The journey back was slow, but uneventful. Ciri had her arm around Lea's shoulder, supporting the girl as she was exhausted from the receding adrenaline. She herself felt a bit of fatigue too. At Ciri's request, the Hunter was taking point, where she could keep an eye on him, leading her and poor Lea through the woods, back to Rhinzweig. Halfway, they stopped. For once to give Lea a chance to drink some water from a clear stream and for the man to sit down further downstream to wash off some of the blood. Lea couldn't help but glance at the water as it turned pink, carrying little bits with it. Both her and Ciri, felt a little bit of nausea when he himself noticed that one of his fingernails was loose, as it had been pushed upwards during the struggles, and removed it with a quick tug. If he felt any discomfort, he didn't acknowledge it.

Despite the recent ordeal and Ciri's and the Hunter's shedding of blood, the day seemed to turn in their favour. Where the forest had first been against the ashen haired Girl in her pursuit, the clouds had now vanished completely and the sun shone down on the three of them, warming them in the comfortable breeze. The last few hours aside, it was genuinely nice to be outside, especially after the rampant storm. Only the Hunter's presence seemed out of place, with his soaked garments, wet hair and stony expression. He looked like someone had cut him from one painting and awkwardly placed him in another. Occasionally he glanced back at them as he marched through the underbrush, a strangely gloomy look on his face. Had she possibly been too hard on him? Rude even? She pushed the thought back. Surely he could suck it up and he seemed not confrontational about it. Maybe he understood and somehow that made Ciri feel even more guilty.

When they arrived back it was afternoon. People quickly flocked together, joyous over the return of the innkeeper's daughter. Jürgen, understandably rushed immediately forward to embrace his girl, together with her older sister, all three with tears in their eyes. Kerren even pulled her into a quick hug, his arm now in a sling and bandaged up. All in all, it was a solemn moment and soon Ciri could not save herself from the expressions of gratitude. Jürgen of course was pledging immortal debt to the young woman and free lodging whenever she stayed in town. When the tears of joy had subsided somewhat, Jürgen turned to Ciri again.

"Now, where is that other fellow of yours? He deserves as much thanks as you, I suppose."

She smiled. "Maybe more. He did most of the fighting. I think myself capable with the blade, but he…"

"He was fighting like a devil." Lea said, perhaps more excitedly than appropriate. "None of them stood a chance. I would like to thank him too. He seemed a bit sad when we came back. Didn't say a word."

"Maybe he went to wash up a bit. He did look as if he had crawled from the pit of Sodden itself." Jürgen said, looking around. "He wasn't hurt, was he?"

"Hurt his hand, but the blood is not his." Ciri answered. "I suppose he went to clean himself up, but he didn't have any other clothes, did he?"

"Don't think so. Marie!" He motioned for his older daughter to come closer.

"Yes?"

"Please be a dear and look for the Hunter fellow? I suppose he needs his clothes to be cleaned. Take them to Doris. She knows how to get rid of bloodstains, if there is any hope."

She smiled. "Of course. But someone needs to take care of the guests in the meanwhile."

"I'll do it. Lea should rest a bit for now." He said and both him and Ciri watched the girl hurry off to look for the other man.

"You're a lucky man." Ciri said, smirking.

"I am." He looked at the doorway through which Marie had vanished, smiling. "I only wish my dear Henrietta was still alive to watch them growing up. But still, I am blessed."

"Mister?" Marie knocked again. No answer, but he was in there. She had heard a chair shift, or something similar.

"I can come back later." She announced, almost ready to turn and go, when the door opened.

He was truly a strange fellow, this Hunter. He was an intimidating sight. Tall, without a doubt fighting fit and his posture had something restless to it, like a cat on the prowl. Then again, his face seemed so boyish in a way. He had wrinkles on his forehead and stubble growing on his chin, yet his eyes, as sharp as they were, seemed to express a constant anxiety. It might be anatomical, however. His upper eyelids curved down to the outside, giving him a look that was not dissimilar to a sad puppy.

In a way, he was handsome. Not beautiful, but for some types, certainly very attractive. His bodily physique did it's part also. His clothes were obviously tailored and clung to his form, without being restrictive. He was lean, but not skinny. She imagined wiry muscle, taut under the formerly white shirt.

"Are you unwell?" He asked. Just now she realized that he had been standing there, his hair and hands still wet.

"I-I am fine." She stammered.

"You have worked up quite a blush. Maybe you have a fever." He continued, eyeing her with concern. "You should drink some water. Stay out of the sun."

"It's nothing!" She said, more forcefully than intended. "I-I… my father sent me to see if you needed anything… and to get your clothes to we see if we could get them clean again. Umm…"

He looked down at his shirt and tugged it a bit.

"This can only be burned." He said. "Blood doesn't wash out so well from white clothes. But my trousers might be salvageable."

She pointed inside. "There might be a robe in the closet. Father thought it to be a good idea for the guests."

He walked over to a wooden cabinet and opened it. He then took out a linen robe from inside and looked it over. It was cheap, but it would do.

"Very progressive." He muttered as his hand went up to unbutton his shirt.

Marie only realized what he did when he shrugged off his shirt. She had almost yelped at the sight of his maltreated skin. Instead she only covered her mouth and averted her eyes. His arms and torso were covered in scars, some more vicious than others. Hundreds of little cuts, dozens of stabs and slashes. Some were very peculiar, like little star shapes of varying sizes. A nasty gash wormed itself from his armpit over the back of his neck. Even Kerren, who had fought his whole live, as far as she knew, did not look so punished.

"I'm sorry. You could've warned me." She said, still looking down the hall, red as a beet.

"Oh." He said. With a sideways glance, she confirmed that he had already pulled off his trousers and was putting on the robe.

"I am sorry. I have not had much company in a long time. I fear that barbarism has taken hold of me somewhat."

He closed his robe and walked over to her, folding his clothes in his hands as he did so.

"I was just surprised." She said, smiling and took the small bundle, before quickly bowing and turning to leave.

