The Witchers rode their horses through the transformed village, now a bustling city that defied all reason and expectation. Geralt couldn't shake the feeling that he had stepped into a different realm, a realm where the lines between dreams and reality blurred. He wondered if it was a side effect of one of his potions, a hallucination that had seized his senses. But his Witcher instincts, honed over years of experience, assured him that what he was witnessing was undeniably real. White Orchard Village had undergone a transformation, and it left him with more questions than answers.
Geralt couldn't help but marvel at the wealth that radiated from every corner. His keen eyes surveyed the magnificent buildings, adorned with intricate architecture and signs of opulence. The structures stood tall and modern, resembling noble houses rather than the humble dwellings he had seen during his previous visit. The people bustling around them, engaged in trade, tending to their animals, and going about their daily lives, exuded an air of affluence and contentment. It was a stark contrast to the poverty-stricken village he remembered.
Navigating through the city, Geralt decided that the best place to start their investigation would be the inn. Inns were often hubs of information, where rumors and whispers flowed freely. It was a prime location to gather insights and uncover the truth that lay hidden beneath the surface. The companions rode through the streets, their presence going unnoticed by the city's inhabitants. It struck Geralt as odd that nobody seemed to mind or care about their arrival. It was as if they were mere shadows blending into the tapestry of this place.
While it was true that witchers had gained more respect in the wake of the conjunction of spheres, their skills and services in higher demand than ever, Geralt couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this newfound acceptance. The nonchalance with which the city's residents regarded their presence hinted at a deeper influence, one that extended beyond the general appreciation for witchers. The golden-masked man had undoubtedly left his mark on this city, shaping the perceptions and attitudes of its inhabitants.
The silence between Geralt, Lambert, and Eskel spoke volumes as well. most likely mirroring Geralt's thoughts.
As Geralt's horse came to a stop, he gazed upon the inn before him. It was a familiar sight, the very same inn he had visited during his search for Yennefer. Memories of the past flooded his mind, bringing a mix of anticipation and trepidation. He hoped the innkeeper, a woman he had crossed paths with before, had forgotten about their previous encounter. Perhaps the remarkable changes within the village had erased any recollection of that fateful meeting.
The inn itself had undergone a striking transformation. What was once a modest and unassuming structure had blossomed into a four-story building with multiple rooms, complete with elegant balconies and glass windows. Geralt couldn't deny that he had anticipated such a change. The entire village had been reshaped, and the inn's expansion was simply a reflection of this newfound prosperity.
Leaving their horses near the barn adjacent to the inn, Geralt, Lambert, and Eskel made their way inside. Even the inn's entrance had been remodeled, featuring a clean, polished brown door adorned with ornate symbols. Stepping through the threshold, they found themselves immersed in a scene that surpassed their expectations.
The interior of the inn appeared as one would imagine: patrons gathered around, indulging in drinks, laughter, and the ever-popular game of Gwent. However, the size and cleanliness of the establishment were remarkable. The inn had expanded to accommodate the influx of visitors, its spaciousness a testament to the newfound prosperity of the city. The atmosphere was vibrant, filled with a palpable sense of contentment and camaraderie.
"You know what? Geralt, this isn't half bad," Lambert remarked with a hint of surprise in his voice. The Witchers took in their surroundings, appreciating the effort and care that had gone into the inn's transformation. It was a stark contrast to the humble establishment they had encountered in the past, and they marveled at the city's evolution.
"Master Witcher!" a man called out, catching Geralt's attention. It was Bram, if he remembered correctly, the man they had rescued from the clutches of a griffin with Vesemir. But the Bram before him now was a stark contrast to the dejected figure he had known. Clean-shaven with loosely styled hair, he adorned himself in luxurious blue merchant robes.
"Bram?" Geralt responded, his curiosity piqued. "Good to see you again."
"Likewise, Master Witcher! Likewise!" Bram chuckled, causing Geralt to raise an eyebrow. There was an undeniable change in his demeanor.
"Please, have a seat. Your friends are welcome too," Bram gestured toward a large table adorned with comfortable chairs. Eagerly, they settled into their seats, weary from their arduous journey.
