he was trying to hold a smile before becoming more serious. "Seriously though, why did you come to these god-forsaken lands?"

Ciri paused for a moment as to whether to tell these soldiers the truth or live but decided to improvise a bit, saying, "Just to be clear, it wasn't my choice." She started, quietly thinking of a way to mix the truth a bit: "I was running away from a dangerous group of warriors who plunder faraway lands and kidnap people to use as slaves."

The captain scowled at her. "You're talking about the Northmen, aren't you?"

Her first thought when she heard Northmen was the northern kingdoms, but after reminding herself that she wasn't on the continent but in another world, she quickly remembered that on one strange world, on an island called England, whose people were constantly raided by a group of pirates known as the Vikings or Northmen. Not knowing if these Northmen are the same as the Viking raiders who attacked the Anglo-Saxons or not, she took her chances and nodded.

" Theoderich let out a whistle in surprise. "You've had to be incredibly brave or lucky to escape from Norscan raiders, but that doesn't explain why you're in Sylvania."

"Sylvania?" Ciri asked, "Is that the name of the kingdom or duchy we are in?"

Theoderich gave out an unexpected laugh before speaking, "Kingdom?! Pah! Only an incompetent border prince would refer to the bastion of men as a "kingdom." "No, you're in the Empire, the strongest human nation in the world," The veteran captain exclaimed with all the pride in his voice, "Sylvania, to be more precise. But now it is ruled by the grand county of Stirland. "

"And is this Stirland strong province?"

"No, they're not. Unfortunately, Stirland is a relatively poor province in comparison to its more rich southern neighbors like Averland or Wissenland, who were given overlordship to all of Sylvania."

"I still don't understand; surely the governor of the Stirland could improve his province's fortunes."

"The Count of Stirland could have, if not for the vampire counts." The sergeant said it, saying the word with hatred.

Ciri raised her eyebrows in surprise: "The vampires count?"

"You don't know what a vampire is, do you?"

"I know what a vampire looks like, but I've never seen one with the title of the count before," Ciri said, having only read about them in books in Kar Morhen.

"Good, then you should also know that the Vampire Counts were the former nobles of these lands and still are, unfortunately."

Ciri raised a single eyebrow, wondering what the sergeant was talking about, but didn't press on it since she had read about vampires in Vesimer's personal study, explaining how these creatures of the night would hide in plain sight to avoid detection, but why would a vampire with the name Count?

After another hour of riding through a bumpy road and desolate wilderness, intermingled with an occasional tense atmosphere around the group as a small bit of sunlight peaked through the dark clouds high in the sky, Ciri finally came upon the outskirts of their destination. When the path they had been on left the trees and brought them toward a large clearing, the soldiers relaxed a bit, muttering thanks to "Sigmar" for their safe journey.

The clearing was filled with a large field that had been claimed by a variety of tents and fortifications. Sentries were hard at work, keeping watch for any sign of trouble with a weapon in hand, and servants were hard at work around their encampment. It was a contrast from the overgrown, dead forest they had been in moments before.

At the center of the clearing was a large town with towering stone walls reinforced with stone towers and protected with thick wooden spikes with reinforced iron tips. From on top of the walls, Ciri measured that everything within the clearing would be within bowshot range of the defenders on the walls. She saw a series of stone waymarkers placed every twenty meters, each just a bit taller than the other and with a different colored marking. Going by the ballista that had been placed atop the largest tower, she assumed that it was to bracket the clearing and let the defenders quickly prepare to fire upon whoever approached. It was a stunning level of preparation for a single town, and Ciri had trouble remembering if she had ever seen what was described as a "backwater" being so heavily defended.

In the Northern Kingdoms, no town would have been able to get away with defenses this heavily fortified. Most lords would have seen it as a prelude to rebellion and quickly stopped construction. Was their monster problem truly so severe that the feudal lords of the land gave the peasantry such latitude in defending themselves?

Behind the town, she could see what looked like a wide river, with the narrowest point being the town. Ciri wondered if the village was on the other side of the bridge as well, or if it was only on this bank. Whatever it was, she was impressed by the preparations of the villagers. She couldn't imagine any monsters attacking this place and surviving, but the temple in the town itself appeared..., ancient is a much better word for it.

"This is the most somber place I have ever seen." She remarked to Theoderich.

"That is an understatement of a lifetime," he said grimly. "Tempelhof borders between Switzerland and Sylvania. It was named for its famed temple of Morr, which has not seen a priest in almost 800 years.

"Why didn't the priests return, though?" "Did the townspeople kick them out or something?"