"I will bring them back as soon as they're dry." She announced and saw his nodding. Then she hurried down the steps, her heart in her throat.

"Such a nice girl." The Hunter mumbled and closed the door.

He felt strange now, alone and almost naked under the thin linen that reached almost to his ankles. The room was alight in the early afternoon sunshine and felt too easy, too safe. In Yharnam, every corner bore potential harm and more than once he had met his demise at the hands of someone or something bursting from a hiding spot he had been sure to have cleared out. Here, he felt as if the world outside was shut off from the safety of the little chamber. Light wood and white sheets dominated the colours. The scent of soap hung lightly in the air. No wonder Jürgen's inn did well. He and his daughters kept it presentable with passion. He wondered briefly about the mother, but dropped the thought quickly. He had lived through enough tragedy already to chew through, better not to be burdened with the sad story of a good man. Although he knew that most of his opponents in Yharnam had been good people surely.

Now, that everything was taken care of, he did not know what to do. There was a small board with letters branded into them at the door, but he did not recognize the symbols. As of now, the common script was as foreign to him as the ancient glyphs in the dungeons and catacombs below Yharnam, the labyrinthic tombs where the elder blood had first been discovered. He deduced that even though he had deciphered many scripts and codes, solved countless riddles and had glimpsed the eldritch truth, he was a common analphabet here, which unsettled him slightly.

He had learned to adapt and overcome to reach his goal, but as far as he knew, he had served his purpose in the dream. Gehrman had granted him peace and freed him of the night of the hunt, so now he would need to focus on something else. Maybe he would just learn to live here, try to find some peace. Maybe his past would come back, maybe it was better if it didn't.

Learning to read would not be too hard. Learning the customs should not be a factor. In fact the notion of a whole new world to study was intriguing. He had no ties, no task, so he could probably go with the flow and possibly find himself a recluse here. Something to come to terms with the things that had happened to him and with the things he had done.

His eyes fell on his coat, hanging from a nail in the wall. It had served him well through the fire and the blood. With time, he had become rather attached to the waterproofed, woollen article. In the lining, carefully, he had sewn the small trinkets he had collected. A white cloth, tied up into a complicated metal knot, a small silver sword, Eileen's crow medallion, the tonsil stone. Even if he had been fully clothed, he would feel naked here. His weapons were missing and no simple sword would fix that. The cheap and amateurishly crafted sword he had wielded against the brigands had felt like a dried up sunflower when compared to the Blades of Mercy, the Sawcleaver and Ludwig's Moonlight Sword, but he had fought with worse. A Hunter's fighting style was versatile and ruthless. Some even called it ugly, as a Hunter felt no need of honor beyond the obligatory bow to an adversary. When steel clashes and blood flows, no rule is worth one's life.

He could surely make himself useful as a practitioner of medicine, of which he had learned plenty. Maybe even cheat a bit with the help of the arcane arts he had picked up.

He grabbed the sleeve of his coat. The material was thick and heavy. Dark and foreboding. For a moment he pondered if he'd actually have a shot at a peaceful time. Thinking back to Lea and the brigands, he felt not so sure anymore. Hadn't death followed him wherever he went? Hadn't he always found some new prey to stalk? To slaughter?

It would creep back into his existence like a cancerous growth, like a spreading infection. You could stall it, but rarely purge it entirely. Almost he could feel the cold steel of the sawcleavers handle, the rough cloth tied around it to increase it's grip and to prevent his hands from slipping when they got… wet.

There was a knock on his door, louder and stronger than before. It couldn't be Marie again, could it? Had he stood here for such a long while? Staring at his coat like a vegetable?

It was not Marie. Instead, he looked into the face of the magician, mage, wizard? He stepped inside unasked and introduced himself as Ludd of Grisa. A sorcerer. Well, he would go with sorcerer from now then.

Their eyes met, one pair curious and dark, the others light and narrow. There was no suspicion in existence the Hunter hadn't had yet and in the face of this man, he had a very uncomfortable feeling.

"You look hesitant, good Hunter." Ludd said and the Hunter recoiled, even if just slightly. Yet the sorcerer undoubtedly noticed his reaction to his title being said out loud.

"I am fine. Just the term. It is familiar."

The sorcerer raised an eyebrow.

"Really? What coincidence. Though it is a fine entry to what I was going to discuss with you."

"I have yet to decide if I'm in the mood for discussion."

The sorcerer smiled.

"We scholars of the magical, we all acquire a certain sense. Anyone with a connection to the arcane do, really, but only through many studies and practice, this sense becomes culpable and can be analysed."

The Hunter nodded and Ludd continued.

"I myself have spent a considerable amount of time trying to… seize a solid grasp on this mere feeling and I believe myself to have come to some success with it."

The Hunter nodded again, patiently.

"So I was unable to overlook the obvious aura you carry with you. It is certainly an impressive amount of force you keep captive. Did you know any of that?"

"Yes."

"Yet the energy feels entirely alien to me. Not like the fiery chaos I have become accustomed to, but rather something deeper and calmer, maybe something like… like-"

The Hunter faced him fully.

"Like deep waters.Yes. Yes, quite so." Ludd murmured to himself. "A heavy burden I suppose?"

"I have grown with it."

The sorcerer nodded, like in deep thought. His eyes rested on the Hunter for a while, then on the coat, then on the Hunter's hands.

"I know someone of great skill, who would have an immense interest for this potential of yours. She has guided someone with different but comparable… gifts like yours and helped her with great success."

The Hunter's eyes narrowed slightly. Though he did appreciate the relative openness of the proposal, he did not willingly entertain the idea of having his knowledge become widespread and scholars had the annoying tendency to share their findings with other scholars, which did not sound good to him.

"You don't seem to thrilled? Not keen on indulging the sciences?"

"No." The Hunter said. "I appreciate the suggestion, but I believe that what I learned will best remain undisclosed."

"Aaah…" The sorcerer breathed, a knowing look on his face. Possibly he had a secret or two of his own which he kept for the safety of others, who were not farsighted enough to anticipate their consequences.