"So, Master Geralt," Bram spoke with a smile as he took his place in front of them, "Can I offer you some alcohol, perhaps?"
"We appreciate the offer," Geralt replied, and Bram promptly summoned a waitress to take their drink orders.
"I assume you're here for a job?" Bram inquired.
"That's right, we're searching for a man wearing a golden mask. I suppose he holds significant influence here" Geralt explained.
Bram's eyes widened, and Geralt recognized the flicker of recognition. Bram knew who they were looking for.
"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," Bram whispered, taking a deep breath before continuing. "What do you need to know?"
"Oh we have many questions," Lambert interjected. "Is he still here?"
Bram shook his head. "No, he left about four or five weeks ago. Initially, we assumed he had gone off on another monster hunt or whatever he does. But when he didn't return, we realized he had headed to Velen for good. That's the last place we see him go through the road"
"Damn it," Geralt muttered under his breath. Finding their target in here would have made things much easier, but when had his job ever been easy?
'Well in that case... What do you know about him?'' Lambert interjected again
Bram's expression turned serious as he looked at them. "We have no idea who or what he is," he muttered, his voice filled with a hint of apprehension. "He was undoubtedly a sorcerer, but he was something more. I was the first one to make a contract with him."
Curiosity piqued, Eskel asked, "What happened when you made a contract with him?"
Bram's disbelief was evident as he recounted the encounter. "He asked me what I had for sale..." he said, his tone laced with a mixture of awe and incredulity.
The witchers exchanged puzzled glances, expecting something more sinister. Geralt spoke up, "That doesn't sound too bad, then."
Bram's face darkened. "Oh, how wrong you are," he muttered. "I swear, just the sight of him would fill us with fear, especially his mask and that... accursed demonic sword of his," he said, a shiver running down his spine as he relived those haunting moments.
Geralt's mind raced, realizing that the man's equipment must have been enchanted with a mind-altering spell. Something like Axii
"If his mere presence inspired fear, how did you manage to trade with him?" Geralt inquired.
"We... eventually grew accustomed to it," Bram replied. "We were too afraid to do otherwise, so we had no choice." He continued, "And that's how our... wealth began."
"He purchased all sorts of items from us—alchemy ingredients, trinkets, you name it," Bram explained. "But instead of paying with coin, he traded potions with us..."
"Potions?" Geralt interjected, his interest piqued. "What kind of potions?"
At that moment, the waitress arrived, bringing four bottles of pepper vodka. The weary and thirsty witchers eagerly started to drink their respective beverages.
Bram's smile widened. "Invisibility and water-breathing potions," he revealed.
"Invisibility and water-breathing potions?" all the witchers exclaimed simultaneously, their eyes locking with astonishment.
"Oh, yes," Bram confirmed, nodding. " And no, those were not like your witcher potions, anyone could use them. Those potions were highly valued by us, but clearly, he didn't see them the same way. He bought a bunch of seemingly worthless items from us using those potions. In markted The rarer the item more valuable it is. Each one was worth a fortune. After all, the ability to hold your breath for hours and become invisible would be enticing to many people, for obvious reasons. So, we sold them to other places, to to other merchants. Eventually, stories began to spread like magefire, and our once insignificant town became a beacon for all sorts of individuals. We amassed more money than we could spend," Bram finished his tale with a chuckle.
The witchers' eyes widened in realization. While sorcerers like Yennefer could create invisibility potions, they were not as potent as what Bram described. And the ability to breathe underwater for extended periods of time was unheard of, even killer whale witchers used would merely allow them hold their breath longer. What if such potions fell into the hands of thieves or ended up in the corrupt cities like Novigrad? The chaos and disorder that could ensue were unimaginable. The implications of this golden-masked man distributing these powerful potions at insultingly low prices were staggering, and it sent a chill down their spines.
"If these potions were to find their way into the black market or the hands of criminals..." Geralt's voice trailed off, his gaze fixed on the table. "The chaos it would unleash, the opportunities for nefarious deeds..."
Bram's eyes widened with realization. "We... we didn't think about that," he admitted, his voice filled with a mix of surprise and concern.