"Kick them out?" Of course not; if they had, the entire town would have been burned down and all its inhabitants would have been slaughtered centuries ago. No, the priests of Morr didn't come back because of the townspeople, but they keep on mysteriously disappearing. He said it stoically, scaring Ciri a bit with how calmly he said it. "Now and then, the ones that the town militia did find were drained of blood or their dismembered body parts. "The only good thing is that a cabal of wizards from the light order have taken residence there to defend it."

"So magic is allowed in these lands?"

The question gained her a few death scowls or questionable looks from the soldiers until one of them said, "More like tolerated, but yes, magic is allowed by imperial law; however, if you don't have a permit, witch hunters will cast you into the cleansing flames or kill you by their kind." "Innocent or not."

Religious dogma and fanaticism can be found anywhere, from a kind-hearted saint to a raving lunatic shouting at anyone who will listen. The Church of the eternal fire is a perfect example, trying to spread its religion by any means necessary, even if it means the blood of innocents.

When they approached the gate, the sentries outside crossed their spears to block the path. "Halt. "Who goes there?" The guards wore green and yellow surcoats with a skeleton embroidered across their chests. Beneath it, they wore padded cloth, along with armored gauntlets and boots. Ciri guessed the interior of the padding might have been reinforced, but she could not be sure. She lowers her head and lets the captain do the talking. The men looked young, but each one had the eyes of older men, with faces weathered by battle and rough living.

"Sergeant Theoderich Von Valkenburg of the Reikland Spear regiment We were part of the caravan bound for Templehof that was ambushed by beastmen. The sergeant sounded a bit tired from the journey but covered it up with a firm and commanding tone. "If you don't believe us, then get Captain Holstein; he can vouch for us."

The sentry turned to his companion, not taking his gaze away from the group, and motioned for him to get the sergeant's captain while he kept an eye on them all to make sure they didn't do anything stupid. Ciri breathed into her hands before rubbing them together to keep herself warm as she began to shiver a bit in the downpour, crossing her arms across her breasts as her cloth shirt was so soaked you could see through it. A moment later, the second sentry brought a bearded man in his forties, wearing a lavish uniform with seals and medals on his breastplate. "As I live and breathe, Sergeant Valkenburg, is that really you?"

As he rose from his seat, the sergeant smiled the widest she had ever seen."It's me, Captain, still alive and wet." "It's not a ghost or evil sprite coming back to haunt you."

The captain chuckled at that, his frown disappearing in a moment of levity as he turned to the sentries and said, "Stand down, lads." "He's with me and my regiment."

"It's good to see you, Sargeant. I thought I would never see you again.

"I thought so too, if not for this warrior maiden," the sergeant said, gesturing to Ciri.

"Don't worry, Sargeant, we have fresh Dwarven ale freshly delivered from Karak Hirn." The sergeant's face lit up with something approaching joy, while the other soldiers smiled upon hearing the captain's declaration.

"Thanks to you and your men, the wagons of Shallya were able to get to Templehof. Already, the good sisters were able to save a lot of good men from an early death, including setting up a clinic for the wounded. "Come on in; we've got fresh clothes and a warm bed to warm you all up."

"The sergeant nodded. "Thank you."

"Any day, Sergeant." When he looked at Ciri in the back of the wagon, the gruff man's smile faded and turned to confusion. "For a lass, and why is she using one of our standards as a cloak?" He asked, gesturing to Cir, who was trying to keep warm.

Ciri was mentally cursed; she couldn't glare at the bearded man before answering, "A monster hunter who is trying and failing to keep herself dry, and no, I was born with this hair, thank you very much."

"Monster hunter, we don't have many like you these days," the captain whistled. That would explain the sword and leather armor. Do be careful with the Stirlanders and Sylvanians. This town is crammed full of them, and some might take offense because of the hair. "The wizards of the light order are stirring those sods into a frenzy."

The other guard behind him scowled at the captain. "You're forgetting that there are two of them right behind."

"And you two put out, unlike the priest." "Unless you prove me wrong," The captain replied guiltily, with a hint of amusement.

"I will try not to cause a riot while I am here." She said this as the group passed through the main gate and into a long street that led to the main plaza.

The town was what Ciri expected of a human village. somewhat dirty, but bustling with trade. Just inside the gate was a long street surrounded by stone buildings, just wide enough for a stall on each side and a reasonably big cart to ride through. There were some stalls on each side of the street, where wares were hawked by grizzled merchants. Men and women in somewhat plain attire stood side by side with travelers wearing mail and padded armor as they negotiated over the price of anything from salted meat to fresh clothing.