"Well, at the least she might possibly be in need for a capable hand. Tell her I have referred you and she might provide you with work for a while. That is if you have no other plans for now. You seem aimless."

The Hunter snorted. " I am. Thank you for the help. Where would I find this acquaintance of yours?"

Ludd smiled. "She lives in Novigrad for now. It's the largest city in the region. Just go west and keep on the path to Oxenfurt and past that. From Oxenfurt it's just a day's ride away to Novigrad. Her name is Yennefer of Vengerberg. But let me warn you, she can come across as calloused. She would never admit her own compassion."

"I can deal with that." The Hunter answered chucking lightly as he turned towards the door where the mage was headed.

"Oh and good Hunter." He turned around in the open door frame.

"Yes?"

"Do rest a bit. It can only benefit a fractured mind like yours."

It was almost night when Ciri saw Marie walk back inside the tavern with a black bundle of clothes under her arm and a plain grey linen shirt in the other hand. She watched her walk by, greeting patrons and smiling, before she stopped shortly at the narrow stairway towards the upper quarters. She seemed hesitant, almost unsure, but then she balled her left fist and ascended to the second floor. Ciri could not tell what made Marie reconsider and what convinced her otherwise, but the clothes were the Hunter's and she had witnessed a bit of him earlier that day. To say he was intimidating was putting it lightly after what she'd seen. The manner in which he had taken the brigands apart had reminded her of how wraiths hunted their prey. They were invisible and soundless when they prowled, but merciless and brutal when they materialized and attacked. It was nigh impossible to outrun a spirit, though luckily most wraiths were bound to a location or an object and would give up their pursuit when one was far enough away. If they were bound to a being, that would only spell that unfortunate creatures end.

She remembered his duel with the giant at the miners camp. A man of impressive stature and plated in armor and mail, yet the Hunter had not only dissolved and reappeared within the blink of an eye, she could do something similar, but he had also punched through the metal, the leather, the skin and muscle with his bare hand. Surely, impressive martial arts existed, but this manoeuvre had seemed not only impossible, but also… wrong. Like some foreign power had enabled the Hunter's fist to just ignore physics and slip right into the flesh.

The mere thought provoked a nauseous feeling to rise in her chest. It was not uncommon to hear of magically enabled creatures to use their gifts in less than socially adequate ways and of course also in combat. Dark arts these were called, though Ciri knew from first hand reports that nothing like a "dark art" existed. Magic was violent by nature, thus the name of it's source "chaos". It mattered only how well one channelled it and where and how it was directed.

So the Hunter could use the chaos, or at least he siphoned substantial power from something similar. Werewolves for example could actually hit hard enough for their claws to puncture armor, something usually impossible for a man. Vampires had such sharp claws that mail would part under them like steak under a razor, but the Hunter was at least not a conventional high vampire. The amount of blood should have driven him crazy and also, as far as she knew, vampires did not develop scar tissue like normal humans.

It was unsettling to know that upstairs, someone was staying who would be able to dismantle a knight with his bare fists and who was also extensively trained in swordsmanship. Then again, hadn't she seen more incredible things yet? Flying vehicles and people with steel in their heads, waging war from afar? What was this Hunter's little display of death compared to the towers of glass she had already seen with her own eyes?

Nothing. Because it was not what unsettled her so much. It was something far subtler and, so much she felt, far more strange than she could tell.

Marie came back down the stairs, searching for her father, who was chastising a patron for spilling his drink on the wooden wall. The dwarf nodded like a beaten puppy before Jürgen slapped him on the shoulder and ushered him back to his chair, turning around to get a rag.

"Father."

"Yes."

She opened her hands and Ciri saw the shine of polished metal flash in the candlelight.

"The Hunter has found some coins in his coat. He said they might be worthless as currency, but they might be rare metals."

Jürgen took a white golden coin and held it towards the light, trying to decipher the strange symbols on it's face. He seemed clueless, but the dwarf from before spoke up, his voice loud and deep.

"Meister! I kno' a bit about gems 'n expensive metals. Worked under a jeweller for quite some time."

He closed in, beckoning for Jürgen to let him see the things. He took one, turned it, rubbed it, bit it and looked at it again. Then he handed it back.

"It's gold. I don't kno' if it's just thick plated, or if it's pure. Would need t' smelt it down to kno' that. Hand me that one."

Marie gave him a smaller, silver coin. He held it to the light.

"Oooh, this' mighty strange." The dwarve's eyes never left the shiny thing as he spoke.

Ciri's interest peaked. She put down her cup and moved closer. The coin seemed to shimmer in the light, the reflections changing.

"It's beautiful." Marie whispered, also entranced by what she saw. Ciri got closer.

The metal was… swirling about. No. It was solid, but the pattern seemed to move with the angle from which it was looked on. It's silvery sheen threw the light apart in a spectacular display, akin to a turmoiled pool of water.

"What is this?" Marie asked, still staring at the small silver plate.

"Dunno." The dwarf answered, equally as puzzled. "Might've been folded and hammered, but that pattern is nothin' I've seen before."

"Is it valuable?" Jürgen asked.

"From the looks of it. Hard t' say. What did the good man want ya t' do with it?"

"Mmhm." Marie tore her gaze from the coin. "He said he needed to pay for lodging and cleaning of his clothes somehow. As I said, he said they might not be valid coin, but the material could have worth."

"So he's willing t' part with 'em?"

"Surely, yes. He did not seem overly attached to them and I believe he has more."

"I don't want no gold or spooky silver in my house." Jürgen spoke up from between them.

"I have no interest in housing bait for bandits and the like. The reason Rhinzweig has thrived so much is that we buy tools for building and armor for Kerren's men with the coin we have. A treasure like this would only attract thieves and riff raff."

"Then me and me friends could buy it?" The dwarf said, more to Marie than anyone else.

"Possibly." She said. "He is currently upstairs, taking stock of his belongings."

"Splendid!" The dwarf called out, laughed and after a short talk with his companions, he and another one rushed upstairs, a thick purse in the hand of the other one. Just now, Jürgen and Marie noticed Ciri standing before them.

