THE DIVINE HUNTER

by Kideo11

Luo Yi, a high school dropout in his original world, was isekai'd into the world of the Witcher 3. Starting out as a weak boy named Roy in the village of Kaer, Lower Posada, he was determined to grow stronger, no matter what it took. The first step toward becoming a legend was to kill. And his first kill was… a rooster. 'You gain 1 EXP.' Of course, Roy had his own cheat system

6. Chapter 501 - 550

Chapter 501

Another day dawned upon the land, dappled sunlight shining down on the tents in the woods. The women were still sound asleep, holding their children tightly in their arms, their faces greasy and covered in tear tracks.

Roy leapt off the oak tree and landed without making a sound. The godling and the girl followed him.

"Sorry for the wait, friend. Dorothy, I, and my furry friends buried the villagers last night. Leaving their corpses out might attract unnecessary danger and turn the whole place into a monster den. Thank you for chasing off the baddies and saving Dorothy." Donny held Roy's hand and swayed it around happily, his eyes shining with hope and delight. "How can we ever thank you?"

Dorothy was behind Donny. She had changed into a clean dress. Grey in color, and the fabric was cheap. Her eyes were red and puffy, but there was gratitude in her gaze. And worship. The memory of the witcher killing off the bandits effortlessly had left a lasting impression on the girl, and she felt nothing but the satisfaction of revenge seeing him do that. She kept bowing to her savior.

Since Roy wasn't saying anything, Donny whipped out a black nut and handed it to the witcher. The witcher popped it into his mouth despite the nut being covered in soil and grass. His eyes looked a little vacant, and silence fell upon them.

"You don't seem too happy, friend. Did something happen last night?" The godling noticed the look on Roy's face and realized he must be sullen. "Did the bandits come back? I saw a bunch of women and children on my way back. But the men are missing. Where are they?"

Roy looked at the woods behind him, and Donny peered into them as well. He saw a grave staring back at him, and the light in his eyes dimmed. He stared at his feet, feeling guilty. "I did this to them. If I hadn't asked you to help…"

"Their murderers are dead. They shall face judgment soon. And this is not your fault." Roy shook his head and chortled. "The fault is mine. I should've been more prudent." Frik could've lived. If he'd left Gryphon or his sword around, he could've teleported back right away. If he had drilled the warning of danger into Bavi's head, he wouldn't have tried to help, but Roy neglected that. He thought he could easily kill the bandits and leave no man alive. He thought they were nothing but training targets and EXP, but his arrogance proved to be a fatal mistake. "I should've been more careful."

"We'd like to pay our respects." The godling and the girl came to the grave and knelt before it.

"I'm sorry, my friends. I promise I'll come here every week and tell you all the stories I've seen. My friends will keep a watchful eye over you. No one will disturb your rest."

Dorothy sniffled and whispered a prayer for the souls under her breath. The trio stood before the grave for a long, long time.

The sun shone brightly overhead. The refugees had woken up and started to move around. "We still haven't thanked you for your help, Auckes," Donny said.

Roy took a deep breath. "Godlings know a lot about their turf, right? Have you seen a man with white hair and a pair of swords like mine pass through your turf? And there should be a girl with green eyes and mouse-gray hair."

"A white-haired man?" Donny's sadness was replaced by a look of musing, and he scratched his head.

Dorothy raised her head. "I-I've seen him. It was nine days ago, and a big, strong man came to ask for directions. White hair, eyes like a cat's, handsome, and had two swords strapped to his back. And he had a black mare with him. He asked the exact same question." Dorothy continued, "He was looking for a green-eyed girl, but no one saw her." She stared at the ground, tearing up. "The bandits hadn't come back then. The chief told him to search in Mayena. The girl perhaps had gone with the refugees. He should be at the camp by now."

I knew it. Roy nodded, heaving a sigh of relief. Pity Geralt couldn't find Ciri.

"So what now, friend?" Donny asked. "Will you go to Mayena?"

"I can't leave these people to fend for themselves, can I? What about you?" Roy looked at Dorothy. "Her friends and family are gone, so care to come with us? You'll be homeless if you stay here. What if more bandits show up? Or worse, beasts and monsters?"

"Thanks, but I'm not leaving." The girl looked up and shook her head. "I'm staying with Donny."

Roy stared at them in surprise, wondering if he'd heard them wrongly. A human staying with a godling? He had never heard of humans and godlings getting into a relationship. They were too far apart in terms of genetics. Even witchers are closer to humans in terms of genes.

"I know how to survive the wilds. I'll make sure she eats well." Donny counted his fingers. Happily, he said, "If she's bored, I can take her fishing or swinging or riding boars and catfish. This whole place is our playground. I'll protect Dorothy this time. I won't let any bandit hurt her."

"I know." Dorothy smiled and held the godling's hand. "I know you'll take care of me, just like you've been doing. I trust you."

"But have you ever considered your future?" Roy said, dousing their enthusiasm. "Can you survive the wilds? What will happen when you grow older? Will you keep staying in the wilds? You won't be marrying anyone or raising a family?"

The seemingly callous questions marred Donny's mood, and he hung his head low, but Dorothy didn't hesitate. She held the godling's hand firmly and, with determination, said, "Everyone was just living their own lives, doing honest work, but then the baddies came and took all our coins. And then they tortured everyone. Dad, Mom… everyone! Everyone died!" She raised her voice. "Human scum are worse than the most ferocious beasts or monsters. Even if I do go to the refugee camp, we don't know what I'll run into there. Just thinking about it makes me shiver. I'd rather live my whole life with Donny. At least he won't hurt me."

Roy was silent. He couldn't blame Dorothy for having this change in perspective after the harrowing tragedy. That was her choice, and he wouldn't persuade her to do otherwise. "Very well. Then I wish you happiness and peace." Roy woke his pets up. It was time to leave.

"A minute, friend. I haven't given you your reward." Donny whipped out a bag of crowns from his pockets. Roy estimated that there were at least two hundred crowns in it. "The bastards didn't take this in time, and Dorothy won't be needing this anyway."

The girl nodded.

"So you can take this, friend. I insist. You're a kind witcher. You can use this to help more people."

Oh, so he knew. The sunglasses didn't fool him. And I thought taking only one sword with me could fool him. Roy didn't refuse the offer.

"Oh, a mule alone won't be enough for all these people and cargo." Donny clamped down on his fingers and made a loud whistle.

A pair of long, straight ears popped out of a thistle bush, and a long, yellow face appeared. It was a wild donkey over six-foot-six tall, and the donkey happily came to the godling. Donny held its ear and whispered into it.

The donkey whinnied and approached Roy, hanging its head low. It was ready to work at any moment.

Donny said, "I've told her to escort the cargo to Mayena. Smack its rear eight times when you get to your destination, and it'll run straight home. Do please be kind to her. Don't let anyone capture her, or she's going to be skinned alive."

Roy smiled and patted the donkey's head. "Goodbye, you two. I'll come back if I can." He wondered how far a godling and a human could take their relationship.

Roy came back to the campsite and woke the refugees up, then they continued north. With the extra donkey providing a place to rest for the exhausted refugees, they were moving faster than before. They used to move at a snail's pace, but now they were moving like rabbits.

"You had no reason to escort us, but you did," said Yugni. "I know you're a kind person."

"Tell that to Bavi and Frik. I'd rather not be kind."𝘭𝑖𝒷𝓇𝘦𝘢𝒹.𝑐𝘰𝘮

The widow shut up and backed off.

"Auckes, they say refugee camps are filthy and smell like arse. Filled with thieves and perverts." The beautiful, busty woman came to Roy, swaying her hips. Uneasily, she said, "It's dangerous for a bunch of women to stay with the refugees. Can you take us into the city? If you can't take all of us, then take me alone."

"And I suggest that you quit while you're ahead. Be content."

Failing her negotiations, the woman left.

Even though Roy took over the twins' place, he refused to talk much to these women. Even though the widows would frequently loiter around him and show off their curvy bodies as a token of gratitude, Roy refused to warm up to them. Their enthusiasm could not warm the heart of the witcher.

The journey went on for a week, and more and more people showed up on the path. Sometimes Roy would see horse carriages lugging cargo around, the wheels creaking against the ground.

Still, that did not mean they were safe. Roy had to fight off a bunch of nekkers at night once. And he had to fend off three waves of peasants-turned-robbers. They were armed with nothing but farming tools and crude armor. If it were only these women and children, they would have died on this path a long time ago.

On the fourth day, they saw a great, magnificent stone wall unfurling before them, and the ladies knew they had arrived at their destination. Roy took off the saddlebag from the donkey and smacked its rear eight times, then he saw it run off into the woods.

Mayena was a military fortress located in southern Maribor. Dozens of Temerian soldiers were stationed on the walls and outside the entrance. They were armed with bow and arrows and crossbows, checking the people who came into the fortress. A line of merchants and peasants formed outside the entrance.

It had only been ten minutes since Roy and his group came, but already he saw groups of refugees who tried to sneak into the fortress getting pushed away. They cursed under their breath and came back out to the filth where they called home. The space outside the walls were filled with putrid waters and rancid air. This was where the ladies would settle: the refugee camp.

Roy backed off quietly and stood at the end of the line, keeping a bit of distance between him and the ladies in case he got any unwanted attention. The refugee camp smelled like rotten vegetables and manure. It was made of carriages, wooden shacks, and tents. A few campfires sat around the place.

The refugee camp housed more than four hundred people, and commotions happened everywhere. The cacophony of noises rang out in the air and played a horrifically off-tune symphony made worse by the shrieks and squawks of livestock.

Order was nonexistent here. The filth of human nature was on full display, with people cursing and cussing however they liked. A few gaunt men with tattered clothes and dark circles were swaying and dancing erratically in the clearing before their tents. Perhaps they were performing some kind of art hitherto unknown to mankind.

Or perhaps they were just mad.

The ladies weren't beautiful, but put them all together and toss in a mule, and they became an attraction. Unkempt, salacious men peered from within their tents, leering at the ladies, catcalling them. Their desires could not be more obvious.

Some of the tents housed skeletal women. Their eyes were vacant, the looks on their faces hollow. Every time a man came in, they would pull down the curtains, and the tent would start to shake. This was how the refugees released their stress.

Roy looked around, hoping to see Ciri or Geralt. There were no rules in this camp. If anyone wanted a spot, they could mark it with their tents, provided that no one else was there. All the clean spots were taken up. The ladies had to set up camp around the outer ring of the settlement. The gazes the men were giving them made the ladies uneasy, and they wanted to run.

But they could not. They must learn how to get used to this.

Three rounds of checking later, Roy confirmed that Geralt and Ciri were not in this camp, so he turned his sights to the wall. I gotta go inside.

The ladies found a pleasant surprise. Friends from a village neighboring Willow Village came to them. There were a lot of them too, and not just women and children either. The friends shared their sorrow and commiserated, crying their hearts out.

If everything went well, these people would take in the widows, and they would make this place their home. Roy stood in the distance, watching this unfold, and he heaved a sigh of relief. Finally, I did what the brothers wanted to do, and now I can ditch these people.

He thought it was a bit of a shame. He thought the ladies would at least come and say their thanks and bid him goodbye, but delight had taken over their hearts. They drowned in it, forgetting everything else.

"Do you see, you two?" Roy patted the heads of his pets. "Some people only know how to take and not give. Let this be a reminder to stay in our own lane next time." And he left.

But before he could go far, a voice quickly called out to him. The blond widow came after him, holding her baby. She was breathing heavily, wiping the sweat off her forehead. With glittering eyes, she looked at Roy. "Thank you." She repeated solemnly, "Thank you for taking care of my friends and family. Thank you for putting up with us."

"I accept your gratitude." Roy nodded, the look in his eyes softening. His dissatisfaction toward this woman had melted considerably.

"Auckes, you might not want to admit it, but you're a good man. You're more of a man than the cowards and perverts who only know how to take it out at people weaker than them." She stared at the witcher, longing flaring in her eyes, and then it was replaced by dejection. "But I have nothing to give you." She then gave him a hug.

The witcher caught the whiff of sweat and… something else, but he was unfazed.

"Goodbye, Auckes." Yugni retreated, holding her baby in her arms, waving goodbye. She teared up, and through sobs, she said, "I will pray for you. When Harry grows up, I'll tell them about your story. The tale of Bavi, Frik, and Auckes."

Hesitation flashed in Roy's eyes, but it disappeared right away. "Here." He went ahead and held Yugni's hand, stuffing a bag of coins to her. "Take it. May it bring you luck. Live well, you two."

Yugni saw the witcher off, then she came to a quiet corner and opened up the sack. What she saw made her tear up again. There were twenty crowns inside, just enough for her and her baby to find their footing in this unfamiliar land.

"I stepped out of my lane." Roy saw Yugni off and smirked. He had held back, however. He would've told the woman to seek him out in the city if she needed something. After all, she was the only one who showed gratitude to him. But alas, he couldn't make that promise. There were a lot of people who needed help, but he was just one man.

Time for business. Roy circled the walls of the fortress a few times and came to a relatively quiet and remote spot. There were barely any guards here. He pulled Gabriel's trigger. The sound alerted the guards, and they looked around cautiously, though there was nothing to be found.

Roy had blinked into the city. Through the ever twisting alleyways he went, and eventually, he arrived at the streets before the fortress.

Chapter 502

Mayena, at least to Sodden and Brugge, was the stop between those two cities and Temeria's second biggest city—Maribor. Despite that, Mayena was a lot smaller than Vizima, Ellander, and Cintra. There was a single path in the city, with alleyways branching out all around it, leading to the civilian area. Behind those alleyways were the walls and turrets overseeing the wilderness.

Thanks to its geography, Mayena's trading scene was quite lively. Shops lined the streets, selling a hundred different kinds of merchandise. Flowers, perfume, necessities, and more. Sellers and merchants happily waved at the onlookers, hoping to gain some sales.

Roy walked around, but there was no sign of Geralt. And so, he went to the hub of information: the inn.

Most inns would be quiet in the morning, but the Slug Inn—the biggest inn in the city center—was merry and rowdy. Dim light swayed, the scent of alcohol filled the air, and the sprightly tune of a lute played out for the patrons.

Roy sat in front of the counter and listened for a while. Drunk patrons wriggled and writhed on the dance floor, their beer bellies swaying rigorously. Despite their best attempts, these people could only manage something that resembled wriggling caterpillars, trying to dance, only to have their feet go in different directions all at once.

Some of the men were holding waitresses in their arms, hiding in the corners of the inn and cracking jokes. The ladies would let out a chuckle and smack the men's hairy chests and arms. Some men leaned on the windowsill, arms around each other's shoulders. They looked like death row inmates having their last drink, though they were just dozing off, and their drool fell onto the street outside.

The round tables of the inn were occupied by its many customers. Tan, brooding men—who spoke in an obviously Maribor accent—were complaining about the inflation that had happened lately. Three times in a month! That was what they said. They weren't making enough to even put food on the table, and for that, they blamed the refugees, whom they claimed to be eating for free.

Another pot-bellied man who obviously came from Cintra bragged about his glorious past to his friend. He was obviously drunk, and he talked about how he had carriages, a beautiful wife, and a healthy son. But all of that was taken from him after the war. Nilfgaard took away his estates, and he was alone. The coins he had with him were given freely to the inns of Mayena. Once he spent his last coin, the soldiers would kick him out of the city, and he would have to live with the refugees like he was one of them, subsisting off of crude food and disgusting water.

A burly Sodden man was downing mugs of dwarven liquor. His face was red, and his eyes were filled with fury. Roy thought he might start a fight at any moment. He cursed the Nilfgaardian troops, claiming that if he had joined the Battle of Sodden Hill, he would've kicked those soldiers back to the south and reclaimed Cintra and married the missing princess. Unfortunately, he claimed, he was sleeping during the day of the war. When he woke up, most of Cintra had fallen. The King of Sodden had died, and his nephew—the king of Temeria—would annex Sodden into his kingdom. The man complained further, this time about Foltest. He blamed the king for acting too slowly, wondering why he still hadn't sent any soldiers to attack Sodden.

The inn was filled with people from the northern kingdoms, but they shared the same fate: displacement by war. They were depressed, angry, enraged, and sad, and the inn provided a place for them to vent their feelings.

The overly muscular bouncers who stood at the entrance made sure no one caused any trouble, and all it took was a look from them.

The bartender looked at the customer sitting before the counter. He was slender and decked out in leather armor and a pair of sunglasses. Calm, collected, and as handsome as the boy toys kept by the aristocrats. The customer looked deadpan, and the bartender noticed the muscles in his arms. Lean, powerful, and dangerous. This is no ordinary man. "What would it be, guvnor?" he asked again.

"Cherry wine, please," the lad said. He had a nice voice.

The bartender wiped his hands on his apron and poured the pink cherry wine into a big mug. Then he placed the mug before the witcher, waiting for him to ask a question.

"Anything memorable happened lately?"

"You a merc? Trying to get a job?" The bartender cleaned the bottles on the rack. "Came to the right place. They're trying to rebuild Sodden after the war, and the merchants are hauling supplies around. They're looking for bodyguards. If you'd like, I can hook you up with someone."

Roy stared at the bartender quietly.

"Oh, pardon me. There are a lot of things happening around the world every day, especially Mayena. Sodden ain't that far away from us, as you know, and it's the center of all the commotion. Heard all the kings of the north—Foltest, Demavend, Henselt, and the lot—are going to see an emissary from the south soon. That meeting is going to decide the future of this war." The bartender cleared his throat and refilled Roy's mug.

"The refugees are going to balloon in numbers, but we can't take in any more of them. We've requested financial aid from the king multiple times. Two days ago, a female corpse was found in an alleyway. She was the daughter of a local merchant, allegedly killed by Sodden immigrants. The merchants' guild are going to pressure the head of security and find out who the killer is. They wish to put them to death."

The bartender stopped talking, and he stared at the witcher, requesting more money.

"Another mug, please." Roy paid him three crowns and ten coppers.

Happily, the bartender tucked the crowns into his apron's pocket, and he filled Roy's mug again. "A week ago, a merchant from Outer Rivia abducted Ains, the honorary ambassador. And, perhaps he was very brave or very stupid, but he came back. The soldiers captured him. Took him to the dungeons for interrogation."

Outer Rivia was the area between Lyria and Rivia and the east side of Sodden.

"Curiously, the merchant had with him a powerful mercenary. A white-haired mutant. He too was captured."

"A white-haired mutant?" Roy's heart skipped a beat. I don't think there are any other witchers with white hair out there except for Geralt. "About six foot two, lean, and had two swords with him?"

The bartender smiled.

"Another."

The bartender shook his head and raised five fingers. Roy pushed the stool back and stood up, blocking the bodyguards' line of sight, then he quickly made a Sign. Axii rooted itself in the bartender's mind, and he answered Roy's question.

"That mutant is Geralt of Rivia. Obviously came from the same place as the merchant. Must've hired him to kidnap the honorary ambassador together. They had nothing to prove their innocence, so they made up a story. Said Ainz was melted. They are accused of kidnapping. Some even said they came from the fallen Cintra. Accused them of being Nilfgaard's spies. Serious crime, if you ask me. Ainz is one of the food suppliers of this fortress. He's a big reason a lot of the refugees have something to eat. Now that he's gone, prices are about to inflate again. As if the people aren't having it hard enough. The head of security is livid, and he locked them up in the dungeon. It's right under the tallest tower on the north side of the city."

Gods, Geralt. Why'd you run into this mess? Couldn't you focus on finding Ciri? Roy drank some of his wine. You're a witcher. Why'd you let the soldiers catch you? You could've fought back. Or just Axiied them. He looked at the bartender. "How can I get into the dungeon?"

The bartender paused for a moment, and his eyes shone. "Money makes the world go round."

A torch that smelled like charred wood was stabbed into the sconce on the cragged wall, and its light shone on two silhouettes, their shadows dancing on the ground.

The white-haired witcher stirred and woke from his meditation. The pain coming from his body had subsided, and he wiped his face, looking around. The prison opposite his housed two unkempt criminals, breathing quietly. Lying beside Geralt was a ball of flesh covered in tattered robes, blood, and whip marks.

That ball of flesh used to be a pudgy, kindly merchant. It had been but a week since they were sentenced to jail, but already the merchant was on the verge of breaking down. "Still hanging in there, Yurga?" Geralt patted the merchant's back.

Yurga grunted and woke up. "Ow, my back. Are we still in the dungeon, Geralt?" Yurga rubbed his eyes with his dirt-covered hands. He thought that all this darkness was just a hallucination.

"Yeah, and we're going to stay here until kingdom come if no one comes to save us. That, or we'll be burned at the stake," said Geralt calmly.

"Dammit!" Yurga pushed himself up and leaned on the cold, wet wall. His face was wet, and frustration welled in his beady eyes. "Sorry, Geralt. I dragged you into this. You saved my life, but instead of paying you for your work, I dragged you into this whole mess. There's no way we can hand Ainz back to them. We're going to rot in this place." Yurga held his pale, bloated face and sobbed. Then he held his head and squealed like a pig. "I'll never see Goldencheeks again. She's still young. Not even twenty-five, and now she's going to be a widow! No… no, she might take my wealth and remarry. By the gods, our sons! Nadbor and Sulik are still young, and they're going to be facing an abusive stepfather in my absence. What should I do?"

Geralt shook his head. How is it possible for someone to have so many emotions that they have to let it out every single day? "Yurga, save your breath." The White Wolf spat, a metallic taste spreading in his mouth. "It's going to hurt a lot more if you can't scream when you get whipped."

The steel door of the dungeon's entrance opened by an inch, allowing some light to pour into the darkness. The opening of the door was nothing less than the demon's summons, and Yurga shivered. "They're here again. Freya, Melitele, Lebioda, Eternal Fire, gods, help me! Please let me be invincible just this once!"

Sounds of light footsteps closed in, and the pair held their breaths. However, there were no barks of the guards, nor was there any opening of the door. Instead, a chuckle was heard ringing in the air. The light of the torch shone on a familiar figure.

"Roy?" Geralt looked at his grinning friend, and he heaved a long sigh of relief. "How'd you get in here?"

"I have my ways. But I can't stay for long. Fifteen minutes, that's it."

"I knew it." The White Wolf held the steel bars, and something within him stirred. "You knew I'd get in trouble, so you came to save me."

"If that's the angle you want to take, fine by me." Roy looked at Geralt. He was filthy, smelled like a nekker, and his skin was covered in scabs and scars. Even his hair lost its usual sheen. He chided, "I can't believe you'd let them capture you without putting up a fight. What were you thinking?"

"You know this man, Geralt?" Yurga quickly squeezed his face against the steel bars, and it almost distorted his face, parting his brows apart. Then the fat merchant grinned sycophantically at Roy. "Can you help us out of here?"

"Slow down, friend. This is Roy, my companion." Geralt looked at Roy. "You know that Destiny hasn't been kind to me. She loves to put me through trials, and this is but one of them. I must get through this trial if I wish to find Ciri. Any form of cheating or giving up is going to end with punishment."

Roy shook his head in disdain. He then turned his gaze to the fat merchant, and he kept his arguments to himself. This… pudgy merchant was more than met the eye. Roy knew him. He was an important figure in Geralt's search for Ciri. Roy thought that Geralt would never meet this man with the war breaking out early. The butterfly effect might have changed things, but instead, their meeting happened in a different way.

Geralt had a point. Destiny, or to be exact, the Law of Surprise, made sure that Geralt would cross paths with Yurga no matter what. "I'm going to bust you out, but first, I need to know the whole story. What happened?"

"Let me explain, Roy." Yurga straightened out his tattered collar. "I was there for the whole thing."

"Make it quick, Yurga."

"One week ago, Mayena's food supplier and honorary ambassador, Ainz, met with me in the northern woods for a negotiation. He was going to purchase the supplies Rivia and Sodden needed, while I would use my connections in Rivia to get him the food he needed."

A negotiation in the woods? That was surprising, but Roy let the man talk.

"Negotiations broke down right away. Ainz wanted to purchase moldy grain and infested flour. If we used that to make bread, it would kill whoever ate it. I didn't even have to guess who would be the ones eating it. The refugees are already poor enough. What Ainz had in mind for them was far more than cruelty."

Oh, he was going to buy rotten food for the refugees?

"The deal could make me a mountain of coins, but I refused. I would not sell out my conscience for wealth." Yurga tensed up, his eyes filled with justice, though his chubby face was trembling in an amusing way.

Roy looked at Geralt, and the White Wolf nodded. He had verified this with Axii.

Didn't expect that from this guy. Roy had another question. But Ainz was Mayena's honorary ambassador. There's no reason for him to do something that evil.

"It was on the return trip that all hell broke loose. We were passing through the woods when a blinding flash of red light appeared. It felt like a thousand red candles were lit up at the same time, and their light surrounded the forest." The merchant had a weird look in his eyes. There was fear… and longing. "That was a red sun. And it shone magnificently."

And then Roy had a weird look on his face.

"Out of curiosity, I, Brofi, Ainz, and Mateo went into the red light. We searched around for five minutes, but there was nothing to be found. The light seemed to appear out of nowhere. And so we tried to leave." He paused, staring at the corridor for a while, and then an eerie light glinted in his eyes. He clicked his tongue at the sleeping inmates across them, and he raised his voice. "But Ainz disappeared!"

"He disappeared?"

"Like a melting candle. He was lit by a red fire, burning him up from the inside."

Is that supposed to be a horror story? Roy looked at Geralt, but the White Wolf nodded.

"I had no idea where the fire came from. It burned and burned, but there was no smoke coming from Ainz. He managed to let out a scream, and then he was burned to cinders and disappeared into thin air. Even his clothes were turned to ash. Not a single strand of his hair was left."

Roy's face darkened. He thought this was just a simple missing persons case. He could've just used his Witcher Senses to deal with it, but now he knew things were not that simple. This is big. This is nothing I've heard before. Red light covering the whole woods and something like a self-combustion. It takes a lot of heat just to burn someone down to ash. Not even the dragons in Skyrim can do that. I don't think most of the sorcerers in this world can either.

Roy tried to search his memory for any similar case, but there was nothing. This was even more unbelievable than Flynn absorbing the dragon's soul. The young witcher turned to Geralt. "Yurga could have been high on something. Alcohol, or maybe the drugs the aristocrats love so much. Could've been a hallucination."

"I checked him, but there were no traces of any substance in his body."

"So you think he's telling the truth?"

"Yes," Geralt said. "Though I do not know why that happened."

"Roy, I don't mind you calling me ugly or conservative, but do not question my integrity. Businesses are built on that."

"Shut it. Finish the story."

"Brofi, Mateo, and I were shaken. Worried that we might be next, we scrambled out of the woods. I was too fat, see, and the rascals left me behind. I was tired, scared, and my muscles felt like they would kill me. When I was passing by a log over a chasm—that was the path I had to take to come back—I slipped and almost fell." The memory of that filled Yurga's eyes with pain. "I'm over two hundred pounds heavy, and I was hanging on nothing but a log, a chasm waiting for me beneath. I was like a fish out of water, struggling to breathe. Every moment of that was torture."

"And Geralt passed by, so he saved you," Roy guessed.

"Exactly. I was dying, so I promised I'd do anything for him. Then Geralt saved me." Yurga smiled at the White Wolf and added, "I know what witchers want, and I'd love for any of my sons to be taken under his wing. It's a chaotic world. Wars happen all the time. If he becomes a witcher, he can probably live longer and better than his old man."

"That's a good idea," said Roy. It was the first time he'd seen someone willing to give their children to witchers.

"But the White Wolf thinks that's not in line with the Law of Surprise. When he saved me, he did talk about using that Law to get his reward, but there's no way I'd have another child I don't know. When I went back home last time, Goldencheeks wasn't pregnant, and she wouldn't cheat on me," said the merchant.

Roy smiled. "Let's talk about business."

"I saved him and told him who I really am," said Geralt. "I went to the woods with him, but the light was already gone, yet my medallion shivered." Geralt's eyes shone. "Remnants of some sort of energy lingered there."

"Tell me more about the forest. The exact location." A while later, Roy got what he wanted.

"I got saved, but I was nervous. Very nervous, so I went back to the city with Geralt to come up with a way to deal with it. An honorary ambassador just died to supernatural causes. We'd be in trouble if we didn't come up with a good plan, but the moment we got to the city, a bunch of soldiers surrounded us."

"Ainz must've told his servant what to do if something were to happen to him, and that bastard stirred up this whole mess. Too many people saw me going out of the city with him." Yurga sighed bitterly. "The disappearance of an ambassador is a scandal, and someone must take responsibility for it. We tried to explain ourselves, but the head of security thought we abducted Ainz, so he sentenced us to prison."

"I can understand why he did it," Roy said. "Red lights and mysterious flames that turn people to cinders in moments? That's unheard of. Not to mention the light is long gone, leaving you with no evidence to prove your innocence. Anyone would think you're a criminal. A criminal who'd already killed their hostage and burned his remains." There was no way anyone could find Ainz after his body was burned to pieces.

"We need an opening," Roy said. "Your servant, Brofi, can prove that the incident was real. He can prove that Ainz did die under those circumstances."

"That git is hiding gods know where. The soldiers didn't catch him." Yurga looked indignant but also glad. "Besides, he's working for me. Even if he shows up, the soldiers are going to think he's our accomplice."

"What about Mateo, then?"

"Missing. The soldiers have no idea where he is, and he was… off to begin with. Looked like he had a breakdown. Wouldn't stop screaming as he ran away," said the merchant.

"Tell me what they look like. I'll search for them," said Roy. "Ainz's servant should lend some credibility to your story should he show up."

"No, it won't change a thing." Geralt shook his head. "Don't you get it? The head of security needs to appease the public, especially the refugees. The word of some servants and a merchant would no doubt look like desperate attempts to get out of jail. No one will believe us."

"You're dumping a real problem on me right now." Roy mused for a moment. "So aside from Mateo, we need someone reputable to help you guys. To prove that the light that burned Ainz down did exist."

Someone who lives in the woods. Someone reputable. And Roy had an idea.

Geralt and Yurga noticed Roy muttering something and fell silent.

Then someone at the gate's staircase shouted, "Your time's up, kid!"

"A moment, please!" Roy replied, then he told Geralt, "I think I have an idea to get you out of here. Just wait for me. But one question before I leave. Why'd the light only burn Ainz down after he touched it? Why didn't it burn you, Mateo, or Brofi?"

"That I do not know." Yurga shook his head. "But it's not like nothing has changed. I think something inside me is different."

"How so?" Roy cocked his eyebrow. Aside from minor injuries, Observe showed nothing special about him.

"It's hard to explain, but my body feels so much lighter than before. It's like I've put down something that's been weighing down on me."

"Fine. Okay, so here are the leads I have. Red light in the forest, a burned ambassador, and two escaped servants." Roy waved his arm and tossed Gwyhyr into the prison. "Keep this hidden. Geralt. If you guys run into something you can't handle while I'm out investigating, tap the sword three times. I'll bust you out right away. Your safety comes first. If danger arrives, to hell with the law."

He tossed two Potions of Minor Healing to Yurga. His back was filled with scabs, and he looked listless. Obviously, he had gone through a lot of torture, and Roy would not let him die just like that. "If the pain gets too unbearable, down a bottle of this."

The merchant tucked the potion away carefully. He'd always been interested in witcher potions.

"Take care, you two. I have a feeling good news is coming." And Roy smiled at Geralt. "And perhaps we might see a surprise."

Chapter 503

The sun hung high up in the air, burning red. Roy came out of the dungeon, his mind occupied by a few thoughts. Even though Geralt and Yurga had told him about the red light, he still thought he should check out the spot himself. Maybe I can find something. He blinked out of the fortress' walls and darted to the bridge over the valley a mile north from the city.

Despite how deep the valley went, Roy could vaguely see skeletons and broken carriages lining the ground of the valley. Weed was abundant, and elliptical fern grew on the rotting bridge.

And the look on Roy's face changed, then he stopped in his tracks. A gale howled from the valley, shaking the bridge. The wooden planks and chain rubbed against each other, screeching in the air and swinging around. Roy easily held on despite how much the bridge was shaking. No, the danger came from somewhere else. The Elder Blood told him so.

Roy bent over a little, holding his crossbow. He was like a beast lying in wait, wondering if it should fight or flee. Ebony—the dog—was lying around Roy's feet. It stopped howling and barking so its master could think in peace. Gryphon the Black Cat lay around Roy's right foot, eager to get into a fight and help its master.

Roy didn't let the cat do anything. That would be a suicide mission. He stared at the space across the bridge. His blood told him that something fatal was hiding across the bridge. What awaited him was an abyss. A maw that would gobble him up and grind him into pieces should he take a step forward.

Roy waited for ten whole minutes, and the danger lingering in his heart slowly disappeared. The witcher heaved a sigh of relief. This case is probably hiding something big. I need to be careful.

He then came to the shrubs sitting across the valley, and the second threat came. A guttural growl thundered in the air, and Roy thought it was just the buzz of mosquitoes in the shrubs, but a moment later, he knew he was wrong. Horribly wrong.

Pairs of amber eyes shone through the shrubs and woods. They were looking up at Roy with bloodlust.

Roy quickly unsheathed the crimson sword and crouched a little, holding the blade against his waist. The blade glinted a dark red under the sun, but it did not deter the attackers. Another growl pierced the air, and out came a dozen wolves.

The witcher froze for a moment. These wolves were a lot larger than their regular counterparts. These were about the size of a calf, and their fur was nearly black. Their limbs were covered with muscle, and their claws were the size of scythes. Their shoulders looked like small hills, and strips of bloody flesh hung from their fangs. Their eyes were fixed on Roy, their prey.

Roy was still cautious, but he stood still like a statue. Observe told him what happened to these beasts. "I see. So that's why they're attacking in the daytime. These beasts have mutated." Their stats were 50% higher than regular wolves. Most humans would die easily to these beasts.

Roy held up his left hand and quickly made a Sign, the yellow shield of Quen covering his armor. He then made another Sign, and the kaleidoscopic circle of Yrden appeared underneath his feet.

Angered by his actions, the alpha wolf roared. As if on cue, foul winds and claws charged ahead at Roy. A wolf bared its fangs, pouncing at its prey, and its companions followed.

The witcher spun, and an arc of light flew through the air. The wolf who attacked from behind found its head flying high up into the air, and a stream of blood shot from the stump where its neck should've been.

Unfazed, Roy leapt high into the air and charged into the pack of wolves. He swung his blade like it was a whip, lashing out at the wolves before they could get close. A rain of flames scattered across the battlefield, enveloping the beasts in its fiery embrace. Roy was dancing among the beasts, but his dance was deadly. Brutal. Lethal. Every swing took away one life, but Roy didn't stop. Again and again he swung. Again and again he danced. Flesh was torn asunder, bones were broken, cries of pain were cut short, and then, finally, something fell with a dull thud.

The battle barely lasted thirty seconds. By the end of it, silence had returned to this place. Even the leaves stayed still. Once again, sparrows started to sing and dance. Cats began to mewl, and dogs started to howl.

Roy stood among the sea of corpses, slowly wiping the blade with a piece of fur. A thin gash decorated the witcher's cheek.

'10 Mutated Wolves killed. EXP +200. Level 12 Witcher (8500/12500).'

Roy crouched. Despite the stench, the witcher pulled out the dead wolf's insides and did a close check. "No signs of human intervention. So this is a natural mutation? Same reason as to why the red light appeared?"

He tucked the least broken corpse into his inventory space and buried the other bits and pieces in a big hole he dug up. The witcher tossed a fire ball into the hole and burned the corpses into ash. That'll make sure no necrophage shows up. Among the corpses were three human bodies. Unlucky sods who were eaten by the wolves when they tried to pass the bridge.

And then Roy was met with no further attacks. The patch of woods where the red light showed up was located a mile and a half north of Mayena. A week had gone by since the case happened, and the red light was no longer there.

The only thing left was a patch of woods with trees undulating across the land, their leaves swaying under the gentle caress of the breeze. It was quiet and beautiful, but the moment Roy stepped into the woods, his medallion started to buzz. "Knew it. Remnants of the energy."

Even after a week, the lingering energy was still intense enough to elicit a reaction from the medallion. Roy scanned the trees around him, but he found nothing out of the ordinary. That puzzled him. Why'd three of them manage to survive while Ainz got burnt to a crisp?

When Roy came to the center of the woods, his medallion was vibrating so hard he thought it would fly away. The witcher surveyed the land. The red light enveloped an area that had a thirty-yard radius, and there was a line separating it from the other land. Within that line, an abundance of flowers bloomed. There were meandering vines, purple oleanders, and daylilies on the outer edge. Underneath the witcher's feet were roses and orchids. His pets were frolicking around, chasing butterflies. They were getting a bit too excited.

Animals seemed to like this place. The flowers outside the line weren't as beautiful as the ones within, nor did they shine like stars. It was obvious something was different. Roy looked around and realized that every plant within the line, including the trees, looked bigger and stronger, like they were blessed with some special force.

And then Roy was reminded of the mutated wolves. "Perhaps they stayed around and were affected by the red light."

But if the light brought life for animals and plants, why did Ainz get burnt to a crisp? The red light affects humans, plants, and animals differently? "How does this work?"

Ebony barked hurriedly. Gryphon was holding the dog by the nape of its neck, running around wildly. "Stop it at once! Did the light get to you, Gryphon? Get over here. I need to check on you."

*** 𝙡𝙞𝓫𝙧𝒆𝙖𝓭.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Roy searched the forest a few times. Aside from the beautiful plants, he found nothing else. In the end, he scooped up a big sack of soil, cut a branch of a tree, and plucked a few flowers as evidence. Then he set off for the next destination. That light has affected the laws of nature and changed this land. The druids should be able to recognize the reason. There's a circle around Mayena, but first, I need to find out more about the place.

Chapter 504

Another day, another merry day at Slug Inn. Once again, the bouncer was met with the lad who came the day before, but he looked different somehow. There was a scar on his face, and the air around him smelled of blood. Seems like he just came back from a battle.

Even though the air reeked of the stench of alcohol, the patrons of the inn still caught the whiff of danger coming from this young man, and they stayed away from him.