"A real oasis in the wilderness." She "Just outside these walls lies nothing but uninhabitable forests filled with monsters, and you wouldn't even know it by looking at this place." But as she spoke, she saw that even this street was built for the sake of defense. There were narrow alleyways to the side and no doors on either side, merely the backs of other houses. Windows were boarded up, and balconies too high to reach jutted out over the street, from which defenders could shoot down on attackers while a small group of soldiers with pikes could easily hold the path. A force of a hundred could hold this town against thousands, so long as the enemy did not bring any siege engines.

Captain Holstein heard her and nodded, saying, "We have to be." Beastmen and vampire invasions are a matter of life here. In my lifetime, I've seen towns like this one destroyed and rebuilt three times, each time stronger than the last. Now, while I loathe to admit it, we humans return to lost towns and cities far faster than our Dwarven allies. But on the other hand, they don't lose dozens of villages and towns each year.

Ciri got curious about what the Dwarves were like in this world, and there was sadness in his voice. "Is your Empire on good terms with the Dwarves of these lands?" She asked, "Or did your empire somehow conquer them all in the past?"

The captain paused for a moment as the old man eyed Ciri like she was insane. "Lady, did the rain somehow rot your brain or something?" Why in Sigmar's name would we make enemies of the elder races? "We have enough enemies as it is," Holstein questioned her, "and those who do will not live long enough to tell about it." He paused: "Besides, the alliance between the Empire and the Dwarven nations has held strong for a hundred thousand years and will stay that way until the end times."

"That's good to hear," Ciri muttered. She kept her expression stoic but allowed a small smile to appear, happy that at least this world's humans are not xenophobic toward certain nonhumans, as they approached a building that looked like the barracks in the town. It was no more ornate than all of the buildings and looked to be somewhat in disrepair. But it looked functional, to say the least. It was constructed of solid stone, with fortified gates and no windows that were bigger than arrow slits or holes to push spears through. Other works, however, were recently added because the building has a courtyard that was previously used as a training field.

Part bastion, part guard house, part barracks Even the town halls are more fortified than some villages back home.

Home. The thought stuck with her. How can I get home without the Wild Hunt finding me all the time? Even if I could return to the continent, they would just follow me.

She noticed the wagons of Shayla she saw before were being used to their fullest, as nuns wearing pure white robes were tending to hundreds of heavily wounded and sick soldiers who were laying down on makeshift beds while a large tarp was held above them to keep the wounded dry from the constant downpour while the nuns did their work. She could see the mud and rainwater starting to mix with the blood of the deceased or dying, as it was pouring out of the doorway like a river. Because of how much of it was pouring out, she felt sick to her stomach.

Ciri noted that a few people were looking at the second wagon, making symbols with their hands. They muttered under their breath as she and the caravan passed on the way toward the barracks. Some were glaring at them and getting the attention of their fellows, while others looked on with sadness and made protective symbols with their hands while gripping small pendants. The older men and women, in particular, seemed most approving of his presence but were also the quickest to turn away and go elsewhere.

A withered, graying old man was led out of the door to the barracks by a pair of armored guards, who opened the door for him. The man was wearing fine clothes made of sheep's wool and linen and seemed to be in good health. Around his neck, he had a necklace with a silver hammer on it. He was speaking to a young man who appeared to be a foreigner and was dressed in what appeared to be silver and iron plate-scale armor with a roaring bear on it. Soon he saw the group and began moving toward it.

"I couldn't believe it when I heard it. "You're one lucky man to survive a beastman ambush, Sergeant." The young man's voice was strong and tired, but with an undertone of straightforwardness and bluntness. "Have you finished off any survivors after the skirmish?" "We don't want any of those fucking mutants to come back and bite us in the ass later."

Sergeant Theoderich jumped off the cart and stepped forward, taking the lead, to Ciri's unspoken appreciation. "We can't be certain of that, sir Mieszko. It all happened so fast and the battle was chaotic that we can't be sure if we killed them all before they reached the tree line."

"That's unfortunate." "Well, we cannot be sure if they can come with a bigger army and attack, but I take it you want me to post some of my men on the walls, right?" With a frown, the young man said, and the captain nodded. Sighing heavily, the young man began walking towards the barracks' entrance, waving two of his men to follow him and pausing for a moment to look over his armored shoulder. "That's 33 gold karls for a patrolman, and I expect it to be on General Helmut Ludendorff's tap when this stupid campaign is over."

Ciri had been a monster hunter for too long to not see signs of a mercenary. Decades of experience in avoiding angering large groups of angry men with swords "What if they paid you eleven silver shillings an hour instead?" "Surely the general would think that is enough for you and your men."