"Seems like he got it covered." Jürgen chuckled while Ciri and Marie just exchanged looks. The Hunter didn't show up again this day.

"You're comfortable with anything?" Kerren asked as he and the Hunter strode through Rhinzweig's humble armoury. There was a decent amount of polearms, some axes and swords and some expertly crafted bows among the collection on one side. The other side was reserved for armor. Leather, mail and one spare piece of plate. The meagre light that shone in from the morning sun painted everything a dull grey.

"I can do with anything. I have used much, but I am still a devout student of the sword."

"Ah. Could've guessed." Kerren nodded, careful to keep his broken arm calm in it's sling.

"We have some and I am willing to part with them for a low price. With what you've done for us already. We have arming swords to spare. One or two short ones and this one here. It has been sitting quite a while here, since we try to have as many men shielded as possible."

He pointed to a rack in the corner, out of sight, where a trio of axes hung heads down and on top, the long and slender blade of a long sword shimmered in the light.

"A skelliger smith made it a few years back. Had a small shop here, but decided to move on.This one here is made in the Novigrad style."

The Hunter took up the sword, fingers sliding down the black grip, before he twitched his wrist and caught it just beneath the crossguard. It was curved upwards on one and downwards on the other side to make it effective as a hook. The blade itself was strong, with a hexagonal cross section and a short blunt portion just above the crossguard. It tapered gently towards the point, but was still strong to allow good thrusting.

He felt along the blade. It was sharp. Very much so and as the Hunter whipped it harshly up and down with the flat side up, he noticed it's flexibility. Just slightly, but he had wielded spring steel before. This was a good blade. It wouldn't abandon him so quickly as the bandit's sword did.

"You feel quite comfortable with it." Kerren said, watching the Hunter as he made a small practice move to test it's balance. He took it upwards toward the ceiling and looked it up and down, taking in the small traces of time and the minor blemishes on the weapon.

"Yes. I would prefer this one, certainly." He answered.

"Then take it. It's only sitting here anyway."

"How much do you want for it?"

Kerren chuckled. "It's a gift. I would've charged you for one we'd actually use, but this one, even though it's a solid piece, has been collecting dust for the longest time."

"You know how to use a two handed blade." The Hunter said, cocking his head to the side.

"Ah. Yes, I do. But to be honest, I prefer a shield to go with my weapon. Makes me feel better, you know."

The Hunter knew. Shields were fine, as long as they didn't hinder oneself. To him, shields had never been useful. The hunt required aggression and dominance. Rather he'd carry two weapons for different ranges, or one for armour and one for flesh.

"I thank you, master Kerren." He said, while taking the scabbard and sheathing the long weapon in a single precise movement.

"No, sir Hunter. I thank you. If not for you and miss Ciri, today would be much bleaker of a day. What will you do now, now that you have coin and a blade?"

"I haven't thought of it too much." The Hunter confessed. "The sorcerer, Ludd, has pointed me towards a colleague of his. A sorceress by the name of Yennefer of Vengerberg. I am curious, I do admit."

Kerren pulled in air through his teeth. "Ahh, you better be careful with mages and the likes. They are tricky for sure and they're not exactly welcome in the kingdom at this time. Here in Rhinzweig, we don't care much for someone's upbringing as long as they're decent, but elsewhere… the people might rat you out to the church, if they hear someone asking about witches and wizards."

The Hunter looked at Kerren for a moment, before nodding. He did know what a purge was. Holocaust some would say. It seemed some things were the same anywhere you went.

"I will be careful. If she is in hiding, I wouldn't want to harm her. Though if the sorcerer knew of her whereabouts, he should be trustworthy, shouldn't he?"

"Oh." Kerren snorted. "Sorcerers never are. They see themselves as a higher tier of being. But that's just what power does. In the end they're people like you and me. They're scared and they're hurt the same way. That's what we say here."

"Hm." The Hunter nodded, regarding the sheathed sword in his hand. It was truly a good piece. He almost felt bad for accepting it. Then again, he had never hesitated to pilfer a dead corpse or a slain opponent for tools or weapons. Soon enough, he was sure, he would try to craft a new sawcleaver. As barbaric as the weapon was, he had never had greater success against larger enemies than with the heavy, toothed hacksaw that it was. The sword was… more elegant, though against humans equally destructive. Faster and more agile, thus, much more precise. Given some time and the right tools, he could even try his hand at creating a firearm for himself. Maybe he had gained enough understanding to build one from the ground up.

Without him noticing too muchmuch, they had left the room and Kerren locked the door behind them.

"Well. It has been my pleasure. Do say goodbye if you depart today. I have some things to do. I got to meet with the commander of the corpses you left and have some men bury them so the ghouls don't find them."

"Yes. Take care."

The Hunter watched Kerren walk off, taking great care to avoid the door frames in his path. Standing in the guardhouse, he felt comfortable with his newly acquired weapon. In a way it had a lot in common with, for him, known equivalents from the late medieval period. Yharnam still had use for such relics, where the more modern firearms did often not more than annoy a charging beast. Combining the workshop's spontaneous way of combat with his growing knowledge of italian, german and minor fencing schools made for an unanticipatedly effective method of ending lives.

Now he needed to know how to find his way around and focus on a goal. His first step would be to procure rations and directions and head east towards Oxenfurt from where, he'd heard, it was a mere one day walk to Novigrad. Reaching Oxenfurt was a more complicated undertaking. He would need five to seven days, assuming that he wouldn't meet a merchant caravan which he could pay for a ride.

Alone the fact that he could pay for anything was a large step forward. The dwarven group he had met had provided him with a good sum for his coins and further, as they didn't seem convinced it was enough, had provided him a letter of entitlement which he could exchange for another sum of money when he reached Novigrad and gave it to a banker by the name Vivaldi. Upon inquiry of it's worth, Jürgen had assured him that the total amount was enough to buy a house and live from the rest for a good amount of time without having to work.

Not that he was afraid of finding work. His journey through the Hunt had awarded him ample endurance and strength, as well as being far harder to harm than any other human being. He could definitely find employment as a manual labourer until he had adapted enough and learned the script.