Eventually, only Roy remained before the counter. "Mug of apple cider, please." Roy tapped on the table.

"I believe you've found a request?"

"In the middle of clearing it, but this is more… more complex than I thought. I'll have to deal with it slowly." Roy took a sip of his cider, the liquid sparkling red under the light. "Have a question for you, mate. Heard there's a druid circle somewhere near Mayena."

The bartender smiled. Information cost money, and he was going to name a good price, but then his heart skipped a beat. Somehow he had a feeling he would be in for something terrible if he did not answer this lad's questions. Not even his burly, grizzled bouncers could save him from that fate. "Two, actually," he said, simpering. "One in the east of Sodden, and it goes by the name of Caed Dhu."

Roy cocked an eyebrow. Caed Dhu? That means Black Forest in Elder Speech. Geralt passed that place in his search, but that can't be the place I'm looking for. It's miles away from Mayena.

"And the other one is in the woods west of Mayena. The occasional beekeeper gets a drink or two from me." The bartender paused for a moment. "Told me about his adventures, one of them being the encounter with druids. Barbaric and feral, most of them. Adorns themselves with all kinds of plants. Marigolds, tree leaves, and all kinds of greenery. Hangs over their skin like appendages."

Roy was amused. Sounds different from Mousesack or Evelyn. Maybe druids are divided into different schools as well. "Tell me more about the circle. And give me another shot of apple cider." Roy slammed three crowns and ten coppers onto the counter, and the bartender, having learnt his lesson, didn't raise his price. He beamed.

"Most druids are territorial. They think the whole forest belongs to them. If anyone enters uninvited…" A hint of fear flared in the bartender's eyes. "Well, according to the beekeeper, if they as much as ruin a bit of the plants, the greenery and beasts are going to kick them out of the woods. If they hunt or even cut down a tree, the druids themselves will turn the hunters into nutrients for the flowers. That, or feed for their pets. Special treatment, they say." 𝘭𝒾𝒷𝓇𝘦𝑎𝑑.𝒸ℴ𝓂

Roy wiped off the sweat on his forehead. Just like the nymphs in Brokilon. But he wasn't worried. With the token Mousesack gave him, it should grant him safe passage to the druids.

"I used to take the beekeeper's story as the truth." The bartender's pitch got a little sharper as he tried to imitate the way a girl would speak. "Thought druids were killing machines. But the war taught me a lot of things. The news about druids stem from nothing but fear and prejudice."

"Elaborate." Roy dipped his finger into the cider and stuck it into his hood, then his pets quickly licked the liquid off his fingertip.

The sudden appearance of Gryphon and Ebony shocked the bartender, and he almost screamed, thinking that Roy was a druid. There was no other reason for him to keep two critters in his hood.

"The misunderstanding melted away after the battle of Cintra." A hint of dejection welled in the bartender's eyes. "Ever since Cintra fell, its refugees started traveling north to Brugge or Sodden. Cintra's general, Vissegerd, escaped with his life. He's in Brugge, rallying the remaining people of Cintra to form an anti-Nilfgaardian army. Rumors, of course. Haven't seen it with my own eyes."

Roy was reminded of a certain old man with graying hair. He had seen Vissegerd. If he did survive the war, then it would be a big morale boost for Calanthe and Ciri. He nodded.

"Nilfgaard didn't attack Sodden first, and that made it the top choice for refugees to stay in. But well, it's not easy finding refuge after your kingdom's fallen. A third of the refugees die on their journey, either to monsters or bandits. Even if they live, life's hell for them. Diseases and wounds won't give them respite. Lives are worth nothing in this world." And the bartender was possessed with melancholy, much like a bard who was worried about the people.

Roy's lips twitched.

"Just when all hope was lost, a group of saints stepped up. They are no ordinary people. They possess magic. Extraordinary magic. The temple of Melitele in Ellander sent a group of their priestesses out to help the refugees, healing those in need," the bartender said. "But that much is to be expected. That's what Melitele is like. They are worshiped and revered. Mountains of donations go to their temples every year. They are duty-bound to help the ailing people."

Roy took a deep breath. He was once again reminded of the days he spent in Ellander's temple.

"Aside from the temples, some sorcerers and druids decided to lend a hand too." A twinkle of astonishment flared in the bartender's eyes. "It was surprising, mercenary. As I've told you, sorcerers and druids are not particularly treated with respect or kindness among the people. They have every kind of insult hurled at them every day. If I were them, I'd rather watch these people die than help, but they didn't seem to mind." The bartender looked impressed. "In their magnanimity, they lent a helping hand to the refugees, and some of them are druids from the woods I told you about."𝓁𝑖𝘣𝑟𝘦𝘢𝒹.𝑐ℴ𝘮

A pause later, he continued. "One of them was a gorgeous woman with hair as crimson as a cinnabar. They're nothing like what the beekeeper told me. Not feral at all. She was clean, dressed decently, smelled like plants, and was slender as a lily."

"You seem fond of her."

"Not just me, mercenary. The whole Mayena and the refugees are fond of her, get it?" Displeased by the witcher's frivolity, the bartender took on a solemn attitude. "She helps the refugees every week for free, curing them of their illnesses. Everyone knows she's a lot better than the thieving doctors who can't even cure a simple cold. She can cure every kind of illness and wound. Except for death.

"And she wasn't just using herbs. She even used magic on us. Do you know what that means?" A hint of reminiscence flashed in the bartender's eyes. "I had a stomach upset, and she healed me with magic. Magic feels… warm. It courses through your veins like some sort of warm shower, and she's fair to everyone. Respect everyone. Merchants, soldiers, nobility, she doesn't care. Well, the nobles wouldn't deign to visit the slums," the bartender muttered. "She's a respectable woman. She sees every life as equal. If we could vote for Mayena's next leader…" The bartender lowered his voice to a whisper and huddled closer to Roy. "That lady would win in a landslide. The nobles have no chance."

Roy nodded. This woman knows nature well and is respected by the community. The very person I need to find out about the red light and clear Geralt's name. And she's closely tied to Geralt too. She's the best choice for this job.

"She cares not for coins and fame. All she cares about are the people and all living beings."

"What's her name?" Roy held his excitement down and went in for the confirmation. He sipped some cider and let his pets have a bit of the liquid too.

"Told no one about it. She needs no fame, remember?" The bartender took a deep breath, finally finishing his lecture. "You're bleeding. Bet you're hurt. If you need some healing, she should be here soon. There's a white tent beside the refugee camp. That's where she stays. You can't miss it."

𝑙𝒾𝒷𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥.𝒸𝑜𝘮

Chapter 505

Two days left until the druid was open for business. Roy went around the fortress and put a random Mayena guard under Axii's spell (in a quiet corner, of course) and asked him about Mateo and Brofi. These people were instrumental in clearing Geralt's name.

However, the guard didn't know much about the case. Ever since Ainz's demise, the servants had gone missing. Just their luck, the head of security saw them as accomplices, so they could never come back to the city. Right. Guess I should try my luck out at the refugee camp.

An old cripple was sitting on his bench before his old canvas tent housed on the hill, smoking with his pipe. The afternoon sun shone upon his dirty clothes, a surge of warmth surging within his limbs. He looked down at the refugee camp, as noisy and infested with people as usual. His eyes were murky, but they had emotions flaring within them.

And then, a friendly voice asked, "Sir, may I ask you a question? I'm looking for a few people."

The cripple looked at the young witcher and smiled. "Been here since the day this camp was founded." The old man's beard twitched as he spoke, and he shook his chibouk around. "Might be old and crippled, but my mind's as sharp as ever. I know every single person who came in, who left, and who never came back. Know every single thing that's happened in this place, to be honest." The old man nodded, and wrinkles formed on his forehead. "But remembering things is a… tiring endeavor. Gotta have something to motivate me, or I can't do it." He stared at the witcher with anticipation.

Yeah. Money makes the world go round. This was the fifth refugee Roy asked, and he was the oldest by far. "Of course. Here's for you. Get a drink for yourself." Roy handed the old man ten coppers.

Happily, the old man tucked the coins into an empty bottle of booze beside his foot, then he hid it under his chair.

"So, what are their names? And what do they look like?"

"They are Mateo and Brofi. Here are their portraits." Roy whipped out a couple of portraits. He made it based on what Yurga told him. Without Coral with him, he had to do it himself, but he was not an artist. He couldn't even draw. The 'portraits' were nothing but stick people and unruly lines.

The old man stared at the… interesting artwork, and his brows furrowed. He clicked his tongue, revealing two rows of yellowing teeth. They look like humans, but I'm not sure if they're humans inside. Well, lucky for him, he made sure he drew out the birthmarks and some prominent parts.

"Brofi. Lean. Six feet tall. Different from the refugees, I see. And he has a mole on his left cheek. Rare." The old man tapped his chibouk on the table. "Easily recognizable. One week ago…"

Roy listened closely. That was when the red light shone.

The old man smacked his knee and gave Roy another wide-eyed look. "Sorry. I have had nothing to eat since this morning. Well, just free bread, but black bread isn't filling. My belly's rumbling. Bile's burning up my throat and head. I can't even move much. Leg's starting to hurt. I can't remember what happened."

"Here you go." Like magic, the young witcher whipped out a grilled chicken thigh covered in spices.

The old man gulped greedily, and he looked at the grinning witcher. He took the thigh and wolfed it down, much like how a young man would eat. One whole minute later, the old man licked the grease off his fingers and smacked his belly. He let a rush of satisfied air out. The thigh was devoured, bones and all. "I remember now. A week ago, Brofi came to the southern part of the camp and left a few hours later, looking a little panicked. Guess he was going on a long trip."

Sweat was starting to drench Roy's palms. So that means Yurga's servant must be on his way back to Rivia.

"Mateo. Slightly pudgy, has a long face, short beard… Wait, this is Aizen's servant. I could recognize him anywhere." The old man had a solemn look on his face, but he didn't ask why Roy wanted to know about this man.

"Is he famous?"

"Everyone in this camp knows him. He and his master would give out food to us." A pause later, the old man said, "But I heard Ainz was kidnapped a month ago, and Mateo went into hiding because he's an accomplice. The city's hunting him down right now. Haven't seen him for days."

Roy looked a little disappointed. If Mateo isn't around the camp, it's going to be hard just to find him. Hm, the old man was mocking Ainz. Why? "You don't seem to like Ainz. Why?" Roy stared into the old man's eyes. They were filled with disdain. "Thought he gave you guys food."

"Ah, you've never been in the camp before, have you?" The old man stroked his beard. "He didn't give the food for free. The fortress' leader compensates him. He sells it at a slightly lower price than the market. Ainz isn't the only one helping us. Some other merchants are helping us too. And they said we're eating for free. Bollocks. Still, the food Ainz gave us…" The old man trailed off.

"Something wrong with it?" Roy asked.

"No need to find out so much, lad. I've told you what I know about these men. Sorry I can't help further." The old man shook his head, telling Roy to leave.

Roy could see that the old man knew more, so he gave the old man one whole crown this time.

The old man bit down on the coin to see if it was real, then he tucked it into his bottle. "Yeah, that's going to pay for a lot of my luxuries." He huddled closer to Roy and spoke in a whisper. "The bread Ainz gives us is made of the worst flour. Probably expired flour. That bastard mixed soil and sand into the flour too. Everyone who has the food he gives ends up having a stomach upset, especially old gits like me and the ladies. And the kids." The old man shook his head, shuddering. "I was this close to Lebioda's kingdom. But I either eat or I starve. The lads have it better though. They can eat even though the bread's disgusting."

Roy rubbed his chin. He was reminded of Yurga's testimonial. The one where Ainz wanted to strike a foul deal with him, but the righteous merchant refused the deal. The old man's testimonial backs that up. Ainz was an unscrupulous bastard. "What about the fortress' leader? Won't he deal with this? Hasn't anyone reported this fraud to him?"

Sadness and sorrow filled the old man's eyes. "Know the kind of people this world detests most? The kind where even if they die, no one would care? Us? Refugees who lost their homes and are looked at like dirt by the powers that be. The act of feeding us alone, no matter how bad the food is, is already kindness in their eyes. They couldn't care less about the quality of the food. Not like we get to air our grievances either. The only hope we have is for Foltest to rebuild Sodden, then we may go home."

Roy turned around in silence, staring at the jostling refugees down below. They were pale, gaunt, and almost cadaverous. Hunger besieged them every day. Some were in heated arguments, some were sobbing by themselves, while some sat on the ground like puppets, all light in their eyes lost. The air itself reeked of the rancid air of despair.

"That's not all Ainz did. He abused his status and power to rape a few of the prettier women in the camp." The old man spoke with vitriol. "I heard that one of the women got pregnant with his kid, but he wouldn't even take her into the city. No, called her a whore and accused her of getting knocked up by another man. Sent his people to abuse her until she had a miscarriage. That was unfair to her. No man in the camp would try to lay a finger on Ainz's women. He would make sure they starved."

The old man sighed. "The abuse drove that woman to madness. Ran from the camp one day and never came back. People go missing every day. Deaths mean nothing to these people. Except for the druid, no one else would take pity on us."

The witcher stared at his feet in silence.

"Oh, by the way, this reminds me." The old man stood up and hobbled around the chair. "Ainz isn't the only one having affairs with the women; his servant, Mateo, has relations with one of the women too, but the lad's a lot more careful than his master. And a lot better too. Treats the woman like his wife. He's going to take her into the city and live with her soon too. I know he's missing now, but maybe his lover will have news about him." A moment later, the old man added, "Her name's Ririn. Came from Birch Village back in Sodden. You'll find her in the southern part of the camp. Purple tent."

Alright. Lead reconnected. Roy heaved a sigh of relief. He was a little impressed by the old man. The guy knows everything about this camp. Hm, but Birch Village sounds familiar. "You know a lot."

"I have a good memory. Before Sodden was taken down, I was the steward for the nephew of King Ekkehard's military minister. Had to record half a ledger for the entire day's arrangements and trivial matters." The old man rubbed his balding head with glee. "I love to observe and listen around. The widows and crones love to gossip, and I give them encouragement when they need it."

"Here's to a happy life." Roy gave the old man two crowns and left.

The witcher descended the hill and crossed the narrow path. The scent of onions, potatoes, cabbages, and excrements assailed his nose. On the left side of some tents, a cauldron stood, and within it was a stew made of potatoes. On the tent's right, a pile of dung stood. The stench was carried by the wind, falling into the stew and piling a layer of… a powerful scent onto it.

Ebony loved the rancid stench. He circled the witcher's feet, barking quietly as it chased its own tail. Gryphon the Cat followed its master closely, swiping its paws deftly at its new, rambunctious lackey, teaching him a lesson

A few sallow heads poked out of their tents, their eyes filled with greed, staring at the pets of the witcher, licking their lips. They were fortunate their master looked tough, so no one tried to snag them up for a little snack.

Five minutes later, Roy came to the southern side of the camp, where colorful tents stood side by side. Scantily-clad women crossed through the spaces between the tents, holding pots and pans, gibbering happily with their friends. The clearing in the center had a cauldron, and a stew of turnips and carrots was cooking within.

Oh, I remember now. It's the village near Willow Village. The widows' friends lived there.

For some reason, the blond widow noticed Roy right away, and she came out of her sky-blue tent, holding her baby. "Auckes!" She approached the witcher, smiling sweetly, her braided hair jumping on her shoulder. "What brings you here?"

"I'm looking for Ririn from Birch Village."

Yugni didn't even ask why the witcher wanted to look for Ririn. She quickly led him through the scores of ladies in the encampment.

A freckled woman said with jealousy, "When did she hook up with him?"

"Hey, she's prettier than you, has a bigger chest than you, has a plumper behind than you, has a smaller waist than you, and she has a good son too. Perhaps she'll be leaving this godforsaken place tomorrow and moving into the city," a tall, muscular lady said. "Just hope she won't leave us for dead."

The witcher and Yugni made small talk. A moment later, they came to a purplish-red tent with a rose embroidered on the fabric. The tent looked more lavish than the others. A curvy, beautiful woman was sitting right outside the tent's entrance. She was in her early twenties, donning a clean orange dress. The woman was beautiful, at least among the refugees.

"Ririn."

"Oh, Yugni. And this is it?" Ririn snapped out of it and looked at her friend and the witcher suspiciously.

"This is Auckes. Told you yesterday. He escorted us all the way here." Yugni gave the witcher an appreciative look. "We'd have died ten times without him."

Ririn gave Roy a gentle smile, a look of approval flashing in her eyes. "So what brings you here, Auckes? I don't do any business, if you catch my drift."

"Ah, please don't worry. I came here to clear your lover's name." Roy looked into the woman's eyes and spoke with sincerity. "Mateo, if I'm right."

"Mateo? Who's that? What do you mean you'll clear his name? I don't understand." A hint of panic flashed in the woman's eyes. She crawled backward and huddled against the tent.

"I don't beat about the bush. You know what happened to his master, Ainz. The head of security has charged Mateo with the crime of being an accomplice. He can't come home now, and my friend's imprisoned. We need his testimonial to help us out." Roy announced, "And I promise I'll clear his name."

Ririn turned around and finally said, "You got the wrong person. It's been two weeks since he came here. I have no idea where he is."

Yugni went ahead and held her friend's arm. "Auckes has protected us on our journey. He never tried to harass us, and he's a man of his word. You can trust him. You can trust me. I've never lied to you."

Ririn looked at them for a moment, then she hung her head low and bit her lip, falling into a dilemma.

Roy held Ebony in his arms and rubbed its belly. "Mateo is in a dangerous situation. Keep this up and the head of security will sentence him to punishment. And he can never come back to you. Will you let that happen? After all you've gone through with him? If he's sentenced to punishment, you will no longer have anyone to rely on, and you know what happens to women like you in this encampment if they have no one backing them up." The witcher said no more than that.

"Enough! I know where he is. I'll talk!" Ririn shivered and looked at the witcher with tearful eyes, her lips trembling. "But can you promise he will be safe?"

"I'll try my best to clear his name and keep him alive." Roy took his sunglasses off, revealing his heterochromatic eyes. "On my name as a witcher."

Five minutes later, Roy said goodbye to Yugni, who was reluctant to see him go, then he went with Ririn, leaving the encampment. They journeyed west, heading into a shrub-filled wilderness. About an hour later, they met Mateo in a wooden house tucked between the woods, covered in moss and vines.

He had a long face, short beard, and his sweater was covered in grime and pieces of plants. His pants were gray and made out of cotton and hemp. Obviously he was living well before tragedy struck. Only a week had gone by, and he had lost so much weight he turned gaunt. His cheekbones were prominent, and his face was sickly red, his eyes bloodshot.

When he saw his lover coming in, he eased up and forced a smile. Just when he was about to greet her, the witcher came in, and he tensed up again. "Who is he? Did you betray me, Ririn? And to think I gave everything I had to you." Mateo was breathing laboriously, pointing at the two of them in fury, and then his face turned ashen.

Roy made a sign, and Mateo calmed down, his breathing slowed. He leaned on the wall, looking at the witcher cautiously.

"Calm down." Roy looked at Ririn, who was eyeing him suspiciously. "Just made him snap to his senses. Mateo, I'll cut to the chase. Yurga asked me to clear his name. You know he never kidnapped your master, Ainz. The culprit was that red light, and you saw it yourself, didn't you?"

The mention of that red light horrified Mateo. Terror flared in his eyes, and his face turned redder as he shivered uncontrollably. It looked as if a nightmare had grasped him. "The light… The light…"

Fortunately, Axii's effect was still in place, so he didn't lose all control.

"Auckes, every time we bring this up, he starts breaking down. You have to help him," Ririn pleaded.

Roy cast Observe on Mateo and checked on him, but to his surprise, Mateo showed no symptoms other than increased body temperature. Odd. When Yurga told me about the incident, he brought up the light a lot of times, but nothing happened to him. So why'd Mateo fall into a panic attack? And why did his master get burnt into a crisp? What's the difference between these people? Is this nothing but a psychological phenomenon, or is there something more to it?

Five minutes later, Mateo calmed down and took a deep breath. "You're right. Yurga and the white-haired guy are innocent, but the pain… Every time I think about the light, my whole body burns up. It's like a fire is consuming my head. I can't help him."

"The fire's in your head?"

Mateo gulped, and Ririn went ahead to hold his hands. "Don't worry, my love. We're all here. I'm here."

"I…" The man spoke with a trembling voice as he slowly recalled that event. "The red light… When we first entered the woods, things were normal, but three minutes later, something started feeling off for me. All my painful memories started bubbling in my head, and I couldn't stop them from taking over."

"What do you mean painful memories? Any details?" Roy tried to speak as calmly as possible to not agitate Mateo.

A drop of sweat fell down his cheek. "As Ainz's accomplice, I've dealt with more… unsavory side of business. Hurting innocents and rivals, selling expired food, buying more expired food from partners… The red light took me back to those days, playing the memories in my head over and over and over again. It was torture, and I couldn't take it anymore." Mateo's voice was getting a bit sharp, and fear trickled into his heart. "Then the light started to burn. Hotter and hotter it burned, until it felt like I would combust from within."

Agitated, he shouted, "It wants to burn me down! It wants to burn a sinner! Do you know what I think this is? That this light is punishment from Melitele and Eternal Fire. The light punishes those who carry sin on their shoulders. The light will burn through the darkness of the world, punishing us for our sins. Ainz… Ainz's sins were many. Too many to count. Too terrible to speak of, and that was why the light burned him to ash."

Realization struck Roy, and he thought he had a clue about the light, but he wasn't sure if his guess was correct. He did not see the light and its power for himself, after all. Observers showed that Mateo was perfectly fine. Aside from a slight fever, that is.

"The light is gone now, but every time I'm reminded of my past sins…" Mateo held his head and sobbed. "I'm burning up. The fire won't leave me. It's stuck to my soul. Even now I can feel it hiding inside me, watching me. Every time the memories of my sins start to boil, the fire slithers out from its hiding place just to burn me. Nothing but pain is left for me. I'm sure they'll keep burning until I turn into a pile of ash."

"Do you regret your actions, then?" Now that he knew what he wanted to know, Roy spoke of his true goal. "Do you wish to atone for your sins? Once I'm ready, you're coming with me to see the head of security and testify for Geralt and Yurga. You will testify against Ainz, recounting all his crimes. If there's any way for you to regain your freedom from the pain you're feeling, it's this. You must face your past and rectify it."

Mateo's chest heaved, and his breathing labored, but he hesitated. A moment later, his face contorted, and he gritted his teeth. With conviction, he said, "I'll do it!"

"No!" Ririn said, "You committed crimes in your past too. You might get dragged into this. What if you get captured? What will happen to me?"

Mateo hesitated once more. He couldn't just let go of this relationship.

"Talk to me, mate." Roy looked at Mateo. Gently, he said, "What kind of crimes have you committed."

"No!" Ririn hid Mateo behind her like she was a hen protecting her chick. "Don't torture him any further! Didn't you see how much pain he was in?"

"I'll do it." Mateo pulled Ririn behind him, his eyes flaring with flames. "If this moment of pain gives me peace and relief, I'll do it."

𝙡𝒊𝒃𝓻𝒆𝒂𝓭.𝙘𝓸𝓶

Chapter 506

Night draped its cloak upon the land of Mayena, silvery moonlight shining down on the inns and houses in the fortress. A sliver of its light shone upon a young witcher meditating on his bed. Within the world of meditation, the young witcher's soul was lying on the ground, his whole body wriggling, like he was a buffalo who came out of a pond and was shaking off the mud from its body.

Every time the soul wriggled, glimmering black scales would appear and cover its skin. The soul grew in size quickly, its limbs contorting into a different shape, its muscles turning into little hills, and curved claws jutted out from the ends of its toes. An invisible force tore at the soul's shoulder blades, and a pair of bulges popped on its skin, breaking out into a pair of black wings.

Despite all the commotion, the reaper remained calm. This was not his first time ameliorating his soul. His face jutted ahead, forming a snout that belonged to a dragon, and hooks extended from his chin, while a pair of horns curled back from its forehead.

The witcher's soul had taken on the form of Alduin. It was as titanic as a mountain, and its scales were dark, resilient, and sharp. The horns that jutted out of its head curled backward, and it snarled, revealing rows of canine teeth hanging from its maw. The look in its eyes was cold, but the dragon's eyes shone red.

"Fus!" The Shout broke through the silence of the space, piercing through the endless skies. Like fishes to bait, beautiful particles of elements swarmed the witcher, swimming into his body and replenishing his Mana and stamina.

The big balls of light hanging in the sky were pulled toward him as if guided by an invisible hand. Chaos energy surrounded the elemental planes like four great rings of power, swirling without stop. The witcher had a feeling he could enter the planes and meet the elementals should he wish for it, but he did not act on that impulse.

His Elder Blood was ringing alarm bells in his head. Roy would save up EXP until he could level up before he would enter any of these dimensions. After the slaying of Mirmulnir in Skyrim, Roy Observed the dragon bones as much as he could, absorbed a mountain of dragon blood, gained its blessing, and devoured one third of the dragon's soul. In a sense, he had gained, in some form, the powers of a dragon. The amelioration of his soul had turned into a quick process thanks to that.

After his return, he would meditate every night as usual. Aside from his Sign training, Roy would include soul amelioration in his routine, and almost a month had gone by since then. The training confirmed his suspicion. Amelioration could slowly strengthen his soul. Thanks to his training, his Shout's cooldown had shortened by a few more seconds.

Besides that, his Sign had also improved thanks to his relentless training during meditation. They leveled up by one level. After all his training and battles, his swordplay and archery finally saw a breakthrough as well.

'Sword Mastery Level 2 → 3: You have mastered the basics of swordplay. Whenever you use swords or blades, you gain a (10 → 15)% increase to your Strength, Dexterity, and Constitution. You are now more proficient in blocking, defending, dodging, and attacking when you use swords.

You may cast this Skill as if it were a spell. You will gain double the effects, but you will also double your stamina when you fight. This buff can last for at least 30 seconds.'

Coupling that with Guardian would give Roy a 25% increase in close-combat stats.

'Crossbow Mastery Level 2 → 3: After relentless practice, your mastery over crossbows and hand crossbows have increased. When you use these weapons, you gain a (10 → 15)% increase in accuracy, effective range, shot power, and piercing power.

You may cast this Skill as if it were a spell. You will gain double the effects, but you will also double your stamina and lose 50% movement speed when you fight. This buff can last for at least 30 seconds.'

Meditation was a powerful skill, and Roy had a lot of ideas on how to use this Skill. Back in Skyrim, it was thanks to Meditation that he could turn his soul into a dragon and search the land underneath. Thanks to that, he came in contact with the Bones of the Earth and saw the story of creation. Thanks to that, he managed to master a Shout.

And that brought with it another question. He wondered if he could do the same thing in the witcher world if he burrowed deep into the earth. Perhaps I can find some clues about this world's creator.

Alas, all his attempts at that discovery ended in failure. He tried burrowing through the ground with his witcher and dragon form, but he couldn't penetrate it. A barrier kept him firmly locked outside. And so Roy wondered. Aetherius is the counterpart for these elemental planes, and they're the source of magic for the world. The Bones of the Earth would be the counterpart for this world's core. I have to find something that's the counterpart for dragons and ameliorate my soul into its form if I wish to gain access to the earth. Wonder what a dragon's counterpart is.

Roy's first instinct told him that it was the elemental that had existed since time immemorial. The elementals that controlled the elemental planes. When I get my chance, I'm going to Observe the elementals. Perhaps I'll enslave or even kill one. Then I'll see if I can ameliorate my soul so it'll take their form. I must find out what secrets lie beneath the earth.

The light of dawn poured through the window, and Roy exited meditation, smiling. He loved the feeling of slowly getting stronger. The witcher picked up Aerondight and carefully caressed it. Its silvery laughter rang around him, and he strapped his blade onto his back.

His pets were cuddled together at the end of his bed, sleeping and jostling around like balls of fur. Gryphon was turned into a lemur the size of Roy's palm, and it was sleeping on Ebony's neck, holding onto him like an octopus. It buried its head in the dog's mane like it was its pillow.

Ever since Ebony joined the gang, Gryphon would bully him every day. Even in its adorable critter form, Gryphon still had the air of an apex predator, and that was strong enough to scare the poor puppy. With a new victim under its reign of terror, Gryphon was happy as a lark every single day.

Roy tucked his pets into his hoodie and looked at the grandfather clock in his room. It was eight in the morning. He strode out of the inn and made his way to the encampment. The druid would open for business that day. Now that he had convinced Mateo to help him out, Roy had a plan to clear Geralt's name. All he needed was a respected druid to make that plan a success.

The usual rowdiness, rancor, and tension hanging around the encampment had disappeared, replaced by a rare peace. For once, the refugees were following the rules and forming a line. Some had bandages around their arms and heads, some were coughing violently, while some were clutching their chests, howling in pain.

"New kid?" The former butler of Sodden's king sat on a stool beside the line, tossing a ball of mud at a young man who was trying to cut into the line. He had an upset stomach. "There are rules here. Get to the back of the line. Ain't the place for you to get rowdy."

Humiliated by the former butler's castigation, the lad cursed under his breath and refused to move. Five men emerged from the line and surrounded him, glaring at the lad dangerously. If he didn't move, they were more than willing to use force.

"Nobody gets to cut the line to the doctor, unless they're dying. Want our help with that?"

The lad cringed and quickly went to the back of the line without complaint.

That was a small episode in the encampment. With the refugees and the former steward keeping the order, no one tried to mess up the queue. The refugees would glance at the hill at the front of the queue, their eyes lighting up with hope.

A discolored white tent stood in front of the queue, buzzing with the light of life. Roy observed for a moment and took his place at the back of the line. The healer was skilled, and most of the refugees were only slightly hurt or ailing, so Roy arrived at the tent in just an hour. The former steward even winked at him when he passed by.

"See you, doctor. Yugni, Patricia, and Sabrina, thank you! May Lebioda bless your souls." A lad with a crutch and a bandage on his left calf emerged from the tent, waving at it with gratitude.

The witcher froze for a moment. A ribbon on his bandage? Alright, who did that? He bowed a little and entered the tent, then he heard women talking.

"He's a newbie."

"What might you need, lady?"

"Get me scalpel number one. Disinfect it. We'll need it."

"Of course, lady."

The stench of rotten flesh hung in the air, merging with the scent of alcohol and the strong smell of herbs. Roy sniffed the air and identified a few herbs. Mint, mandrake roots, button grass… The witcher saw an operating theater, and it was gleaming white, the bucket underneath filled with disgusting refuse.

Tools of surgery stood beside the theater, clean and without a speck of dust on them. Vessels of surgery, tripods, and bandages were sitting around. A doctor and three assistants from the encampment were busying around the tools.

Yugni was moving stiffly, and beads of sweat poured from her face. Her colleagues were moving a lot faster than she was, obviously experienced in this matter.

The doctor was tall and lithe, a green robe adorning her body. She was different from the other druids, who wore plants or animal fur. Her hair was red with a tinge of orange, just like cinnabar. Her face was gaunt, fair, and beautiful. Her nose was petite, her chin sharp, and her eyes were beautifully green. They were filled with wisdom and serenity only a forest could have.

She had incredible beauty, her skin was fair and almost glistening, but for some reason, Roy found this woman familiar. Geralt looked a bit like her. And then Roy cast Observe on the druid.

'Visenna

Age: 240 years old

Gender: Female

Status: Druid, sorceress, healer

HP: 140

Mana: 220

Strength: 10

Dexterity: 13

Constitution: 14

Perception: 13

Will: 10𝓁𝘪𝑏𝑟ℯ𝒶𝑑.𝑐ℴ𝘮

Charisma: 18

Spirit: 22

Skills:

Source (Passive)

Breath of the Wild Level 8: Druids can communicate with animals and plants with their extraordinary senses. They can soothe raging beasts and plants, promote their growth, or whip them up into a frenzy.

Cure Level 4: Costs a moderate amount of mana. Protects the target with the power of nature, strengthening their bodies for a short while, curing them of minor illnesses like coughs, colds, or fevers.

Elementalist Level 8, Feral Change Level 4, Rejuvenation Level 10, Alchemy Level 10, Meditation Level 9, Staff Mastery Level 8, Bow Master Level 10, Fireball Level 8, Firestorm Level 5, Teleportation Level 8…'

It's her. Roy's heart skipped a beat, and he clenched his fists. I knew it. Geralt's mother is in the druid's circle around Mayena.

Noticing Roy's stare, the druid turned around and looked at him for a moment. Shrewdly, she noticed the chaos energy slumbering in his body. Lean, slender. This must be him. She froze for a moment, and something flickered in her eyes, then she calmed down. "You seem healthy, witcher." She spoke, her voice sweet, but her tone was cold and uninviting. "Why are you blocking the line?" The druid cleared the tools away. "You should leave and tell the next patient to come in. Don't waste our time."

"Hey, Auckes. We will meet again," Yugni said. She put her bandages and scalpel down, took off her gloves, and wiped her hands on her apron. Then she approached the witcher and helped him out a bit.

"You know him?"

"He's the one I've told you about, lady." Yugni mentioned the witcher's deed once more, not seeming bored in the slightest. She pulled her hair back and gave the witcher a look of gratitude. She then told him that she came to work so she could make some coins. Her son was left with the other villagers in the meantime.

Once she was done with her story, the look in Visenna's eyes softened. "Since you helped the ladies without asking for anything in return, then I shall give you a chance to state your business. I don't remember posting any request."

Visenna put her potion down. Roy felt his medallion buzz. That potion is enchanted. "This is a misunderstanding, Lady Visenna. Just like druids don't just take care of plants and beasts all day, witchers don't just carry out requests all day either."

A deep silence fell upon them.

"I do not recall telling you my name, witcher," said Visenna coldly, her eyes filled with judgment, and magic flowed beneath her robes.

Yugni's colleagues looked surprised as well. They'd been helping the doctor for months, yet they didn't know her name. So how'd this stranger find out?

A smile curled Roy's lips. This was what he was aiming for. "To be honest, your appearance resembles a friend of mine's, and he told me that his mother's name is Visenna. That's why I said the name. Guess you're his mother, then." 𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒓𝙚𝙖𝙙.𝓬𝙤𝙢

Did he just… Did he just say I'm his friend's mother? Visenna froze, and she frowned, her face falling. What Roy said came as a shock to her.

The people around noticed her hair shivering, and she got a few shades whiter. The nervousness was settling in, and her lips trembled. "Wh-What is the name of your friend?" Her voice turned hoarse and weak. That question alone took everything she had.

Roy smiled at the druid. "He hails from Kaer Morhen and is a student of Vesemir. Geralt of Rivia, that's his name. Just to make one thing clear… Do you still remember him?"

Chapter 507

The morning sun rained down its gentle warmth on the encampment. The tent was illuminated by a lone oil lamp, its light shining on a pale, tense face. Visenna was distracted for a moment, her mind going back to a moment decades ago.

She was holding a baby swaddled in a blanket. Though the journey was long and perilous, she traveled to the fortress of Kaer Morhen, handing her child over to a grizzled witcher to raise. From that day onward, Visenna thought she would never meet her child again, yet fate brought his news to her. Geralt.

Everyone fell into silence, and Visenna's assistants held their breath.

A long while later, the druid composed herself, and she took a deep breath. "Auckes." She pursed her crimson lips.

"Ah, to make one thing clear: my name is not Auckes," Roy interrupted, and he turned to Yugni, who was covering her mouth, and gave her an apologetic smile. "I am Roy, a Viper. I know what you're trying to say. You wish for me to forget all about this and pretend we never met, correct? But let me say something. Those who Destiny have bound together will meet again. Even if you run away today, there's always tomorrow. Delaying the inevitable will only make the eventuality harder to face."

Visenna clutched her towel tightly.

"And Geralt's in a predicament. He is now a prisoner of Mayena, and he might die soon." Roy sighed, a solemn look creeping into his eyes. "Still you refuse to see him?"

Geralt's a prisoner? But he's a witcher. Visenna was reminded of the story a patient told her. That a merchant from Rivia kidnapped Ainz, the honorary ambassador, and he had a white-haired witcher as his accomplice.

She shrugged that story off at first, but now she was breathing heavily.

Roy smiled. No mother would leave their child for dead. "You've been going around the fortress. You must've heard of Yurga and his story, but I assure you, there's more to it. They didn't kidnap Ainz. They are innocent, but I need a bit of time to explain everything."

Visenna looked out the window. "I have dozens of patients waiting for me."

"I've checked on them. Minor wounds and ailments. They can wait, but Geralt cannot. The head of security might torture them at anytime."

The assistants left the tent reluctantly and reassured the refugees that the doctor would tend to them soon, while Roy explained everything to the druid. Then the witcher showed her the corpse of the mutated wolf and a few of the mutated plants to the druid.

"I've noticed the flow of energy within you. It's strong. Are you a Source?" He just grabbed something out of the air.

"Just a little trick. You should be focusing on the wolf."

Visenna brushed her hand across the wolf's mangled body and checked its teeth, then its pupils, claws, limbs, even its reproductive organs. The look on her face turned solemn. "Something supercharged its body, causing its bones, muscles, and claws to grow at an abnormal rate."

"I think it's the light," said Roy. "They must've been affected by it."

"I am not dismissing that possibility. The remnants of this untold energy is far too obvious to ignore, but it is different from the chaos energy we know." The druid scooped some of the soil up and had a sniff, then she stuck a few oleanders, roses, and azaleas on her forehead. The druid cast Breath of the Wild and listened in silence, while Roy observed her.𝙡𝓲𝙗𝒓𝙚𝓪𝙙.𝒄𝒐𝙢

A surge of green light swam out of the druid's robe and flitted into the oleanders. A breeze kissed her hair, and a layer of light covered her face, blinking with life. A connection was formed between her and the plants, and she entered a mysterious state. A smile curled her lips as she felt the emotions swirling within the plants.

Five minutes later, she cut off the connection and carefully placed the oleander on the ground beneath her. "Your guess was correct, witcher."

The oleander slid into the soil and grew a lot in mere seconds. It slithered up a stick, blossoming in pink and green. "Thanks to the red light, the plant absorbed a lot of life force. It's why it grows so well. That effect extends to animals too, including this wolf. It's stronger and more feral. That's why it attacked during the day."