The young man laughed hysterically and was joined by the chuckling of his men. They were laughing at Ciri like she was a student out on the town, and it infuriated her, even if she didn't show it. "You don't know the southern Noble of these parts, girl." They're more likely to give us some money than to pay in full. "Maybe inviting someone with beautiful looks like yours into his bed," the mercenary leader said, obviously trying to be nice, even if Ciri didn't want anything like that to happen. She had already escaped one noble's attempt to bed her, and especially not with a spoiled noble.

Captain Holstein frowned and prodded Ciri in the side, saying, "Eleven silver shillings an hour? That sounds good to me, but only when General Helmut arrives." I don't want you or a band of mercenaries to run off into the night like the last ones: "The Sylvanians here already hate our guts enough after what they did to the town's local tavern."

The young mercenary commander rubbed his chin before nodding his head." Deal."

With that said, Mieszko walked away, with his men following closely.

"What about you, miss?" "The barracks are already full as it is."

"I'll find myself a room in the town's local tavern if you don't mind," Ciri said with a smirk.

"Right," she says. "Perhaps the Drunken Goat Inn has a room for you and here."The sergeant wanted you to have this as a way of saying thanks for saving them and getting yourself a proper cloak for Sigmar's sake," Captain Holstein said as he tossed a small pouch of coins to her, which she easily caught as he continue talking. "Seeing one of our regimental standards being used in such a way is embarrassing, and we want it back, please."

After much reluctance, Ciri eventually gave the captain the regimental standard back and thanked his men before waking up in the streets of Tempelhof.

By the time she bought herself a proper cloak from one of the local markets, Ciri had already begun to have some reservations about the town she was currently walking in, as some of the natives' clothing was old. older than the standard peasant in some of the old kingdoms, adding to the fact that the people looked almost malnourished. The entire town was more gloomy inside the town than outside. Ciri mistook one of the natives for a simple beggar when she turned around one of the corners.

When she arrived at the Drunken Goat Inn, she was skeptical because almost every window had a golden light glimmering behind it, and the tavern was packed to capacity with rowdy patrons, to say the least. But she had to admit that she badly needed to get out of the rain, and she couldn't afford to be picky. She just has to improvise a bit and hope nothing goes wrong. Upon entering through the front door, the stench of beer hit her sense of smell like a war club, and the heat from the fire started to warm her body.

The tavern is a little bigger than most, as it is smoky and crowded, and the tables are occupied by merchants and common people who are drinking away their everyday sorrows and worries like it was their last day in this world. However, there was an argument at the main table, where a man in his mid-thirties was arguing with the Tavern's owner, who was dressed in expensive fabric and silk.

"I said two hundred gold kringles, three hundred, and ten silver shillings for ten barrels of Bolgan's finest three barrels of ale." The merchant exclaimed, pointing his finger at the barkeeper, "You gave me one hundred Karls and one hundred and ninety-nine silver!"

"You sold me a diluted ale, goat fucker." The tavern owner snarled at him: "Two of the ale barrels weren't sealed shut properly, letting the rainwater in and ruining it completely." "You should be grateful that I gave you those Karls, much less a single shilling from me."

"What do you mean by improperly sealed?"I checked them all myself; the barrels were perfectly sealed by the time I bought them from the producers."

"Then your seller did a poor job inspecting them, because I currently have two barrels of diluted ale leaking in my cellar!"

The merchant grunted in frustration before turning back to the barkeeper: "I'll give you back the two hundred golden karls as payment for the two damaged barrels, while you give me the two hundred silver shillings in exchange and, as a bonus, a two-year contract with one of my dwarven brewers." "Does that sound far?"

The barkeeper thought on the proposition for a moment before speaking out, "No trick."

"No tricks."

"I don't believe you."

"By Handrich's balls, man!" The merchant almost shouted in exasperation, "Do Sylvanians not see an honest deal when you see one?!"

"No."

The merchant held back from slamming his head against the bar counter, muttering something about dwarves under his breath, before gathering himself and saying, "How about a compromise?" You keep Bolgan's finest for free, and I pay for the damaged goods as compensation, but in exchange, I get 75 percent of the profits since I invested a small fortune in this inn. "Does that sound better?"

"Thirty-seven percent; I don't get that many customers."

"Sixty-eight. " "You're lying; I counted sixty people coming out of this place every hour."

"Forty." That was a lucky day, and you know it.

"Down the middle, then, fifty-five percent." That is my final offer.