As he pondered, he had wandered outside where he was greeted by a friendly and mild morning breeze. The light shone starkly through the branches of nearby trees and left a nice pattern on the grass and dirt. Birds sang, which was a sound so far forgotten that it seemed unnatural to him. A goose crossed his path, angrily squawking at him as he stopped to let it pass, before half a dozen hatchlings hurried after it, their little feet leaving tiny marks in the mud. A dog barked somewhere behind him and here and there, he saw a face or a silhouette of people going by their morning business.

A less steeled man had maybe jumped or gasped when he turned around and only narrowly avoided to smash Cirilla in the stomach with the heft of his sword. In his head, he was hectic for a split second, but on the outside, he only raised a brow as he angled his weapon somewhere harmless.

"Mornin'." She said, looking up at him. "I saw you enter with the captain. I see you have gotten a hold of a new weapon."

He looked down at his sword. Surely his constant pausing and stalling made him seem like a simpleton, but the people here commented so easily on anything that happened. It was strange to him to hear someone comment on his healthy appetite or even greet him. He did not know how his time on the Hunt translated in the waking world but to him it had seemed as if eons had passed without human contact. He had grown accustomed to only conversing with the plain doll or the shy chapel dweller. Even then he had been soft spoken. He guessed that he had never been a strong talker.

"I did." He said and after a short pause added: "I planned on setting out soon. The sorcerer has suggested me to go towards the east. There is a city called Novigrad there."

"I know." She said. "I plan to go there. I only meant to stay for a night here, but I promised Lea to stay for today."

He nodded.

"We could travel there together if you'd like. The roads are relatively safe most of the time, but it never hurts to have another pair of eyes with you."

"Or another swordhand."

She grinned. "Yes. Though I believe you would be fine by yourself."

"Concerned about your own health?" He asked, eyeing her more closely.

"Not too much. I've been doing well by myself. But it is much more relaxing to be able to actually sleep through a night."

He looked at his blade once more. A few strokes of a grindstone and a new coat of oil would do it good.

"Tomorrow then. You plan to set out early?"

She nodded. "I'll get something for breakfast from Jürgen. You don't mind getting up early?"

"I don't."

She nodded, before wishing him a good day and walking off. He had a few more things to do. He needed to collect some provisions, maybe another set of clothes. He would need a satchel or a rucksack to carry his new belongings. He hadn't noticed at first, but the little messengers who had normally accompanied his every step, were nowhere to be found. It was strange to be alone again. Even though their visages were horribly deformed, they had given him some sense of comfort with their cheerful attitudes. Now where was he?

Seeing him just stand there, was an uncommon sight for sure. The man was tall and lean, imposing, yet he seemed so very lost as he stood there in front of the guard house. She turned around again and continued. She had promised Lea to keep her company today and the girl would be up now. All of Jürgen's family were early risers. Had to be, to service the inn.

When she got back she saw her and Marie already working on a bare nail sticking up from where before one of the steps of the stairs to second floor had been. Apparently it had been broken loose and now the irritating piece of metal jad to be removed before the board could be set back in place. Lea, who was shorter and more slender was on her back below the stairs with a pair of pliers, while Marie stood above, with a hammer in her hand.

"I just don't understand why someone would hammer in a nail from below." Lea groaned from the floor. "Give it another whack, would you?"

Marie hit the bottom of the nail and it shrunk into the wood, bending it's spike while doing so. Lea tried her luck again.

"It's stuck. Father said it's just a nail. I'm soo sure he would be done with this in a second and build a completely new staircase somewhere else."

Ciri couldn't help but chuckle. Lea heard her and called out. "Ciri. Help us with this, will y-" Just as she spoke Marie hit the nail again and easily half a handful of dust separated from the wood and fell onto the younger sister's face. She coughed and spat out hard. Equal amounts of expletives and dust as she cleared her throat. Marie clasped her hands in front of her own mouth.

"Oh, Li, I'm so sorry, don't say things like that! Are you fine? Where did you learn those filthy words?"

"Uhm…"

"It's because you hang around these soldier types so much."

"They're nice."

Marie put her hands on her hips. "They were to me too, before I was engaged with a decent man. They are horny little rascals, the lot."

"Ciri?" Lea pleaded with puppy eyes. Ciri just shrugged.

"They leave me alone. Maybe because they know I can beat most of them up. But I don't think they're all such perverts. Kerren is a nice man."

"Kerren is… a grown man. Most of the guards are boys in mind."

Ciri smiled and pulled Lea up from where she sat. "Lemme take a look at that thing."

Marie handed her the hammer and without another second of hesitation, the tool cracked down on the pointy metal. The nail pinged off the floor and rolled away.

"Phew. Now I feel inadequate." Marie smiled though while she said that and took the hammer back. "You go and have fun sis. I'll see that the new step is properly fixed."

A few minutes later, Ciri was on Lea's heels, sauntering over the green fields behind Rhinzweig. Far away enough so they were alone and close enough to make it back safe if something happened. Ciri was glad that Jürgen's kids weren't as adventurous as she had been.

Ciri's mare was some distance away, feeding peacefully and relaxed on some tall bushes behind the inn. There were other horses, but she didn't know who they belonged to. A goose was sitting on the side, watching the larger animal curiously. The wind sent a light breeze through the surrounding area, making the trees swing gently.

"Are you sure you want to leave so soon?" Lea asked as they had sat down on top of a fence. "You still haven't taught me how to properly fence."

Ciri smiled. "I have promised Yennefer to meet her in Novigrad. I'm already late. And it's best not to keep her waiting too long."

Lea nodded. "She's a frightening woman, that sorceress.

"She's very nice. She just doesn't want to appear weak. She was very lonely when Gerald met her."

"Will he come back sometimes?"

"I'm sure, but who knows what he's up to right now. Witchers can be hard to get a hold on."

"And the Hunter?" Lea said while watching the goose waddle around the edge of the house and plant itself in the shadow.