Geralt couldn't help but acknowledge that they likely turned a blind eye to the potential consequences, seeing an opportunity for wealth and seizing it without considering the consequences. But who was he to judge? They were just ordinary people trying to survive in a harsh world. If given the chance, why wouldn't they seek prosperity?
Sighing, Geralt realized the complexities of morality once more. It wasn't always straightforward.
"Regardless," Eskel interjected, seemingly recovered from his initial shock. "Our immediate concern is gathering more information about this man. Tell us about his appearance, his magic..."
Bram took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "He wore a golden mask with two horns extending from it's chin that concealed his face," he began, his voice tinged with trepidation. "His attire was adorned with intricate symbols and runes. With a blue glowing staff and unholy sword. As for his abilities, he possessed an aura that inspired fear in those around him. It was as if a dark, demonic power emanated from him."
Geralt's brow furrowed at Bram's description. A golden mask, powerful magic, and an aura of fear... this was no ordinary sorcerer. There was something more to this golden-masked man, something that made him a formidable and dangerous adversary.
Bram continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. "As for his magic... well, people say that after I was... incapacitated by his aura, some Nilfgaard soldiers attempted to capture him, suspecting him of dabbling in dark magic. It didn't end well for them. They say with fear that he killed them effortlessly and painfully with his demonic sword and... tentacles, among other things."
The witchers exchanged glances, their minds drifting to the corpses of the nekkers they had encountered earlier.
"So this guy decided to take on all of Nilfgaard in here single-handedly because a few soldier pricks attacked him?" Lambert remarked with a whistle. "Damn, even I have to admit that's amazing."
Geralt wasn't sure what to make of it. While he held no love for Nilfgaard, these soldiers were mere foot soldiers. Surely not all of them deserved to be brutally killed and stripped of their belongings. Plus, Ciri was on her path to becoming the next empress of Nilfgaard. This man's actions could potentially pose a threat to her.
Ciri had not yet officially ascended to the throne, but of course Geralt maintained contact with her, mostly through megascopes, this is how he got her report about the anomalies in White Orchard. Now, he would have to inform her about what had occurred and keep her informed.
"So why is he stripping them of their equipment and leaving them butt-naked?" Geralt asked, genuinely curious.
Bram looked down, seeming embarrassed. "Ughhh... Let's just say the potions weren't the only things he traded with us..."
The witchers facepalmed upon hearing that information.
"And what is his name?" Geralt inquired, his curiosity piqued.
"We don't know," Bram replied in an indifferent tone.
"What?" Lambert exclaimed in amazement. "You mean to tell me that this guy, who possesses seemingly demonic and dark magic, who sold you unique potions, who killed and collected everything in his path, lived among you for weeks, and you don't even know his name?"
Bram's voice carried a touch of frustration as he responded, "We tried to ask him! He simply ignored us, disregarded all our questions. So we let it go. Even as our village transformed into a city thanks to him, he continued to do as he pleased, taking what he wanted, killing as he pleased, and trading with us. We never saw his face, never witnessed him eating, drinking, or even sleeping. Some folk say there is nothing behind that mask, while others claim he isn't even alive, that he is some sort of wraith who came to play with us for his twisted game. It was this mystery that terrified us. We didn't want to provoke him, for fear that what happened to the Nilfgaardian soldiers would befall us."
"I see," Geralt muttered in an understanding tone. He pondered the enigmatic figure before him, conflicted in his thoughts. On one hand, the man spared the villagers when he easily could have ended their lives. On the other hand, he seemed closely connected to dark powers, having massacred the Nilfgaardian soldiers, not to mention the sale of those dangerous potions. Geralt recognized that he shouldn't judge a book by its cover, as appearances could be deceiving.
Or perhaps there was no rationality behind the man's actions; perhaps he was simply outright insane. That was also a possibility to consider.
It became clear that the presence of a powerful, demonic sorcerer living among the villagers for a few weeks and doing as he pleased had normalized the supernatural in this area. It was likely the reason why people didn't pay much mind to the presence of witchers.
Bram shook his head. "Sorry, reliving those memories can be... terrifying for me. Do you need any more information?"