The barkeeper glared daggers at the imperial merchant before growling, "You got a deal."

The merchant shook the bartender's hand firmly and said, "Glad to do business with you." "Arschloch," the merchant said, whispering the last part under his breath.

Scowling, the barkeeper muttered a few insults at the merchant in return in his native language before changing his tone within a second once he noticed Ciri, who was waiting patiently. "Welcome, lady, what can I do for you?" If you are looking for accommodation, then you're in luck. "One of the rooms is vacated, including a good cleaning if you want to stay for a few days."

Putting on a friendly expression, she nodded and said, "That would be much appreciated."

The barkeeper smiled and said, "That would cost you twenty shillings and thirty coppers for a single night and food."

Hearing her stomach growl caused her face to blush faintly as she nodded her head before adding, "Can you have a bath ready for me as well?" "As you can see," she gestured to the filth that was stuck to her clothing and said, "I had to sleep in the mud for a couple of days and am completely soaked because of the bad weather outside."

The barkeeper examined her clothing for a second and nodded, saying, "That would cost you another twenty-five silver shillings for that."

Ciri gave the barkeeper fifty silver shillings and thirty-six coppers, for which the bearded man smiled and motioned one of the tavern maids to prepare her room on the tavern's upper floor. At the same time, the bartender began preparing the food for her, and Ciri found a table in the farewell corner to sit at. Since she was waiting, Ciri began examining the crowd in front of her, waiting patiently for her food, taking about an hour to make before being served.

It was a simple dinner, with a couple of freshly-cooked sausages, bread, and what looked like vegetables on the side. Picking up a fork, Ciri began digging in, so when the first sausage hit her taste buds it gave off a good sensation that she hadn't felt for ages causing her to devour the food whole in a little under a minute.

Once she was done Ciri began walking up the stairs, the female witcher following the maid, only stopping at the door on the far side of the hall where lanterns lit the way. Unlocking the door, the maid showed the room. The room was small for what she was used to, with only a single bed and a few pieces of furniture that decorated the room while candles were spread out to provide more light. On the far side of the room was a fireplace that was keeping the entire room warm, along with an empty tub big enough for her body to fit in.

Ciri sighs as she removes her sword scabbard and sets it aside before removing her equipment and placing it in order, as well as her cloak. She immediately began to warm herself against the raging fire in the room and brushed her hands to warm them while she waited for the tavern maid to pour hot water from a wooden bucket into the bathtub due to the cold air coming out of it.

"The tub is ready for you, miss," the maid said, bowing her head slightly.

"Thank you." She thanked her as the maid closed the door.

Ciri slowly started to take her clothes off, putting them far enough above the fireplace so that clothing wouldn't get burned, before testing the water to make sure it was truly warm. Satisfied, she put her wolf mandilion above the fireplace before finally submerging her body into the water, thus letting out a moan of satisfaction as she began cleaning herself. She scrubbed every inch of her body, relaxing the muscles that were stiff from years of running and never properly resting.

It looks like this place is going to be my new home for a while. She thought to herself soberly. At least until the wild hunt finds me again.

Glancing slightly at her silver medallion that represented the school of the wolf brought back some fond memories of when she was still living in Kaer Morhen. Even though the old witcher would usually fall asleep in the middle of a lesson reading about ghouls and nekkers, she spent all of her time training under Geralt or Vizimir. Ciri became bored and decided to sneak away to train in the courtyard at Kaer Morhen, practicing her sword skills on a combat dummy, before getting into trouble.

Those memories caused her to smile a bit, and she wished that she could go back in time and relive those times again and again so those times would never end. But they did end, and Ciri couldn't go back in time to relive those feelings, and worse, they will never return and will never be the same. Ciri didn't realize she was being watched from afar by a mysterious being dressed head to toe in an animal-skinned cloak, sitting on one of the roofs and using one of the house's many spikes as a chair while smiling with amusement.

Of all the places he visited, the piper became most fascinated with this one. No, it is the greatest theater he has ever seen, in his opinion. Too bad he couldn't make any contracts, though if he did, that would eventually breach his agreement with a certain god.

But the piper was overjoyed that he had made that deal.


Okay, chapter two is complete; now move on to chapter three.

And what I've read about Sylvania is that it is considered more of a backwater and lags in both fashion and technology. with a massive gap between the peasantry and the nobility, even more so than in Bretonnia. That will soon change, and I'm also planning an arc for Ciri's adventures on the Mallus. At the same time, Rudolf and Ciri's relationship will begin slowly. Not fast, also information on the witcher will be most appreciated.

Please leave a review and Sara Nara.