"He is coming with me some part of the way. He doesn't know where to go, I guess. So he goes to Novigrad."

"Did you ask him to?" Lea asked with a slight grin.

"No. He said he would go there and I said I was headed there too. Don't get any ideas!" Both laughed.

For a few minutes, both girls shared a moment of silence, just taking in the surroundings. There was a strange feeling that hung in the air. Like something had changed, but it was impossible to say what.

"I hope he will find his way." Lea said softly. Ciri only nodded.

Some oil, a grindstone and a good sponge, that was all he needed to make the blade from a good one, to a fine one. Weapons he had wielded in Yharnam had always been made from the best materials or at least through the most advanced methods available. He didn't think that someone would waste springsteel on something as crude as a sawcleaver, but it had been engineered to perfection. The blades of mercy had been made from a metal that was extracted from meteorites and as such were as pure and as durable as the imagination allowed.

But this longsword was exceptionally well made too. It was strong but flexible, even without sharpening it still had maintained a considerable edge and it was perfectly balanced. The craftsman behind this piece was surely very experienced.

He spent the next few hours on maintenance of the weapon before he was sufficiently content with it's surface and edge. He had rewrapped the hilt and checked the screw which held the pommel. It was as tight as it could be.

Then, he made to buy himself a bag. He found one good satchel with a nice woman in front of the cobblers house. She sold it to him after some slight persuasion, even though he was sure she only wanted to smalltalk with him. He left her unsure if he had possibly been ripped off. Haggling was out of the question until he had learned the worth of currency in this land.

From a merchant he bought a few rolls, bread, cheese, some smoked meat and a sizeable canteen for water.

When he was finished, dusk was settling. The sun would fall in a few minutes and he wanted to be ready for tomorrow. The small period of time in this place had brought the joys of actual sleep back to him. To let oneself drift away and indulge in a few hours of undisturbed peace. Of course, this was only when the nightmares wouldn't come, which they did a lot, but there was always the chance of a quiet night.

He greeted Jürgen, gave the man some coin for his accommodations, even though the man refused at first and continued towards his room. A woman lounged in a chair in front of the stairs, a burning pipe in her hand which exuded the slightest aroma of lavender. She looked up to him with a sensuality in her eyes which he hadn't seen for a long time, meaning he considered it a possibility, but he could not clearly remember.

He nodded and wished her a good night, ignoring the smile and subtle show of disappointment from her. He wouldn't know how to get in the mood for it anyway and he had no idea how safe it was in this world to indulge in such carnal relations with a lady of the night.

He allowed himself some fresh water when he reached his room and prepared for the night. He took off his clothes and placed the blade to the left of his bed, away from the door, so anyone breaking in would not see it or make to steal it. He then thought about issuing a short prayer, but he didn't know which gods would listen to his pleas. He didn't even know what to plead for, so he let it be.

When the sun had fallen completely, he extinguished his candle, made himself comfortable under the covers and soon felt himself drift off, hoping for a dreamless rest.

He was on the bridge. That damned bridge. Behind him were the dismembered and disemboweled bodies of his adversaries, he himself covered in their blood. Only two widened eyes, staring down from within the black and red of his silhouette. Down towards the bottom of the bridge, where the sewers began.

He had told her to run, to find Odeon chapel and find shelter there. The chapel dweller would make sure she was kept secure until morning came. He had told her he would find her and keep her safe, but he needed to hold off the monsters. Fight down the beasts. He had told her to be quick in the sewers. The beasts are slow, but they have no remorse nevertheless. But he hadn't seen this before. This bloated, rotten and disfigured pig that stood down there, sticking it's head out of a gateway. How had he not seen this vile monster before?

His eyes were fixed on it's salivating snout, where, bloodied and lifeless, the eyes of father Gascoigne's daughter stared up at him, accusingly.

That was the first day that he felt true hate and left himself to be consumed by rage. But he had soon found out that these primal emotions were not foreign to him, but part of his own nature.

Only when he had found his way back to the chapel, he had been able to lift the red veil in front of his eyes. He had collapsed in front of the old woman and retched, only to rise again. But when he reached the dried up well outside, he felt a knife strike down on his shoulder.

Now too, sister Adella's dead eyes looked up to him, her slender body parted in two at the waist. He had retaliated on reflex and for Adella, there was no coming back. She had become prey to the beast inside him. The monster.

Him.

Ciri quickly learned that her attempts to hold the Hunters body calm were futile. He overpowered her in an instant and stood next to his bed, back against a wall, his eyes searching frantically and only, finally stopping on her. As he realized that he was in his room in Jürgen's inn, he visibly calmed. His breathing slowed down, his pupils narrowed and his shoulder slumped down.

"I am sorry." He almost whispered, alternating his gaze between Ciri and Lea, who, as he realized, stood in the door frame, a worried expression on her face.

"It's fine. You seemed to have a terrible nightmare. You didn't open the door, so we came in."

"Did I make you wait?" He asked. Ciri smiled.

"No. But I heard you through the walls. My room is next to yours."

"I see." His chest was still twitching occasionally, the labyrinth of scars stretching and contracting with each breath. "I apologize then. I did not wish to worry either of you."

"It is fine, really." Lea answered from the door. "Are you feeling unwell, do you need something?"

He shook his head. "Thank you. Though I fear that further sleep will evade me now. Miss Cirella, when did you plan on departing. I see you are already fully dressed."

"Within the hour. I have organized a bite to eat and said my goodbyes to the girls. Though I remember that you don't have a horse."

"Regrettably." He nodded.

"Then I hope you don't mind to ride double. I would rather be quick until Oxenfurt. The roads are relatively safe, but not entirely."

He nodded again. Though he was sure that there was not much in these woods he couldn't vanquish he agreed that avoiding confrontation was always the better option.

Better to have the blade handy nevertheless.

Yennefer of Vengerberg sat on her terrace, leaned back on a lavish mahagoni chair and a pitcher of fruit juice in a pitcher on a small side table next to her. She looked over the city of Novigrad, contemplating the storm that had passed shortly and the strange dream that she had.