Roy observed the oleander and confirmed that it was just a regular plant. They can communicate with plants, eh? Druids are something. Nervously, he asked, "Did the flower say something else? About Ainz, I mean."

"Killed by the red light." A hint of relief filled Visenna's eyes. "Geralt and that merchant are wrongly accused."

Roy heaved a long sigh of relief as well. "But why'd plants get nourished by the light, and the humans get burned instead? How'd that happen?"

"Well, the power that nourishes the plants has to come from somewhere."

"You're saying…" Roy's pupils contracted. "That red light turned Ainz into … into nutrients? But he's just one man. There's no way one man's energy is enough to feed the woods and animals. That's not an equivalent exchange." One person's energy fueling the growth of a patch of woods and a pack of wolves?

Roy was a little uneasy. This spell hurts humans to benefit nature. It almost sounded like an evil spell exclusive to druids.

Visenna shook her head, and a conflicted look crept into her eyes. "Not the only one. The flowers told me there were twelve who came before him."

Roy froze.

"I am not sure if they went willingly or if they were forced. Plants are limited in terms of communication. Ainz stepped into the forest at the wrong time and was burned to a crisp, leaving nothing behind. Their life force is absorbed and nourishes the land. This is not natural, however." There was a hint of iciness seeping into Visenna's tone. "The process is too simple. It lacks fermentation of the fungi and bacteria. It lacks the process of breaking down the flesh. This is nothing natural, and it must not be allowed to go on."

Roy wiped the sweat off his forehead. So she means if the process is natural, humans deserve to be turned into nutrients?

"Anyone who breaks nature's rule will be punished by the circle." Visenna extended her left hand and held her palm up, then a black wild pigeon flew into the tent and fluttered down to her hand. She held the fowl up and whispered into its ear, then the pigeon flew westward.

"My companions will search the whole of rural Mayena to find more about this red light."

Roy nodded. As expected of a druid. Roy asked one crucial question. "So how'd Yurga, Brofi, and Mateo escape unscathed?"

"That I do not have an answer to, but I do have a conjecture. The light is seeking something only certain people possess. Humans, I mean. Something plants and animals do not contain. Do you understand?"

It's seeking something humans have. Roy was reminded of what Yurga, the former butler, and Mateo had to say about Ainz. A sinner. And Mateo's suffering for his past sins. Is the red light looking for sins? The filthy memories engraved in the souls of mankind? So the creator of the light is some sorcerer of justice? Roy took a deep breath. No use focusing on that.

"So what is your decision, Lady Visenna? Will you come with me to convince the head of security to release Geralt?" Roy put on an exaggerated look. "If you won't do this, he might die."

Visenna was quiet for a long while, the look on her face stormy. Roy could see that she was in a dilemma. She hadn't seen her son in nearly eighty years, and now she was told he was in the fortress and in danger. Of course she was nervous. Perhaps she had something else she must consider as well.

Visenna hesitated for a long while, and she heaved a sigh. The hesitation melted, replaced by determination. "We'll see the head of security." She draped a red cloak over herself and pulled the hood over her head.

"Should we check out the forest? I can lead the way."

"There is no need for that. They have told me everything." Visenna came out of the tent, greeted by a loud crowd cheering and praising her. 𝓵𝙞𝓫𝒓𝙚𝓪𝓭.𝒄𝓸𝓶

"Good morning, doctor. Where are you going?"

"Are you hungry, doctor? I just made some potatoes. Would you like to try?" The former butler came up to her, simpering as he handed her a dark, wrinkly potato.

"Thank you for your kindness, but please give me some time. I have a pressing matter to settle. More than one innocent life is awaiting my help. You know I would lend my hand to those who need it. This is how I live."

Visenna spoke softly, but her voice was soothing. The patients quickly calmed down and showed their support.

"Go, doctor. They need you."

"We can wait."

Roy went past them and quickly followed the druid. "A minute. I'll need to summon the witness."

Chapter 508

An office stood on the second floor of Mayena's penitentiary, the light of its dim lamp shining on a bald man with a beard as thick as the fur of a boar. Ritt—deputy of security affairs of Mayena—leaned against the steel window, looking down at the pedestrians on the street. In a mere five minutes, he saw a few citizens spitting in the direction of the encampment outside the fortress, their eyes filled with disgust and contempt.

He could understand them. The refugees were like parasites sucking all the nutrients from Mayena, bringing the already malnourished city down with them. Things got worse after Ainz's disappearance. Food shortage was rife, or to be precise, the shortage of cheap food was rife.

Foltest paid a lot of compensation after the war, and yet with the influx of refugees, Mayena's treasury was running out of coins. The lord was panicking. He was enraged, and yet he had no avenue to vent that fury. Ritt was worried he might be out of a job at this rate. He had a family to feed. Fortunately, he found the 'culprit' of the kidnapping to appease the lord.

Ritt slammed his hand on the wooden table beneath him. In two days, I'll parade the merchant and the witcher around, then I'll sentence them to death. That'll calm the lord down. That'll answer the people's questions as to who stole their food. But that's just a stopgap measure. Without more coins coming in, Mayena is headed for damnation.

Sounds of footsteps and metal clanging came from the corridor, and a fully-armored soldier knocked on the office's door. "Sir, someone wishes to have an audience with you."

"Working hours. I will not see anyone but the ambassador, though he's missing, isn't he?"

"It's the encampment's doctor. She has with her Mateo, the servant of Ainz," said the soldier, adamant. It was thanks to Visenna that his knee was still intact, and he wanted to help her. "She claims to have new clues about the ambassador's disappearance."

"She knows where he is?" Ritt rubbed his head, his face quivering, and he suddenly got into a dilemma. Druids were not bound by any law. Should they commit a crime, all they had to do was scurry off into a random patch of woods, and no one could catch them. Not to mention this particular druid was respected by the people of Mayena and the refugees. She had lent her helping hand to all those in need, after all. I can't cross her. "Very well. I'd like to see what she can bring to the table."

Ominous clouds trudged across the sky, and the sunlight that shone into the room was cut off. Roaring thunder blasted across the skies, and blinding lightning bolts arced through the air like winding snakes. The first drop of rain fell.

Roy looked away. Mateo, Visenna, and he were sitting on the pew leaning on the wall. Hanging behind them was a portrait depicting the ever-burning flames of the Eternal Fire.

The bald deputy slowly paced around his desk, staring at his guests. "Milady, and… you two. The truth is indisputable. One week ago, Yurga, a merchant from Rivia, conspired with his bodyguard, a witcher naked Geralt, to kidnap the ambassador and kill him in the woods. And they burned his body. There are many eyewitnesses who saw them leaving the city together, and they came back looking panicked and hurried. They must be the killers. No other explanation can be accepted," said the deputy. "To confirm, we are at an agreement about this story, yes? And that's the narrative on which our negotiations will be resting."

"Ritt, the innocent must not be punished for crimes they did not do." The druid looked at the deputy with determination, and she spoke firmly. "We have a witness who can debunk your story."

"That is correct." Mateo stood up. He had changed into a fresh set of clothes. He looked gaunter than he was, and his cheeks were sickly red. The poor man was down with a fever. "I served Ainz for ten years. One week ago, I went for negotiations with him, and I saw everything that happened. I swear I'm telling the truth." He held his hand up, the look in his eyes genuine and fervent. "Yurga never abducted or killed the ambassador, and the witcher wasn't in the woods at the moment of his death. There was no possible way for him to harm my employer. Ainz was killed by something else. He—"

"Silence! Know your place, Mateo!" Ritt grabbed Mateo by the collar, glaring at the servant almost ferally, and he held Mateo up in the air. "You dare besmirch the name of the gods with slander? Are you not fearful of their retribution?" The deputy was spewing drool all over Mateo's face. "Don't forget that you're a fugitive. You're Yurga and that white-haired bastard's accomplice. Your word carries no weight."

"Patience," said Visenna, her voice laden with the magic to soothe hearts. Like a breeze, her words cooled down the deputy, and he let go of the suffocating Mateo.

Roy's eyes glinted. Huh, that's a lot more subtle than Axii, that's for sure.

"Let the witness finish his testimonial, Ritt."

"Then speak."

Mateo clutched his chest and heaved a sigh. "Ainz and Yurga's negotiations broke down."

Ritt harrumphed. That gives the merchant a reason to kill the ambassador.

"We went by the woods on our way back, and then … and then a blinding red light burst forth. Dangerous and beautiful light shone from within the woods."

"That delusional story again? Do you take me for a fool?" Ritt interrupted harshly. "No one has seen that red light you claim to be the killer." When Ritt told the fortress' lord about this story, the lord flew into a feral rage and roared at him like he was a puppy. He was a hair's breadth away from losing his job.

"I can testify for him." Visenna stood up and looked into Ritt's eyes. "I am not just a doctor; I am also a druid. Nature is my friend. Every change that takes place in the woods beyond Mayena is under my supervision." She raised her voice. "I've looked into the story. There is a distortion of nature's energy field in the place this man claims the death of Ainz took place. The animals and plants nearby have undergone a most abnormal change. In the name of druids, I promise that the red light did manifest. Even though it is gone now, the remnants of its energy remain. It's as conspicuous as tracks left by the murderer in a murder scene. If anyone wishes to question me about it, I'm more than willing to answer them."

Ritt gulped. He was put between a rock and a hard place, and he couldn't yell at the druid. She was far too respected. "Milady, I trust you are telling the truth. I have, after all, received your help. But it does not matter. The lord and his people will never believe this far-fetched story, not even if you're the one backing it up. Not without proof."

"I have the proof right here." Roy waved his hand, and a bloody corpse of a wolf the size of a calf appeared out of nowhere, shocking the deputy.

"What in gods' name is this supposed to be?"

"That, Ritt, is the animal that the red light had shone upon. Thanks to the light, it has mutated."

Ritt crouched and patted the monster's head carefully, then he slid his hand down the corpse's furry back, and then the deputy checked its claws. He looked astonished. "This contradicts your story. You claim that the red light incinerated the ambassador, and yet these beasts grew stronger because of it. They, like humans, are life forms, are they not?" Ritt smiled at Roy and Visenna smugly. "Druids think that all life forms, be it plants, humans, and animals, are supposed to be treated with the same respect. Which brings us to this question: why did Yurga and Mateo escape unscathed, and yet Ainz was killed?" Ritt clapped his hands and shook his head, sighing.

"Next time you make up a story, make sure it's a coherent one. You have holes all over the place."

"Equality among life forms is an undisputed right, and yet you cannot deny that there are differences between humans and everything else," Visenna answered without missing a beat.

"And I have an answer for that, sire," Mateo added quickly. "You've not seen that light, but it's not normal. It's … it's sentient. It picks and chooses its target. Unbelievable, but you'll know once you see it." Mateo sobbed, his face shivering, and fear crept into his eyes. "It was divine retribution. It burns those who have sinned heavily."

Ritt stopped breathing for a moment.

"Beasts are not sentient. They, by all accounts, have primitive minds," said Roy, his eyes glimmering under the light. "They live for nothing but survival. The concept of sin does not apply to them. And plants are even more primitive than beasts, so the red light did not harm them. Instead, it gave them strength. Humans, however, are different. Some are allies of justice, like Visenna, Mateo, and you."

Ritt reddened a little. He was not an ally of justice by a long shot.

"And some have lost their souls to the path of evil, deriving pleasure from the suffering of the people. Ainz was one of them."

"Why you…" Ritt pointed at the witcher, stammering, yet he couldn't argue. He was a believer of the Eternal Fire, so he couldn't say anything that was too far from the truth. He knew that Ainz was no saint. He tampered with the food for the refugees, but so what? The food he provided was cheap. As long as the refugees had something to eat, it was better than dying, even if their stomach got upset because of it. Not even the fortress lord was cracking down on this. What Ainz did was just a minor crime. Nothing big.

"Ainz's crimes did not stop at that. He did not just sell expired and tampered food." Mateo's face was red and contorted with pain, still he continued. "He had also lured many of the more beautiful women in the encampment into his honeyed lies. Those women were kind and innocent. Made a living by washing clothes for the people, but Ainz, in all his lust, coerced and threatened the women to sleep with him."

Mateo took a deep breath. He was in a lot of pain, but still he held that down. "Spied on them, tracked them, lured them with food and clothing and jewelry. Promised he'd take them into the city and marry them. I … I was involved with one of his dealings in this matter." Mateo covered his face, sobs escaping his lips. "I saw how he played with their feelings. How he treated them like toys. How he dumped them after he was tired of the women. He killed a woman who was pregnant with his child, drove two to madness, and turned two into prostitutes."

Ritt did not look too disturbed by that. If the refugees didn't prostitute themselves, they would never survive in this environment. They were just doing business with Ainz. Bah, this isn't even serious. It's the women's fault. They're naive and greedy, thinking they could get a good life by sleeping with Ainz. "Any more sins?" The deputy yawned, starting to get bored.

"H-He…" Mateo started stammering, unable to form a coherent sentence. He clutched his chest, his breathing ragged.

"Are you alright?" Roy held his shoulders.

Visenna touched his forehead, and it almost scalded her hands. "Alright, that's enough. Take a break."

"I can still go on. Let me finish." Mateo shook his head. "H-He's a murderer. A bandit. For the last ten years, he'd connived with the bandits outside the city walls, robbing the wealth of small merchants to enrich himself. First, he'd pick a target and promise them a lucrative contract. The target would come to Mayena and give him what he wanted. When the target left the city with payment, the bandits would attack them, taking the cargo and money before killing the merchant. That was how he got rich. That was how he grew from a small merchant to an ambassador."

Finally, Ritt looked serious. Criminals who would attack merchants were public enemy number one of Mayena. It would make trading hard and lose the city a lot of taxes. That crime alone would warrant a death sentence for Ainz. The lord himself would rain down his fury on the dead ambassador.

"And Yurga was one of his targets?" Roy asked.

"That was the first time Ainz saw someone rejecting the temptation." Mateo nodded, respect filling his eyes. "Ainz realized war was brewing, and he thought consumables would be profitable. It was at the same time he started the trade of expired food products, and that too made him a lot of coins." Mateo started retching, much to everyone's shock.

Visenna held his shoulders and pulled his eyelids back, revealing wriggling blood vessels underneath.

"Any proof?" Ritt asked, not caring whether Mateo was fine or not. "You can't accuse an honorary ambassador of that level of crime with no evidence."

"Ainz had a habit of recording all his transactions. Every single one of them, every single day. He's done that for more than ten years," Mateo warbled. "There must be clues hidden in his ledgers. Search his estate, and you will find it." The servant gurgled and hacked, veins throbbing along his neck, and his face was red as blood.

Then he heaved a sigh of relief. "I'm done." His contorted face eased up.

Roy stopped casting Axii.

"The crimes of Ainz were many, and so the red light incinerated him." A hundred thoughts swam through Ritt's mind, and then he found a contradicting point. "You were his accomplice, and you confessed to the oppression of the refugees, so why are you fine?"

"Didn't you notice? I too was affected. The red light is within me, torturing my soul, yet my sins are not severe enough for it to burn me up. I have a feeling the gods are giving me a second chance. A chance to atone for my sins, so I came to you today." Mateo peered at the deputy, his eyes filled with devotion and determination to atone for his sins. Even Ritt was moved by it.

Over his years of presiding over the affairs of security, only one kind of person would have that kind of look: death row inmates during the last moments of their lives. The look in their eyes spoke of nothing but repentance.

And he trusted Mateo.

"Gods above, hear my confession!" Mateo broke free of Roy and Visenna's grasp, and he went on his knees, staring at the rug on the wall with the portrait of Eternal Fire embroidered on it. He put his hands together in a prayer and prayed loudly like he was having an episode of fits. "I shall take your lesson to heart. I confess my sins, and I acknowledge their weight. I shall repent, and so, deliver me from this suffering. Prithee, grant me mercy!"

He was hoarse, loud, and almost hysterical. "Grant me release! Deliver me from the flames and agony!"

"You have saved yourself, mate. You have achieved salvation." Roy took a deep breath and patted his shoulder. "If the gods above can hear you—"

"But there's still so much pain in me. So much heat. Wait for me, Ririn." His eyes turned red, and he rasped quietly, "I'll marry you once I get back, I swear." Tears streamed down his cheek. Crimson tears. Tears as red as the flames.

And then a wave of incinerating heat undulated around the room. Visenna, Ritt, and Roy took a step back, looking grim. A moment later, slivers of crimson flames slithered out of the eyes and mouth of the fallen Mateo. Like vipers, they swam down his body, enveloping him in a cocoon of flames.

It was but a split second, but the red flames were already dancing around, casting eerie shadows onto the wall. Before anyone could do anything, the top half of Mateo's body was turned to a ball of crimson gas, leaving only the lower half of his body burning quietly as it fell to the floor with a thud. Just as Yurga had told Roy, the flames could burn, but it would not produce smoke.

"T-That's the fire?" Ritt looked flabbergasted, and he leaned against the wall, shivering in fear.

Visenna pointed at the fire and shot out a serrated stream of light. Streams of water rained down on Mateo, but they couldn't put out the flames. "The fire is showing no mercy. This is not something a god would do."

If it infects its victim, it will not stop until it burns the flesh of the possessed. It's a constant hazard. Realization hit the witcher, and his face contorted. The Elder Blood was screaming out to him, and he cursed in silence. You're not taking anyone away again, bastard. "I don't care what you are, but you're not killing Mateo."

Ritt was still quaking with fear, and Visenna was focused on her spell, while Roy pointed a finger ahead. A ball of light illuminated his fingertip, and it quickly ballooned, covering the room and its inhabitants. The Elder Blood writhed and boiled, unleashing the power of time upon the room.

Flesh and blood returned to the fallen corpse, reforming his chest, neck, head, and even clothes, bringing him back to life. The crimson flames disappeared, and a breath of life came back to Mateo. His eyes were bright, and he was muttering under his breath.

Once again, his hysterical confession rang in the air. It was the same scene that happened twenty seconds ago. "Ainz had a habit of recording all his transactions. Every single one of them, every single day. He's done that for more than ten years. There must be clues hidden in his ledgers. Search his estate, and you will find it."

Oblivious to the reversal of time, Ritt and Visenna were listening in silence, forgetting the scene where Mateo was burned away. Their memories had disappeared along with the reversed time.

Roy quickly cast Axii on Mateo, cutting him off. The servant closed his eyes and fell with a thud, snoring.

"What is the meaning of this, witcher?" Ritt questioned.

Roy did not answer. Twenty seconds later, Mateo was still asleep, the red flames silent. Roy wiped the sweat off his forehead and heaved a sigh of relief. "Don't you see? He's in a bad state. If he had kept talking, we'd have a mess to settle. Let him rest." Roy smiled at Visenna and Ritt. "I'll handle things from now on. I've known what I needed to, and it's thanks to him. Deputy, I'll deal with your problem if you'll clear the names of Geralt, Yurga, and Mateo."

𝓵𝒊𝓫𝙧𝙚𝒂𝙙.𝒄𝓸𝒎

Chapter 509

Ritt watched as Mateo was taken to the couch, and then he turned to Visenna, ignoring the witcher's proposal. "Milady, I do not wish to lie or disrespect you by keeping the truth. To be honest, what if Ainz was a criminal? The fact remains that he still died, and we have no supplier who can sell us cheap food or consumables. The refugees will starve, and the people of this fortress will be facing another round of inflation." He said solemnly, "Even if we pass the verdict on Ainz, our problem is still not solved. The lord has been worrying over this matter for a week. Lost sleep over it. He's not going to believe some sort of red light killed Ainz, even if you are telling the truth. This might be a case of murder, but the underlying problem runs a lot deeper than that, understand?"

"So you mean the lord and his people need someone to vent their frustration on?" asked Visenna coldly, her eyes gleaming venomously green. "Even if you sacrifice the innocent, that will still not solve your problems."

"But it can buy us time. I'm sorry, but Geralt and Yurga cannot escape this. This is what Destiny has led them to."

A pregnant pause descended upon the office. Visenna's shoulders were trembling, and she stood up straighter. No longer was she gentle and soft-spoken. Her tenderness was taken over by something more feral. No longer was she the wise scholar. Now she was a dweller of the woods, filled with the power of nature's forces. She stared at Ritt fiercely, like a beast ready to come up with a plan of revenge.

"Ah, but we actually have a win-win solution right in front of us, deputy." Roy broke the ice and raised his head. Confidently, he said, "We can solve Mayena's predicament, clear the names of our suspects, and punish the wicked."

"Is that supposed to be a joke witcher? You're going to pull your hypnotic tricks on me, aren't you?" A mocking smirk curled Ritt's lips. He had far lower respect toward the witcher.𝘭𝑖𝑏𝘳ℯ𝑎𝑑.𝒸ℴ𝘮

"Seems like you're still blind to the situation, deputy." Roy crossed his arms, smirking at Ritt as well. The mockery in his smirk irked Ritt. Just when he was about to launch into a tirade, the witcher spoke again. "There's only one reason Mayena can't afford their cheap consumables: coins. If you have enough coins, then you can buy anything you want."

"Bah, empty talk's cheap, witcher." Ritt scoffed. "You think we can get money that easily? It's not like money pinned to bulletin boards like request, witcher. Think coins will come rolling just because you swing your sword around and cut off a monster's head?"

"Do you have nothing but muscles in that big, empty head of yours, deputy?" Roy snapped. He had had enough of the deputy's snide, ignorant attitude. If it's the hard way you want, then the hard way we'll use. "Or are your eyes blinded by rage and ignorant prejudice?"

"Why you…"

"You have an opportunity for coins ripe for the taking right in front of you." Roy took a step ahead, closing in on the deputy. He shot Ritt, a look as sharp as knives, and the tension in the air around him grabbed Ritt by the throat, shutting him up.

Ritt had seen his fair shares of terrible criminals. He'd seen many death-row inmates, but none had an air as terrifying as the witcher. He had a feeling that the thing watching him was no human. No, it was a beast as titanic as the Blue Mountain, ready to engulf him should he make one wrong step. Fear made him take a step back.

"Ainz was a criminal, and a heinous one at that. All the wealth he accumulated, he gained through unlawful means." Crimson light flared in Roy's eyes. "According to Mayena— no, the law of the north, the punishment for his crimes must be heavy. You know what I'm talking about."

Ritt had a stroke of inspiration. His cheeks flared red, and his breathing became ragged. "His wealth will be confiscated."

"Ainz was Mayena's honorary ambassador. That title alone gave him enough power to amass a mountain of coins, let alone the wealth he plundered from the merchants over ten years. Let alone the coins he made by selling expired and tampered necessities after the war's breakout. Use whatever's left of your brain and think about it. Think about the mountains of coins you'll find." Roy paused, the light shining on his hard, icy face. "Take it, and Mayena will be loaded for at least a few years."

Ritt gulped. He'd made a rough estimate of Anz's wealth, and there were about two hundred thousand orens to be made. If we loot… No, that man made those coins through criminal means. We're justified in confiscating it. If we take the coins, I can help the lord with his immediate crisis and gain something from it. This'll make promotion that much easier.

"I am such a fool."

Ainz used to be powerful. Too powerful, so he had no reason to try and take him down. But now that he had Mateo's testimonial, he could tear away the protection Ainz had. Double the chances once he found the evidence pointing to Ainz's crimes. He was sure the lord would support this idea. Ainz's heir? Bah, nothing but a distant relative. To damnation with him. Ritt clenched his fists, his cheeks red, and he trembled with excitement.

Visenna looked at the witcher, impressed by his quick thinking and proclivity toward persuasion. Relief flowed into her heart. Geralt made a smart friend, and I didn't have to do anything either.

"I see you've gotten the gist of it, Ritt. No time to lose." Imperiously, Roy said, "Clear the names of Geralt, Yurga, and Mateo. Then tell the people about Ainz's crimes. The evidence for that must be in his estate, get it? And we have a witness to tell everyone about it. I have to admit that you got one thing right. Telling everyone that a beam of red light killed Ainz would incite public terror, so I have a more plausible explanation in mind."

Roy shook his head. There was a reason he wanted to go with this: so Mateo wouldn't self combust again. Roy pointed at the mangled wolf corpse. "On his way back from his negotiation, Ainz was attacked by a pack of mutated wolves. The beasts tore him apart and ate him up. If they wish to see parts of the corpse, I'm sure you can find them. If anyone asks about the red light, tell them Geralt, Mateo, and Yurga spouted nonsense due to the shock they received. The truth was that Ainz was killed by beasts, not by a red light."

He continued. "The innocents are released, the wicked are punished, Mayena's coin problem is solved, and the people will not have to face starvation and inflation. Everyone's happy."

The witcher looked at the slack-jawed deputy, and a smirk curled his lips. Visenna's jaw dropped a little, and she stared at the witcher in awe. For two hundred years and more she'd lived, but never once did she see any witcher who could persuade as well as Roy. He can twist any story in his favor. No, to be exact, he just reassigned the roles of the characters in his story. The wolves did eat someone, and Ainz was a criminal. Yurga and his servant were shocked too, and the red light did its job of punishing the wicked. Things looked so… reasonable in this version of the story, like that was the truth of this whole thing.

Ritt took a deep breath, holding his excitement and urge to leap to action down. "I might have underestimated you, witcher. That is a tempting idea. Ainz was a criminal, and a heinous one at that. I must tell the lord about this and confiscate all his wealth. And then we will expose his crimes to the people, subjecting him to condemnation." But then he glared at the witcher with fury, coldly asking, "But why should I release Geralt and Yurga? Why should I do that after the attitude you showed me? After all the ordering around you did?"

Roy took another step closer and stood before the bald, foolish deputy. He smiled, his teeth glinting like stars. It was a warm and friendly smile, but despite that, Ritt still felt a mountain of pressure coming from the witcher, even though he was the shorter one here.

And then he saw crimson light flashing behind the witcher, and tentacles leapt out of the void, constricting his arms, legs, neck, and torso. All the air was pushed out of him, and his face turned purple, goosebumps undulating all over his body.

A wave of fear screamed from the depths of his soul.

"Ritt, I gave you the idea to save you from your multiple predicaments, and all I ask in return is that you release the innocents. That is a fair trade and very in line with the witcher code. I trust you won't go against that, or you will pay the price. A price heavy enough to silence you." The witcher opened his arms and took a few steps back.

The deputy bent over, hands on his knees as he took a deep breath. Before he knew it, his sweat had drenched his shirt, and beard. He looked at the witcher in fear, and an epiphany struck. Don't go against him no matter what. He dashed all his plans of tripping the witcher up.

Visenna cocked her eyebrow. She noticed the scent of a familiar existence coming off Roy just now, but then she shook her head. Must be my imagination.

"You win, witcher." A whole minute later, the deputy stood up, wobbling. "I'll do as you say. I shall release Geralt and Yurga. Once we clear things up to the people, take them and leave," he hissed.

Roy shrugged. "Sure. I do not look forward to another visit here."

Ritt summoned the soldiers and whispered something to them.

"A minute, you two. Geralt and Yurga will be here shortly. Do as you please. I need to see the lord now."

Visenna looked glad at first, but then she felt conflicted, and she clenched her fists.

"Do as your heart tells you to, Lady Visenna. You can't be trying to run away at this point."

Visenna took a deep breath and approached the window, staring outside stiffly. She wouldn't even look at Roy.

Chapter 510

Firelight from the torch cast shadows upon the wall. Shadows that danced in the dark.

"You sure Roy can do this, Geralt? It's been three days, and still we're receiving no news. That bald tyrant's men are getting more brutal with their punishment. I thought we'd be skinned alive." Yurga leaned on the wall of the prison, gulping down a Potion of Minor Healing. A cool sensation soothed the wounds and pain on his back. The merchant closed his eyes in enjoyment.

"Let me put it this way." Geralt stared at the corridor outside his prison, and a sense of frustration welled in his heart, like some kind of unknown future was going to descend upon them. With slight trepidation, he said, "From the day I knew him, he's never let me down. He's been creating miracles time and time again."

Yurga smacked his pot belly and smiled. He joked, "Good to hear. Looks like we'll have to plan for our future after leaving this godforsaken place. Maybe we'll have sunny days and Goldencheeks will be pickling the greens or drying the fish. Hey, that counts as the Law of Surprise too? Oh, I have to prepare something for Roy too. Please, gods, let him not invoke the Law of Surprise." Yurga had a mischievous look in his eyes. "I'll just give him one of my sons. The fact he can bust us out of this place is testament of his skill. I bet he can train the kid into a good man."

"We might have to wait for a bit before we get back to your place, Yurga. I need to find someone," Geralt interrupted, the nervousness squeezing his heart tighter.

"Who? Your daughter?"

"No—"

"Geralt. Yurga." A soldier opened the steel door and approached the two of them, hollering. There was disappointment in his eyes. "Lucky bastards. I don't know how you befriended the doctor, but she convinced Ritt to let you go. Now take your medallions and shirt. Time to meet your savior."

"Geralt. You were right. We're saved. Are you a seer or something?" Yurga was prancing around happily.

A doctor? The White Wolf's trepidation worsened by a bit. Who could it be?

"So, how does freedom feel, mate?" The witchers exchanged a hug, filling the air with dust and the stench of sweat. Roy looked at the White Wolf. His stubble was unkempt, his cheeks were sullied with blood, and he had dark circles under his eyes. Roy thought, Man, he gets locked up wherever he goes.

Geralt smiled at his companion thankfully.𝓵𝓲𝓫𝒓𝓮𝙖𝓭.𝒄𝙤𝓶

"How did you do it, Roy?" The merchant—wearing nothing but strips of silk—gripped Roy's left hand and simpered, his face wrinkling up. The sweat on his hand was forming a film that glistened under the sun. "I thought the lord and his deputy for security affairs were going to kill us."

"I talked sense into them. They'll clear your name soon."

"And who is she?" Geralt turned his eyes to the window of the office, where a silhouette stood with her back turned to him. She was tall, lithe, and beautiful despite her slightly masculine outfit. She was silent and serene as a tree. Geralt felt like he just walked into a patch of old woods just by looking at her.

He tasted the scent of grass, trees, and the refreshing fragrance of mint and button grass coming from her. The woman then turned around, revealing her beautiful, pale, and gaunt face. She looked a bit like Geralt, and if he didn't know better, the White Wolf would think he was looking into a mirror. She had green eyes, and they shone with shock, tenderness, and relief.

Geralt wished she would show one more emotion. The one he wanted to see. The one she was holding back. The White Wolf's pupils dilated for a moment, and he froze, his heart skipping a beat.

Roy covered Yurga's mouth so Geralt and Visenna could have some time alone. He then dragged the merchant out of the office and looked at Geralt and Visenna before closing the door.

Gryphon the Chipmunk swayed its bushy tail and scurried down its master's cloak. It snuck into the corner of the office and listened in on the conversation.

Silence fell upon the office, leaving only the sounds of breathing and fast heartbeats ringing out in the air. A tall, white-haired witcher stared at his mother, a beautiful, serene doctor. There was little distance between them. One step, and they could hold each other, but neither of them spoke.

There was something almost agonizing brewing in the air.

"You saved me?" 𝑙𝘪𝒷𝓇𝑒𝑎𝑑.𝘤𝑜𝑚

"Just lent a little hand. It was your friend who did most of the talking. He came up with the perfect plan and convinced the deputy of security affairs to change his mind," said the woman, her voice sweet and clear. It was so different from the old, raspy, and cold voice of what Geralt imagined would come out of his mother.

From the moment he saw this woman, he knew she was his mother. The one he'd spend many years thinking of. His throat started to itch, so he coughed. "You saved me, nonetheless."

"They interrogated you?" Visenna's face fell, and she checked on her son. She raised her hand, trying to touch him, but then she put her hand down. "Your lungs. They're hurt. You need treatment."

"No." Geralt shook his head, looking at his mother coldly. "I'll heal in a week. This isn't much. You know witchers have to go through a lot of mutations when they're still children. Viruses, bacterial infections, all the good stuff. I survived those. Well, I was one of those who survived. Seven out of ten died. I was lucky. This is nothing compared to that."

There was a complaint within that. An unspoken complaint. Visenna froze and went a shade whiter.

"Still, you saved me." Geralt looked deadpan. He had no idea what kind of look he should put on. "Thank you for your help, lady. May I know your name?"

"Visenna," she said honestly.

"It's a pleasure meeting you, Lady Visenna." Geralt's voice was starting to crack a bit.

Visenna wanted to talk about how much this event was a coincidence, but she swallowed her words and stayed silent. With a little self-depreciation seeping into his voice, he sharply said, "You generously lent a hand to an evil, filthy mutant you've never met in your life. How should I thank you?"

"Please don't say that. You know witchers are no filthy beings. And don't talk to me about that." Visenna turned around and took a deep breath. When she turned back again, she calmed down, the look in her eyes as serene as the morning woods. "I will lend a hand to those who need it. No exceptions. That's how I live."

She looked at the scar spanning from the left of Geralt's forehead to his left ear. Gently, she said, "Witchers are stronger than regular humans, but that doesn't mean they're invincible. You have to keep yourself safe and stay away from danger as much as you can."

Geralt let a rush of air out and stared at Visenna for a few moments. "Thank you for your concern. Really."

And then he found a hole in her answer. Finally, he could vent his years of repressed rage and sorrow. "But I have a question. You claim to lend a hand to those who need it, but why didn't you come to Kaer Morhen when I was crying myself to sleep after days and days of arduous training? So I'm worth less than a stranger to you?"

A wave of memories crashed and screamed in Geralt's mind.

You're different, Geralt. All the kids had their mothers by their side until they were about eight. They were only handed over because the Law of Surprise was invoked. However, your mother abandoned you when you were just a child, and she's a sorceress who has more money than most humans can ever dream of.

"No, Geralt. I…" Visenna shook her head, trying to argue.

A smirk curled Geralt's lips, and he pointed at his eyes. "What do you think of my eyes? Got them in Kaer Morhen after all the mutations I went through. Look at them. Tell them what you can see in them."

"Enough, Geralt! Enough!"

The druid's loss of composure was the last straw. Geralt had had enough of his mother's neglect. He had enough of repressing his rage, and he asked the question that had been haunting him for years. "Fine. We can skip the other questions, but answer me this: why did you leave me at Kaer Morhen? Vesemir told me he didn't invoke the Law of Surprise. You owed him nothing."

A tear fell down the druid's cheek like rainwater drenching the surface of a pearl. "Enough, Geralt. Do not ask any further, I beg you," she answered gently, her voice almost ethereal as the clouds. "The answer you seek will do nothing but hurt the both of us." I am a failure of a mother. I abandoned my child, and no matter the reason, I must be punished. I am not worthy of forgiveness, nor should I seek it out.

Geralt continued, his mother's almost indifferent attitude hurting him, "I know a sorceress. She's not even ninety, but because of Aretuza's blasted rules, she can never have her own children. She'd do anything to have the ability to conceive. Killing a green dragon, capturing a djinn… Almost died a few times, but still she could not conceive. Children are gifts from Destiny herself." Geralt asked, "So why did you abandon yours?"

"I need to leave, Geralt. My patients await me. Please, take care." Visenna wiped her tears away and draped her cloak over her shoulders.

She tried to go around Geralt, but he held her arm. Her skin was as soft and smooth as a young lady's. Visenna quaked, but she didn't struggle. Instead, she turned her head away, afraid to see her own child's face. Afraid to see the hatred in his eyes.

Geralt noticed tears glistening in her eyes. "I've always wondered what I should ask you should we meet. Wondered how you would react. I thought I'd glean some sort of satisfaction from this revenge, but no. The fact that you cry for me means you're at least not a heartless mother. At least you still think of me."

Geralt saw through her, and she almost sobbed. Of course mothers loved their children, especially sorcerers who had long lives. Aside from family, everything else would rot before them. In the end, only their loneliness would remain. She did everything she could to save the helpless so she could perhaps fill the cracks in her heart, stifling the guilt that would wash over her mind during sleepless nights.

Still, she couldn't bring herself to find Geralt. She was worried if she might find her son already dead in battle. He was cursed with the fate of being a witcher because of her, and she didn't deserve forgiveness for that. Yet she had one humble wish. She knew that she perhaps had one surviving member of her family somewhere out there, and she prayed for him always.

"I can guess why you left me with Vesemir even without you saying it." Geralt paused for a moment, staring at his mother's face. If he didn't say what he wanted to say, he might never get this chance again. "It was because of my father, Korin, wasn't it?"

Korin. She was reminded of a strong, blind swordsman. Thunderstruck, her eyes went wide, and she leaned closer to Geralt, losing a bit of her strength.

Geralt held her, albeit a little stiffly, not unlike a boy who wanted to protect his mother. He told Visenna what Roy told him, and it too was a message to comfort himself. "Before he died, Korin saw the prophecy of a white-haired witcher slaying monsters across the land. The phantom told him that his name was Geralt of Rivia. You loved Korin, and you thought that was a guide from Destiny. From that moment on, you decided what you would do with the child in your belly. Witchers, sorcerers, and druids believe in the power of Destiny. We know how powerful it is."

Visenna tried to say something, but she kept quiet and relaxed herself. She buried her face in his shoulder, tears drenching his shirt and armor. For that moment, she was but a vulnerable woman.

"Destiny separated us, and now it brings us back together."

The tears Visenna shed had the answers Geralt had been searching for. "I thought I'd feel happy seeing you heartbroken, but I too share your sadness, for I still think of you as kin. If you truly have lost all affection for me, you would not have saved me, nor would you have agreed to this meetup and interrogation. Thank you, Visenna."

Geralt looked at the sobbing woman, and a sliver of warmth seeped into his tone as he eased up. "Now I know that aside from Vesemir, my comrades, and my lover, there's another one out there who cares for me, and she's my mother."

Geralt was reminded of the few cases he interfered. The princess of Vizima who was cursed to be a monster, a man by the name of Nivellen who shared the same fate… Love is the only thing that can lift curses, pain, and bridge the gap between estranged family members. A smile curled Geralt's stiff countenance, and tears streamed down his cheeks. "You are forgiven, Visenna. Forgiven."

Visenna let herself go and cried her heart out. Finally, after decades of separation, mother and son were reunited, sharing a long-overdue hug.