"We have what we can gather for now," Geralt replied. "But obviously, you don't know much more, and I'm sure you have your own life to attend to. We will ask around for more information, but right now, we would appreciate taking a break. We'll return to you later."
Bram nodded. "I hope you find what you're looking for. I haven't forgotten how you saved me from that griffin. You and your friends can stay here as long as you need, free of charge. Food and drinks are on the house, as long as you don't overindulge."
Geralt expressed his gratitude with a smile. "Thanks, Bram," he said. Bram nodded and left the table.
"So, let's recap what we know," Lambert suggested, raising his hand and counting down his fingers.
"One: He wears a golden mask and robes with motifs,a blue staff and demonic tentacle sword while possessing an aura that inspires fear in people."
A finger dropped.
"Two: He is powerful enough to effortlessly kill Nilfgaard soldiers and monsters, utilizing strange and demonic-looking magic. Notably, sorcerers like Avallac'h and Yennefer sensed his arrival and hold a strong aversion or fear towards him."
Another finger fell.
"Three: He can create potions that grant invisibility and water breathing, selling them at insultingly low prices. He also sells the ''loot'' he gathers."
Another finger dropped.
"Four: He collects everything kills anything that attacks him and ignores anyone who poses no threat. The last sighting of him was on the road leading to Velen."
His final finger fell.
"Five: We still have no idea of his true power or what his intentions are, but it's highly likely that this will end in disaster for us like it always does, right?"
"Yup," Eskel confirmed, taking a sip from his drink.
"Well, then," Lambert said with a determined smile. He finished his vodka in one gulp and shouted, "What are we waiting for? Let's find him!"
"While I'm glad to see your spirits are high," Geralt remarked in an amused tone, "we still have more questions to ask around and could use some rest."
"Rest?" Lambert chuckled. "Or perhaps you'll try to find another woman for your bed. I'll keep an eye on you. If you dare to cheat on Yennefer, I'll report it to her, brothers in arms or not."
"And what if you cheat on Keira? Should I report that as well?" Eskel chimed in.
Lambert stuttered, trying to defend himself. "I... You... We're just friends... with benefits!''
Geralt chuckled genuinely, observing that all the waitresses were occupied. He decided to personally fetch more drinks. "I'll get more drinks," he announced, rising from his seat, while Lambert continued to argue about his relationship with Keira.
Walking over to the bartender, Geralt found himself facing an array of drinks behind the counter. Uncertain about which one to choose, he hesitated. However, before he could make a decision, he heard a voice, a voice he had hoped never to hear again.
"This place has changed quite a bit since you last saw it, hasn't it?" the voice spoke from behind him, amusement lacing every word.
Geralt froze. with dread he realized It was that voice...the voice he would never forget.
Turning around to confirm his suspicion, even though he already knew who it was, Geralt said with disdain, "Gaunter O'Dimm."
There he was, the master of mirrors, sitting at the table near the window where Geralt had first encountered him in White Orchard. Of course, both the table and window had changed along with the rest of the inn, now larger than before. Geralt couldn't help but to feel deja vu to all of this...
O'Dimm smiled. "Hello, Geralt. It's nice to see you again, even though our previous encounter didn't end on the best of terms."
Geralt quickly glanced at his friends, relieved to see that they were still engaged in their argument and hadn't noticed him.
The mirror seemed to know his unease. "Oh, don't worry about them. Let's have some privacy, shall we?" With a clap of his hands, Geralt once again experienced that familiar sensation of time freezing. Like everyone His friends too were frozen, Eskel drinking his beverage and Lambert mid-sentence with his mouth open.
"We need to talk about recent events. Please, have a seat," the mirror suggested, pointing to a comfortable chair in front of him.
"I prefer to stand," Geralt declared.
The mirror shrugged. "Your loss. You'll be the one who gets tired, not me..."
Geralt stood his ground, wary of engaging with this creature, this demon, without understanding more about him. A Witcher should never face an enemy blindly. After all, he had saved Olgierd's soul and outsmarted O'Dimm in their previous encounter.
"You can still have a drink if you're thirsty, you know," Mirror suggested.
"What do you want, O'Dimm?" Geralt asked firmly, wasting no time with pleasantries.