It had been one of her nightly sessions of lucid sleep that she liked to entertain. She always found great joy in the worlds she had the power to create within dreams. Normally these were almost limitless, bound only to her own comfort and imagination, but this time, the dream had resisted her. Ever so slightly at first, with things changing and returning to their earlier states, then it started to fight her.

The luscious green meadows she had thought up, changed and withered. The trees darkened and contorted into crippled caricatures. And then came the fire.

Suddenly, she was engulfed in a sea of flame, smoke filling her view, even though she didn't feel the heat or the fumes in her lungs. The ground turned to ash, the trees into black, smoldering husks and the sky turned an unpleasant and bright orange. Somewhere she had heard a bell, tiny and light, but clear as breaking glass.

It took a good amount of effort to will the fires to die down, but she did not manage to restore the grass to grow back or the trees to come back to life. Instead, she stared down a road of rough cobblestone, rimmed on both sides with statues of people in horrible agony. Their spindly arms reached towards the sky as their robes clung to malnourished bodies, with mouths and eyes wide in terror.

A white headstone stood at the end of the road, small white flowers growing around it, trembling in the shallow wind that carried more ash and tinder across Yennefer's field of view. She walked towards it, now completely out of control of her own dream, but as ever, scientifically curious and intrigued as to what the meaning of this, her session might be. Visions were not uncommon, though always critically scrutinized and to be taken with a generous side of salt.

The statues to her sides seemed as if they were warping, their hands reaching, their necks tilting as she closed further in towards the white grave. Wind was picking up now, swirling up ashes and petals from these small white flowers which, as Yennefer noticed, were everywhere through the forest. Her clothes flapped in one direction, then in another, threatening to pull her with them occasionally and somewhere in the rushing of air, there was a whisper or a far away chanting in a language she did not know but understood.

"Dido tus."

Spread the word.

"Timere!"

Be afraid.

"Timere venena scitis."

Fear the poison.

"Sanguine sanctum."

The holy blood.

"Invocate nomina deorum vestrorum."

Call upon your gods.

"Et advenit venandi."

The Hunter arrives.

Suddenly, the wind stopped. The whispering vanished and the ashes and petals fell to the ground. The trees stood still and a complete and perfect silence pressed itself on the land around the sorceress. She took a hand to her chest where a knot seemed to tighten around her heart. Yennefer was by no means frail in spirit or mind. She was powerful enough to will herself not to crumble under the oppressive power and she was courageous to the point that whatever might come, she knew she could face it. But she admitted that it filled her with an unfamiliar fear, this pressure around her and she knew that only a being of substantial power would ever illicit such a phenomenon. Then again, this was still just a dream, she was sure. It had to be.

The sky turned a fierce red and something in front of her moved. She had come close to the headstone, only a few meters separating her from it. On it, in carefully carved runes, in a foreign script, was a name, or a description. She could not read it, nor could understand it like the chanting before, but she felt something, an idea or a thought, form in the back of her mind. It was strange, painful even but she wanted to feel it as she had never felt anything like it before. It bounded through her mind like a bolt of lightning, fell apart and regenerated until it finally reached her conscious thoughts and consolidated into a single, screamed word. A cry of terror that made her recoil harshly from the grave.

Beast.

The gravestone broke apart and the soil eroded and fell into itself. Yennefer almost did not dare to take a look inside, but she willed herself to it. Shivering, she peeked over the edges of the hole to see something, someone inside, moving and clawing at the walls, dragging itself, himself up to the surface.

A man.

He climbed out of the grave, his naked body slick with blood, dirt and soil clung to his limbs and chest, his face concealed by an unnatural shadow that stuck to his head like a mask. She had stepped back, almost fallen when he had pulled himself from the abyss, now on his knees, dripping like a newborn and spitting up vile liquids.

But he was not frail, he was tall and slender, but covered in muscle. His hands were tools of death and his eyes, which stared forward from the darkness, unwavering, were searchlights.

She had only seen something like this a few times. She had seen the power of vampires and she had stared down the forces of the wild hunt. Those had been old and equally powerful creatures, which were tailored to fight and exceedingly dangerous, she knew. But this…

… this man was a different thing.

He had erected himself to his full height, while the torched forest around them had again started to burn. Flames framed him as he stood there, looking down at Yennefer, who felt weak and naked compared to this abominable power that showed to herself. Only a single thought kept her mind together. This is all a dream. It is a dream, a nightmare.

Only a nightmare.

She had awoken on a sheet that was soaked in sweat and she had needed almost twenty minutes to rid herself of the crawling feeling on her skin. She had asked one of the retainers to prepare a bath for herself and the woman obliged, noticing the shaken state in which the sorceress was. Yennefer stayed awake the whole night then and only found sleep again the following evening. The dream was still very much alive in her, haunting her thoughts. She thought it might've been the storm, but it had been so explicit and so constricting that she doubted the nightmare to have been only a mere coincidence. It's meaning evaded her of course, but should it have been a vision indeed, it might reveal itself to her if she only stayed vigilant.

Content for now, she crossed her slender legs and now, allowed herself a glass before she would start her day.

"You sound bored." Ciri said as she steered her mare around a wide corner in the road. She and the Hunter had made good time for the day and now were on the lookout for a good place to stay the night. The area around them was dense forest, so finding a truly sheltered spot was not as easy as she had wished. The hunter sat behind her. She had found great amusement in the fact that he was very unsure where to get a hold with his hands at first. Her saddle was meant for one person only and while he had found a spot to sit, he had been uncomfortable with holding on to her sides at first. He had been fine with balancing on his own at first when she rode slowly, but since she didn't want to waste daylight she soon sped her horse up considerably. He then had no other choice than to put his hands on her hips, otherwise he would fall down.

"I am not." He answered.

"Really?" Ciri said while looking over her shoulder. "What did I say then right now, huh?"

"You were saying that, while the older beastiaries are, off course more comprehensive, their authors often are unwilling to acknowledge new findings about the creatures described. As such it is useful to keep your own notes."