The chipmunk swayed its bushy tail and scurried out of the window.

Chapter 511

The rain had come to a stop, a rainbow bridge galloping across the skies of Mayena, draping the fortress with a blanket of rich colors. Mayena's plaza, a place where people seldom gathered, saw half the city's citizens swarming the place.

Hundreds of civilians were gathered in this place, curious about what would happen. Whispers and discussions broke out everywhere. Standing on the wooden stage of execution were Yurga, Geralt, Mateo, Visenna, the bald deputy, a mangled, maggot-infested human corpse, and the carcass of a gigantic wolf.

"Citizens, for eight days we've investigated the death of our honorary ambassador, Ainz. After eight painstaking days, we've finally discerned the cause of his death," Ritt announced. Long gone was his panic and dejection, replaced by delight and excitement.

Some of the civilians were whipped into a frenzy, their faces red, and they roared.

"That merchant of Rivia killed him! He and the witcher!"

"Hang them!"

"No, tie them to the stakes!"

"Burn them!"

"They're not witches, you buffoon!"

The people swung their fists, roaring and shouting for the murderers to be put down, their overzealous rage scaring Yurga. Geralt, however, folded his arms, looking unfazed, and he looked at his mother.

"Silence! Let me speak. The investigation veered the wrong way from the start. Ainz was in fact not kidnapped at all. This feral beast here killed him." Ritt pointed at the wolf's corpse.

The people turned their attention to the corpse, and a collective gasp pierced the air.

"By Lebioda, are the end days upon us?" A heavily freckled man spoke in astonishment. "I've never seen a wolf this big my whole life."

"Because you don't go around enough." A pot bellied man scoffed. "Oversized beasts exist. Just gotta travel to the northmost part of the lands and venture into Dragon Mountains."

"This beast took up residence in the bushes behind the wooden bridge of the valley in the north, ambushing passing townspeople." Ritt looked at the concerned people. "Ainz and Yurga were on their way back from the woods when the wolf ambushed them. Ainz was killed on the spot, his corpse devoured. We sent a troop of soldiers into the woods for a search, and a lot were injured before we found the corpse and killed the beast. Yurga and everyone else, shocked by the horrible encounter, conjured up a delusion and spouted nonsense when they came back."

"What proof do you have?" a lanky man shouted. Like most people, he believed the conspiracy theory about Ainz being kidnapped and killed by his competitor. That made for a more intriguing story than a mere beast attack.

"Mateo—Ainz's servant—is our witness. Along with our beloved healer."

Visenna took a step forward and nodded at the people, giving them a smile. Her smile alone soothed their doubts and rage. "I have ascertained that this is the corpse of Ainz. He was torn to pieces by this beast, and I have also found pieces of his flesh in the beast's belly."

"The healer's right!" a lad with a crutch shouted. He had the look of a devout believer on his face.

"If that's what the healer says, then that must be the case," the other civilians agreed. Visenna had helped them before, so they were indebted to her.

Some people voiced their doubts, but their suspicion was drowned out easily.

"Which makes Geralt, Yurga, and Mateo innocents!" Ritt shouted.

"Release them!"

"That is what I shall do right now. I hereby pronounce that their accusations of kidnapping are dropped. We shall duly compensate them for our wrongful accusations against them."

"What a fool!" a young boy mocked. "Spent eight days, and this is what you found? And you accused three innocents."

The crowd burst into laughter, and Ritt's face fell, but he held his fury back. "This is no foolishness, boy. This is what the gods had in store for us. This is what the Eternal Fire wanted for us," said Ritt righteously. "This mistake led us to Ainz's well-kept secret during our investigations."

"What kind of secret?"

"Despite his status and power as our ambassador, Ainz not only did not uphold his duties, he abused his power and committed a list of heinous crimes. One, the food he purchased for the refugees is made of moldy and expired ingredients."

The people inhaled sharply.

A short, pudgy man with a face full of acne held his belly. "No wonder my stomach gets upset for the whole day every time I have food Ainz bought."

His friend teased, "You go into the refugee encampment?"

"Hey, free food is free food. Don't tell me you aren't tempted."

"Shut it. I am not done yet," Ritt continued. "Two, he has forced more than five women in the encampment to serve him in bed. He promised them heaven and earth, and yet he left them to fend for themselves."

"The bastard!" That ruled the crowd up. "He has the looks of a shit-eating maggot! Forced women into servitude just because he had money? Damn him!"

"That scum! That beast did well, it did!" The men roared with indignity and jealousy.

"He got it easy. If it were up to me, I'd have hung him in the plaza and cut his junk off!" an effeminate man hissed.

A plain-looking man sighed. "The gods are unfair. I've been honest all my life, but I've never even held a woman's hand before."

"That's because you have no gold to your name," a minor aristocrat scoffed.

Ritt was happy about the people's reaction. Their rage was finally redirected to Ainz. "Three, for the last ten years, Ainz had been in cahoots with the bandits terrorizing the wilds beyond the walls, robbing and killing the merchants that got into a contract with him, taking their cargo for free. Up until his death, he had killed no fewer than a hundred merchants."

A soldier walked up to Ritt and handed a thick black tome. "This is the ledger we found in his estate. Every single illegal transaction he made is recorded in these pages. There is no denial of his crimes now." Ritt did his best to wag the time around, riling up the people more. "Do you know what this means? Ainz fattened himself up with the coins he gained from killing his partners, but in turn, Mayena lost a huge number of businesses, taxes, and job opportunities."

Like a conductor for an orchestra, Ritt swung his arms down and made a circle. "Thanks to Ainz, all of you are making less money than you should."

"The bastard!" a young aristocrat in a green scarf spat, crossing their arms before their chest. "So he's the reason things are getting pricier while profits get lower?"

"That is correct!" Ritt continued loudly. "Ainz was nothing but a parasite. A bloodsucker. As long as he was there, the people would've lived nothing but miserable lives."

"The corrupted, evil bastard!" a bald man roared.

"A demon in human skin!" the farmers shouted.

"Yay, yay, he's dead!" A girl sitting on her father's head clapped merrily.

The people were cursing and spitting at the dead ambassador.

"His death is divine retribution and a chance for this city to change. Our wise and revered lord, Scorpi, will be taking advantage of this change to breathe new life into the city." A pause ensued, and It turned red with excitement as he was reminded of the encouragement his boss gave him.

Animatedly, he announced, "From next month onward, Lord Scorpi will lower the prices of all items in this city. He has promised that prices will not rise again. Within six months, prices will keep going down until they hit normal levels. The details will be posted on the bulletin board in town hall. Everyone's invited to check it out."

"Hail Lord Scorpi!" 𝓵𝙞𝙗𝙧𝙚𝒂𝙙.𝓬𝒐𝒎

"Long live Lord Scorpi!"

After so much suffering, the people finally got some good news, and they shouted and cheered in glee. On top of that, they could vent their frustration at the snobbish and arrogant ambassador, and that was cathartic for them.

With that, the whole fiasco surrounding Ainz's death came to an end.

"If you run into any trouble, Yugni, come to the ballroom in Novigrad's business district and tell them Roy sent you. I'll help however I can."

"Auckes … I mean Roy, I don't know what to say."

"Don't mind it. You've helped me out too."

"Ritt gave you some gold, didn't he, Mateo? I have a suggestion. Take Ririn and leave Mayena right away. This place does nothing for you. You have to leave to escape your past. Don't think about them. Try your best to distract yourself and perhaps sire a child. This is important. Your life depends on this, got it?"

Glasses clanged, and the aroma of malt flared in the air, the foam glistening like pearls.

"Thank you, Roy. Got out with my life intact thanks to you." Yurga had changed into cheap, oversized clothes, and he was grinning. "Let's go to my place. Pick any of my sons you'd like. Train him up to be a witcher." The merchant thumped his chest.

Roy looked at the excited merchant, amused. It was his first time seeing someone willingly give up their children to a witcher, but the orphanage was in no need of more kids. "So how old are they?"

"Twelve. Both of them are."

"Sorry, but they're a bit old. The Trial will be dangerous for them," Roy said.

Ebony was under the table, lapping up some dwarven liquor. He was listening to the tune of the lute, shaking his leg like he was under a spell.

Yurga looked slightly disappointed. "They're twins, so I guess both of them are my firstborns. If you won't take them with you, inheritance is going to be a problem when they come of age."

"If you love them equally, then split their inheritance equally between them."

"You have a point. I'm going to make a lot from this deal anyway. For some reason, the deputy became a lot more agreeable. Waived me two years' worth of business tax in Mayena." Yurga looked pleasantly surprised.

Roy smiled. At least the deputy is not a total idiot. He turned to Geralt. "What did the deputy give you?"

"Two hundred orens." Geralt gulped his beer down and wiped off the foam. "All I had to take were some lashes. It's a good deal."

Roy raised a toast, staring at Geralt with interest. "This is none of my business, but how did your talk with Visenna go?"

And a short pause slid itself into the otherwise merry occasion. In the original timeline, Geralt was heavily injured when he met his mother. Visenna kept running away from the questions Geralt posed. When Geralt passed out, Visenna ran away, and Geralt never saw her again until the day he died.

This time, Geralt had the upper hand thanks to Roy's intervention, and Visenna didn't manage to run away. It would've been a shame if Visenna and Geralt had gone their own paths and never talked again even after the conversation.

Geralt let go of his glass and leaned in his chair, staring at the magical lamp on the inn's ceiling. "You might think I'm a joke. Being a witcher means cutting off our old lives, including our old families. That's what Vesemir had told me so many times. Eskel and Lambert followed that rule, or to be exact, this path didn't give them any chance to contact their family, but I could never seem to forget about my mother. I had always wished to see her. That's not what most witchers would do." He finished his beer, a shade of red painting his pale cheeks.

"No such rule in the brotherhood, Geralt," said Roy loudly. "We're moving with the times. How we work, mutate, and deal with world affairs are changing too. We're dealing with family affairs differently too." Roy said seriously, "Take me for example. I've been in this line of work for three years, but have I estranged myself from Moore or Susie?"

Geralt shook his head.

"Have their lives been badly affected by my presence? Or is it the opposite?"

The opposite, Geralt thought. And they gave you a brother too.

"The rule of cutting off your family and taking on the fate of cold loneliness after you become a witcher is in the past now." Roy smiled proudly. "We should look forward and go after new dreams. We do not just exist to help humans with their monster infestations or personal affairs. Not like we have a serious monster infestation either. We should work for one thing only: to change the lives of ourselves, our families, our friends, and our lovers." Roy raised his voice and fervently said, "So everyone can be happy."

Yurga's jaw dropped. He couldn't believe a witcher would say something so unbelievable. It sounded so impossible, but so inspirational. That was the goal most people were working toward, not just witchers.

"Visenna's your mother. She had a reason to leave you, but she's been missing you. It's normal that you want to get close to her."

"So it's fine if I stay in contact with her?" Geralt looked at Roy.

"Of course." Rot patted his shoulder. "It'd be confusing if you left without saying a word. Puerile and melodramatic."

Geralt looked sheepish. He did plan on leaving without saying a word.

"You finally found her. Reconnected with her. Don't let go so easily," Roy encouraged. "Spend some time nurturing the connection. Don't have to keep an eye on it all the time. Just occasional visits to let her know you're fine would be good enough."

The look of dilemma melted off Geralt's face, replaced by a smile. He then patted the head of Ebony, and the pup stopped shaking his leg for a while. Then Ebony pranced around happily, howling quietly with the screaming and dancing patrons on the dance floor.

"I've always loved your analyses. Straight to the point and motivational."

"Analyses? No, this is a prophecy." Roy beamed. "You should be thankful, because those who have heard my prophecies will gain happiness."

"Um…" Yurga rubbed his hands and grinned. "Can you give me a prophecy as well?"

"You're going to have another child."

Yurga's jaw dropped, and liquor rattled in his throat, about to be spewed. Roy lashed out and covered the merchant's mouth until the red-faced merchant gulped his liquor down.

"Kidding. You'll have a surprise waiting for you at home nonetheless."

The merchant burped and shot Roy a look of complaint. It took him a long while to calm down from the shock. "Can we set off tomorrow? I'd like to make some purchases for Goldencheeks and the boys later."

Geralt said nothing. He only brought up the Law of Surprise on a whim. He wasn't planning on taking his son or any of his pickled greens or dried fish. "I have to find Ciri, so I can't go with you, Yurga. I'm sorry."

"Do you have anywhere better to be?" Roy smiled. "You never invoke the Law of Surprise on a whim. The Law carries with it the power of Destiny. You did say that should you pass this trial of imprisonment, you'll have passed the trial of Destiny. Now it's time to receive your reward," Roy said mysteriously. "Perhaps what you're looking for is right there. Outer Rivia isn't far from Mayena."

Anticipation flared within Geralt's heart, and he didn't argue anymore.

"Then it's settled." Roy downed a glass of alcohol, and he turned red with excitement. "We'll set off with Yurga tomorrow."

"One thing I don't understand." Yurga smacked his belly, and it jiggled. "What was that light? Are we really going to just ignore it? Smells like trouble."

Roy said, "It shone on you for five minutes. Feel unwell?"

"The opposite, actually. I feel a lot lighter. Stronger. It healed my arthritis too, or I couldn't have survived life in prison." Kindness is rewarded.

"Maybe that light really is some sort of divine spell. Punishment for the wicked and blessing for the kind. Couldn't find anything even when I tried to look around the woods."

Roy had a wary look in his eyes. The memory of Mateo getting burned by the light was fresh in his head, and he felt something familiar from the light too. "The druids of Mayena are starting their search. They will contact me once they find something."

"Who's it going to be?" Geralt cocked his eyebrow.

"The lovely Visenna. Exchanged contacts with her." Roy whipped out a magic crystal, ignoring the dark look on Geralt's face. With anticipation in his voice, he said, "Perhaps I might ask her a lot about the path of nature." And try to get her to be a part of the brotherhood's lab members.

"I didn't know you learned a thing or two from Lambert. I'm warning you, don't try anything funny with her, or I'm telling Lytta about it. I'm sure she'll give you a piece of her mind."

"Just kidding, Geralt. You know I'm chasing power. And I'm not interested in someone two hundred years older than me."

The beautiful wilds of Mayena sheltering the druids' circle saw something peculiar happen that day. A druid draped in bear hide, a pair of antlers coupled with mistletoe wreaths took a mountain flower off his forehead, his face covered in feral tattoos.

Once he sorted out the plants' message, his eyes burned with flames hot enough to immolate anything he set his eyes on. "A second energy field, this time fifteen dead. Someone's experimenting on our turf. No matter who they are, they will pay the price."

Chapter 512

Night fell upon the land, shimmering stars lining up in the skies, converging into a silver river.

The wilds were silent. Underneath a great boulder stood a Nilfgaardian warhorse clad in black. A gentle breeze brushed across the crackling flames, sparks and smoke billowing in the air. A girl was sitting beside the bonfire, clad in a silver cloak, shivering and sneezing. A tear glistened in her eyes.

"You have to eat, Your Highness," the raspy voice of a man said, and his shadow loomed over the girl. He extended his hand, a glistening, golden-brown rabbit's leg sleeping within his palm. The meat was not seasoned in the least bit, but the girl was at her growing age, and even an unseasoned rabbit's leg was a delicacy for her.

The desire to eat flashed in her eyes, and she licked her lips, but she snorted and turned her head away, curling up even more.

The man crouched before the girl. He had black hair, blue eyes, and a handsome face. He observed the princess carefully, the light of excitement glinting in his eyes. She was a perfectly beautiful specimen, and he wished to protect her. "You can't go on like this. Not eating or drinking anything is going to kill you before we get to our destination. You might not know how it feels to starve to death, but I can tell you. It's painful."

The man stared at Ciri and started depicting a gory scene. "Bile's going to burn through your belly and travel up your digestive tract and shoot straight into your throat."

The girl's eyelid twitches.

"And then it'll eat through your tongue, teeth, and lips. Then it'll ruin your pretty little face and burn your body."

Ciri shivered, and she turned a shade whiter, then her face turned green, but she clenched her teeth tight and refused to talk.

"You do not have to do this, Your Highness." The knight heaved a sigh and wrapped the rabbit leg in parchment paper. Then he whipped out a waterskin from the saddlebag and placed it on the fern beside her. "You're still young. You shouldn't be suffering out here. You can live as comfortably as you want, and in the name of knights, I promise that if you do as I say and don't try to run away, you'll be living in luxury once we get back to Nilfgaard. You'll still be as respected by the people, and you'll have the most powerful man backing you up. No one will ever harm you again."

Nilfgaard? The mention of that nightmarish place incited fury within Ciri, and she clenched her fists. She gnashed her teeth, and her cheeks puffed. "You villain! Nilfgaard invaded my home!" Ciri leapt from the boulder and stood as tall as she could, facing the gigantic Nilgaardian soldier that was clad in a muddy black cloak. She swung her fists at him. "You burned my home, killed my friends, murdered my family, and now you're taking me back to your kingdom to… to make me a puppet?"

Fury flared in the girl's eyes, but she posed no threat at all, no matter how menacing she tried to be. "I will not let you do as you please! I'd rather die of starvation if the alternative is to be taken back to Nilfgaard!"

The princess' roars did not faze the knight a bit. Instead, he tensed up, and the look on his face hardened. His black eyes flickered coldly, the light of the bonfire failing to warm up his face.

"That look again?" After her threats failed, Ciri took a step back and cowered, covering her face as she cried. "Grandfather, Grandmother, Geralt, Roy… Someone save me!" Her cries echoed into the night, traveling across the wilds.

Cassirer massaged his forehead, frustrated but also glad at the same time. He was an aristocrat and an elite of Nilfgaard's intel department, yet he was being plunged into a problem because of a child.

If the king had more trust in the spellcasters, they could've just opened a portal and brought Ciri back, but if that was the case, he would never have had the chance to approach the princess. She might be young, but there was great charisma coming from her, captivating the attention of those around her. Cassirer never regretted this trip.

"Be quiet, Your Highness." Cassirer tried his best to speak softly. "Don't push me. I do not wish to use force to make you quiet."

"This again? You're all liars, you bastards! Grandfather, Grandmother, save me!" In an act of rebellion, the princess cried even louder.

And then the woods behind Cassirer rustled. He tensed up and turned around, holding his scabbard with one hand and the hilt of his sword in the other, his eyes fixed on the bushes.

The princess too had noticed the tension in the air, and her cries came to an abrupt halt. She rubbed her puffy eyes and quieted her breathing, stealing glances at the bushes behind them, her eyes gleaming with cunning.

Cassirer crouched and slowly approached the bushes, then he froze.

There was the screech of metal dragging across the ground as a burly knight in armor came out of the bushes, his blade glinting under the flames of the bonfire. He wore a dark gold helmet with a pair of wings jutting out of its sides, and a Y-shaped gap adorned its visor, revealing his sharp gaze and pursed lips.

The helmet resembled the ones Nilfgaardian soldiers wore, and he had a greatsword behind his back. With every step the knight took, the sword would drag out a line behind him. "Knight of Nilfgaard, release the child right away. If you do, then in the name of a knight's honor, I shall let you live," said the knight righteously.

"And who might you be? Where do you come from?"

"I am but a wandering knight from Toussaint, here on a journey to explore the north. My name bears no weight. You seem to be a knight from Nilfgaard. Pray tell, why did you abandon the virtues taught to us to kidnap a child?" the knight questioned sharply.

Cassirer frowned. He was wondering why a knight from Toussaint would show up in the wilds out of nowhere, but that wasn't the point. This knight was a veteran, and he had incredible control over his body and strength. This was not an opponent he could trifle with.

"I am here on orders of Nilfgaard's royal steward. Do not obstruct my duty, knight of Toussaint." Toussaint was Nilfgaard's vassal state. This knight shouldn't be stopping him. "Or you shall be punished for obstruction of military work, and that crime is punishable by death."

"Toussaint will not lend a hand to evil. Very well, if you refuse to be apprehended, then we shall duel." The knight with the golden helmet swung his broadsword. "Have at thee!"

Cassirer cursed, but the knight didn't care. He swung his broadsword down at the Nilfgaardians head. The air roared, and a wave of power rained down on Cassirer, trying to slice him in two. The Nilfgaardians' eyes went wide, and suffocation was setting in fast.

His cloak billowed in the air, and Cassirer quickly rolled away from the first swing. The other knight's sword hit the ground, stirring up a small storm, leaving a mark on the ground. Once again, he set his eyes on Cassirer.

Sweat drenched the Nilfgaardians' hair and back. "What a madman. By Eternal Fire's name, is this where I die?"

A horse's shrill neigh pierced the air, and the knights' duel came to a stop. To their surprise, the girl had climbed up the horse's back, leaning on the saddle as she tugged on the reins. The girl then looked at them. She was ghostly white, but her eyes were filled with excitement and smug delight. Ciri had seen a lot of those winged helmets before. They were Nilfgaardian helmets, so these men were both villains. Well, she didn't mind that they were fighting each other, though.

"Farewell, fools!" A surge of magic flowed into the saddle, and the horse calmed down. It was now following Ciri's orders, ignoring its master's shrill whistles.

The beast charged into the bushes with the princess on its back, and it galloped into the distance, leaving the knights behind, confused.

"Curse you, ye mongrel! I shall bring this to Raymund and demand that he behead you!"

"Raymund has relieved me of all duties. In the name of knight's honor, if you do not tell me the whole story of how you came to possess the child and confess your sins, I will make you pay."

The horse's gallop echoed in the night as the beast zipped through the wilds. Ciri leaned as close to the horse's back as possible, holding its mane and clasping her legs around its back as tightly as she could. The ride was a bumpy one, and the horse did not slow down. Gusts of wind cut across her face, draining even more blood from the already pale princess.

The violent bumps were threatening to throw her off the horse's back, but Ciri gritted her teeth. You can do this, Ciri. Farther. Even farther! Even her breath was turned into mist, fogging her vision. Her arms and legs were getting sore at a blistering rate, but the horse kept galloping, taking the princess to a destination yet unknown.

And then, the girl's strength failed her, sapping her of her consciousness until everything turned black.

A groan permeated the air.

"You're awake, child."

"Who are you? A-And where am I?" Ciri woke up in a trundling cart, and the first thing she saw was an old, wrinkly woman with thin, blond hair. She tried to push herself up, but a stab of pain seared up her arms, and she flinched. Her arms quickly swelled.

Her legs were screaming out in agony as well. Moving them even an inch felt like hell. Her legs felt like lead.

"Do not move, child. You fell from a horse's back and bruised yourself hard. Frankly, it's a miracle you got out of it alive and without broken bones." The lady smiled at her, revealing an almost toothless mouth. "Call me Suha. We're a group of refugees trying to make it to Sodden."

Suha looked ahead. They were in a long line of refugees made up of people who lost their homes to the war. People of Cintra. Most were women and children. The women were holding their children and saddled with a lot of packs on their backs. They looked exhausted and vacant.

Less than one in five refugees were men. Most men had died in the war.

"What about Cintra? What happened to it?" Ciri quickly asked. The Nilfgaardian soldier told her nothing while she was his captive, nor did she hear anything about her grandparents.

Suha heaved a sigh, the look on her face filled with sorrow, and her hair swayed. "The great Cintra has fallen. Nilfgaard broke through the gates, burned our city down, and killed many of our brethren."

"What about the queen? And the king?"

"Dead. All Cintran nobles committed suicide by poison. None bowed to the southern bastards. The king and queen died in battle, valiantly preserving what was left of Cintran pride."

My grandparents are dead? Ciri became whiter than a ghost, and her eyes went wide, sons of fear rushing out of her mouth. But Grandmother was still in the castle, alive and well before I was taken away. N-Now she's dead? Impossible. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

"You must be a Cintran too, child. Did you get separated from your family?" Suha lovingly patted Ciri's unkempt hair. "I used to have a granddaughter, but… Oh, don't cry, don't cry. I'm here. I promise I'll take you to Sodden and find your family."

No, I don't think you can ever find them again. The tearful princess looked around, but all she saw was a broken land and unfamiliar faces. The air was heavy with despair, and loneliness and fear filled her heart. What should I do? Where should I go?

"What is your name, child?"

"C… Falka. I'm Falka."

Visenna had moved her tent back to a clearing in the woods, and Ciri was standing before Suha, who was lying on a rug made of hay. She was wearing clothes made out of cheap fabric, and there were holes in her pants. Her shirt was heavily patched, while her shoes were so worn out her toes were peeking through. She looked like a boy.

Her face was filthy, and gone was her usual look of delight, replaced by bruises and wounds. Her eyes weren't as clear as before, riddled with stories she kept a secret.

"Fighting with the boys again, Falka? Never back off. Anyone tries to harm you, you fight back. Bite them, scratch them, use any weapon you have, but never give in. I'm sorry I can't go on with you any longer." Suha coughed. "I should've listened to you and went to Novigrad instead of Sodden. We're in a right mess now. Didn't find your family, and I got you into another mess." Suha was having difficulty speaking, and her chest heaved. Her voice was hoarse and raspy, and her hair had lost its luster.

She was cadaverous, the air around her smelling like decay and death. The old lady held Ciri's hand, and she weakly said, "I… I wanted to give you… a home, but…" She coughed. "Who'd… have thought that… Sodden would… fall as well… Damn the southerners!" Another cough escaped her throat. "Falka… You have… you have to… take care of yourself now…"

"No, Suha! Don't leave me alone here, please!" Ciri held her hand, her eyes glistening with tears

"I… am sorry… Zayna… will take care … of you now…" And those were her last words. Her eyes and mouth remained open, as if she wanted to see Ciri as long as she could, and she drew her last breath.

Ciri held the woman's rough, dry hand against her face and sobbed. Why? Why does everyone leave me? What did I do to deserve this?

Zayna was sitting on the other side of the rug. She was in blue attire, and there was a mysterious air about her. She closed Suha's eyes and looked at Ciri quietly. "Falka, you're still young, and you're a good child. You deserve a second chance at life."

"Lady, please take me and her to Novigrad, please. I know Geralt and Roy can save her." The girl stared at the druid with tearful eyes.

"I'm afraid not even gods can bring back the dead. There are too many casualties here in Sodden, and so many need my help. I cannot take you all the way to Novigrad." Zayna shook her head and turned to the east of the village. "I can only—"

A commotion broke out outside the tent, interrupting the doctor. She and Ciri took a peek and saw a man in a black cloak checking out all the tents, apparently searching for something.

The dim light coming from the skies above shone on that mean, revealing a pair of black eyes, sharp nose, and thin, ugly lips. Ciri stopped breathing for a moment and curled up in the corner, fidgeting. She knew this man. The last time they met, he didn't have a scar, but this time, he did, and the scar extended from his forehead to his chin.

Yet Ciri would never forget that face. He was no Cassirer, but he too was a villain. Back in Cintra, he was the one who cast the spell that stopped Geralt from taking her away. Obviously, he had plans for her.

"You know this man, Falka?"

Ciri nodded and clasped her hands before her belly, her face riddled with fear and nervousness.

"Is he your enemy? Fear not, child." Zayna held down on the girl's shoulder and motioned for her to sit in front of the rug. She had an assuring gaze, and the druid said confidently, "As long as I am here, he will never lay a finger on you, not even if he is a sorcerer. Well, he's also blind now."

Zayna waved her hand, and a layer of green light enveloped Ciri, calming her heart down. The girl held her breath lest any sound gave her away.

The man with the scar eventually came to their tent and looked inside. He observed the corpse on the rug, and his gaze went right across Ciri, as if he hadn't seen her. Then the man went away, his footsteps eventually disappearing into the distance.

"Falka, you are a special person, and so is the energy residing within you. Still, you are not to be a part of nature or the woods. I cannot take you back to the circle or teach you anything." The druid shook her head regrettably. "However, I will take you to a well-off family on the border between Sodden and Rivia. The lady of the house is one named Golden Cheeks. She is a beautiful, gentle, and sympathetic soul. Her husband is a righteous man, though he is always out and about making trades. They also have a pair of healthy sons, though they'd always wanted a daughter. You can be their adopted child, Falka. There, you will find a new lease on life. There, you will face your destiny. Once you're more capable, you can travel to Novigrad, but not before the war draws to a close."

Ciri was silent for a long time, and she looked at her deceased Suha. The girl quickly wiped her tears with her sleeve, and she nodded.

Chapter 513

The center of Sodden was a place draped in a blanket of fog, and a young witcher was standing within it, staring at the base of the Hill of the Eight. He was covered in layers of golden and black light, while a beautiful, fluorescent circle sat under his feet.

He stared around the fog, searching for the ethereal gray ribbon floating in the air. He turned his sights to the side of the hill and noticed a bush of blooming yellow flowers, then his medallion started to buzz.

The witcher made a sign, and a crimson rune appeared in his palm. His mana conjured up a ball of flame, and the fireball hurtled out of his palm, arcing across the air and tearing apart the fog that was blurring his sight.

Shrill screams pierced the air, shattering it like glass. The humanoid creature within the fog was forced out of hiding from the impact of the explosion, and it fell face first to the ground.

The monster had a hunched back, but its limbs were slender and long, and it resembled a misshapen, disfigured pregnant woman late in her gestation period. The flames slithered up its skin like a viper, burning it, yet the monster was blinking in and out of reality, threatening to disappear at any moment.

Roy fired a bolt, and the creature fell to the ground, a blotch of red spurting from its head. The impact crushed half its skull, and its brains drenched the grass beneath. The creature fell headfirst, and it never got back up again.

'Foglet killed. EXP +130. Level 12 Witcher (8850/12500).'𝙡𝙞𝓫𝙧𝙚𝓪𝒅.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Roy approached the mangled corpse and started cutting it up. His pets poked their heads out, looking around curiously. At the same time, the fog that was covering the hill went away, revealing a small hill surrounded by lush greenery. It was a lot less impressive than the hill in the stories.

"You got faster, Roy." Geralt approached the young witcher, leading his faithful mare.

"You gotta work hard, Geralt. Don't lag behind too much." Roy whipped out a blue mutagen from the monster's corpse, wiped the mucus off it, and tucked it into his inventory space. "Try to get the slot for the next second mutation."

"Can I go through the mutation too, witchers?" Yurga, who was driving the carriage, simpered.

"You're not even a witcher, and you're too old to even learn new tricks. For people your age, only one in one hundred can come out alive. You're welcome to try." Roy smiled warmly, and the merchant cringed.

"Forget it. Should we check out the obelisk for the martyrs on the hill?"

"Of course."

"What about the carriage?"

"Gryphon and Ebony will keep an eye on it. All the potential hazards nearby have been cleared, so there shouldn't be much trouble." Gryphon the Cat held Ebony by the nape of its neck and climbed up to the coach's seat, then it waved the three humans goodbye.

One week had gone by since their departure from Mayena, and Yurga was used to the pets' extraordinary intellect. He thought it was all thanks to the witchers' training. The three of them climbed up the mountain and got to the top in ten minutes. A breeze blew across the plateau, the grass and flowers swaying in the wind.

An obelisk sat in the center of the hill's peak. It was made of granite and weighed ten tons. The obelisk looked like a small tower with a sharp, pointy top much like a pyramid's. The base was wide enough that it would require a few men to even surround it.

The moment Roy laid eyes on the obelisk, he knew his earlier guess was wrong. This construct was not made by the people of Sodden to keep the martyrs in memoriam. They didn't have that kind of ability, and they were seeking shelter after the war took their homes. Far too busy to even make an obelisk.

Which meant it must have been the sorcerers who made the obelisk, or at least they magically transported the obelisk here. Under the obelisk were eight graves with marble gravestones, and vibrant flowers slept nearby. Rhododendrons, forget-me-nots, and more.

Geralt scanned the first few names engraved on the obelisk. Lawdbor, Gorazd, Axel… Reminiscence twinkled in his eyes, but his gaze looked sad.

"You know them?" Roy heaved a sigh of relief. There were six fewer deaths than he remembered. Coral and Triss' names were not found here. Obviously, history had changed thanks to him. He called out the first name on the obelisk. "Labor? Who's that?"

"Used to be a gambler and a sore loser." Geralt shook his head, amusement flaring in his eyes, then it was replaced by a solemn look. "There was this one time where I played dice with him back in Vizima. He was so scared of losing, he used magic to control me and cheated his way to victory."

"Ah, so even sorcerers cheat? They're even worse than us merchants." Yurga puffed his chest out and spoke in disdain. It wasn't every day he got to take the high ground against sorcerers.

"I ran into Gorazd two years ago. A madman, he was. You know what he wanted to do?" Geralt paused for a moment and forced a smile. "Said he'd give me a hundred crowns if I would let him check my eyes. If I was willing to go further, he'd give me a thousand just to cut my eye open for a check."

Yurga cringed a little like he was stung by a bee. Sweat drenched his face, and horror crept into his eyes. "Are they mad? Are all sorcerers like that? They'd perform autopsies on live humans?"

"That's what a long life gets you. Twisted your heart and mind a little." Roy shook his head, thinking it was a shame. "What a pity. You should've told me about him. If I'd known about that guy, I'd have inducted him into the brotherhood. He could have done all the experiments he wanted on mutations. At least he was willing to follow the rules. He was willing to pay and even asked for your consent."

"I get the feeling you're going a bit too far, Roy. You have Lytta, Kalkstein, Triss, and Evelyn on your side now. Isn't that enough?" 𝓁𝘪𝒷𝘳ℯ𝘢𝑑.𝒸𝘰𝑚

"The first witcher brotherhood had a dozen sorcerers working with them back in their prime. Top sorcerers." Roy shook his head. "We're just starting out. We still have a long way to go."

Geralt shook his head. If he didn't know better, he would've thought Roy was a dictatorial maniac who was trying to create a new world order. Unbeknownst to Geralt, what Roy was aiming for was something much bigger than the world.

"So, friendly neighborhood witcher Geralt, do you know the other names of those who died?" Yurga asked, his eyes filled with anticipation. The stories of these sorcerers would work wonders should he want to regale the other merchants or his family with wondrous tales. Or he could use them to negotiate for some favors.

Geralt fell into silence, a hint of fear flashing on his face. He scanned the first few names and turned away awkwardly, fear and worry flitting in his eyes. He was too scared to check out all the names, lest he find the one name he didn't want to.

Roy hatched a plan. A small smile tugged on his lips, and he sighed. "You shouldn't have gotten in that fight with her, Geralt."

"What do you mean?" Geralt forced himself to ask that question. He wobbled a little and tensed up, clenching his fists.

"I was going to have you introduce me to Yennefer of Vengerberg sometime. You know, the woman you have a complex past with, but you wouldn't stop changing the topic, said you guys are over and would never talk again. Well, too late even if you want to talk to her now." Roy paused for a moment and grabbed a bouquet of purple bellflowers out of thin air. "Take this, Geralt. And say a proper goodbye this time."

The White Wolf held his breath, and a strangled gasp escaped his throat. His eyes were filled with terror, his hands and lips trembling, and he went a shade whiter. The witcher hunched over, life flying out of his body. The light went out of his eyes, and his face slumped.

"Hey, don't scare me, mate." Roy quickly grabbed Geralt's shoulders and pinched his sagging cheeks, then he put on an awkward smile. "Just kidding. Yennefer's not on the list. They're all nameless sorcerers. Isn't that right, Yurga?"

"I have no idea about the name you just said, Roy."

The sorrow on Geralt's face was wiped out, taken over by fury. He quickly made a sign and slammed Aard into Roy's chest.

The impact sent Roy tumbling down, and he rolled, howling in pain. The young witcher rolled into the path of grass and fell down the hill, his screams cutting through the air.

Yurga looked at the furious White Wolf carefully and gulped. "He will be fine, won't he, Geralt?"

Geralt shook his head in disdain. He survived two months of disappearance after Cintra's fall and came back stronger. Not even a higher vampire could kill him. This little roll won't even leave a mark on his skin. The fury disappeared as quickly as it came. Geralt eased up, and a smile curled his lips. Knowing that the most important person of his life was still alive perked him up.

A gentle voice spoke from behind. "So, calmed down now?"

Geralt and Yurga shivered and turned around. Roy stood about five yards away, his face covered in dust and soil, and he smiled apologetically at Geralt. He lost his left shoe, revealing his foot to the ground underneath. The young witcher probably lost the shoe on his way down the hill.

Yurga rubbed his eyes and turned his sights to the slope, then he whirled around. How did he come back so fast?

"I can always roll down the hill again if that's what it takes for you to calm down, Geralt."

Geralt massaged his temples. Roy's changed a little. Is he in his rebellious phase? Well, he is at that age. Must be the reason. "Don't joke with me about Yennefer, Roy."

"No next time," Roy swore, raising his hand. But then he said, "She might've survived the battle, but she did not leave unscathed."

Geralt cocked his eyebrow. He wouldn't fall for Roy's tricks this time.

Since Geralt wasn't taking the bait, Roy continued, "You know Yennefer. She has her own ambition. She must've joined this battle, and she did not walk away unhurt. Coral and Triss were supposed to join this battle. According to my prophecy, they were supposed to die on this very hill, but thanks to my guidance, they escaped their demise and came out unscathed."

Geralt crossed his arms, watching Roy continue his show.

"The northern brotherhood of sorcerers has taken part in this bid for power between the south and the north. From now on, they'll be more involved in the fields of war and politics. From what I know, Yennefer is going to be one of the two administrators of the brotherhood and the youngest council member. Whether she likes it or not, she can never escape this long war. The dangers she will have to face run deeper than you can imagine. One wrong step, and she is done for."

Geralt's breathing got heavier.

Roy said, "Compared to her, Coral's having it easy. All she has to do is work on her research all day, every day. Working with us witchers is a good path to go forward."

Realization struck Geralt, and he was partly amused by Roy's suggestion, and he was partly annoyed. "All that just to convince me to lure Yennefer into joining us?"

"Luring? Why, you're not luring her. You're just concerned about her."

"No one can change Yennefer's mind, Roy. Not even me. Besides, we cut off contact a long time ago."