"Getting straight to business, I see. I can respect that," O'Dimm replied, chuckling lightly.
Geralt kept his gaze fixed on the mirror as he crossed his arms. "Are you still holding a grudge against me for our last encounter?"
"A little," O'Dimm admitted. "But you did win fair and square. I don't like to hold grudges, even though you greatly annoyed me by preventing me from claiming Olgierd's soul. Nonetheless, as I said, you won, and I assure you, I have no intention of seeking revenge against you. You know I keep my word."
That much was true. The mirror operated on principles and never broke his promises.
"What do you want, then?" Geralt finally pressed.
"Right now? I want what you want," O'Dimm replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "The man you're looking for... Although I don't think you can classify him as a 'man' anymore, by human standards at least. Well, I'd like to help you find him."
Geralt's eyes widened. So, O'Dimm also wanted this new player gone. But why? What was his game?
Hmm... The golden-masked man possessed demonic powers, and O'Dimm was... perhaps they were connected in some way?
"What is he?" Geralt asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. "And why do you want him gone?"
"A better question would be, 'What isn't he?'" O'Dimm responded. "He is not from this world. He has many names, but today he calls himself Konahriik, named after the mask he wears. I would say he has earned that title. He is the devourer of souls, both immortal and mortal alike. That's all I can tell you for now."
"As for your other question," O'Dimm continued, "This world... this plane of existence is quite peaceful and stable, wouldn't you agree? Well, he would disrupt that peace, and I don't want that to happen."
Geralt absorbed the information, contemplating O'Dimm's words. He wouldn't exactly call the Continent "peaceful and stable," but he had a feeling that the mirror was referring to something beyond his immediate understanding.
"Why?" Geralt questioned. "Is he a threat to you?" He was no fool. There was no way O'Dimm would want this man gone for noble reasons.
"I wouldn't say he's a threat," O'Dimm explained. "More like a competitor. Geralt, imagine me as a predator, and this entire world, its sentient species whether human, elf, or dwarf, as my prey. I wouldn't want any fellow predators claiming my prey, right? A few of those predators from where he came from are already aware of this world, and trust me, more will come if he continues. He's quite popular in those realms. Those predators want him for their own purposes. And believe me, Geralt, you wouldn't want to see some of those predators become aware of this world or other worlds. You may think I'm bad, but there are things worse than me, far worse."
Geralt sensed a genuineness in O'Dimm's tone. There were no hints of sarcasm, wordplay, or deceit. The mirror for once was being completely honest with him, and it terrified Geralt, even if he didn't show it.
"And if he continues like that, our chances will become even slimmer. I've already heard troubling reports from Novigrad. It seems certain nobles, business owners, and merchants have suffered 'accidents.' People can't even see their attackers, or if they do, they simply vanish into thin air or dive underwater. The guards can no longer chase them. The city is inching closer to pure chaos every day," O'Dimm disclosed.
Fuck, Geralt cursed internally. The potions had already made their way to that damned city.
"That is just the tip of the iceberg, I'm afraid," O'Dimm informed him. "It's merely the beginning. Hence, I would like to assist you in finding him, so that your elven friend can banish Konahriik back to his master."
Geralt glared at the mirror. "So, why don't you do this yourself then? If he is so powerful and capable of drawing the attention of these 'predators' to our world, why don't you simply deal with him and banish him yourself?"
O'Dimm's expression turned slightly disappointed. "I've told you before, Geralt. I have limits and principles. If I were to confront him directly, it would undoubtedly attract attention. As I mentioned, he is highly esteemed in the realm he hails from. If I were to employ such great power against him, they would sense it and cast their gaze upon this world with insatiable hunger... Some of them are already aware of our existence. Thankfully, they are not excessively destructive... well, not entirely."
"So now, I have need of you once again, Geralt. We shall speak more later," O'Dimm stated, lifting his hands. "Oh, I almost forgot. Before I go, let me offer you a piece of advice free of charge. Warn your sorceress friends to refrain from attempting to read his mind. It will not end well... for the sorceress, that is."
With a final clap of his hands, time returned to its normal flow. When Geralt blinked, the mirror was gone.
Everything had just become increasingly complicated... Geralt thought