She looked for a moment and smiled. "You did listen!"

"As I said. I am also impressed that such a detailed catalogue exists and that warriors no less created it."

"A witcher is not just a warrior." She said. They were now entering a long stretch of grassy land, where trees only occasionally dotted the landscape.

"As well as a Hunter." He answered. "It seems our professions have much in common."

"I am no witcher."

"How come? As far as you have explained it to me, you do all the things a witcher does."

She shrugged. "Witchers are always men. Also, they are mutants. Made to be more resilient and faster and stronger."

There was a pause as Ciri steered her horse of the road and towards a large oak that stood atop a small hill. Obviously to set up camp there.

"You have vanished into thin air and reappeared behind your foe to deliver a killing blow. Can a witcher do that?"

"No. Not that I knew." She raised an eyebrow. So he had seen it and he had remembered.

"And is, or is that not a colossal boon against any enemy, human or monster?"

"Look." Ciri turned a bit in her saddle. "What you are trying is sweet, but I didn't mean that I am less powerful than a witcher and that I wished to be. I do the job of one occasionally and I do it just as well, but I can not be one. It is a term for male mutants of exactly that kind. As much as you can not be a bird, even if you really wished, I can and won't be a witcher."

"I see."

"But, they are still very cool." She added.

He nodded. "I concur."

They reached the tree as the sun almost threatened to fall below the horizon. Shadows were long as they quickly gathered some sticks for a fire and settled to have a meal and rest for the night. The warmth of the campfire was mild and nice on the Hunter's face. He had left his mask and coat off for the longest time today, but now he had found that the coat helped him with staying warm. Ciri had wrapped herself in a woolen blanket and gnawed on a bit of sausage she had produced from her provisions.

"So, what does a Hunter do?" She asked, suddenly.

"Hm." He hesitated. "It is fairly similar to a witcher, I suppose. Though I have never requested coin during my hunt."

"Charitable man, huh?" He saw a small grin.

"No." He answered. "There was no one to pay me for my services. I wandered and pushed on and when the night had ended, I had slain enough for a lifetime."

"When the night had ended? You have been a Hunter only for a night?"

He paused again, staring into the cinders at the edge of the fire before he explained further. "Not only a few hours." He almost smiled there. "The hunt I was part of, it had distorted time and everything else. One night was enough to make most go mad, some become addled from the blood and all of them to become experienced killers. You see, when the night of the hunt falls, I does not simply go by. The hunt always carries on until someone ends it."

"You are talking of this hunt as if I should know it." She said as she laid down on her mat, her blanket pulled up over her chest. "What is it?"

"Well…" He started, but he was lost for an explanation. What was the hunt. Was it something the Moon Presence instigated, or Mergo, or maybe even the church themselves? He didn't know if he had actually broken the cycle, or if he had simply escaped. Gehrmann had said to set him free. Was this true? Was he free? From what?"

"... I am unsure." He finally said. "It always sounded to me like a disease that affects not only the people and animals, but also the materium and the dreams. Beings of vile power just… toy with the rules on earth and it can only stop when they are either dead, or they lose interest."

"Beings?"

"Yes."

"Gods?" She asked. She looked as if she was being read a scary night time story.

"No." He answered with finality. "Gods can't be killed."

He stared into the flames. How much he would give for a roll of tobacco now, to soothe his spirits. Ciri didn't know, but he still felt such hatred, such fury against the great ones. At least those which had opposed him. He also felt guilt. Guilt for the little Gascoigne girl of course, for sister Adella, for Alfred, Arianna, Ludwig and even Ebrietas, who had been left behind and been subjected to study by this abominable choir of the church. The poor orphan he had to slay at the coast of the fishing hamlet. And then…

"You do remind me of her. Just a little bit." He muttered, but Ciri had heard. She looked up at him.

"Of who?"

He looked back at her. The eyes were different. She was not like her. Why did he even care when he had only seen Maria once truly.

"Someone I knew back then. A good woman. Kind, I would guess."

"You would guess? Didn't know her too well then?"

He hesitated. "No." He had never known anyone very well in Yharnam. Ciri was as familiar to him as anyone he remembered.

"Hm." Ciri leaned back into her mat again, looking up at the stars. "What happened to her?"

He had returned his gaze into the fire again, not much answering. Maybe, she thought, he didn't want to talk about it. Maybe she shouldn't pry.

"I'm sorry." She said. He did not look at her, but he smiled. With the gentle light from the flames and without his mask, he looked rather friendly, compared at least to how he seemed when he had stalked through the woods or even Rhinzweig.

"It's alright. As you said, I did not know her well." He took a deep breath.

"I killed her."

"Oh."

"I intruded on her territory. She attacked, I won. But she was a very skilled warrior."

"I see." Ciri had cast her eyes downwards. "Did you ever… well, lose a fight?"

He raised his head. Something in his eyes had changed. He seemed suspicious somehow as he eyed her. She knew this gaze. He was contemplating what to tell her. What he could say.

"Yes." He finally answered. "More times than I care to count. But not one of my enemies is alive anymore."

"What do you mean?"

He turned fully towards her, looking directly into her eyes.

"Here is what sets me apart from a soldier, or a witcher, or you." Ciri felt slightly colder as he spoke.

"You can murder a Hunter. You can slice his throat, hack off his limbs, tear out his heart, but a Hunter of the dream, that one will always come back and never, never stop, until his prey is dead and cold."

She thought that the birds and the critters, they had just now stopped moving and calling. The wind must have stopped and the fire must have picked up in heat. She realised that she looked not just at a man, but at a strange creature, such as she had never seen before.

His expression softened again.

"But this shall not concern you. I consider us friends. You should sleep now. I will stand guard for a while."

And though she was not sure what to think, she slept dreamlessly through until morning.

Yo. That has taken a while. Reason for that is that I am a lazy man of titanic proportions, but also because I wanted to write at least a chapter of Division fanfic, which I have released a few days earlier. But this her and The Deep are still going. Though maybe slowly.

Have fun. Next chapter the Hunter might find something to kill. Again.