"Please, don't tell me you still believe that. Ask yourself, do you still love her? You're the man, so make the first move." Roy said imperiously, "Stop acting like a young couple in love who won't even communicate their problems. Write a letter. Ask her if she's fine. Tell her how you feel about the separation, then talk about Ciri. Tell her you've found her, but you have no idea how to deal with the girl. Tell her you need her help. She'll be very interested in it, I promise."

"First, Ciri's whereabouts are still unknown. Second, even if we find her, the orphanage has enough people to handle her," Geralt argued, but he was obviously tempted by the prospect.

"You know how much Yennefer wants a child." Roy stared into Geralt's eyes. "She can't conceive, but the bond created by Destiny is every bit as close and powerful as the bond between real parents and children. Think about it, Geralt. Take all the time you need."

A freckled, pudgy boy was charging down the clear stream, flailing his arms around like a boar playing with water. The radiant sun shone upon his brown, neatly-cut hair, granting it a lustrous sheen. He pointed at a sharp-nosed boy who was as thin as a bamboo, shouting, "You'll be the drowner, while I'll be the witcher!"

"No way!" The thin boy swung his stick and hit the pudgy boy's chest, and the pudgy boy tumbled into the water. "Witchers aren't fat and clumsy. You're the drowner in this case."

Splashes broke out across the stream as the brothers started tussling and rolling around, though they were all staring at the riverbank.

A scrawny girl with gray hair sat beside the pebbles, swirling her feet in the streamwater. There was a dazed and vacant look in her eyes.

"Play with us, Falka!"

"Nadbor, Sulik, you got it all wrong! Witchers aren't as dumb as you guys are!" Falka picked up two sticks and crossed them before her chest like they were swords. She charged into the water, swinging her wooden sticks around, beating the 'drowners' until they ran around howling in pain.

The children were eventually drenched, and they went home, huffing and puffing. Falka was covered in sweat and streamwater, but at least she looked a bit happier, and a silvery chuckle rang across the path.

Sulik and Nadbor would turn around to steal a few glimpses of the girl. She was beautiful, her skin was fair and glowed a healthy pink, and her eyes were radiantly emerald. The girl was still young, yet she had beauty far more exquisite than anyone could imagine. She was like a princess, someone leagues ahead of the country girls.

The boys were at the age where they were interested in girls. The first time they saw Falka, they took a liking to her. They did everything they could and spent almost one month just to pull her out of the pit of sadness. It wasn't much, but at least she would smile sometimes now. And the boys would die for her smile.

"You sure know how to wield swords, Falka." Sulik looked a little embarrassed. "Did you really practice with a witcher before? How'd you know they have two swords?"

The mention of witcher reminded the girl of a sad memory. Her face fell, and she clasped her hands together. "I've seen witchers and gone on adventures with them. Killed a giant centipede in a forest too. It was a monster called yghern."

The brothers were agape. The kids then saw a circular fence slowly coming into view, and a woman in a yellow floral dress sat within the yard, washing clothes. The foam from the soap drenched her hair and sleeves, radiant sunshine raining down on her gentle, kindly face.

"And I rode on a griffin before. It's a beast bigger than a buffalo and more dangerous than a lion."

Nadbor asked, "Falka, I heard witchers would sometimes steal children. Are you one of those children who got taken?"

Falka nodded. With a sob, she berated herself, "I should've left with them, but I ran away. That was stupid. I put myself in danger. Geralt said there was a connection between us, but he hasn't even shown up after so long."

"It's alright, Falka. Even without the witchers, I'll protect you." Sulik thumped his chest, his eyes filled with anticipation and trepidation. "You'll be our sister now, but in time, you'll be… um…"

"Yurga!" The woman's surprised gasp snapped the children out of their conversation. Goldencheeks staggered out of the yard and pounced at the carriage, crying.

Yurga smiled at the witcher and leapt out of the carriage, walking toward the wife he had been longing to meet. "I'm back, Goldencheeks. I'm back!"

"Yurga!" Goldencheeks was in the middle of doing the laundry, and she smelled like soap. She leaned into her husband's embrace, resting her head on his chest as she took in his warmth. After a prolonged period of separation, the couple moved around the yard together, refusing to be apart.

"Who is he?" From the other side of the yard, Falka noticed the pudgy man that was coming toward them, and her heart skipped a beat. For some reason, she was getting nervous, but the man looked friendly enough.

"Oh, that's Father. Father's back. Quick, let's ask him for some presents." The boys took Falka and darted toward their father.

"Thank the gods you're back. I lost sleep just waiting for you. Here, touch my heart. It's almost jumping out of my chest. By the gods… Hold on, who are those people? They have swords. And the one on the left is really handsome."

"I'll tell you later. And don't fall for someone other than your husband. Where are the kids? I'd like to see them. How are they doing?"

"They're doing great. At the riverside, but they should be back by now. All three of them."

"Three of them?" The merchant looked horrified, like he was betrayed, and he was starting to imagine how his wife cheated on him.

"It's not what you think. A druid led a girl to our home. She lost her family because of the battle at Sodden, so I took her in. She's industrious. Willing to feed the chickens and water the flowers. She's beautiful too. Looks like a princess when she dresses up, but she's always so sad. Yurga, are you angry because I made this decision without asking?"

"No, I… By the gods." Yurga smacked the back of his head and whirled around to look at the witchers. They heard the conversation and were coming over slowly, looking nervous and a bit excited.

"That's it. That's the thing I have but I do not know I possess. The third child. That's the Unexpected Child. And it's a girl! But now I have to give her away! Oh, why couldn't it be a boy?" the merchant screamed in distress.

"Father!" The boys jumped into Yurga's arms.

"You little rascals. Did you get fatter, Nabor? Open your mouth, Sulik. Hm, teeth are fine. Picky eater, aren't you? Your brother's double your size at least." Yurga then looked kindly upon the girl in a drenched gray dress. Her eyes were the shade of lively green, and she had the looks of a doll.

He gave her an encouraging smile. "And what might your name be?"

"I … I…" Falka was starting to stammer. Her heart was racing, and she stared at the pair of witchers coming over. The man in the lead had white hair, a pair of swords, and eyes that spoke of a long history. He was the only thing she had her eyes on. The world itself seemed to disappear.

The witcher and his Unexpected Child locked gazes.

"Geralt!"

"Ciri!" Geralt gasped, and he darted to the child.

Yurga and his family were dumbfounded. They had never seen someone move as fast as the wind, but Geralt showed them the impossible.

The father and child bound by Destiny finally met in the yard of a humble merchant. Geralt went down on his knees, and the girl wrapped her arms around his neck, her hair tumbling down his shoulder.

Yurga mused, and he held his family in a tight embrace.

Roy watched on with a smile.

"You're finally here, Geralt." Ciri sobbed. "I knew you'd find me. It's been months. They say Grandfather and Grandmother are dead. She's dead now, and Cintra's fallen. You're the only one left."

And me, Roy added quietly, but he didn't pipe up.

"This is the Law of Surprise. Just like what you told me. I'm your destiny, aren't I? Just like how you're mine. We'll be together forever, won't we? Tell me!"

"You're not just my destiny." Geralt whirled, looking at his smiling companion, then he looked at Yurga and his family, who were giving them encouraging looks. He then looked to the sky, where he could almost see a haughty woman with black, curly hair and a beauty mark at the corner of her lips.

The whispers she told him during Belleteyn so many years ago rang in his mind. Should a witcher and sorceress wish to build a long term relationship, a granted wish by a djinn alone was not enough to guarantee success. They needed something else.

An Unexpected Child was that something to tie the witcher and the sorceress together forever. Finally, Geralt looked at Ciri. She was something they needed to tie their bond together. "Time to go home."

End of Arc

Chapter 514

My dear friend,

Ever since our last meeting at Belleteyn two years ago, I've never gotten any news of you. But in the aftermath of the Battle of Sodden, rumors are making the rounds. Rumors that the northern brotherhood has sustained heavy losses.

Unable to hold my worry in, I have scoured the Hill of the Eight myself. When I saw that your name was not among one of the ones who died, I was overjoyed. Words alone aren't enough to paint a picture of my feelings.

I can never forget about you Yen. In my years of dull, uninteresting life, you're one of the rare sparks that make life worth living. Without you by my side, I find myself spacing out more times than I care to count. Your face keeps popping up in my head. I can never forget the smell of lilac and gooseberries. I can never forget the curls of your hair or the beauty mark right at the corner of your lips.

One thing I wish to know is if you're fine.

I have caught wind about your participation in the war. Are you hurt? If you are, is it bad? Do you need someone to take care of you?

Say the word, and I'll come to you.

But my dear friend, if you're in the pink of health, then will you be gracious enough to meet me at my home? I have found the gift of Destiny as you mentioned and took her home. Ciri is her name, but now she goes by the alias of Falka.

I do not know many sorcerers, and you're the one I trust the most. I trust that you can keep this a secret. Please, do come over and take a look at the gift Destiny has given us.

I eagerly await your arrival.

Your friend,

Geralt

Yennefer was sitting before her dressing table, and she closed the letter. She was in a black dress and a white shirt with lace sleeves and hem. The sorceress stared into the mirror, where a pale, sharp face looked back at her. Her violet eyes shimmered with allure, and her lips curled with a smile.

Geralt's not one to speak or express his emotions. He hides it well, only showing it very rarely, like tortoises peeking their heads out during sunny days. And even if he does speak, he does it in a very roundabout way. He never is this straightforward and daring. It's one step short of those three words at this point. "I wonder who's the one who taught you how to write this letter, Geralt."

Still, Yennefer was delighted by the letter. That headstrong witcher finally bowed his head, and he actually found his Unexpected Child like she suggested. I should grant him his little wish. And the girl's name is Ciri, huh? She frowned. That's a name I'm very familiar with. The one name talked by the management of the brotherhood and kings of the northern kingdoms.

Yennefer quickly dappled her lips with glistening lipstick and slid a pair of black gloves over her hands. She stood up and pointed her finger behind her, the light of magic shooting into the air. A bang rumbled the room, and a square portal appeared in the center of the resplendent bedchamber. Yennefer stepped into it.

The carriage trundled through the muddy path behind Seven Cats Inn, stopping before a patch of alder woods. A pair of black heels hit the ground, and the petite sorceress sauntered down the path in the woods, her eyes glinting with curiosity. Despite being a path in the woods, it was covered with bluestone slabs, unlike the squalid paths most villages had.

There were human-shaped signposts every few yards, pointing in the right direction so no one would get lost. Along the path, beautiful flowers bloomed in the wind, their scent filling the air with the beauty of life. The scenery was beautiful, and the short journey alone wasn't enough to soak in the entirety of it.

Yennefer came to her destination and looked at the signboard that read 'House of Gawain,' and she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Is this really a witcher fortress? Shouldn't it be more… desolate?

The compound was circled by a fence, and a few wooden houses stood tall under the beaming sun. A mural of a blue sky and white clouds adorned the walls, and doodles of children holding hands in a dance stood under the sky.

A black wiener dog was happily darting around the yard, its flappy ears flapping about as it ran around, barking quietly. A pair of witchers she had never seen before were toiling in the fields, teaching three kids archery.

The gray-haired Vesemir stood in a shack that looked like a smithy, swinging his hammer around, tempering the base of a chest armor. Sounds of recital came from the classroom, and the sight of students in the classroom almost made Yennefer think she came to an institution for nobility.

There was a willow tree on the right side of the yard, and seven kids who were no older than ten years old were engaged in one-on-one swordplay training or dodging the spinning pendulum. These children were far more agile than kids their age.

A terrible rumbling crashed overhead, and Yennefer tensed up as she witnessed a griffin charging out of the woods, spiraling overhead. It flapped its wings, stirring up a storm as it let out a happy roar.

What is this place? Monsters roaming about in broad daylight? What are the witchers doing? An icy look took over the sorceress' face, and she held her obsidian pendant, ready to battle. Runes shimmered and covered her in a barrier.

"Might you be Lady Yennefer? Worry not, Gryphon will not hurt you." A gaunt witcher in a cloak and leather armor approached her from the fields, giving her a friendly smile. "Welcome to the House of Gawain. I am Auckes of the brotherhood." The witcher extended his arm.

The sorceress daintily extended her fingertip and brushed his hand. At the same time, a hook-nosed, brooding witcher and the kids they were training set their sights on the sorceress.

"Where's Geralt?" Yennefer was still tense. She noticed the griffin called Gryphon making its landing, then the beast charged toward the training square beside the willow tree. The kids happily jumped at the beast, hugging and nuzzling it.

Gryphon looked more like a pet than an apex predator now. It growled a little as it carried the children on its back, resignedly running around the wooden stakes.

Yennefer's lips twitched, but she held her magic back. She'd never seen any griffins this agreeable before. For a moment, she thought this was another beast in disguise.

"Geralt does not know of your arrival. He and the kids are out on a job."

"A job?"

"The kids have passed their Trial, so now they're learning how to fend for themselves."

"Pardon me for asking, but…" Yennefer went into the conference room in the western building with Auckes. A bald, intimidating witcher and a man with a grotesque scar on his face nodded at her on the way. More witchers. "What is this place? You have a big group of kids and a team of witchers running around. Not just Wolves either. I think I saw Vipers?" Yennefer noticed the viper pendant hanging around Auckes' neck. She couldn't understand how witchers from different schools could get together. This was unheard of.𝓵𝒊𝒃𝙧𝙚𝒂𝓭.𝓬𝙤𝙢

"Oh, did Geralt not explain this to you? Ah well, a letter alone isn't enough to paint the whole picture. The story of this establishment isn't exactly a simple one that can be told over the course of a single letter." Auckes shook his head. "Think of it as a luxury orphanage. Kids who lost their parents and home can learn a trade and pick up the skill of reading and writing. The witchers are teachers here."

"The kids training under the tree look different from everyone else. They seem a bit too… healthy."

"Ah, good eye, lady." Auckes said honestly, "They've taken a dosage of potion that enhances their bodily functions. Our secret formula, so to speak, but they aren't quite at the stage where they can undergo proper mutations."

"Witchers don't strike me as the charitable kind, so why are you doing this?" Yennefer looked into Auckes' eyes, pursing her lips. "I think you're building a secret academy just to raise new witchers."

"Ah, I take it you haven't noticed? The children in the classroom have not undergone any mutation or modification." Auckes pulled on the string of his cloak. "We respect the children's choice, and we would never force them to go through the Trial. Only a fraction of them would choose this path. You do not have to worry."

Yennefer shook her head, but she held back her curiosity. "So which one among them is Ciri?" asked Yennever, a hint of nervousness lacing her voice.

"She's in the classroom, learning. I'll take you to her."

Ciri was in a light blue blouse, her hair tied up in a ponytail. There was a smile on her lips, and she rested her chin in her hand. She looked at Kiyan and the children around her, who were listening to the teacher intently.

It had been a month since she left Goldencheeks' house and joined the House of Gawain, but she'd fallen in love with this place. She had dozens of friends to play and learn with, and she was fed hearty meals every day. When she had time, she could play around with Ebony and Gryphon too. Or she would train with the boys.

This was her dream life. Still, she wondered when she could go to Skellige to see Calanthe. Ciri pursed her lips and turned to the left. She saw an unfamiliar but beautiful sorceress standing outside. She was petite, and her head was held high, giving her an arrogant look.

There were a dozen kids in the classroom, but Yennefer set her sights on the girl with gray hair. She knew who Ciri was right away, as if they had a bond between them. An invisible but powerful bond. At the same time, she was filled with the desire to approach and protect the child.

By recess, Ciri was summoned to the conference hall alone. The girl blinked at the sorceress curiously, asking, "Who is she, Auckes?"

Auckes looked out the window, where the children were playing with Ebony and the roosters. "Geralt told you about her. Yennefer of Vengerberg. She's here to help you."

"I see…" Ciri drew out that sentence, her eyes sparkling mischievously. Yennefer blushed, like the child had seen through her embarrassing past. "Geralt told me…" The girl darted toward Yennefer and held her hand. Clumsily, she lied, "Geralt told me he's been missing you. He won't stop thinking about you all day. He calls out your name when he sleeps at night.

Yennefer burst into laughter, breaking her cool, aloof fa?ade, and she gently hit the girl's head.

Ciri held her head and blinked at the sorceress innocently.

"You sure know how to talk, but you can't lie to me. Dandelion can teach Geralt all the tricks he knows, but he still wouldn't be able to make Geralt say anything like that."

Ciri's lie was seen through, so she kept quiet.

Yennefer turned to Auckes. "So what plans do you have for her? She's … in a delicate position, so she now goes by the alias of Falka." The sorceress sized the girl up. Ciri saw flickering flames, howling gales, rumbling earth, and roaring rivers in her eyes. She was a little scared of her gaze.

"And that's why we invited you. We need your input on this matter." Auckes patted the package on his jacket. "The brotherhood's sorcerers have too many projects on their hands to deal with this matter. They do not have any time to teach her, so we turn to you."

"You have other sorcerers here?"

"Lytta Neyd, Triss Merigold, and Kalkstein. Triss, however, is not with us currently."

"Triss has been in contact with you people? Then surely my friend has seen Geralt, and she's kept it a secret all this time?" Yennefer clicked her tongue in astonishment. "And if I'm right, Coral has been absent from the brotherhood for more than a year, and she didn't answer Vilgefortz's call for battle. I see she's been conducting experiments here."

Auckes wiped his forehead. Oh snap. Perhaps I've told her more than what I should. "You may question them when you get the chance."

"Lady Yennefer, do you know a lot of powerful magic? Are you stronger than Granny Lytta and Grandpa Kalkstein?" Ciri blurted.

Auckes buried his face in his hands.

"Am I hearing it right?" Yennefer covered her mouth, chuckling. "You called Lytta granny? Who made you say that?"

"Lambert did."

"Ah, that explains a lot. That man's tongue is going to be his downfall someday. And yes, I do know magic."

The girl blushed and sheepishly asked, "Th-Then can you use some of that magic to turn me into a boy?"

"What did you say?" Yennefer shot the girl with a sharp look.

"If I'm a boy, I can train my way up to be a witcher and train with Monti and the boys. Then I'll get to kill drowners in the future. That's a lot more fun than reading."

"Don't even think about it," Yennefer cut in sharply, her hair jumping around. "Witcher mutations will do nothing but soil your power and bloodline. I can teach you something better."

Auckes was displeased. How low does she think of us? How does becoming a witcher soil Ciri's talent?

And then a commotion in the yard attracted Yennefer's attention. Five boys with steel swords and dirty leather armor came out of the woods and entered the yard. They were slender, and the muscles on their forearms were taut, strong, and brimming with power.

The oldest of these boys was only thirteen. He looked lively and young, but there was an air of solemnity in his eyes not even adults had. Their eyes were amber, dark gold, and red in color. All had vertical pupils, much like the eyes of a beast.

They had pendants hanging around their necks, but the patterns were different. Some were cats, some were wolves, some were griffins, and some were vipers. All glittered with the light of magic.

They were like heroes who came back from the battlefield, victorious and triumphant. The kids who were in recess and those in training quickly huddled around the boys who came back, asking for gifts.

And then they were passing around small trinkets like the fangs or claws of wild beasts and monsters.

Even Ciri wanted to join in, but Auckes held her by the nape. "Sorry you had to see that. The lads just passed their Trial. Can't manage more than searches for missing animals and a bit of drowner and nekker hunting. Geralt went along just to make sure they stayed safe."

The White Wolf appeared from behind the children, looking deadpan. He scanned the boys who were bragging to the other children, then he turned to the left, and surprise filled his eyes. 𝓁𝒾𝘣𝑟𝑒𝘢𝘥.𝘤𝘰𝑚

He saw the woman he'd been dreaming about for years, and he noticed the scent of lilac and gooseberries wafting in the air.

Yennefer smiled at him.

"Yen, you made it. Still the same person I know."

"But you, my dear friend, have changed a lot. Lost a bit of your wrinkles. You look younger too. Perhaps it's because of your mingling with the children?" She pulled her bangs back. No longer was her hair tucked in her golden snood. Instead, it tumbled down her shoulders, and her clothes were the usual black and white.

An awkward look crept onto Geralt's face, and he cursed himself. Roy vehemently told him to address Yennefer as 'My dear,' but Geralt, in all his obstinance, just had to add 'friend' after that. That was the only part where Geralt pushed through with his opinion, and that came to bite him in the ass.

Yennefer pursed her lips and pulled Ciri over. The girl stood between her and Geralt, then Ciri held Geralt's hand, forming a connection between them.

"Your letter brings me endless joy, so I came to return the favor of that joy," said Yennefer cryptically. "You did the right thing. Ciri … I mean, Falka is in a delicate position. You need a trusted confidant to teach her, naturally."

Ciri looked at Geralt and the sorceress. She had a feeling Yennefer had the advantage in the relationship, and Geralt felt like he was bowing to her. A cheeky smile curled the girl's lips as she came up with an idea to deal with Geralt if he tried to put her in a hard position.

"But first, tell me: what is it with this witcher brotherhood? To what ends does this organization serve?"

"Long story."

"Patience is not in short supply."

Chapter 515

A dark, dank cave stood in the middle of nowhere. Bizarre stone formations lined the walls, jutting and protruding at weird angles. A puddle in the center of the cave's ground gleamed gray, a cloud of fog floating over it.

Like a cat, Roy walked on his tiptoe, quietly skulking through the cave. Thanks to Cat, Roy's eyes were shining in the dark, and he saw ribbons of green intertwining and entangling among themselves in the air. At the end of the ribbon was a patch of bizarre flowers with diamond-shaped leaves and buds as big and bloody-red as human hearts. They were also beating like live human hearts.

Underneath the stalactite on the other side, an old stroller, tattered cloth, and a petite skeleton belonging to a baby slept. "Lives in dark caves, grows mutated plants, kidnaps babies… I know what you are now."

Now that he knew what the monster was, Roy delved to the deepest part of the cave, where a dark chamber stood. A patch of yellowing vines covered the entrance, wriggling and writhing slowly like pythons. These plants were abnormally alive. A chilly gale whispered through the cracks between the vines, as if a beast were hiding behind the plants, whispering to the witcher.

Roy cracked open a bottle of Thunderbolt and downed it. Black blood coursed through Roy's veins, creeping up his face, and his slow, quiet heartbeat started picking up pace. The young witcher quickly covered himself with two layers of magical barriers. One yellow, one black. Underneath him, a magical circle of different colors shone, and he injected mana into the rune sleeping in his mind.

A purple ball leapt into existence, and then a beautiful maiden made of crimson flames stepped out of Oblivion, hovering above the ground and spinning around.

Snaps of fingers broke the silence of the cave, and streams of flames burst forth from the witcher and his minion, burning up the monstrous flowers hiding in the corner. The flowers shivered in the face of the fire, filling the air with weird sounds that resemble the scuttles of insects when they moved. In a moment, the flowers were burned to a crisp.

When all eight flowers were burned, some contraption was triggered. The vines blocking the deepest chamber's entrance parted away and shrunk back into the crevices of the boulders.

And then, a burly, humanoid creature emerged from the darkness. It resembled a leshen, its groin covered by a pair of yellowing, tattered boxers. The creature had a gray, slender torso and spindly limbs. Upon its body, green ferns and moss grew.

Leshens had sticks jutting out everywhere on their bodies, but this creature had no antlers or bones on its skin. Its head and torso seemed like they were made out of flesh. Instead of a leshen, this creature looked more like a lanky old man with sharp claws and gnarly legs.

'Spriggan (Modified)

Age: 126 years old

Status: Modified creature (This creature has undergone a modification process, granting it abilities that surpass regular spriggans.)

HP: 300

Mana: 120

Strength: 25

Dexterity: 18

Constitution: 25

Perception: 16

Will: 16

Charisma: 18

Spirit: 20

Skills:

Plant Whisperer Level 6: Costs a minor amount of mana. Grow a few plants. Range: anywhere the user can see.

Vampiric Vines: Fast, resilient, and powerful vines. They can coil and kill the spriggan's enemy, absorbing their blood and life force to nourish the user.

Acid Weed: A plant filled with corrosive liquid. Whenever an enemy appears, the weed will self-destruct, spraying the target with acid, burning through their armor, flesh, and bones.

Venus Flytrap: This plant sways and tears apart its target with its canine teeth, injecting paralyzing poison into its enemy's veins.

Greenpath Level 5: Costs a minor amount of mana. The user can teleport to any nearby plant or location infested with seed. 20-second cooldown.

Camouflage Level 7: The user can blend in with the plants around it whenever they are in the woods, hiding themselves from sight completely.

Child of the Woods (Passive): Spriggans are the guardians and chosen ones of nature. They are blessed for their protection of nature. Whenever spriggans are in the woods, their recovery of stamina, mana, and wounds are doubled.

Modification (Passive): This spriggan has undergone an unnatural modification. It possesses an abnormally great life force and recovery ability. +10 to Constitution, +50 to HP. In exchange for these increased stats, this spriggan is filled with bloodlust and aggression.'

The spriggan had an almost comically big nose, but the dark eyes hiding behind its unkempt hair were filled with violence and malice.

Roy fired up Gabriel's enchantment and marked the spriggan with a gemstone mark. As another bolt flew through the air, the witcher and his minion's fireballs hurtled toward the spriggan.

The creature quickly turned into a mirage and shrank into a black atom, then it disappeared. Without any target to hit, the bolt and fireballs slammed into the cave's walls. Debris rained to the ground, and sparks flew.

The creature reappeared nearby and raised its arm. As it swung its arm, a curtain of magical light shimmered in the air, and a wave of earth element surged within the cave. The witcher's medallion buzzed violently, and alarm bells rang in his head.

Roy leapt to the side, and a gust of wind grazed him. When he stood back up and had a closer look, the spot he previously stood on was taken over by a patch of vines that broke through the ground.

The vines were nearly ten feet long, and their tips were sharp as blades. Thorns adorned the vines from tip to base. If Roy was hit by those, his flesh would be torn off. These vines charged straight from the ground. If Roy hadn't escaped fast enough, he would have been speared.

The atronach wasn't as agile as her master, and the vines needled her body. The flames around her dimmed until they were barely sparks, and the atronach was nearly see-through.

Roy gathered up his strength and swung his blade down, cutting the vines into two. He then made a sign and let out a roar, filling the air with the element of water as Clamp was cast, buffed by the power of Wing Flap.

His clone leapt out of the void and took Gabriel, then it fired away at the spriggan standing at the corner twenty yards away.

Despite its life coming to an end for now, the atronach didn't stop tossing fireballs at the enemy.

Once again, the ground rumbled, and a row of vines broke through the ground, forming a wall before the spriggan. An impenetrable wall that kept the bolts and fireballs away from their master.

The creature stood behind the wall, casting its spells without a care in the world.

With Aerondight in his hands, Roy charged straight at the monster, puddles splashing across the ground. A gigantic Venus flytrap rose before him, swaying in the darkness. The monstrous plant opened its maw, revealing rows of sharp incisors within. Sickly green drool trickled down the cracks between its incisors, corroding the ground.

And then it lunged at the witcher. A flash of light flew across the air, and a spurt of verdant blood shot into the air.

The witcher quietly stepped past the Venus flytrap, the plant's stalk and its bud falling down with a thud behind him.

A roar escaped the spriggan's mouth, and a row of terrifying plants rose into the air, yet the witcher did not stop. He crouched and charged ahead, swinging his sword again and again and again, crimson arcs of light shimmering across the battlefield.

The young witcher wasted no time in cutting the plants in two, but his shield was broken in the process of the battle. Roy stopped for a moment and cast another sign, but something unexpected happened.

A big patch of cabbage-like plants burrowed out of the ground and ballooned in size, stopping Roy from getting any closer to the wall of vines. Roy grabbed the ground underneath with his toes and leapt ahead like a tiger pouncing at its prey. The young witcher jumped high up into the air and arced across the battlefield like a dancer.

Dull bangs thundered across the patch of plants underneath as they exploded, spraying green liquid everywhere. The liquid ate through Roy's Queen and made his boots sizzle.

The atronach and clone let out a howl before they disappeared into shards of light as the acid hit them.

Roy finally made his landing, standing right ahead of the wall of vines. He stared at it, and the spriggan too returned the witcher's stare, but its eyes were devoid of emotion.

Roy swung his blade horizontally, a crimson flash cutting through the vines. The resilient plants were torn apart, but the blade's attack did not stop.

The spriggan, however, had teleported to the other side of the cave. Roy fired a bolt and teleported to the monster right away, slamming down to the ground like a meteor crashing into the earth. His sword was raised high up in the air, and he brought it down at the creature without mercy. The blade sliced through the spriggan's grotesque face, gouging out its flesh and leaving a deep gash.

Green blood spurted from the wound, but the injury was already starting to heal. The spriggan howled, swinging its lethal claws around. So fast it swung, the monster left afterimages. It slammed its claws against the ground, leaving craters in its wake, but the witcher didn't defend himself. He moved out of the monster's attacks, slowing it down with Yrden. Without much difficulty, Roy escaped the monster's attacks. All three of them.

When the spriggan raised its claws for the fourth time, its arms froze, and something pulled it off the ground. Crimson tentacles wriggled out of the void, coiling and constricting it in a cocoon as it raised the spriggan high up into the air before presenting it to the witcher like a present.

Silence reigned for three seconds, the only sound a sickening squelch as Aerondight was plunged into the eyeball of the creature. Roy slammed the edge into the creature's face, bursting its eyeball in a spectacular show that gained him a splash of green blood and white, gooey brains. Quen deflected the liquid, and it slowly slid to the ground.

Again and again the witcher stabbed, until the crack of a bone rang out clearly through the air, and the stabbings stopped. Roy pierced his blade through the skull, charged through its brain, broke through the back of its skull and peeked through the back of the monster's head.

The young witcher let go of the hilt and heaved a sigh of relief. The blade pinned the monster on the wall behind it like it was some fish ready to be grilled.

'Spriggan (Modified) killed. EXP +300. Level 12 Witcher (11200/12500).'

The monster's corpse quickly shattered into motes of green light and melded with the air, leaving the skull, the claws, and a greater blue mutagen that was brimming with mana behind. Roy quickly tucked them into his inventory, and he wiped his blade clean.

"The leshen was stronger."

A moment of rest later, the young witcher went around the mess and entered the abode of the dead spriggan. On his way into the abode, he lit up the brazier, and the light from the flames shone upon a small but fully decked out lab. Vials and jars and vessels commonly seen in laboratories lined this chamber.

The most prominent aspect was the cage in the center of the lab. It was made of alloy with dimeritium mixed in it, and something tore a hole in it.

Not far from the hole were the remains of a blond, adult man with dried hair. The cadaver sat with its back leaning against the wall. The blue robe it wore was torn and filled with holes, chaos energy lingering around its bones, an obvious sign that the corpse was a sorcerer when it was still alive.

"Algernon. An expert in genetic modification. Dead for at least two and a half years."

Roy scoured the lab and found a diary with its black cover covered in soil sitting near the corpse. Most scholars loved to jot down the details of their experiments.

May 1258. I, freckled Axel, Gorazd, cruel Ortolan, and Idarran reconvened for an exchange. All experts in the field of genetic modification, of course. And it was a wonderful conversation between geniuses. The brainstorming brought with it countless inspirations. In the end, we came up with a stringent genetic modification process. The subject? The leshen subspecies I caught: a spriggan. I cannot wait to see the results of this plan. We shall be creating a new species of creature.

March 1259. After copious amounts of experimentation, we have found something. Spriggans are more plants than they are animals. Their body contains the chlorophyll necessary for photosynthesis, but they can also hunt for sustenance like all beasts do. I plan to weaken the plant side of this spriggan and stir up more of its animal side.

August 1260. My experiment is almost done. I have created a brand-new kind of spriggan. I cannot wait to contact my colleagues so they can witness my work. They will be surprised, I'm sure. Still, I am concerned. The cage seems unable to stop the spriggan's increased strength. I'll have to reinforce it.

September 1260. Some of the words were covered by blood. So this is how it feels to be absorbed by a spriggan. Unlike leshens, who absorb the life force of their believers slowly from a range, this spriggan utilizes vines to suck out blood and mana. More words were covered by blood.

At the same time it absorbs my strength, the spriggan injects a paralyzing toxin into my body, numbing the pain and killing my resistance. I even feel a sense of delight. Alas, I cannot use even an ounce of my magic. The bloodsucking vines coil around me like a cocoon. The creature only allows freedom in one hand, and so, with this hand, I shall write the last entry of my life.

To die at the hands of their creation is bliss for a scholar. ~Algernon.

"Hm."

The journal ended there. Apparently, Algernon's reinforcement of the cage went awry, and he was killed by his own creation. There was also a lot of experiment data in the journal. Roy tossed the book into his inventory space and took quite some time to dismantle the dimeritium cage. He then took the parts away as well. Dimeritium was worth a lot, after all.

Once he was done looting, Roy whipped out a diamond-shaped crystal and rubbed it thrice. The light of magic blinked, and a diamond-shaped screen was projected in the air. A moment later, a beautiful sorceress appeared, nervously pulling her bangs away, strands of hair tickling her nose. She looked adorable.

"I found Algernon near the address you gave me, Triss. Well, what's left of him anyway. Killed by his own creation. A feral spriggan. Nothing more than a skeleton now, and he's been dead for more than two and a half years."

Triss gasped and huddled closer, her eyes filled with worry as she looked at the witcher. "Are you hurt, Roy? Did the creature injure you?"

"Thanks for your concern." Roy smiled brightly at her and flexed his biceps. "But do I look hurt? That monster wasn't even enough for a warmup."

Triss held her hands together before her belly and gave Roy an adorable smile. Almost dazzled, Roy quickly said, "Oh, found some names in his journal too. Axel, Gorazd, and Grandmaster Ortolan."

"Ah, I was just going to tell you that." Triss stared into Roy's eyes. "According to my investigation, those people are experts in the field of genetic modification, Ortolan especially. He's one of the assistants of Alzur back in Risberg, when the experiment was going on. Gorazd, Axel, Ortolan, and the missing Darran are fanatics of the field of genetic modification, and they are close friends. They would periodically hold conversations about that matter. However, two of the quartet have died in the Battle of Sodden Hill, their names engraved on the obelisk. It has been years since Grandmaster Ortolan showed himself in the brotherhood. Rumors say that he is conducting the experiment of a lifetime."

"Another genetic modification, perhaps?" Roy mused. That's the only lead I have left that can lead me to Idarran. Ivar, Erland, Arnaghad, and Elgar are proving to be too elusive. Auckes' team failed to find anything that could lead us to them.

"I've asked Tissaia, and she's given me an address. It's a house Ortolan used to live in. That house is in Hindarsfjall of Skellige Isles. You can take a look when you have time."

"That's really helpful, thank you." Roy stared into her eyes and said, "Once I figure out this whole mess and deal with it, I'll be certain to thank you personally."

The witcher's gaze was a bit too aggressive, and Triss blushed. She stared at the ground and smiled. With her best effort, she tried to stay relaxed, and she said, "It's alright, Roy. I owe you my life. Twice. If you need my help, just say the word. But this is the most I can do for now. If I go any deeper, it's going to backfire and gain some unwanted attention."

"Then you should stop for now, Triss." Roy said, "Come back when you have time. See the kids."

"Sure." Reminiscence filled Triss' eyes, and she looked a lot more at ease. "But I have a lot of royal duties to deal with. Within two months, the north and Nilfgaard will be signing a ceasefire. Vilgefortz will be spearheading the effort."

Roy's pupils contracted. Vilgefortz. Like the original timeline, he has gained fame after the battle and climbed up the hierarchy in the brotherhood. He's a formidable enemy indeed. Ciri's under our protection, so Vilgefortz can't lay a finger on her. Roy wanted to find the grandmasters first, or he would never rest easy.

He was surprised that the north and south were going to sign a ceasefire. Northerners all thought Calanthe and Eist had died in the battle of Cintra, but not too long ago, Roy had just ascertained that Calantha was alive and pregnant in Skellige Isles. So why didn't she stand up and rally the Cintrans?

"Oh, Keira's calling me. I have to go now." Triss smiled and twirled her hair, her eyes glistening with delight. "Stay in touch."

"Yeah."

The screen dimmed.

Roy sorted out the lab and teleported himself back to the underground lab in rural Toussaint. He picked up Gwyhyr and shared Gryphon's vision. The young witcher saw a white-haired witcher and a beautiful raven-haired sorceress having a talk in the conference hall, and he smiled.

He gave Gryphon an order, and the beast shook off the pestering whippersnappers, then it craned its head closer to the conference hall's windowsill, keeping its eyes wide and ears pricked up, ready to gain intel for its master.

Chapter 516

"Unbelievable. For a hundred years, the witcher schools have been in constant decline, yet now you band together for a young man. Seventeen witchers, two sorcerers, and a member of the Skellige Isles' circle of druids. This is a formidable force. One that is to be reckoned with, and you are still getting stronger with the influx of new witchers." Yennefer was impressed by the story Geralt told her. "Roy is a visionary. His eye for the future is something you fossils will never learn. So where is he?"

Ciri looked at Geralt too. Ever since she left Goldencheeks' home, she hadn't seen Roy, and she missed him. Only when he was around could she ride on Gryphon without any worries.

"Roy has a lot to do," Auckes answered before Geralt could, holding his shoulder down. He didn't want Geralt to tell everything to this stranger just because she was his lover. The fewer people who knew about the grandmasters, the better. "His presence here would put us at risk. And please do not talk about his name when you're out and about."

"I promise. But when the time is right…" Yennefer shook her head. What a shame. She was curious about the brotherhood, but she was new here, so she should stop before she went too far. "Now let's get back to business."

Yennefer patted Ciri's head and snapped her fingers. The witchers' medallions buzzed, and a gust of wind closed the curtains, keeping prying eyes from seeing in and making sure no sound went out.

Roy frowned, and the griffin that was hiding under the windowsill charged into the conference hall. Once it squeezed into the room, the beast swiped its tail and shut the wooden door.

It then raised its furry head at the sorceress, the look in its eyes saying, 'Alright, you have your peace and quiet now. Continue.'

"Gryphon! Here, let me hug you!" Ciri happily leapt onto the griffin's back and nuzzled herself against its mane. She narrowed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Ignore them." Geralt massaged his temples. "Continue."

"How did you find Ciri, Geralt? Rumors have it that the princess of Cintra has died during her escape from her fallen nation." Yennefer gave the griffin a look. "From what I know, all the northern kingdoms are sending their intelligence teams out to find her. The king's wish to gain the princess so they can gain the support of Cintra's people and enrich themselves with the wealth of the nation that Nilfgaard has toppled. And Nilfgaard wants to get their hands on the girl as well. They need a member of the royal family who's malleable so they can rightfully take over Cintra's rulership. Menno Coehoorn, Cintra's current governor, is agonizing over this matter."

Yennefer continued. "Vissegerd, who survived the war, is taking in the refugees with the support of the king of Brugge. He's gathering an army to reclaim their lost home, and they too are searching for Ciri."

The princess' smile disappeared, and she felt trepidation setting in her heart. Quietly, she leaned against Gryphon, feeling its warmth and heartbeat.

"I know, Yen. Even without those people, there are already two men out there searching for her. A knight from Nilfgaard and a sorcerer who looks like a mercenary, but what of it? Destiny still led me to the girl." Geralt looked at the princess, his face softening up. Ever since he found Ciri, he had decided to never let go of her. Relenting would only invite an even harsher punishment from Destiny, but it would only fall on the girl.

"My brothers and I shall protect her. She can grow without worries under our wing."

"So that means you're not going to hand her over to anyone?" Yennefer had a look that said, I knew it.

Yennefer looked at the girl on the griffin's back, and pity filled her face. "So what's the plan? Will you raise her like she's a regular human so she can live her life in peace? Or will you turn her into a witcher like the children? Will you let her take the ridiculous potion made up of proprietary decoctions, special fungus, and shrooms? What then? She'll undergo that deadly Trial and go through hell for a measly chance at survival? Only three out of ten manage to become witchers, as I'm sure you know."

"I-I want to be a witcher!" shouted Ciri. She leapt down from the griffin and quickly approached Geralt. The girl held his hand and swayed his arm, pleading, "I want to be a sportsperson like Geralt. A monster hunter!"

"You foolish girl!" Yennefer narrowed her eyes and held Ciri's other hand, pulling her closer. "You do not know what this means at all. You are still young, and you require proper guidance to train your powers. Taking potions and decoctions to gain strength is not the best way to go about this!"

Shocked by Yennefer's imperious command, the girl took a few steps back until she could barely smell the lilac and gooseberries coming off her.

Geralt fell into a dilemma. After a discussion with the brotherhood, he did consider having Ciri undergo witcher training and become the first girl to go through the mutation. The dangers awaiting her were many and lethal. She must have enough strength to protect herself, but they hadn't started preparations yet.

"There's nothing wrong with the potions. After Lytta and Kalkstein's modifications, the Trial is perfectly safe now." Auckes crossed his arms, puffing his chest out. He was a little displeased, and he looked at Yennefer quizzically. "You seem to have a deep-set prejudice against witchers."

"I am just stating the facts." Yennefer smiled arrogantly and held the edges of Ciri's cheeks gently. "Open your mouth and say 'Ahh'." The sorceress checked Ciri's teeth like she was a horse.

Ciri quickly shook her head free of the sorceress and harrumphed, trying to bite her hand. Yennefer grabbed the girl's cheeks and pulled on them like they were balls of dough. "She's just ten. Barely starting to grow. Your potions will affect her body's growth, akin to forcing a chick to grow into a chicken in mere weeks. Yes, she will grow faster, but at the expense of her potential, just like you, Geralt."

Yennefer looked at her long-lost lover and sighed. "You used to be a Source, but that mutation back when you were a child destroyed your potential. Witcher potions will scramble her hormones and fry her endocrine system. Heavy physical and swordsmanship training will also change the composition of her body and muscles. It'll also take away her feminine physical traits. Ciri will grow up hating you for this, do you understand?"

"She has a point." Auckes stole a glance at Yennefer's generous bosom, then he looked at Ciri. The witcher imagined a woman with a cute face but paired with an overly muscular body with pecs instead of a soft chest. He shivered. She thinks a lot further than we do.

"It's still not too late. Ciri's as healthy as she can be," said Geralt, looking at Yennefer. "Any suggestions?"

"Appropriate training." Yennefer raised her chin and circled Ciri, sizing her up like she was merchandise. The girl shivered in fear. She had to convince herself that Yennefer meant her no harm. "General classes and some self-defense classes. It's a tough world out there. These training sessions will come in handy should she find herself in sticky situations. You're not her nannies. You cannot keep an eye on her at all times."

"We were already planning on doing that." Geralt nodded.

"Oh, so I can jump around the stakes and have the juice the boys are taking?" Ciri jumped around, happy as a rabbit, her eyes glinting with anticipation.

"Oh, those concoctions are no simple drinks. They're special medicines made to strengthen the body. Bitter as a gourd." A bloodthirsty smile curled Auckes' lips. "And you're going to beg us to stop training you eventually, Ciri."

Ciri curled her spindly forearms. "Don't underestimate me. I've fought the crybaby, tilled the fields, and reared chickens. I'm not as weak as you think."

Yennefer held Ciri's shoulder tightly. She couldn't imagine the pampered princess going through the kind of hell a child like her shouldn't. "Two. She can't just stay here forever. This is a good place to raise children into decent human beings, yes, but Ciri's in a delicate position. She can't stay in one place for long, or the intelligence teams will find out where she is. You, Geralt, have to be careful. There are people out there who know of your connection with Ciri. They might get to her through you."

Yennefer said coldly, "You need to show her the wider world sometimes. Show her what this world has to offer, and make sure to stay out of trouble."

Ciri held Yennefer's hand tightly and looked at her with worship and gratitude. I'm sorry for doubting you, Lady Yennefer. So you do know my wish. Thank you for telling Geralt to take me on adventures.

"I will, but only after the war has ended. The paths will be less dangerous then." Roy told him the same thing before, so Geralt hadn't left Novigrad lately. Still, it was time to contact their allies and set up some defenses against the spies. "We'll be going sightseeing. The Temple of Melitele in Ellander, for example. But first, we'll be taking her to Skellige Isles. There's someone she must see."

Ciri clasped her hands to her mouth, delight flaring in her eyes. We're finally going to see Calanthe? She didn't say that out loud, however. Geralt had told her to never leak the secret that her grandmother was still alive.

"Why Skellige?" Yennefer asked.

Geralt said nothing. Displeasure flashed in Yennefer's eyes, and she raised her head, but she didn't press further. "Three, and this is the most important point." Solemnity painted Yennefer's face. "You might have missed this, but I didn't. As a sorceress, from the moment I touched Ciri, I knew what kind of existence she must be."

"What is she?" Geralt asked.

"A Source."

"Impossible." Geralt shook his head. "The medallion didn't react to her, nor did she display any magic."

"Because she does not know of her potential, let alone use it. Her talent has been dormant all this time, never showing itself. Yet that does not change the fact that her latent potential has been slowly and safely mingling with the chaos energy around her. Her talent for magic might be one of its kind. Surely you still remember who her mother was. What her mother was."

Geralt fell silent as he was reminded of an event that happened ten years ago. During the ball Calanthe held to pick a potential partner for Pavetta, the late princess hovered in the air and let out a scream, her magic knocking everything over in the whole ballroom. Ciri inherited her mother's talent for magic? I wonder if that's a blessing or a curse.

"Lady Yennefer." Auckes' gaze took on a hostile hue. "You aren't taking the girl to Aretuza, are you?"

"Your worries are unfounded." Yennefer frowned and combed Ciri's hair with her fingers. "The sorcerers have long since stopped scouring for sources and children with a proclivity for magic. They have long since stopped snatching children away from their parents. The people who are smart enough will enroll their magically talented children to our academy. I will not take Ciri away from you, and I will keep everything a secret." Yennefer looked solemn, and she spoke softly but firmly. "That I can promise you, Geralt."

"I've never doubted you, Yen." Geralt finally had a chance to show his feelings for her.

"In case our little Source's magic goes out of control and hurts the other kids, I'll be staying around to guide her." Yennefer finally said her goal. "Until she masters the rudimentary control over magic."

"Lady Yennefer, can I use magic to fly in the sky like Gryphon?" Ciri's eyes shone.

"No. At most you can hover a few feet off the ground. A sorceress needs at least decades of training. At most, you can learn a trick or two over the course of your training, and that's only when you work for it. But if you keep it up, someday you will be an illustrious sorceress yourself." A pause later, a hint of respect flashed in Yennefer's eyes. "Just like Vilgerfortz."

"I promise!" Ciri looked ecstatic. In her naive mind, sword and sorcery were interesting games.

Geralt nodded and looked at the dazzling sorceress. "We'll be arranging a magic class for Ciri on top of her general class and physical education. But will this get in the way of your work?"

"So what if it does? Will you compensate me in any way?" Yennefer gave the White Wolf a look, her lips glistening lustrously, inviting the witcher to come closer.

Geralt looked away.

"My only job is to educate Ciri. If you don't mind, how about I start her first session right now?" Yennefer looked at the witchers and held Ciri's hand. "You can introduce the other members and the kids to me at dinner."

Roy was done watching the exchange. He cut off the vision and descended the staircase that led into a brightly-lit lab.

A curvaceous sorceress in a black dress stood before the Arcane Enchanter, colorful chaos energy swirling around her fingers, runes covering a perfectly shining plate armor in the center of the table.

That was the plate armor Eorlund made for Roy back in Skyrim. The one birthed by the Skyforge and came with 40% fire resistance.

"Ah, just in time." Noticing Roy's presence, Lytta motioned at him to come closer. "Try your new armor on. I changed the enchantment into Halo of Flames. It'll cover you with a layer of an invisible barrier of flames once activated. Anyone who gets close to you will be damaged over time. You, of course, are exempt from this effect. Whenever the effect is not in use, the armor will absorb the chaos energy lingering in the air. Once fully charged, the armor can last for half an hour."

"That is outstanding enough, Coral." Roy took off his leather armor, and Lytta straightened out his collar for him.

"Evelyn has replanted thirty types of Skyrim herbs, but she'll need to grow them for a year or two before they can be used in any concoction." Coral straightened out his sleeves and collar as she gently told him what the brotherhood's members were doing.

"Letho and Kiyan have made modifications to Thunderbolt using the herbs you brought back. That's the first decoction they worked on. Its effect is now raised by twenty percent. Vesemir has almost figured out the process behind the making of this set of armor, but we do not have the skills to recreate it, let alone turn the dragon scales and bones into anything usable. We are in dire need of a master armorsmith."

Time to seek out Berengar, I guess.

Noticing the look on Roy's face, Coral said, "While you and Geralt were searching for Ciri, Vesemir had taken off to Vizima to search for Berengar, but the lone Wolf is still traveling across the continent. He will not return for a year or two."

Roy rubbed his chin and tried his best to come up with the names of any possible swordsmith and armorer. Since the timeline wasn't there yet, he had no idea where Hattori, Novigrad's famed elven blacksmith, and Yoana, the blacksmith of Velen, could be found.

The only place he knew that housed master armorers was the Skellige Isles. On the isle of Undvik, a clan by the name of Tordarroch stood tall. They had the most talented blacksmiths and the best forges on their side. Just as well, Roy was traveling to Skellige soon to investigate Ortolan and find a lead on Idarran. He could deal with two matters at the same time, so he told Coral about his plan.

"Visenna had news for us. Suspected sightings of the red light in the druid circle in Mayena and the one near Sodden. The culprit is still unknown."

Roy nodded. The cleansing light was not a threat to them just yet, so he was not worried. "Ah, I almost forgot. Yennefer has arrived at the orphanage. You can talk to her when you see fit."

"Oh, the raven-haired woman from Vengerberg." Liotta's eyes glinted.

"You know her?"

"Acquaintances, I'd wager, but she's an arrogant woman. Hard to approach." Lytta brushed a finger across Roy's cheek. "Heard it's because of her modification. Went too far into the deep end and modified her personality. First me, then Triss, and now Yennefer." Lytta took on a quizzical tone, her eyes fixed on Roy. "What are you thinking, dragging us all into your brotherhood? We know each other."

"Don't take this the wrong way." Roy shook his head quickly. "Yennefer and Geralt had some entanglements between them to settle, so … so I lent them a hand."

Coral bought the story, though only just. "Now that the Battle of Sodden Hill is over, can I go back to the brotherhood and Aretuza?"

That shocked Roy. "Why are you going back?" The witcher was a little uneasy about her departure.

"I didn't sell myself to the brotherhood. Even witchers get to enjoy a hot bath and good wine during their downtime. Sorcerers get to take a little break to enjoy the success of their experiments, don't you think?"

Rou couldn't argue with that.

"Don't worry. I'm just going to see some old friends, then I'll be back. They're all ladies." Coral rested her head on Boy's shoulder.

Roy looked at her soft, flawless face. "Don't get into any of the organization's plans. Don't jump into anything political. And stay away from Tissaia. She's a stubborn one. Same goes for Philippa Eilhart and everyone in the brotherhood. Especially Vilgefortz and the Daisy of the Valleys."

"By that you mean Lady Francesca Findabair?"

"Yes. She's a gorgeous woman, as I'm sure you know, but she's hiding a big secret underneath her beauty. You'd best stay far, far away from her." Scoia'tael should show themselves soon. "I'll explain next time."

Chapter 517

A silver line extended across the horizon, heralding the coming of dawn. A cloaked silhouette leapt out of the Worldgate, appearing within the bedchambers of Bran, ruler of Skellige. Roy looked at the bed. A plump Calanthe was sound asleep, and the witcher made his way to the windowsill. He fired a bolt into the air and reappeared right beside the bed. As Roy reached his destination, he let off another bolt, this time hurtling toward the top of the building.

The witcher disappeared and reappeared beside the second bolt, landing on the roof, and he stared into the distance. What greeted him were the six isles of Skellige. On the west coast was the lush island of Spikeroog, its fanglike outline and cliffs standing tall against the waves, the top of its mount hidden behind the blanket of clouds.

In the south was Ard Skellig. The southern part of Ard Skellig was made of even land, while its northern part was a deep fjord. The conical island of Hindarsfjall sat in the southeast. According to the clue Triss gave him, that was where Ortolan was residing.

Standing behind Ard Skellig was a lone island by the name of Faroe, isolated from the other isles. It looked like the exposed back of a whale. In the west was the isle of Undvik, the other destination Roy wanted to visit. It was home to Clan Tordarroch. Roy peered further beyond and saw seagulls, cormorants, and swallows congregating on the cliffs.

"This is going to be a big undertaking, so I should start with the simple tasks." The young witcher fired a bolt and disappeared from the roof, reappearing on ground level a moment later. He couldn't teleport right away to Undvik, so he needed a boat to ferry him across the strait.

He could use Aerondight's power and walk on water, but Roy wanted to ride a boat. Sailing on a boat alone while watching the endless seas churning and crashing was an interesting thing to do. And he could farm a bit of EXP while he was at it.

Through a path between the serene woods Roy traversed. The young witcher made his way toward Urialla Harbor, a place located in the southern part of An Skellig.

The isles were located far, far away from the main continent, greenery covering almost every single place. Colorful flowers blossomed in full bloom everywhere, accompanied by a great stretch of bushes and woods that were home to centuries-old oak and pine trees.

There was the occasional house tucked between the woods, bizarre fishes laid out on the wooden rack in the houses' yard to dry. The islanders' skin was red and tough, courtesy of their constant exposure to the sea breeze. Most draped themselves with the skin of seals. All of them had some form of weaponry tucked at their buckles. These people would not shy away from a fight.

The witcher noticed an abundance of a certain goddess' statue standing around the isle. The statue of Freya. Ladies of all ages, even pregnant ones, would stand before the statues. They wore oversized robes, standing straight up. Roy couldn't see much of their faces. The ladies would bow their heads and put their hands before their chests in a prayer. The young witcher also noticed that they were wearing a necklace around their necks.

A stone vat sat on the altar before the statues. Around it were smaller statues. Statues of animals sacred to Freya: cats and eagles.

Like how most people in the northern part of the continent worshiped Melitele, the people of the isles and kingdoms neighboring the sea mostly put their faith in the goddess, Freya. The goddess was the patron saint of fertility, romance, beauty, and harvest. She was the guardian spirit of oracles, fortune-tellers, and spirit mediums. 𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒓𝙚𝙖𝙙.𝓬𝙤𝙢

The Continent's people thought Freya and Melitele were one and the same, but that statement was sacrilege in the eyes of the islanders.

Roy suspected that Freya might be blessing him, since he wasn't attacked by any of the local monsters. He thought he'd run into armored arachas, werewolves, or even harpies, but no. He didn't even run into any bandits. The witcher arrived at the harbor without so much as a scratch.

His first thought about the harbor? It was rundown. A far cry from the bustling port of Novigrad. There were only a dozen regular houses, inns, smithies, and warehouses dotting the wooden port. The buildings looked rugged and had no intricate patterns adorning their walls. These structures were built with practicality in mind. Like its people, aesthetics weren't something they cared about.

A few ships were docked at the harbor. Some of them were drakkars, ships made for the military. The bronze shields that hung by their sides shimmered under the sun. There were also barges used to carry shipment. Those were employed by merchants who came all the way to Skellige Isles for trade.

Guards with horned helms and brigandine armor patrolled around the ships, peering sharply at the people walking around, and they paid special attention to Roy, who was covered in a black cloak. The guards kept an eye on him until he went into The Cane Toad.

A circle of old, rectangular tables surrounded a big bonfire in the center of the tavern. Patrons sat around the tables, drinking and feasting away. This place reminded him of the inn back in Skyrim, but unlike Skyrim, there were no birds around playing decadent tunes with the lute. The islanders did not take particular interest in poetry. Though they took a long time to get to the point.

They were far more interested in boxing matches.

"A mandrake cordial, please." Roy sat before the counter and whipped out ten coppers. Skellige Isles had a trade route that led to Novigrad, so they accepted crowns here. The cheapest alcohol around these parts would be mandrake cordial and cherry cider.

The bartender with a bush of gray mustache tucked the coins into his apron and filled a mug to the brim with mandrake cordial for Roy. The islanders loved their alcohol, partly because it could help with the biting winds from the seas. Thanks to that, they had bigger mugs than most places, and they didn't cost more either.

"First time 'ere in Skellige? Ye gotta try our famous pickled auk. 'Tis succulent." The bartender grinned.

Roy shivered and shook his head, then he slammed five coppers onto the counter. "Got a question for you. There's a clan called Tordarrach on Undvik. Everyone's a blacksmith there, correct? Some of them master blacksmiths too, right? Capable of making great weapons and armor?"

"Aye. 'Tis as ye say, Clan Tordarroch has the best blacksmiths and forge in Skellige… nay, the whole world." The bartender's eyes gleamed, his mustache swaying. Proudly, he proclaimed, "They made the sword His Majesty uses. Ter be honest with ye, everyone in Skellige would love to have a weapon made by one o' 'em. Ain't all sunshine and roses with 'em, though. Numbers been dwindling' lately, an' so are the good blacksmiths. Limited production every year, so they cost a fortune. An' ye can't buy them just cause he got coin. Ye have to be privileged too. Only those who pass their test can purchase one of them gear." The bartender smiled mysteriously. "If yer interested, ye best be prepared."

Huh, that's odd. Didn't know they had that kind of system in this world. Roy nodded and downed the tart cordial, then he grinned. "What about the ships? Need to board one to get to Undvik."

"Aye, bad timing', lad." The bartender cleaned a mug, looking downcast. "Tourism only gets a boost in summer days. 'Bout five ships taking tourists round the isles every day. Off season now though, so ships only come once in three days. An' it just left yesterday."

"Cherry cider, please. Can I rent a boat, then? Just by myself."

"Laddie, that ain't worth it, to be honest." The bartender looked at the young witcher. Ain't lookin' like them rich kids. "Yer gotta spend at least a hundred crowns."

"Ah, it's not what you think. I won't be using anything big." Roy held up his right thumb and index finger, and he smiled. "Just a fishing boat for one. And an oar."

The bartender froze, and he warned solemnly, "Yer not joking', are ye? 'Tis a long way away from Undvik. Even drakkars gotta take a whole day and night just to get to Undvik from the port. Ye gotta brace for undercurrents, reefs, and thunderstorms on yer way, but that's not all. Echidnas. An army o' 'em on the sea. E'er seen those monsters?"

The bartender animatedly described, "They 'have fishlike tails and scales, evil wings like them bats, maws filled with incisors, and claws so sharp, they can tear leather apart like they're nothing'. They can fly and travel underwater. Loves attacking boats that travel by. Ain't picky 'about their food, that's for sure. Fish and freshly decaying human flesh? Feast for them. Ye try sailing' alone to Undvik, and I guarantee ye that the echidna's gonna swoop down on ye and gobble it up 'fore ye can even make it one-third of the wa—"

The bartender stopped talking as Roy took his sunglasses down and revealed a pair of multicolored eyes. His gaze was sharp and almost blindingly bright, like gold and silver shimmering under the sun. It was almost terrifying. "Should they come for me, then they best be prepared to die. Just as well that I need them for some decoctions."

A golden sun hung high in the blue, blue skies, its rays piercing through the thin blanket of fog swaying on the surface of the seas, the silhouette of a long wooden boat slowly emerging from the mist. The vessel was alone on the vast sea, small and seemingly weak against nature.

The witcher sat in the center of the boat, his back straight, and he pulled his oar back with all his might. The wooden oar swept through the water, pushing Roy away from An Skellig, slowly driving him toward Undvik.𝓵𝙞𝙗𝙧𝙚𝒂𝙙.𝓬𝒐𝒎

Rowing a boat was more tiring than the witcher expected. It was far easier when he was with Coral, since she would drive the boat forward with magic anyway. The sun was shining down warmly, but the winds of the sea were howling and cutting across anything they set their sights on.

Icebergs of different shapes and sizes bobbed around the sea. Some were too small to even let anyone stand on, while some were as big as a drakkar. Islets dotted the seas like houses on a street, seagulls perching on them and making weird noises.

Sailing in the fog were silhouettes of ships, their sails reflecting the sun's shine. Barrels trapped in a net floated around the sea, perhaps a shipment of a vessel long sunken. Roy rowed his boat closer to the barrels and knocked on one. The first thing he heard was the sloshing of liquid coming from within.

A smile curled his lips, and he cut the net open, then he took a barrel onto his boat and summoned Aerondight. The witcher poked a hole on the top of the barrel, and the scent of wine wafted into the air, filling the air with a tinge of sourness. "Wine, eh?"

Roy leaned on the bow and put a hand behind his head, holding up a glass of wine, then he took a sip. The witcher basked in the whispers of the sea breeze, enjoying the show of dolphins leaping across the waters, their jumps a perfect performance. The boat swayed along with the waves, and Roy felt like he was on a swing. I could do this all day.

But he didn't. Half an hour later, the witcher, finally having his fill of food and rest, kept rowing toward Undvik. The island looked close, but it was still far away.

Eventually, the sun reached its zenith, and Roy's peaceful trip came to an end when his boat started to violently shake. The witcher paused for a moment, his eyes going wide, his languid demeanor replaced by excitement.

Roy tucked his oar away and quickly covered himself with Quen.

A screech came from beneath, and the silhouette that had been ramming the boat broke through the surface, taking to the air. The sun shone on it, revealing a green, slender body. It was like a cobalt serpent, fully decked out with wings as big as a vampire's. On the tip of its wings, curved blades protruded.

Its upper body resembled a woman, but only just. The claws on its elbow were curved as well, and black fur covered the back of its paws. The monster had a petite nose and an incisor-filled maw, its black hair covering its ears and eyes of bloodlust. The lower part of its body was a long, slender, and sharp tail, its green scales smooth and gleaming. Triangular fins jutted from both sides of the midsection of its tail.

'Ekhidna

Age: Five years old

HP: 150

Mana: [Not stated]

Strength: 13

Dexterity: 14

Constitution: 15

Perception: 12

Will: 6

Charisma: 3

Spirit: 5

Skills:

Chimera (Passive): Like harpies and erynias, both of which are close relatives to the ekhidna, this creature possesses the strengths of eagles and fish. They can fly and move in water, possess a powerful gut, giving them the ability to consume rotten and fresh meat. That includes human flesh. +4 to Dexterity, Constitution, and Perception.'

The ekhidna charged at the witcher like a gust of wind, the air howling as it launched into the offensive.

A flash of white hurtled across the air, then the bolt rammed straight into the echidna's chest, blasting a bloody hole through its body. With a howl, the ekhidna fell. Roy bent down slightly and leapt at the falling creature, swinging his crimson blade down.

Blood fell like a little downpour of rain, and the parts of the monster's corpse fell into the sea, drenching it red.

'Ekhidna killed. +150 EXP. Level 12 Witcher (11350/12500).'

Roy held up Aerondight, its enchantment allowing the witcher to walk on the sea. He then picked up the upper part of the dead ekhidna and hauled it back to the boat. Before he could cut it up, a blast echoed across the waters a few dozen yards away, where the undercurrents were. And then a group of echidnas appeared.

The scent of their kin's blood whipped them into a frenzy, and they charged right at the witcher without any care for their safety.

Roy held Aerondight in his right hand and Gabriel in his left. He stood on the surface of the sea, unmoving and unfazed, facing the monsters as they came. One, two, three, four, and five.

The five echidnas let out horrible shrieks, their eyes glinting crimson as they surrounded the witcher.

Roy fired a bolt and disappeared into thin air, plunging the monsters into confusion. And then a howl pierced the air, as the blossom of a bloody flower tainted the air. The ekhidna in the center of this group had a hole in its chest, and a blade was buried in its skull from the top.

Like a rider, Roy stood on its wings and pulled his blade out. He flicked the blood off Aerondight, swaying as the monster struggled in its death throes, his hair billowing in the winds.

Once again, the witcher disappeared, and another ekhidna had its life taken away before it could even do anything. A bolt pierced through its body, and a blade sliced into its flesh. Like a kite without a string, it slowly fell into the sea, leaving nothing but blood and feathers behind.

The remaining monsters couldn't even react to the witcher's movements. They tried their best to attack, but none could predict where the witcher would appear. They wanted to escape, but the bolts were faster.

Another fell, then another, and another. Blood filled the air with quick succession as Roy darted around the monsters, quick as a bolt of deadly lightning. The witcher's attacks even left afterimages from the sheer speed he was moving at.

An invisible stage stood beneath the witcher and the echidnas. Like a reaper of souls, the witcher danced around, swinging his blade of death at the souls of the damned, taking them into the afterlife.

The battle, or to be exact, the massacre, came to an end in five seconds, and a few bloody corpses were floating on the sea.

Roy stood on the surface of the waters, cleaning the blood on his body slowly, then he picked up the corpses and looted them, gaining three blue mutagens from the echidnas.

'(5) echidnas killed. +750 EXP. Level 12 Witcher (12100/12500).'

Roy sat on the bow of his boat and let out a loud whistle as he rowed the boat ahead again. "At this rate, I should be able to fill my EXP bar before I get to Undvik."

Chapter 518

The door and windows of the conference hall were shut tight. A trio of candelabras shone gently upon the room, but the look on the sorceress' face was icy. Her arms were crossed, and she was looking at a girl in a green floral dress who had a morose look on her face.

A stack of papers with bizarre patterns on them as well as a quill sat on the table. "We're going on with the magic test, you ugly duckling." Yennefer looked at Ciri, her violet eyes filled with solemn warning. "Same requirement. Answer them with honesty and resolve."

"But I don't want to go through the test anymore!" Ciri fidgeted, the overly-hard stool hurting her behind. Stubbornly, the girl protested, "It's been three days, and the test takes up the whole afternoon. I keep having to draw stars, moons, animals, and houses that look like mazes. What does that have to do with magic, Lady Yennefer? I wanna learn how to light candles with nothing but my hand; I want to learn how to breathe underwater; I want to learn how to make bread and water out of nothing when I'm hungry. And I want to learn how to fly like Gryphon, not sit here drawing random art. Are you a sorceress or an artist?"

The test had gone on for three days, and Ciri was getting stiff and sore from it, the soreness getting worse with each passing day. Yennefer's classes were a lot more boring than what she had in mind. She swore she was seeing stars at one point, but Yennefer wouldn't allow her to even lose focus. That was ridiculous. She was a child, so of course she would be distracted.

Ciri was starting to miss the days she could play with her friends in the yards, messing around with the chickens and Roy's dog. She missed seeing Kiyan and taking naps in the classroom.

"I'm going to say this once more: magic is a multifaceted subject. It is an art and a form of science." Yennefer held Ciri's delicate hands and pried her fingers apart. "If you do not learn how to draw, you'll be left with clumsy fingers. You'll be making gestures uglier than a toad. The other sorcerers will be laughing at you."

"And how do you know I have the talent for magic even before I am tested?" Ciri crossed her arms and harrumphed, swiveling on the stool and showing her back to Yennefer. The girl let out a childlike roar. "I don't want to draw these stupid animals. I'm saying it. I don't have any talent for magic, and I don't want to learn magic anymore."

"Vetoed." Yennefer shook her head. Matter-of-factly, she said, "You are fated to walk the path of magic."

"No! I wanna learn how to swing a sword like Carl and Monti!" And then the girl let out a gasp, clutching her reddening forehead. She sniffled, tears glistening in her eyes.

Yennefer massaged her index finger. "Have you forgotten what you promised Geralt and me? You'll do as you're told even if the assignments are arduous. You'll keep pushing on in earnest no matter how hard things get. It's just the third day now, and you're already going back on your word? Everyone's going to look down on you if they know. The witcher apprentices, the soon-to-be alchemists, the fledgling blacksmiths… You're a Cintran. You're known for facing challenges head on. Show that spirit."

"This is child abuse, Grandma Yennefer!"

The air in the conference hall dropped a few degrees, and Yennefer shot the girl a dangerous look.

"You can't just order me around." Ciri leapt out of the chair, looking up at Yennefer. She then realized she had a few points she could exploit, so she put her hands behind her back in an attempt to look more mature. Stubbornly, the girl stared into Yennefer's eyes and seriously said, "First creed of the brotherhood: equality. You want me to listen to you, then you have to follow that rule too."

Yennefer chuckled. "You have one thing wrong. I am not a part of the brotherhood, but I've been genuine with you, you ugly duckling."

"And stop calling me that! The girls say that I'm the prettiest one around this place. I'm as pretty as Vicki herself! There are boys out there who like me. Stole glances at me while I was moving around in the yard."

"Because they pity you." Yennefer pinched the girl's nose, her eyes flashing with sympathy, and Ciri caught that. It made her nervous. "They were thinking how could someone look so ugly. Nose as big as a boy's, lips too thin, weird green eyes, and squiggly brows. They were wondering if you could marry yourself off someday."

"Um, be honest with me. Am I that ugly?" Ciri clasped her hands together before her chest and stared at Yennefer wide-eyed, her voice dejected.

"You can cry if you want, but you don't have to feel bad about it. Maybe someday you'll grow up to be a swan."

"I won't cry. You're trying to trick me again, aren't you? If you're really genuine with me, then answer my question. If you do, I'll go back to drawing." Mischief flitted within Ciri's eyes. She was reminded of a certain something Roy told her.

"Ask away."

"I heard you have a wooden statue of a unicorn? I've had a go with a griffin, so can you magic the statue away and give it life so I can ride it?"

"No! And you're going to forget about that! You are not allowed to mention it ever again!" Reminded of a… more colorful past, Yennefer's cheeks turned pink. "Now go back to your seat. Take the quill and lay out the paper. You're drawing the obsidian I'm wearing around my neck now."

"Hey, that wasn't very genuine, Lady Yennefer. How come you and Geralt get to ride the unicorn but I can't?"

"That bastard told you the story? Geralt, she's just a child!"

Geralt was in the woods, watching over the children as they dug up potatoes. He sneezed and rubbed his nose, a feeling of unease welling in his heart.

"You've gotten old, Geralt. She's just one sorceress, and already you couldn't handle her?" Lambert winked at Geralt. "Might want to come to the Pike's Grotto with me and change things up."

"Sod off." Geralt winced a little, and he was starting to wonder what he did wrong to annoy Yen.

Waves crashed against the reef of the Skellige Isles, and Roy's boat slowly waded through the freezing waters, bumping into the golden sands gently. The bow broke through the soft sand, lodging itself into the ground. Golden rays of sunshine shone on the witcher, lending a bit of glitter to his cloak.

The witcher had been rowing for two days, and the air around him was filled with the stench of blood and sweat. Roy quickly pulled the boat to a nearby bush and hid it there. He then dragged his feet across the sands and disappeared behind a row of weeping golden willows.

Undvik was still a beautiful place untainted by the ice giant that would rampage across its land ten years later, leaving nothing but desolation and dens of beasts in its wake. Thanks to its good geolocation, Undvik was the second most popular isles among the six, attracting a huge number of tourists every year to marvel at its beautiful scenery and feast on the best seafood and local delicacies.

Roy sauntered down a path within the woods, signposts pointing where he needed to go. He ran into a wolf on his way to his destination. Well, the body of a wolf that was cleaved in two. Must be the handiwork of the locals.

He noticed tourists ambling down the sides of the path. Judging from their fashion style, there were people from Redania, Temeria, and Aedirn. These tourists were even outnumbering the locals.

An hour later, Roy finally came to a human settlement in the northern part of the island—Marlin Coast. The roads of the coast were huge, and around it were dozens of houses made of stone bricks. Along the streets, merchants of Skellige Isles trundled along, selling their wares. Some were homemade marlin pies, some were selling smoked whale meat, some peddled the isles' herbs, while some were selling colorful and beautiful trinkets. Useless stones and mementos.

The witcher noticed one half naked Skellige man with a hat made out of auk feathers selling pickled shark meat. The stench from the fermented urine alone almost made Roy think there was a monster nearby.

There were of course real and valuable merchandise, like ambergris and premium sturgeon caviar. On the flip side, there were also numerous types of bizarre products, a couple of them being erynia jerky and ekhidna jerky. These monsters were abundant around the isles, and Roy felt slightly amused seeing them. These monsters are slightly poisonous. Guess the islanders have great poison resistance.

Roy came to a stop before a gaunt and tanned merchant. He spent ten coppers on a piece of pickled shark meat. It was gray and the size of his palm. The young witcher held his breath and tucked it away in his inventory space. Hope you like this present, kids. "So how can I get to Clan Tordarroch's turf?"

"Their clan lives in Cod Town. It's in the south near the mountains. Just follow the signposts and head south. Ye can't miss it." The merchant sized the witcher up. "Ye wanna buy something' off 'em?"

"Yes."

"Buy some smoked whale meat and I'll give you some advice."

What do you know, kids? More presents.

"The Tordarrach are proud fellas, that I can tell you. Only sells the finest weapons to true warriors," said the merchant proudly. "'This is why they always require potential clients to pass their trial. Only those who can pass the trial and prove their bravery can purchase their wares. Heard their family ran into some sorta trouble lately. Quite a few of their clansmen died. Reckon the trial's going to be tough."

"Can I buy my way through it?"

"Ye can try, certainly. The clan's been 'ere for generations. Loves the art of blacksmithing as much as them Mahakam dwarves. Spent all their lives improving the art. Coin ain't mean nuthin' ter 'em."

"I see. May Freya bless you. See you around."

Cod Town was a more bustling place compared to Marlin Coast. They had everything here, and tourists were a common sight on the streets. In the center of the town stood a building. Underneath the granite overhang was a blower and a forge with blazing flames within. A blacksmith with a leather apron and burly arms stood before the forge.

In his left hand were a pair of tongs. The blacksmith used it to hold a long piece of metal on an anvil, hammering away at it while turning it around. Clangs of metal hitting against metal rang out in the air, his sweat glistening from the shine of the forge's flames.

Sparks leapt onto his skin and stubble, but he was focused and undeterred, the pain failing to faze him. There was a rhythm to his work, like he was a conductor creating a new masterpiece. Roy was captivated by his movements, his heartbeat almost syncing to the beat of the blacksmith's hammer.

'Chamir Tordarroch

Age: 45 years old

Gender: Male

Status: Master blacksmith (Possesses blacksmithing skills on par with the dwarves. A master in armoring and weaponsmithing).'

There was a forge, anvil, whetstone, and workstation around him. Aside from that, there were also gardening tools and necessities like nails, a plough, bolts, rims, a hoe, a scythe, and pots and pans.

A few mercenaries and warriors stood around the smithy, covered in chainmail, brigandine, or fur armor. The men were decked out with all manners of weapon or carrying a circular shield on their backs. They were also wearing winged helms.

The men's eyes were glued to the master blacksmith, their harried and tired eyes filled with anticipation. Anticipation for the creation of a new, powerful weapon.

And then the final strike. Chamir took away the metal that was starting to look like a sword.

The witcher stepped into the smithy, passing by all the men outside. The mercenaries did not stop him. Instead, they gave the witcher looks of mockery and disdain.

"Hello, Chamir. My name is Auckes, here on a visit. The reputation of your clan's blacksmithing skills precedes y—"

Chamir took his cotton gloves off and turned his attention to the witcher. With a voice as firm as the movements of his work, he said, "Sorry, but the foundry's been inflicted with a heavy blow lately. We can't use the best forge to create the best weapons. No good item, I'm afraid. Only regular ones, and you have some rules to follow. Get to the back of the line." There was a hint of exhaustion in his eyes.

"To be honest, I'm not here to purchase anything." Roy shook his head, and he requested, "I'd like to employ the services of your clan's better blacksmiths—you, for example—and have them work in another place. I can pay handsomely."

"Sorry, but that's not possible. There are only three good blacksmiths left in the family right now. For generations, we've lived in Undvik. Used to everything this place has to offer. From its environment to the food. Can't go anywhere else," Chamir refused adamantly. "The king himself and Crash of Clan Crate tried to employ our services, but we refused. Not to mention two of our kin are missing."

A man with a big forehead and an even bigger nose roared raucously. "Am I hearing things? The blasted punk thinks he can employ a master blacksmith's services? He'd be lucky to even purchase any of Clan Tordarroch's items!"

"That's enough, lad. Yer making a fool outta yourself," a monster hunter said.

Another burly man with chainmail armor and a warhammer roared, "Yer skinnier than me arm. Betcha can't even swing a hammer, and ya think ya can pass Chamir's trial? Get outta here before you make a fool of yourself!"

The men outside were jeering and mocking the young witcher, but he ignored them. "I am of course not as influential as King Bran himself, but I also have a few blacksmiths back at my place. They would love to talk about the art of the trade over a few mugs of beer. And I am in possession of a precious blacksmithing component. Undvik, no, the isles, no. Not even the whole Continent has ever seen something quite like that, and I believe any blacksmith worth their salt would be interested in what I have to offer." Roy clenched his teeth and opened up his hand, revealing a piece of bone the size of his fist and a scale with a hue darker than night. The bone was covered with minute and exquisite runes.

Chamir's unfazed expression was wiped off. He then carefully and nervously took the dragon scale and bone from Roy, holding it millimeters away from his face. Moments later, the master blacksmith was breathing heavily.

The men outside the shop stopped bickering among themselves too, and then another man came out from a room within the smithy. He had golden hair that tumbled down his shoulders, and he donned expensive clothes. A young, lithe girl bobbed up and down while on the man's back, her ponytail swinging happily.

"What is it, Chamir? Another troubleman—" And the man's eyes were fixed on the items his companion was holding, unable to look away. As if caught in a spell, he tried to figure out what manner of beast the scale and bone were gleaned from, and he muttered under his breath, "Ore? No. Is it a bone? Not that either. Or is it alloy? No, no, no. I've never seen something quite like this. This needs a more thorough inspection. We need a more professional tool for this. A moment, please, Auckes. We'll be right back."

The blacksmiths quickly went into the room with the components even before Roy could give them permission.

Roy shook his head. He then turned his attention to the young lady, and his eyes shone, a little smile curling his lips. Yoana. Roy knew this girl. Nine years down the line, she would be working for a dwarf in Crow's Perch. Nine years later, she would become a master blacksmith. Now she was but a fifteen-year-old girl. She would have a slightly freckled face in the future, but now her skin was as smooth as porcelain. Despite her youthful looks, her Blacksmithing was already at Level 8. Talented. Very talented. She'll be a master blacksmith for sure.

The witcher's passionate gaze did not scare the girl. Instead, she puffed her chest. "Trying to get your hands on the world's best gear, Auckes? Then you must first prove your caliber as a warrior, or you're nothing but another scallywag who can only buy the regular items."

"I see." Curiosity flared within Roy's heart. "How should I prove my caliber, then? I heard your clan always comes up with a trial?" 𝑙𝒾𝒷𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥.𝒸𝑜𝘮

Yoana turned around and pursed her lips, worrying flitting in her eyes. "The best blacksmith of the family, Farik, led four warriors into the foundry and mine in the northern mountains. They were supposed to make something out of the components, yet they never came back. And then Okala gathered another team to search for them, and they didn't come back either. I suspect we have a monster infestation there."

She took a deep breath and raised her voice, "If you can find my uncles and take them back, dead or alive, then we will create a piece of the best gear you can ever find, free of charge. But of course, should my uncles be dead, then you must avenge them."

The hunter outside interrupted, "I say ye stay outta this, lad. Two fully-armed teams charged into the mine in search of the missing Tordarroch, and none came back. From what I've heard, them warriors are veterans. Experienced. Powerful. Killed even echidnas and erynias too, but they ain't even got a chance to come back with news. That mine in the north is a danger zone now. No one in Undvik is going to go there. Think it through. Them gear might be great, but it ain't worth throwing your life away for."

Roy mused over it. From what I know, the ice giant hibernating in the mountains won't wake until a few years later. Only then will it start to attack human settlements and kidnap the people and their livestock. That's the reason this whole place turned into hell. If the ice giant had woken up at this point, the coast and this whole village would've been destroyed. "Perhaps they ran into something else."

"Auckes." Chamir's father and Yoana's father came out of their room, reluctantly handing the components back to Roy. "What manner of beast did you get these from? They're of better quality than any components I know."

"If I give you the answer and let you do whatever you want with these components, will you let one of your blacksmiths come with me to Novigrad?" Roy asked.

"A tempting offer, but we're sorry." The blacksmiths exchanged a look and shook their heads. "Our clan is getting smaller by the day, and we can't afford to lose any more members."

Roy scanned his EXP bar. Filled. He had confidence, and he asked, "What if I were to search for Farik and Okala and come back with them? I can't guarantee they'll be alive, but I'll bring them back."

Chamir froze for a moment. In disbelief, he asked, "Is that a joke? That is reckless bravado, not bravery. Charging into the mountains alone is nothing short of a suicide mission."

"Unparalleled bravery. That's what the Isles are famous for. If I were to die, then I have nothing but my own weakness to blame."

Chamir and Yoana's father exchanged another look. "If you insist, then we shall only say this: you have our gratitude." Klaf gazed at the witcher. "This is the map leading to the forge, Auckes. If you can single-handedly return with Farik and Okala, then in the name of my clan, I shall travel to Novigrad with you and take up the mantle of your personal blacksmith. I think that's a fair enough arrangement, even with my clan's esteem."

"We have a deal."

"May Freya bless you."

Chapter 519

Undvik's mountains were not as vast as the Dragon Mountains or the Blue Mountains. To be exact, the whole island was smaller than any great city of the four northern kingdoms. The mountains were draped in a layer of snow, yet there was no perpetual fog shrouding its land, nor did it have any lush greenery. There was nothing but hard, protruding stone formations. The afternoon sun hung high in the skies, shining down upon no man's land.

Roy was ascending a narrow, meandering stone staircase. Given its distance from ore-rich places like Mahakan and Poviss and Kovir, the imported ore's prices skyrocketed to exorbitant levels. More than a century ago, Clan Tordarroch found a mine to satisfy their blacksmithing needs, though the reserves weren't as abundant as they'd hoped.

Every year after spring, the blacksmiths of the clan would enter the mountains for three months, creating the best weapons and armor with their ancestral forge. They would be accompanied by those who wished to purchase said items.

Until now, the rulers of these isles changed multiple times, but this tradition of the clan had never changed.

Until now.

Hours had gone by since the young witcher ascended the staircase, the woods and buildings underneath nothing but specks now. He could barely see them clearly. The temperature had reached freezing point, and the air was getting thinner as the altitude got higher.

Then the witcher froze. The path leading up to the mountainside had a crimson-brown patch on it. Judging from the shape, it was a projectile stain, and it'd been here for at least a week. The witcher scooped up a bit of the bloodstained soil and sniffed it. "Human blood."

Fits Yoana's description. Probably from a member of the search party. Haphazard footsteps were sighted near the bloodstain, all belonging to different types of boots. And there were also sets of non-humanoid footsteps.

It was obvious that the feet of these creatures had paw pads, and they were a lot heavier than the average humans. That would explain why the prints were deeper embedded into the soil. Roy fell into his thoughts. No. Not a giant. More like a bear. Judging from its size, it's about ten feet from head to toe. About five-foot-three in height if it's walking on all fours. Alright, it's a giant. 𝑙𝒾𝒷𝘳𝑒𝑎𝘥.𝒸ℴ𝓂

"Could this attack on the blacksmith be a bear assault?" The witcher followed the trail of blood and footprints, and they led him into a dark mine. The mine was deep and gigantic. Sturdy pine logs were made into wooden scaffolding to hold up the chamber's roof and walls. The paths in the mine sprawled around, weaving and winding into a maze.

On the sides of the walls were clear marks of digging. Sacks of refuse and rusted pickaxes were strewn across the path. Every few yards, there were torches hanging from the wall, and the witcher snapped his fingers, lighting them up.

Illumination filled the passage. The mine wasn't exactly stuffy or closed in. Roy could feel a gust of cold air coming from the other end of the darkness. He followed the faint smell of blood down the trail. Footprints were all over the paths, and they alternated between the different levels of the mine.

Roy also noticed claw marks on the walls. Bear claws. About half an hour later, he found another patch of dried blood on an inky ore. There was also a sliver of frozen mincemeat on it. Roy poked at it and took a whiff. Human male. Dead, more than probably. There were marks of a fight around the mincemeat. Shards of smashed boulders, tattered clothes, and weapons that were cleaved in half. The enemy's strength and defense must be incredible.

To the witcher's surprise, there was a third set of footprints, or hooves, as the witcher thought. Three toes, elliptical… Just like an ogre. Could there be an ice troll here? If that's the case, then it's no wonder the search parties got wiped out.

Roy came up with a plan. He sat down cross-legged and whipped out a bottle of ogroid oil and a bottle of frostbite spider venom he got from Skyrim as well as a bottle of paralyzing potion. He lathered it over Aerondight, and the blade started to gleam and shine.

Roy brushed his finger against the blade, and the metal sang. Like a cat, the witcher crouched a little, following a little trail that the creature left behind. A while later, Roy was met with a bright light, and the air was filled with some weird stench. He slowed his breathing for a moment.

A giant furnace the size of a pond stood beside the walls of the cave, and a bonfire was burning brightly beside it. A gigantic pine tree stood beside the fire, a great cauldron hanging from its branch. So big was the cauldron, a regular adult could sit in it easily. Something was stewing in the cauldron, filling the air with heat and aroma.

Roy hid behind a boulder and sniffed the air. "Meat, mandrake roots, basil…" Bizarre herbs, roots, buts, ale, and a ton of different ingredients inside. Whatever was cooking within smelled like great food and socks that'd been in the gutter for weeks. It made Roy's stomach churn on more levels than one.

Further on the left of the cauldron were a pair of silhouettes standing together, the light of the bonfire projecting their shadows onto the wall.

The creatures were about eight feet tall, most of their bodies covered in green ice. Their bellies, however, were round, yellow, and protruding, not unlike pregnant women. On their backs was armor as big as a tortoise's shell. Their heads were bald, their eyes beady and listless. Their noses were almost flattened, their fangs yellow.

These creatures looked almost silly, but…

'Ice Troll

Age: 89 years old

Gender: Male

HP: 300

Strength: 30

Dexterity: 12

Constitution: 30

Perception: 14

Will: 9

Charisma: 3

Spirit: 8

Skills:

Regeneration (Passive): All ogroids possess powerful self-regenerative abilities. Their metabolic rate far outstrips a lot of species. Any non-lethal wounds heal up in the blink of an eye. Immune to bleeding. Unlike rock trolls, ice trolls have no outward weaknesses.

Stone Toss Mastery Level 8

Freezing Physique (Passive): Ice trolls have great strength and sturdy bodies. Highly resistant to physical attacks. Sharp weapons are ineffective against them and will dull easily. +10 to Constitution and Strength. Battle power increases in cold weather.'

Even from afar, Roy looked solemn. There were no bears around, but the ice trolls alone were formidable enough. They had thirty points in Constitution, effectively giving them sturdy armor. And with their Strength, Quen would break in one hit, and then his ribs would be broken too. With how claustrophobic this place is, these trolls just became that much more dangerous, and we have a pair too. The female's obviously bigger, and she's on par with her mate.

The ice trolls were staring at the cauldron of stew, drool dripping down their disgusting teeth. They couldn't wait to dig into their feast.

Roy stared past the trolls and looked at what was behind them. There was a circular stone table surrounded by skeletons. Even from ten yards away, Roy could see that the skeletons belonged to animals of different types. Wolves, foxes, goats, falcons, and even humans. About a dozen humans. A few frozen human corpses lay beside the skeletons. Their flesh was intact, but one of them had lost an arm and a leg. I think I have an idea where the missing parts are. Roy looked at the cauldron.

A steel cage sat by its lonesome in the other corner of the chamber, taken up by one unkempt man. His golden hair was greasy and clumpy, covering most of his head, revealing only his wife, taut jaw. His oversized hands gripped the steel bars with all their might, his face squeezed against the bars as his eyes were fixed on the cauldron.

He seemed tremulous, perhaps from fear, the witcher surmised. He wore a grayish-white jacket, his body shivering. A steel plate covered in frost sat outside his cage. Looks like he's been treated as a pet.

'Farik Tordarroch

Age: 48 years old

Gender: Male

Status: Master blacksmith

HP: 40/80 (weakened, starving…)'

Oh, that's one of Yoana's uncles. Man, he has a mountain of debuffs. Delight flared within the witcher's heart, but he frowned. It's been more than a month, and this guy is still alive, but everyone else is gone. Didn't find anyone in the foundry or mine. Something's off. Why'd the trolls lock him up in a cage?

The stew was starting to simmer, its juice sloshing around, vaporized the moment it touched the fire, and the scent wafting in the air turned a shade richer.

Roy stared at the roaring blaze, and he fell into his thoughts. If these were rock trolls, he would've gone out with his hands raised so he could start a negotiation. Serrit's wonderful work of literature on trolls would be enough to tide him through the pinch.

Ice trolls, however, were different. The unforgiving climate and terrain they lived in further impacted their already unimpressive brains, turning them into mindless beasts who were driven by the feral desire to kill and feed. They were creatures of impulse. The only way to survive an encounter was to do as they were told, or else. These beasts are harder to get through than the trolls on Kaer Morhen.

"I smell bad. Summat small people came?" the male troll muttered, but his voice boomed, the tenor of his voice filled with a special rhythm. "No! Not the same as small people!"

He's sharp. Shocked, Roy slowed down his breathing even further, then he quickly cast Heliotrope on top of Quen to hide his presence more.

"Yer starvin'!" The female sniffed the air and shook her head, then she let out a laugh that came from her belly. She scooped up a handful of snow to douse the fire, then she rolled the crank to lower the cauldron. She then pulled out a long metal ladle from the furnace and stirred the bizarre stew, happily singing a weird tune.

"One, two, three." She chuckled. "One, two, three." She chortled. The troll, for some inexplicable reason, counted out loud for eight rounds before she sprinkled a hearty amount of some weird green powder into the mixture. She took a deep breath, an ugly smile cracking across her grotesque lips. She looked content with herself, like she'd just made some gourmet food.

The troll ladled the yellow stew and filled two steel bowls up, the scalding juice splattering all across her belly, but she didn't react to it. The bowls were filled with oval hearts, long intestines, and a few succulent ribs. They did not look like animal ribs, however.

Unfazed by the stew's scalding heat, the female troll dipped her ice-covered hand into the stew and pulled out a piece of rib, and she munched into it. The beast sat on the ice-cold floor, chomping down on the ribs, strips of muscle pulled apart at the joints of the bones.

Roy covered his mouth. He'd seen a lot of things throughout his adventures, but this was nauseating.

The male troll, however, was in no hurry to indulge himself. Instead, he took the plate at the cage and ladled it full of the stew, then he handed it to Farik, and the blacksmith picked up a key from beside the cage, then he unlocked it.

Roy frowned. The trolls didn't lock him up. He did it to himself.

"Eat, big one. Snailies, deer, foxies, small ones, carrots inside. Smells bad and good." The male troll pointed his pudgy finger into his maw, a terrifying smile cracking his lips. He motioned to Farik, telling him to dig in. "Eat, big one. Get bigger."

Roy gulped. The trolls must think he's one of them. Can't explain why they'd call a shrimp like that 'big one.'

Farik pulled his fringe back, revealing a cadaverous face and eyes filled with hunger. With a trembling hand, he took the plate into his cage, and hesitation flickered in his eyes.

It only lasted for a moment. The blacksmith heaved a long sigh and picked up a rib, then he munched into it. There were tears glistening in his eyes.

Roy froze at the sight of that, and a conflicted look crept onto his face. The blacksmith had given up part of his humanity to survive, and the complex relationship between him and the trolls was hard to understand.

Roy slid his blade back into its scabbard. First, I'll find out what happened here, then I'll make my move. He crouched further and waited for an opening.

The ice trolls led simple lives. After a hearty meal came the highlight of the day: sleeping.

Once they cleaned out the cauldron, the trolls leaned on it and dozed off, their snores almost rumbling the whole cave. The blacksmith sat in his cage, a vacant look filling his eyes, and he looked into the air numbly, where the flames flickered.

All of a sudden, something cold clasped itself onto his back, and someone covered his mouth. Farik's heart skipped a beat, and he tried to break free.

"Hold still. Chamir and Klaf sent me."

The mention of his clansmen eased the blacksmith up. He then swiveled around and met with a young man.

"We'll talk, but first, we need to get out of here," Roy whispered.

Light shone through Farik's dead, murky eyes, but only for a moment. Fear took over, and he shook his head.

Roy didn't give him any chance to dawdle. He quickly cast Axii, and the blacksmith followed him like an obedient pet. He couldn't leave just like that, so he locked a frozen corpse in the cage and had it pretend to be Farik. I'll buy us as much time as possible. Worried that Farik might get too loud and wake the trolls up, Roy took him on his back and tiptoed around the beasts.

Reminds me of that trip in Mahakam. Roy glanced at the troll, fury flaring in his eyes. He had half the mind to use his energy attack to take one of the trolls out, but he gave up on that plan.

Instead of going back through the path he came, the witcher delved deeper into the mine, seeking the spot where the wind blew in. Ten minutes later, they emerged from the dark chambers and entered a snow-covered clearing in the back of the mountains.

A rickety wooden shack stood by the cliff, and Roy took Farik into the house. He started a little fire to warm things up. Once Farik had healed up, it was time for a long talk.

"W-Who are you?"

"Auckes. I'm a witcher, and your clansmen sent me here." Roy looked into Farik's eyes. "I know it's a long story, but I need you to make it short. What happened after you and the warriors went into the mountains a month ago? Did the trolls attack you guys?"

"No, that wasn't it." Farik paused for a few moments, but then Roy cast Axii, and he answered honestly. "As per the clan's tradition, the warriors who wished to purchase Tordarroch items and I came into the mountains for some metal casting. Things went well at first, but one day later…" Panic flared in Farik's eyes. "One of the five warriors went missing."

Roy massaged his temples. Something's off.

"We searched the whole mine and its vicinity, but we found nothing. No blood nor corpse. We thought he got lost in the mountains, so we gave up on the search a while later. The blacksmithing must go on, after all. And then came the third day, and another warrior went missing. No sign of blood or corpse either. It was then everyone realized something was wrong."

Curiosity flickered in Roy's eyes. Did the trolls get into a game of hide and seek with them?

"The Redanian warrior had a feeling we were in grave danger. Something terrible had set its sight on us. He gave up on his purchase and wished to descend the mountains immediately. But the moment he made that suggestion, Ibayre, a warrior from Ard Skellig, turned…" Farik's voice trembled, and he almost failed to finish his sentence. He stared into the air, his eyes flickering with fear, and he shivered. "He turned into a bear."

"Are you sure you weren't hallucinating?" Roy cocked his eyebrow, and he was reminded of the claw he saw during his investigation. "Someone from Ard Skellig turned into a bear?"

"I am sure of it. It had crimson eyes, and everything about it smelled of violence. Smacked the Redanian warrior's sword away with a single swipe of its claw, and then the beast ripped the warrior open, spilling his guts everywhere. Then it roared and chased us deeper into the mine. The remaining Kaedwenian warrior and I hid around the furnace, fearing for our lives. We had not the courage to face the bear, no. Lost even the guts to swing our swords. The beast was far bigger than anything I've seen. As big as a carriage when it stands on all fours. Paws big enough to hold an adult man. Maw filled with sharp incisors, and eyes red as blood. Nightmare fuel, I tell you."

"So if the bear killed the first team, what's the deal with the man-eating trolls?"

Farik froze for a moment, his eyes flickering with confusion and hesitation, then he adamantly said, "The trolls only came after the bear. Probably smelled the blood and came to claim the mine for themselves. Took us as prisoners and locked us up, then they wanted us to solve a riddle."

A weird look flared in Farik's eyes. There was gratitude, but there was also fear and distance. "A shame the Kaedwenian warrior said the wrong answer, and they made him into frozen meat."

"So you answered correctly?"

Farik nodded. "Yes, but they didn't release me. Locked me up and treated me like one of their own."

Roy cocked his eyebrow, sizing the gaunt blacksmith up. He does not look like a troll at all. "So why'd you lock yourself up instead of running away when the trolls are asleep?"

"Because I was scared. I was scared the bear might come back. I had no other way to protect myself."

"So you're saying the bear is hiding somewhere nearby? How are you so sure of that?"

"I can feel it, don't you understand? I can't run, or Ibayre the Bear will find me and tear me apart. I must stay in the cave. Only under the trolls' protection can I be safe."

Roy looked at the blacksmith again. That bear must've scared the guy out of his wits. Trying to ask for a troll's protection? They're going to end up eating you.

Farik took a deep breath, sorrow filling his face. "And I remember two rescue teams coming in to save me, one of them led by my poor brother, Okala. They attacked the trolls right away, thinking they were enemies. The trolls killed them with boulders and ice, then they became food."

Farik looked grim, his eyes filled with regret, and he shook his head. "I had no choice. I am a regular blacksmith. I am just a human. I could never fight a troll. I don't want to die." The trolls can attack from a range. No one can stop them.

"You saw them too, didn't you? They see me as one of them, and they stubbornly think I have to eat the same things they do, and I was starving. So… So…"

Roy pursed his lips. He was in no position to comment on the actions of a human trapped in a desperate situation. "I have a question. Why'd they call you 'big one'?"

"I-I'm not sure myself." Farik looked bemused. "But I wasn't this gaunt a month ago. Toiling in the forge for years gave me a powerful body."

Roy scanned the bonfire and the house. "Fine, I get it. You locked yourself up because you're worried the bear might come back for you, but you still got out of the mine safely now. It's been more than a month. It should be gone now, so come back to town with me."

"No! It's going to come for me! It's going to come for us before we can even get home. A-And it'll tear me apart!" Farik cringed and looked around nervously, as if he could see a bear hiding in a dark corner, keeping its eyes on him. "Please, let me go back to my ca—"

Roy smacked the back of Farik's head. The blacksmith's eyes rolled back, and he fell unconscious.

The witcher mused. His fear for the bear has turned into a phobia. Something's off, but he shouldn't have been lying, given that Axii was in effect. Roy came out of the house and placed Gwyhyr on the door. Should something come in contact with his sword, he could teleport back right away.

Then he looked at the cave. There are a lot of holes in Farik's story. This might be risky, but I need to look for the truth myself.

Chapter 520

The light of the forge's flames shone upon the solemn countenance of a witcher. A cork plopped to the ground, and Roy downed a dose of ekhidna decoction and Thunderbolt. His strength went from 16 to 20, and black blood flowed within his veins.

Roy then uncorked Skellige Isles' specialty: cherry cider, and the scent of the alcohol spread across the chamber around the forge. The ice trolls sniffed the air and smacked their lips.

A moment later, they wobbled and opened their eyes an infinitesimal amount. The first thing they saw was a cloaked figure standing at the entrance to the mine. "Who are you, ugly? Out! This troll home!"

The trolls stood up and slammed their overgrown arms against the ground.

"Or a troll will cook for you!" the male troll bellowed, his voice thundering like a war drum.

"No. He smells delish." The female troll drooled and licked her lips, then she grabbed a boulder as big as a punching bag and got into a throwing stance. "No run! Come, I'll bite you!"

"So should I just run or nah?" Roy muttered. You pigs fell asleep after a meal. Heck, you look like pigs, and you're calling me ugly? Have you ever looked into a mirror? He raised his hands, telling them he came in peace, then he pointed at the frozen corpse in the cage. "Take a deep breath and calm down. I'm a friend of 'big one.' Here's a little gift."

Roy rolled the spiked cider over to the trolls. Trolls could never resist alcohol. The monsters exchanged a look, and the male troll picked up the bottle without even hesitating. However, his fingers were too stubby for him to even uncork the bottle, so he ripped the bottle in two and gulped down the cider.

His partner quickly snatched the other half.

"You had my wine, so we're friends now, and I have a question—"

"Piss off!" The troll shot Roy a glare and refused to accept the gesture. Adamantly, it said, "You smell funny. Not friends. No wine, no questions!"

"Wine, or become meat!" The female troll was drooling, and a guttural growl came from her throat. She was holding back her desire to feed. 𝓁𝒾𝒷𝘳ℯ𝘢𝑑.𝑐ℴ𝓂

Roy tossed another bottle of wine. "So how long have you guys been living in this place?"

The female troll downed the cider and licked the empty bottle, then she counted, "One, two, three… One, two, three…"

"Stop. Another question. Big one said there's a bear in this mine. Where is it?"

"Bear! Friend! Eat small ones!" The male troll howled in delight and looked at the cage. When he noticed the frozen corpse, he gave it a look of suspicion. Big one looks different.

Noticing the look in the troll's eyes, Roy froze for a moment. What does the bear have to do with the blacksmith? "You got into a fight with the bear? Trying to eat its paw?"

"Bear paw bad. Small ones are better. Bear friend. No fight." The troll burped. "Kill small ones together. Make stew."

Roy got the gist of the matter. The trolls aren't enemies with the bear; they're partners. That's a lot different from what Farik told me. "Where's your bear friend? Take me to him." I can get all of them at once. Roy rolled another bottle of liquor over to them.

"Bear friend hiding." The dazed troll looked at the cage, then it turned its attention to the witcher, its eyes blazing with desire and hunger. "Only come out after taking drugs. Kill small ones together. Eat them together."

"What kind of drugs?"

The troll scratched the back of its head, looking at the pile of miscellaneous items around the cage, muttering something under its breath. There was impatience in its voice, as if it were on the verge of letting something loose.

The witcher looked where it was looking, and he noticed a bottle of mead and a few freezing, crimson psilocybe mushrooms around the cage. One of them had bite marks on it. And that reminded the witcher of a certain race living in Ard Skellig. Vildkaarls. Berserkers. Could the bear be…

The female troll finished the liquor. Finally having its fill, she turned her bloodshot eyes to the witcher, misty breath flaring from her nostrils, and drool dribbled down her teeth. She then gripped a boulder, and her muscles bulged. "Had a lot of frozen meat. Change food. Fresh small ones!"

The boulder whizzed through the air like a lightning bolt, charging at the witcher.

Roy anticipated that. He sidestepped it and leapt onto a protruding boulder. The projectile slammed into the cave's wall, and it crumbled from the impact, leaving a hole on the wall.

As if on cue, the troll charged at Roy, swinging his arms around. The air was filled with its stench, and it slammed into where Roy was standing, creating a human-shaped hole in the wall.

Debris and stones flew everywhere, the troll hammering away at the wall. At the same time, its partner stood on the sidelines, hurling boulders and ice shards through the air, almost creating a gray rainbow.

So powerful was the impact of the projectiles, they left a row of holes in the wall.

The witcher ducked, dove, dipped, and dodged the incoming projectiles, spinning and pirouetting around the cave as if he were dancing in a rain of stones and ice. Then the witcher grabbed his hand crossbow and pulled the trigger.

A bolt flew through the battlefield, ramming straight into the female's left eye, the impact blasting her left socket into a crater. Most creatures would have had their heads blasted clean off, but the troll only let out a howl of agony as it lost sight in one eye. That only served to stoke its flames of vengeance further.

But before she could do anything, the witcher disappeared into thin air, taking with him the golden light and crimson flames flickering on his skin.

The air rippled, and Roy reappeared right before her exposed torso, murder flaring in his eyes. I gave you liquor, and I got murder in return. Very well. If this is what you want, then two can play the game. Roy made a sign, and the troll froze for a moment.

That split second was all Roy needed.

He sliced his poison blade across the troll's waist, the stars on the sword losing their light. A wave of crimson energy darted ahead, slicing through the troll's belly, cutting through its innards and crushing its spine. Even its sturdy shell was cut open by Roy's energy slash.

The troll let out a howl of agony. Moments before its death, it swung one punch at Roy. So fast was its attack, Roy failed to escape, and the punch grazed him. It broke Quen, caved his armor in, and broke his right arm, bending it at an unnatural angle.

He was sent flying across the air and was only stopped when he slammed into the wall. His blade fell from his hand, and Roy plopped on the ground, the pain from his broken bones turning his face red. The witcher pressed down on his right shoulder, and an audible crack rang in the air.

Ring of Time. His Elder Blood raged and boiled as the power of time enveloped the witcher. He turned back time around him by twenty seconds, healing all the damage done by the troll. His missing health, his hit points, and his limping right arm returned to full health. Roy spun his shoulder and checked the battlefield out.

The female troll was in a bad state. Two halves of her body slid and fell like slices of expired and overgrown meat. Blood spilled from her wound, drenching the ground and filling the air with a rancid stench, yet she did not die just yet. Her unbelievably abundant life force tethered her to the land of the living. In agony, she clawed away at the ground until her nails started to peel away, and the debris was sent flying.

As it raged and flailed and screamed in pain, its mate charged at the witcher, the sight of the female troll's agony whipping him into a rage.

Roy pressed his left hand against the ground and cast his Conjuration spell. A blue frost atronach leapt out of Oblivion and crossed its arms, standing before its summoner like an ardent shield.

The troll slammed into the immovable atronach, and the cave shook from the shock, a dust storm swirling in the air. Icicles fell from the roof, and the howling gale almost blew out the flames in the forge.

Unbelievably, the charge left an infinitesimal crack on the atronach's armor. Driven by bereavement, the male troll drew heavily from its well of strength, but instead of going after Roy, it charged right at the frost atronach and slammed its fists into the minion again and again, its face contorted with rage.

He hurled his punches until they left afterimages, the roar of the battle's impact rumbling across the cave. The atronach could not hold out against the troll's relentless attack. It tried to defend, but the troll proved to be too powerful. Eventually, cracks spread across its body, and shards of ice splattered across the battlefield.

The witcher hiding behind the minion cast another spell, and his eyes turned red. Crimson tentacles bloomed in the air like a flower of death, swaying in the gale. They stopped the troll's attack and coiled around it until it was a cocoon, then the tentacles raised the troll into the air, revealing its belly and eyes to the witcher.

Roy held his sword up and stabbed away at the troll's eyes and belly, while his minion slammed its fists into the troll's head.

In just a moment, the troll was covered in bruises, its eyes bursting into a gooey mess, and its stomach a wall of bloody gashes. Its innards were torn, and two halves of its guts spilled out to the ground. The poison from the blade and the flames from the armor cut into his wounds further, leaving deeper injuries, and blood spurted like a fountain.

Yet even so, the troll was regenerating at inhuman speeds, especially in a climate as cold as the caves. The wounds on its belly were quickly closing up. These wounds were not enough to kill the troll.

Right before Fear's effect wore off, the witcher gritted his teeth and held the troll's shoulder down. He then pulled the troll's head closer, and the witcher took a deep breath.

"Fus!"

A gash tore itself in space as the power from the Bones of the Earth descended into this world. A great current of air and sonic waves blasted into the troll's ear canal. As if slammed by a siege weapon, the troll hurtled across the air, but even before it could land, its flesh ricocheted in every direction.

A bloody scene unfurled before the witcher's eyes as something exploded in the troll's ear. The impact from the blow blasted its ear and half its face off. Its flesh was sliced off by an invisible knife, revealing its bloody flesh within.

The impact destroyed the eardrums and charged straight into its head, destroying its bones and brains before leaving a gaping hole behind. Blood and brains trickled down its body as the troll fell, its pupils dilating while its last breath left its body.

Not even its regenerative abilities could heal up its mess of a brain now.

'(2) ice trolls killed. +600 EXP. Level 12 Witcher (13800/12500).'

Roy wiped the sweat off his forehead and looked at the mangled corpses of the trolls. He shook his head. "You deserved this. Taking over the mines alone was bad enough, but you just had to kill and eat all those people. Can't believe you tried to eat me too."

The witcher took a deep breath and cut the trolls' bodies up. Time to get the loot. The trolls' hides were as tough as steel. If it weren't for their soft bellies, Roy would have to cut through their corpses with his energy attack.

It didn't take long for the witcher to gather all the innards, bones, and corpses, then he tucked all of them away in his inventory space. And the trolls also dropped a couple of ogroid mutagens. These were on par with greater green mutagens.

Roy searched the forge's vicinity, but he still found no other living humans. He then collected some trinkets off the corpses. Statues, hats, daggers, hair clips with names engraved on it… All things that could prove the deceased's identity. And coins worth more than five hundred crowns.

The trolls hid the coins in a sack. They probably had the hobby of collecting shiny items, much like how dragons would. And Roy also found the bottle of mead around the cage. It was supposed to be pure mead, but there were traces of dried blood at the bottle's throat. A few psilocybe mushrooms were strewn around the cage. Maybe someone found these around the mountains. Mushrooms and mead. Anyone who has this combination would have an insane trip.

"Psilocybe mushrooms, human blood, mead, and a bear. My guess is right on the money. Farik probably inadvertently ingested the three components and awakened his hidden strength." Roy rubbed his chin. Maybe that's why he was so scared. He then went back to the shack outside the mine.

The sun was slowly descending on the west coast, the snow-capped mountains reflecting the last beautiful rays of sunshine as dusk slowly closed in.

Roy patted Farik's cheek. The blacksmith muttered and woke from his slumber. "Auckes! D-Did I fall asleep?" He was curled up, his eyes bloodshot and filled with fear. Carefully, he looked around, fearing something might be keeping an eye on him, ready to pounce at any given moment.

"I searched the place, but I didn't see any bears."

"Because it hides well." Farik looked into the witcher's eyes solemnly, almost spewing all over his face.

Oh gods. This man feasted with the trolls before. Disgust welled in the witcher's heart.

"It'll appear when we least expect it and kill us all." He put his hands in a prayer, pleading, "Please, witcher. Take me back to the cave and lock me up in the cage. Only the trolls can protect me now."

"You sure taking you back home won't work either?" Roy looked into his eyes, trying to find a trace of guilt. "You'd be far from the mountains and with your family. Yoana, Chamir, and Klaf will keep you safe. The bear can't hurt you."

"It's not as simple as you think." A bitter look filled Farik's eyes. Worried, it said, "It can track me down through my scent and invade my home. It'll kill my family."

"I'm sorry to tell you this, but…" Roy waved his arm and produced two ice troll corpses beside the bonfire, their innards cleaned out. "Your guards are gone."

The blacksmith's eyes went wide, and he was in disbelief. Well, more terrified than in disbelief. He pointed at the corpses, unable to form a coherent sentence, and he inhaled sharply.

"I killed them. They tried to eat me, but I'm a tough customer, so their heads got busted."

"I'm done for, Auckes. I'm done for!" The blacksmith started crying like a jilted woman. "No one can save me now. I'm dead! And I still haven't raised a family yet! Gods, I'm still single."

"Ah, don't worry. If that bear shows up I'll make bear stew out of it." Roy tossed a few pieces of firewood into the bonfire, slashing his hand around. Coldly, he said, "I've not just killed trolls before. Nekkers, ghouls, and even a higher vampire too. Killed them all. And bears as well. Brown bears, grizzly bears, or even believers of Svalbard. So called Vildkaarls. Berserkers."

"You will die if you do that, Auckes," Farik rebutted, then he gave Roy a confused look. "What do you mean Svalblod?"

"Think harder. You must have the answer." Roy smiled at him mysteriously.

"Svalbard… Vildkaarls… berserkers?" Farik stared at the ground, muttering. A frown furrowed his brows, and confusion filled his eyes. He didn't seem to be lying.

"Can't remember anything? Let me jog your memory." Roy produced a bottle of mead and uncorked it. He crushed a psilocybe mushroom and poured the shroom into the mead. The witcher let the flavors get to know each other for a moment and handed the bottle over to Farik.

Farik frowned, the look in his eyes turning vacant as he fell into a memory lane. Without thinking, he took the bottle and had a sip. As the liquid merged with his body, the blacksmith tensed up. He bit his lip tightly and held his breath, his teeth clenched together.

All his timid and cowardly nature was gone, replaced by an icy look of cruelty. A sickly red tinged his ghostly pale skin, the air coming out of his mouth hot, as if he had a fever. Veins popped underneath his skin.

Even with the bonfire, the climate was still deathly freezing, but Farik seemed to be in a sweltering land, tearing away at his coat to feel cooler. His bony torso was revealed, and he lay on the ground like a beast, shivering.

Roy's pupils contracted. Black fur slithered out of the blacksmith's pores, slowly covering him, turning the man into a beast. His cadaverous figure ballooned, and claws extended from the tips of his limbs. His pupils contracted, their color deepening. Farik's mouth elongated into a snout, his teeth giving way to thick, yellow fangs with crimson strips around their tips. A pool of drools was starting to form on the ground.

The beast gnashed its teeth, its eyes shining with crimson bloodlust, then it whirled and looked at the snow-capped ground with eyes devoid of any emotion.

Roy had exited the shack, standing far away, blending into the night. A terrible roar rampage across the air of the mountains, and within the bear, the urge to battle and destroy awakened.

A beast ten feet tall emerged from the shack, growling.

Chapter 521

Night descended upon the mountains, wintry gales howling across the land. A pair of crimson lanterns floated around the darkness outside the mines, and then a ten-feet tall bear came out of the wooden shack.

Roy cast Observe again, but this time, things were different.

'Enraged brown bear

Age: 48 years old

Gender: Male

Status: Svalblod's believer (Svalblod is the avatar of bear and human. He is the symbol of unrelenting conflict)

HP 220

Strength: 22

Dexterity: 14

Constitution: 22

Perception: 10𝘭𝑖𝘣𝑟𝘦𝒶𝘥.𝘤𝑜𝘮

Will: 10

Charisma: 4

Spirit: 6

Skills:

Bloodlust (Passive): An enraged bear knows no exhaustion, nor is it scared of pain. It desires blood and has lost part of its mind. Before it kills, feasts, or moves enough, it cannot revert to human form. It can quickly heal wounds and regain stamina by ingesting the flesh and blood of its enemies.

Berserk (Passive): Injuries will draw out even more power from the bear. The deadlier the injuries, the more powerful the bear will be.

Mark of the Fallen (Passive): Believers who accept the mark of the evil god, Svalblod, shall be granted strength. +5 to Strength and Constitution.'

A Vildkaarl. Ingests some sort of concoction and turns into a werebear. Realization finally struck Roy. There is no Ibayre to begin with. There was no fifth warrior. Farik himself is the bear. But he didn't seem to know he had this strength within him, and Axii failed to extract the truth. What's the deal with him? Schizophrenic? If that's the case, then the induction for Svalblod's cult is more evil than I thought. Roy had a few thoughts going through his head.

Well, if I want to, I can easily kill this bear, but then how am I supposed to explain this to the blacksmiths? Hm, then let's go with the alternative route. I'm going to turn you back into a human.

The bear stood on its hind legs, looming over the ground. It tore its claws through the air, roaring in fury.

Roy quietly took out his hand crossbow and fired a bolt. It landed on the ground beside the bear, snow splattering on its fur. The witcher beckoned at the bear, smirking at it.

The taunt worked, and the bear felt rage welling within it. It charged across the snowy ground like a war machine hurtling at its target. The ground rumbled, a trail of footprints embedding itself into the soil, and walls of snow fell off the cliff.

Another bolt flew through the air. The bear was closing in, but Roy blinked, and he reappeared behind the bear, where the broken shack was.

The bear skidded to a halt, its limbs dragging a long trail across the ground. Fog formed around its mouth, and it turned around. Seeing the witcher still in one piece raised its fury further.

Once again, it roared and charged ahead. The witcher went with his old trick, evading the charge with his Blink. The bear whizzed past the witcher and crashed into the shack's wall, leaving a big hole. Shards of wood, fog, and ice flew into the air. The roars of the bear came from within the fog, and the beast stood up, still facing the witcher.

Roy thought the beast would change its tactics, but the shapeshifting seemed to have taken more intelligence from it than he expected. The bear lost all judgment and stubbornly charged at the witcher again.

Roy started playing around with the beast, kiting it around the battlefield. Bolts flew across the air, and the witcher fluttered around the field like a phantom. One moment he would be standing before the broken shack, waving at the bear, and the next, he would be whistling right beside the mine's entrance. Sometimes he would appear between the high cliffs, clapping for the beast, and sometimes he would appear beside the snow-capped tree standing near the staircase, firing off at the bear.

Relentlessly, the witcher probed and prodded the bear. At the same time, a silvery moon was slowly climbing up the sky, raining its silvery light upon the battlefield. Heavy thuds hung in the air as a beast tirelessly charged across the battlefield, turned around, charged again, turned around, and charged again. Over and over and over.

All the running around left circles on the ground, the rushes of air coming out of the beast's snout frozen by the chill in the atmosphere, and icicles were forming around its snout and fangs.

The battle had turned into some sort of mockery with the bear being the main show. The witcher was just like a beastmaster leading his pet for a show. All he had to do was whistle, clap his hands, fire off some bolts, and motion at the beast, and the bear would charge at him stupidly.

Half an hour went by. Roy had used his charge of Activate and a few mana potions. Thanks to the incessant blinking, he was unhurt.

Steam was billowing from the bear, a layer of frost covering its fur. It was wheezing so loudly, Roy thought it might cough up its lungs. The beast looked at the silhouette in the distance that was standing proud and tall. No longer could it even make a sound. Like a big dog, it plopped down on its hind legs and stuck its tongue out.

"What's the matter, bub? Can't take it anymore. That's all a Svadblod believer could do?" The witcher smirked, sitting on the beam of the broken shack. "Come on. Come catch me. If you do, I'll let you take a bite."

No matter how much he tried to rule the bear up, the beast ignored him. It hung its head low in defeat and shivered. All its fighting spirit was gone, and nothing interested it anymore. It shrank at a blistering speed, shriveling up until it became a human. A gaunt, naked man lying on the messy ground, unconscious.

Roy rubbed his eyes. A moment later, he approached the blacksmith and confirmed that he had only passed out from exhaustion. Let's see anyone else play with a bear until it's too tired to even walk. Roy whipped out a clean fur coat and draped it over the blacksmith. "Hope you're happy with this, bub. Not even Coral got this kind of treatment." He put the blacksmith on his back and leapt down the path he came from earlier.

Daybreak would not come for at least an hour, and yet there were already a few people walking about in town, readying their fishing equipment. The smithy was brightly lit as usual. Klaf hammered away at the metal and picked it up with a pair of tongs, then he placed it in the forge to burn it further.

Yoana was stepping on the blower. "Wonder if Auckes can come back with Farik and Okala."

"Worry not, Yoana. I have a feeling his confidence is not misplaced." Klaf sat beside the anvil, wiping his sweat away. "I just hope that the crisis with the mines isn't caused by Farik."

"What? What does Farik have to do with this?"

"Long story. You weren't even born yet, and he hasn't caused any trouble in more than twenty years. I reckon he's not the source of our dilemma this time."

Yoana puckered her lips. "If Auckes does complete the assignment, will you really leave with him? You've lived on this isle for decades. Can you really throw everything away? Why don't we just make him some good gear?"

"Rules are rules, girl. Integrity and honor, remember? I will not go back on my word," Klaf said tersely. "If he does manage to rescue them, then that's a sign from Freya. Farik and Okala shall take over my position."

"B-But I don't want you to leave. I still have so much to learn about blacksmithing, and I need your guidance. Chamir's an impatient guy, and he and his wife won't stop trying to marry me off."

"My dear child, none on this aisle is worthy of you." Klaf smiled and looked at his daughter. "I've thought about it for a long time. If you're willing, you may come to Novigrad with us and see the greater world. You're a girl. You do not have to bear the responsibility of shouldering the clan's future. The clan's reputation might be something of a badge of honor, but it is also a curse."

Anticipation flared in Yoana's eyes.

Sounds of hurried footsteps broke the serenity of the town. Yoana and Klaf looked outside the smithy. The skies were turning purple over yonder, and a cloaked figure was charging toward the town full speed ahead.

Auckes?

He had someone on his back. Gaunt, disheveled golden hair, and a big, taut, jaw. All so familiar to the blacksmiths, and they froze for a moment.

"Kalf, Yoana, I need your help. Now."

"Auckes? Praise Freya, my brother is still alive!" Overjoyed, Klaf helped the witcher get his brother back to the bedroom and placed him on the bed.

An excited Yoana woke up the sleeping Chamir and his family.

"Thank the gods you're back." All of Clan Tordarroch, two blacksmiths, a young lady, a plump woman in a big coat, and a boy who was about six years old, huddled around the sleeping man.

Chamir held the witcher's hand, his voice trembling with excitement as he said, "I have no idea what to say, Auckes. You saved a prominent member of the clan."

"Is Farik sick?" the young boy asked. "Why's he not awake? Should I get to the doctor?"

"Worry not." Roy stretched his arms. Running for about seven hours with a hundred-pound man on his back made him sore. "Exhausted himself too much so he fell unconscious. Don't believe me? Check him."

Everyone heaved a sigh of relief, and Klaf quickly asked, "Is he the only one? What about Okala? And the warriors who went to save them?"

Roy shook his head, a hint of sorrow in his eyes, and the clan members felt an ominous air hanging overhead.

"I am very sorry, but he was the only living person in the cave. Everyone else is dead. About a dozen corpses when I checked. The search parties have died in battle." He waved his arm, and a pile of mementos appeared on the table beside the bed.

Klaf recognized one of the badges. It had the pattern of a hammer and an anvil on it. "That's Okala's badge!"

"Found it on a frozen corpse."

Everyone teared up, and the woman pulled the tearful boy into her embrace, while Yoana tugged on her father's sleeve. "Okala's gone? What happened?"

"As you suspected, something attacked the mines." The witcher crossed his arms and looked at everyone quizzically. "What I have to say is incredibly heavy. Women and children should stay out of this."

"I will not. Clan Tordarroch's women are every bit as brave as the men." Yoana puffed her chest out and glared at the witcher indignantly. With adamance, she said, "I can take this."

Chamir looked at his wife. The woman took her child into their room and closed the door.

Roy nodded and gave a short summary, "When I delved into the deepest part of the mines, I saw a couple of ice trolls cooking something around the forge. The ingredients? The warriors sent to rescue your people."

Yoana clasped her mouth and retched. Klaf and Chamir had a grim look on their faces. "Ice trolls? Mean looking monsters with long fangs and whole bodies hard as rocks?"

"You've seen them? Anyway, they're dangerous. If they so much as land a punch on you, you're mincemeat. Literally. If they toss a boulder at you and you get hit, your bones would be crushed."

"There's something else the elders have told me about. In the depths of the mountains of Undvik, humanoid creatures covered in ice live. And then there's the ice giant, a monster far bigger than any house on this isle." A grim Klaf clenched his fists. "We've always followed the rules our ancestors laid out, never leaving the foundry and mining area. Never venturing deeper into the mountains, and yet disaster struck all the same."

"But something's off." Chamir said, "The ice trolls might be powerful, but it's impossible that all of our search party members got defeated. And they didn't come back with any news either. So how did you escape the trolls and come back with my brother?"

"Ah, but I didn't have to escape." Roy smiled and pointed at the ground, producing a mangled troll corpse. "I've avenged the dead."

Yoana turned as white as a ghost, but she forced herself to stare at the corpse.

The blacksmiths gulped and looked at the towering ice troll. Their arms were thicker than an adult's waist. Compared to it, the witcher looked almost frail. How did a human kill something like that? They're far more terrifying than the echidnas.

Somehow, the witcher looked a lot stronger than he was before.

"You got one thing right. The trolls didn't kill all the rescue squad's members." The witcher added, "But they had an accomplice. I found traces of an enraged bear's activities in the mines."

Enraged bear? Yoana was bemused, but the blacksmiths looked horrified for a moment.

"What might you be talking about?"

"Oh, I am sure you know the story." They know. Roy placed a bottle of wine on the table. The concoction was made of mead, human blood, and psilocybe mushrooms. He then uncorked the bottle.

When Chamir and Kalf noticed the scent of wine and mushroom, they tensed up, their breathing stopping for a moment.

"I spent a lot of time just to find that bear, and then I ran into this bottle of wine." Roy stared at the blacksmiths in the eyes, then he ominously added, "So I gave it to Farik, and…"

"That is enough, Auckes!" Kalf blurted, then he hung his head low. "I see you know everything. Ask away. We'll answer your questions to the best of our abilities, but we promise that transformation is not done of his own volition. He is not responsible for all the murders. Someone else is. That thing inside his body is responsible for this."

Chamir looked into the witcher's eyes. With sincerity, he said, "It has been more than twenty years since the last disaster struck. We thought that thing was gone forever. Never did we expect him to ingest this poison. His colluding with the trolls came as a shock as well."

Um, maybe because they like to eat humans, are stupid, and love to talk about food? Roy thought.

"Hey, I thought we were talking about the ice trolls. What's this about liquor and bears?" The innocent Yoana scanned her family and the witcher.

"Silence, Yoana. This is not something you should ask. Get inside and stay with your aunt."

"No. I am already fifteen. I have the right to know everything. What are you hiding from me?" Yoana was red with indignation, and she shook her head, her ponytail swaying. She then scurried over to the witcher and hid behind him.

Feeling her breathing, Roy cringed a little. Why do you even trust me so much? If you don't leave now, you're going to stay with me forever.

"Alright, enough. So Farik's a Vildkaarl and a believer of Svalbard?" Roy asked, memories flooding his head. There were seven families who presided over the Skellige Isles, including Clan an Craite, Clan Drummond, and Clan Tuirseach.

Most people lived under these families' protection, but there was a group that lived independently from the families. They were called Vildkaarls. This group was more combative than any islanders. They lived for battle and were not affiliated with any families on the isles. They secretly worship the evil god, Svalblod. It was an entity the isles' powers had been forbidden from worshiping.

The cult would add to their ranks through the performing of a cruel ritual. The evil god of the cult loved to command its believers to conduct sacrificial rituals with live humans. Through Svalblod's blessing, the Vildkaarls would gain the power to turn into bears, but they had to first ingest a hallucinogenic concoction made of mead, human blood, and psilocybe mushrooms.

If Roy's memories were still accurate, then Bran would die in about nine years. During the banquet for the selection of a new king, a group of Vildkaarls attended the banquet. Because of the queen's conspiracy, they ingested the hallucinogenic concoction and transformed into bears, bringing a bloodbath to the banquet.

Geralt would start an investigation and point out the queen's crimes. She was then punished, and the new king ascended the throne.

"He was forced."

"How so?"

With bitterness and resignation, Klaf said, "Farik became a grandmaster at twenty years old, and his fame spread through the isles. It was also the very thing that invited disaster to him. A bunch of Vildkaarls took him to Ard Skellig by force, and they made him take part in the bloody sacrificial ritual. In order to survive, he killed his opponent during the ritual and allowed the bear to consume him. Since then, he became a Vildkaarl, a human with the powers of man and bear."

Roy remembered the rough process. The ritual would involve two participants, and they would fight to the death in the Ring of the Bear. The one who survived would have to lather themselves with some inciting potion and ingest the shrooms. They would have to lure an enraged bear from a cave so the beast would tear them apart and feast on them. The bear would then shapeshift, losing hair and turning into something more… human. Eventually, they would become the Vildkaarls they consumed.

Vildkaarls were known by another more infamous title—the berserkers of the Skellige Isles. Their leader was a fallen druid who defected from the isles' circle of druids, and they were masters of shapeshifting.

"The ritual forced Farik to accept the powers of shapeshifting, but he wouldn't use it unless he was in extreme anger. Or if he took some special concoction indeed."

Klaf shook his head. "He could feel something evil taking up residence within him, and he despised it. Farik had been against unnecessary bloodshed. He hates the god those berserkers worship, for It keeps inciting fights everywhere. One day, while the berserkers were distracted, he escaped the Ring of the Bear and hopped onto a vessel leading straight back to Undvik. He's told me everything. Thanks to our companionship and the distraction of work, Farik's been keeping his darker side under control well enough. Eventually, he slowly forgot that he even had a bear hiding within him. And then he eventually forgot he was a Vildkaarl. We thought Svalblod took back his powers as punishment for his betrayal."

Roy frowned. He forgot about his past? Man, so he is a schizo.

Klaf took a deep breath and raised his voice. "You might not believe this, but we've never seen him transform into a bear over the last two decades or so. He doesn't think he's related to the berserkers at all."

Roy nodded. If they'd seen the bear, the whole clan would've been decimated at this point. Then he looked at Farik, who was peacefully asleep. The guy lied even under the spell of Axii, and that could only mean one thing: he thinks the lies are the truth. He has two personalities. One is Farik the Blacksmith, while the other is Farik the Enraged Bear.

Roy could just imagine the trolls barging into the cave and fighting with Farik the Bear, tearing all the humans they saw. Deep down, Farik knew he had a monster within him, but he wouldn't admit it. That was why he came up with a fictional character called Ibayre and insisted that he was the one who shapeshifted into a bear and killed their comrades.

He locked himself in a cage and refused to leave probably because his brain told him to. It was his blacksmith persona telling him to do it in case he were to turn into a bear and hurt his family. But he couldn't stop the beast from escaping the cage.

Yoana was in shock, her jaw slack.

"Witcher, have mercy on him." Chamir looked at the mangled corpse of the troll. "In the name of my clan, I swear I will keep a close eye on him. He will never shapeshift or harm anyone."

Klaf dragged the slack-jawed Yoana from Roy. "You saved Farik, killed the trolls, and avenged our brethren. It is time for me to fulfill my end of the bargain and work as your personal blacksmith. Let's pack things up and get ready to leave for Novigrad. What do you say?"

"Great idea, but we're not in a hurry. I have one more errand to run in the isles." Roy shook his head. "Don't worry. If I really wanted to kill him, he would've been in Freya's kingdom by now. I have a suggestion." Roy paused for a moment, his eyes flickering with some sort of excitement. "Perhaps I can try to get rid of Svalblod's influence over Farik and erase the evil god's mark that's in his body."

Chapter 522

Dawn was almost breaking through the horizon, a line of white light appearing in the distance. However, the smithy of Clan Tordarroch was still dimly lit, the door and windows shut tightly.

"Are you sure you're not joking? You can free him of a god's influence?" Klaf was delighted. "That's something that hasn't happened since he was branded."

"Svalblod can only grant his followers the powers of a bear because It branded their souls. It's through that mark that It can influence its followers. That means the soul of any Vildkaarl belongs to Svalbard, and that god will gobble them up once they are dead. However, I know a spell to wrest control of a soul and purify it."

Forced Taming. I can mark Farik's body and soul with my brand, effectively taking away Svalblod's control. How about that? Just like a cuckoo. One of his mount slots had Gryphon bound to it, while the other slot had been empty since he cut off that bond with Arvel. He could use that slot. Even if he couldn't get rid of the evil god's mark, it was still worth a shot. He could always cut off the bond and give Farik his freedom back.

Roy thought a lot before coming up with this plan. From what he knew, the cult of Svalblod was very small among the isles. It only had a few followers and was banned by the seven families due to their overly cruel and violent ritual. Not to mention Svalblod wasn't even as powerful as the weakened Dagon or its peer, the Lion Headed Spider.

The young witcher was a lot more powerful as well. It was just the cleansing of a mark, not a frontal battle. Full Recovery was enough to get him out of any situation, and thanks to all those factors, he could try out his theory.

"But I will have to pay a heavy price just for this." Roy put on a solemn look like he had to give up a lot just for this attempt.

"If you can change him back to how he used to be, you can name any terms, and we'll do our best to fulfill it." Klaf clenched his teeth.

"Klaf, you already owe me one for saving Farik. You have to come to Novigrad with me," Roy said.

"That is true. I do not have any right to negotiate now." Klaf smiled bitterly.

Roy looked at Chamir. He really wanted more than one blacksmith working for him.

"I know what you're trying to say, Auckes, but I can't go with you, I'm sorry. There's barely any Tordarroch left. If I were to leave, then we might as well disband." Chamir shook his head glumly.

Roy sighed, but he didn't push further, then he turned his attention to the young blacksmith.

As if stung by a bee, Klaf fidgeted. "What are you suggesting, Auckes? Not Yoana."

"It's alright." The girl went around her father and looked at the witcher, blinking. She forced herself to stay calm and answered, "If you can lift the curse from Farik, Klaf and I will be your personal blacksmiths."

The witcher gave her a satisfied smile. The girl might not be a master blacksmith, but I know her potential. She's going to be a famous blacksmith in The Crow's Perch. This is a good deal. "I won't exploit you two. Equality is what I strive for, and I'll come up with a fair contract for you."

Klaf looked a little more at ease. He was really worried Roy might be an exploitative man.

"We can talk about that later. Not like we can run away anyway," Yoana cut in quickly. "You have to save Farik, now."

"I need you guys to get me a sturdy chain."

"For?"

Roy looked at the sleeping Farik. "I need to chain him down."

Fifteen minutes later, the unconscious Farik was chained to a chair, courtesy of his brothers. However, he was unaware of it. He was asleep and pale.

"You sure this can work, Auckes?" Chamir frowned, his eyes glinting with suspicion. "Nothing bad will come to him, right?"

"He'll live, so don't worry about it." The witcher cracked his fingers and circled the chair. "But make sure you're absolutely quiet. No matter what happens, no matter how much he screams and cries, do not step in. You might ruin everything. Worst case scenario? He ends up dead or crippled. Not my fault if that happens."

Klaf and Chamir exchanged a look, and they nodded with resolve.

"You saved him anyway. Just do what you have to."

Roy took a deep breath and gazed at his target, then he concentrated on his character sheet.

'Tame

Mount (?): You have bound Gryphon to one of your mount slots.'

The blacksmiths watched as Roy placed his right hand on Farik's forehead, the air around him taking a solemn and majestic feel. He was like an emperor staring at Farik, his eyes shining like suns, as if he wanted to see through the blacksmith and all his memories.

Then, a forceful gale stirred within the room, the flames of the fireplace flickering and swaying. Everyone's clothes billowed as the gale blew, and the witcher's cloak flew back into the air, revealing the sturdy chainmail beneath.

An invisible power was forcibly creating a link between his and the blacksmith's souls. The blacksmith chained to the chair felt something crashing into him. His eyes snapped open, and he glared at the witcher, the look on his face filled with hatred, disgust, and fear, as if the witcher were a beast coming to take his life.

The blacksmiths were shocked by the sudden change, sweat drenching their palms.

Farik's face contorted, and he convulsed as if he were having an episode of fits. Even his toes sprang straight. He snarled, revealing a row of yellow teeth, and he let out a guttural roar that was filled with pain. His family looked grim, and their hearts sank. He's in pain.

And then the convulsions became struggles. Farik writhed and wriggled like a snake, the chair slamming against the ground, the screech of the friction almost piercing everyone's ears. However, the chains of Clan Tordarroch kept him firm in his place. Not even a bear could break free of its bondage, let alone a human.

The witcher then shoved the blacksmith, and he fell toward the ground, his forehead still attached to the witcher's scalding right hand. Roy's glimmering eyes met with the blacksmith's, though the latter's eyes were rolled back into his head.

Strong winds swirled around the witcher, blowing his hair back, and a bizarre whisper hung in the air, as if someone were chanting indecipherable incantation within the void, the voices echoing in the bedroom, slithering into the minds of all those present. Eventually, the voices and winds merged, forming a ball of red light, slithering and writhing before it charged into Farik's body.

The blacksmiths had never heard of this language before, but for some reason, they knew what it was saying, and it was trying to say one thing.

Submit.

The voices affected the blacksmith, and they looked at the witcher's back in confusion at first, but then it was replaced by a look of worship. Roy was getting bigger and bigger until he was larger than life. Larger than the seas and skies. Larger than the universe itself.

Farik received the brunt of this spell, his mind turning into a fierce battlefield. It was a dark space akin to the world of meditation. A vague silhouette with Farik's face was pushed down by another silhouette. Its countenance was as dark as shadow, its eyes flickering crimson, the air around it rife with solemnity.

The silhouette was pushing its will deep into the blacksmith's soul. Submit. Open your body and soul to me. Offer them up. There will be no secrets or privacy. My word shall be the law you obey, and my will shall be the mission of your life.

The blacksmith felt humiliated. I'm even worse than a pet. And he wished to resist, even if this silhouette was the one who killed the trolls and took him out of the mines. However, his resistance was futile. His body was chained, and his Will was abysmal. Roy's Will easily crushed him.

It was just a few seconds, but the blacksmith was feeling a crushing defeat coming on. Roy's will felt like a hurricane, a tsunami, a flood, and every manner of natural disaster. It was suffocating and destructive. No! And the blacksmith's soul bowed.

The blacksmiths noticed that Farik had stopped resisting all of a sudden. The look on his face eased up, but he was drenched in sweat. It's done?

And then the peace was broken as Farik opened his mouth to roar at the witcher. There was indignation and solemnity in that roar. Farik was rapidly shapeshifting, black fur piercing his clothes, claws protruding through the tips of his limbs, and mouth turning into a snarling snout. He was slowly turning into a menacing bear.

The blacksmiths were once again horrified. Chamir tried to step ahead, but Klaf held him back.

The clash of wills was getting heated. As the blacksmith's soul bowed to the witcher, another soul hidden within him was enraged. A few balls of fire flared within the dark space and formed a circle with a five-yard radius. Standing outside the ring was the statue of a snarling bear, and behind that statue was a pair of crimson eyes and ghostly-white teeth.

Invigorating drum beats came from within the darkness, riling up the urge to battle sleeping within the human heart.

A stream of crimson light slithered out of Farik's body, screaming and roaring until it became the fusion of a man and bear. It had a human's left hand and leg, but on its right was a black bear's paw. The creature had a bear's head, but within the maw was the face of Farik, locked behind the bars of the fangs.

That face had not an ounce of serenity, its eyes red and filled with the desire to kill and destroy, the flames flaring within screaming of battle and provocation. "Svalblod! Svalblod! Kill! Kill! Fight! Fight!" the monster roared, challenging the witcher that had been pushing him down.𝒍𝒊𝒃𝓻𝒆𝓪𝙙.𝒄𝙤𝒎

This was a battle of wills. The witcher could feel a pair of crimson eyes appearing in the void, the silhouette of a fusion between man and bear standing outside, staring at his back. However, the silhouette was a far cry from Melitele, let alone the golden eyes that stared at him back in Skyrim. This god is no threat to me. "You think you can drag me into your ritual? Dream on."

Roy channeled his power, and his soul shifted shape as well, black scales covering every inch of his body, his limbs turning into sharp claws and a pair of majestic wings, his eyes turning crimson.

Once again, Roy turned his soul into the form of Alduin. At the same time, a ball of crimson light tore through the void behind Alduin, and a bloody octopus wriggled out, charging at the roaring man-bear. The octopus went on top of it and coiled around its limbs, shackling the monster. No matter how it tried to fight back, it could not break free.

The dragon walked ahead and pressed down on the evil god with its wings. Then it opened its snout, revealing its rows of fangs and a whirlpool of power swirling in its throat.

Fus!

The power behind that shout vaporized the bear, turning it into a cloud of blood.

"Svalblod!" the amalgamation roared one last time, but it was powerless to change the tide of battle, and it melted into a puddle of blood, just like how snow would melt into water once the sun hit it with its warmth. The blood melted away, revealing a dark, complete soul that had not an ounce of murder in it. This was the soul of Farik.

Everyone in the bedroom was holding their breath. The winds, the incantation, and the shapeshifting were gone. Farik had returned to his human form. He shivered, and his eyes snapped open. There was not an ounce of violence within them anymore. There was only a look of submission.

Roy pulled up the chair and heaved a sigh, then he wiped his sweat off. He then turned his attention to the character sheet.

'You have destroyed the mark of the evil god, Svalblod. You have tamed Farik. You have cut off the bond between you and Farik.'

What a weak god. He had a feeling Svalblod was actually weaker than It looked. Weaker than I thought. Didn't even use Full Recovery. Perhaps I should make a trip to Ard Skellig and fight It there.

"I-Is he alright now, Auckes?" Klaf extended his hand, longing to hold his brother, and then he pulled it back.

Roy nodded, smiling. He then uncorked the mead and poured it into Farik's mouth. The blacksmith drank all he wanted and looked around, his family giving him looks of concern.

All the worry and fear he'd been feeling was gone. I'm back.

Everyone stared at him for a long minute, but the concoction of the Vildkaarls held no sway over him anymore. He was still human, and he was delighted. "Klaf, Chamir! I thought I'd never see you guys again. Where's Tomy and Rahl?"

"Sleeping in their room."

"Yoana! My sweet, little Yoana. Come, let me have a look. Oh, it's been a month, but you're already getting prettier. Wonder which lucky bastard gets to marry you. Hey, what the hell am I chained for?" Farik wanted to pat his niece's head, but then he realized he was chained down. "Let me out!"

He had no idea what happened earlier. Everything about Vildkaarls disappeared along with the mark of their evil god.

"Brother! Auckes saved you from the jaws of the bear and the trolls! No one can threaten you now." Klaf gave everyone looks that told them to keep this a secret. He patted his chest and heaved a sigh, then he quickly unraveled the chain. "We chained you since you might be traumatized from the capture and start daydreaming."

"Really?" Farik looked at everyone, but there was only concern in their eyes. He heaved a sigh of relief like he just got a weight lifted off his shoulder, then he turned to the witcher. "I'd still be in the cage if not for you, Auckes. How can I ever thank you?" Farik rubbed his bruised wound and thumped his chest, then he bowed.

"Still scared of the bear now?" Roy smirked.

Farik mused for a few moments and shook his head in relief, his worry melting away, and he smiled. He seemed to have gotten a few years younger. "You've gotten rid of it, haven't you? I can't feel its threat looming over me anymore. It is no longer here."

"Good to hear."

"It's a pity Okala and the warriors died because they wanted to save me. I must go back and give them a proper burial."

A heavy mood hung in the air, and the witcher was reminded of how this man shared a meal with the trolls. Yeah, you should thank them, or you'd have starved to death. Roy was in no position to judge his past, but he would stay away from this man.

"You've been in the mines for more than a month. First you need to get some rest." He then looked at Klaf and Yoana, then they followed him out of the smithy.

Chamir sat beside the bed, taking care of Farik.

The exorcism was over, and the warm sun hung high in the sky.

"You've saved my brother, who is an important clan member. You've held up your end of the bargain, and now it's our turn to do the same. Please give us some time." Klaf took a deep breath, resolve flaring in his eyes, and a hint of worship flitted within them too. That taming process affected him irrevocably. "Once Yoana and I pack our things, we shall board a ship and travel to Novigrad with you."

"Yep." Yoana nodded, staring at the witcher with bright, sparkling eyes. He killed two ice trolls and got rid of an evil god's mark. Legendary feats, and he achieved them.

"Very well." Roy grasped at thin air and produced a few contracts and a quill. "Take a look and sign them."

Klaffs smile froze, and he reluctantly took the contract. Hope it's not a slavery contract. He skimmed through it, and his worries melted away, a smile hanging on his lips.

Roy made this contract based on the agreement he had with Evelyn. The laborers had rights according to the contract.

Nine to six were working hours, two days off every week, free accommodation and employee meals. Their job was to research, improve, and create weapons and armor for the brotherhood. The rules for the working place were lenient, to say the least.

Klaf would be paid two hundred crowns per month, while Yoana would receive fifty crowns every month. The contract would go on for ten years.

They can't call me a bloodsucker this time.

"Ah, Auckes, are you sure this goes on for ten years?"

"Why? Too long?" Roy cocked his eyebrow.

"No, no. Blacksmithing is our life's work. The duration is irrelevant. What I want to know is, aren't you worried we might leave at the end of the contract's duration?" Yoana glanced at the contract, and she felt relieved, a smile curling her lips.

Roy smiled at her. "You can leave if you want to."

Klaf and Yoana turned around, looking at the bustling town waking up to the morning sun. Then they looked at their smithy, their slight melancholy turning into resolve, and they signed their contract.

Roy carefully tucked the contract away and heaved a sigh of relief. We'll have our own blacksmiths from now on. A vet and a newbie. Once we go back to Novigrad, it's time to start modifying the witcher school armor set as well as the research on the dragon scales and bones.

Chapter 523

The golden sun hung high in the sky, shining brightly on the land. For once, the ever-busy smithy was closed for a day, giving its members time to say goodbye.

"Chamir, Farik, the clan's in your hands now. Remember to work together and stay fit. Don't push yourself at work, and don't ever cross another troll. There won't be anyone like Auckes to save the day next time." Klaf held his brothers' shoulders, the rim of his eyes red. "Come to Novigrad when you have time. We can catch up."

Farik clenched his teeth and balled his fists. He looked at the silent witcher and raised his chin in solemn resolution. "My brother, if you do not wish to leave this aisle, then I can take your place."

"I made the promise, and our clan does not go back on our word," Klaf refused, but the subtle twitch of his lips said he was actually willing to go. He'd been dying to spice up his dull life a little, and now he had the perfect excuse to hoist the family's business onto his brothers while he was going on an adventure.

"Can Yoana stay?" Chamir looked at the excited girl outside the window. "Your aunt has found you an excellent husband. The greatest fisherman of this town. Comes back with a spectacular haul of fish every time."

"No. I remember that guy. Last time we talked, his breath almost killed me." Yoana shook her head violently. She adamantly refused the arrangement. "From that day onward, I swore to devote myself to the god of blacksmithing, so I'll have to travel around the world to gain more experience. I don't care even if I have to become someone's apprentice. This adventure is very much needed."

"You're a big girl now. Guess you won't listen to anyone anymore."

Roy said mysteriously, "Worry not, people. This isn't farewell. You can always come to Novigrad. My organization is always open to those with talent. That includes everyone here."

Klaf and Yoana valued efficiency. Once they said their goodbyes, they quickly packed up their things. They only brought a few sets of clothes and their blacksmithing tools. They then left the town and entered a remote forest. Roy placed Gwyhyr and Gabriel in their hands, while he hid Aerondight in the bushes.

"I thought we'd be boarding a ship at Marlin Coast. That's the only way to Novigrad, isn't it?" Klaf brushed his hand across the blade curiously. "So why are you heading south? And why are you giving us these weapons? So we can defend ourselves?"

"Is this a present?" Yoana was in a yellow dress, and a big pack hung from her back. She rubbed her finger across the beautifully crimson Gabriel, her eyes twinkling with surprise.

"Ship's too slow. We'll be charging right to Novigrad." Roy told them seriously, "I'm lending these to you just in case. Do not lose them."

Skellige Isles were a few hundred miles away from Novigrad. The journey alone would take more than a month if they went with a ship and carriage. Roy didn't have that much patience.

"What do you mean we're charging right to Novigrad?" Klaf asked.

Roy smiled, and he whipped out two cables, tying their front ends around his wrists. "Stay close to me. To be honest, you guys are my first passengers. This might be a bumpy ride, so hang tight."

Roy did a few experiments before. Teleport and Blink were limited in scope. He couldn't bring anything too big with him. Humans, for example, couldn't be brought along for the ride.

Worldgate, however, was different. That portal could linger for a few moments, which meant people aside from Roy could follow him through the Worldgate.

Klaf looked grim, and sweat drenched his palms. Yoana, however, was red with excitement.

"Calm down. Hey, Klaf, ever heard of any stories about the ice giant?" Roy tied the other ends of the rope on Klaf's and Yoana's hands.

"Why do you ask? There was a children's tale back in my grandfather's days. 'The ice-blue beast sharpens its teeth, first with flesh and then with ice. Its breath is icy, its eyes are red. The beast awaits the warrior with a big, gaping maw,'" Klaf enunciated. "'An icy-blue giant sleeps on top of the mountains. One day it shall awaken and turn this isle into damnation.' Honestly, if there's an ice giant somewhere in the mountains, it's going to be a bigger threat than any ice troll or bear."

"Did the prophecy tell you where the ice giant is hiding?"

"Not sure. No one has seen that monster before. It only exists in legends and children's tales. Why do you ask? Are you…"

"Auckes, I've heard the elders speak of this before when I was a child." Yoana twirled her hair, interrupting, "Deeper in the mines of our family lies a path leading to the cave on the topmost peak. The path stands between the ravines and cliffs of the mountains. No one knows who or what resides in the cave. My ancestors along with a few warriors ventured into that cave before, but none came back."

"I see." Something glinted in Roy's eyes, and he hatched a plan. "It's almost time. Hold your breath, you two. On the count of three."

"Three!"

"Two!"

"One!"

The witcher pulled at the air, and something unbelievable happened. Klaf and Yoana stopped breathing for a moment, for they saw the witcher tearing a gash in space with his bare finger, and the gash turned into a black, diamond-shaped door big enough to allow one person to fit.

Roy leapt into the door, and the blacksmiths felt a surge of great strength pulling at the rope. Confused, the two of them were yanked ahead, and they followed the rope into what lay behind the door.

It was a long and narrow corridor. There was no air or sound within. There was only the void and darkness. Around the path was a sky of stars, shining and glittering beautifully. The stars seemed to be waving at the blacksmiths, asking them to come over for a visit.

Somehow, Klaf and Yoana had a feeling those stars meant grave danger. They looked up and stiffly followed the witcher ahead. He was towering and dark as a shadow, his cloak billowing in the wind. He was like a lone god charging ahead on the path of stars, heading to the end of time itself.

The bizarre journey lasted for no more than a moment. At the edge of darkness, the witcher leapt, bringing the blacksmiths back into a world of light. The both of them gasped for air.

"What happened back there? And where are we?" Klaf looked around. The alder trees were swaying at the beckon of the breeze. The land underneath him squelched, and roots poked through the soil. The air was filled with the scent of land and greenery, and birds trilled on the branches.

"We're at the outskirts of Novigrad."

Roy crouched and patted a big, furry head. It belonged to a fierce beast, yet the beast was rolling around at the witcher's feet, revealing its belly for him like it was a cat asking for some pats.

Even though the beast was trying to be cute, its deadly sharp beak, gigantic wings, and glinting claws still scared the blacksmiths.

Klaf nervously stood in front of his daughter, and Yoana clung to her father's back, holding her breath. There was fear and curiosity in her eyes.

"Do not be afraid. Gryphon's a good girl." Roy smiled at the blacksmith and unraveled the rope, then he took back his weapons. "She might be a griffin, but she never hurts her friends, and you're guests here."

The griffin had her orders. She got up and raised her head high, nodding at the blacksmiths arrogantly, her eyes twinkling with something akin to human emotions, and she gurgled, as if saying, 'Hi, I'm Gryphon.'

"Auckes, are you really a witcher and not some sort of spellcaster or druid or some saint living amongst humans?" Klaf followed Roy deeper into the woods, staring at the flying griffin curiously. The leaves and branches spun around in the air, and the griffin let out a happy roar.

"If it helps, you can think of me as a beastmaster." Roy shook his head and looked ahead. Deep in the woods, Serrit was already waiting for him. His hair was tied, and his eyes shone brightly. "I believe introductions are in order. This is the witcher brotherhood's financial officer—Serrit."

"Lytta said you were on a search for some blacksmiths, kid. You came back fast. Who are these people?" Serrit shot Klaf a sharp look, and the blacksmith stood straighter.

"Hey, I'm not the seer for nothing. I came back fast because the matter was dealt with." Roy smiled proudly. "Feast your eyes on our guests. This is Klaf, a master blacksmith from Skellige Isles' Clan Tordarroch. He's an expert weaponsmith and armorer, and this lovely lady here is his daughter, Yoana. She's an outstanding armorer as well. For the next ten years, they shall be providing their services exclusively to the brotherhood."

Roy handed the contract over the Serrit. Serrit skimmed through them, nodding with approval. A smile curled his brooding lips, and he shook the blacksmiths' hands. "Welcome to the House of Gawain. I assure you, you will be most pleased with the decision you've made."

"I do hope so. We're already part of the brotherhood, and I don't intend on leaving just yet." Klaf touched his stubble and exchanged a look of relief with Yoana.

"Vesemir's going to be really happy when he knows of this," Serrit said. "He's been wracking his brains for the blueprints and dragon scale modification. Guy's not exactly as young as he was. Overworking isn't the best thing to do, and now he finally has someone helping him out."

"He went to Oxenfurt again?"

"Oh, no, kid. Mignole herself came to Novigrad, and Vesemir threw a welcoming party for her at the ballroom. They're probably dancing right now."

"And Geralt?"

"No idea where he is. Probably contacting his mother without anyone knowing."

Roy smiled, glad for the White Wolf.

"Everyone else is either keeping an eye on the kids or feasting away at the ballroom."

"How's C… Falka? Getting used to her new life? Any suspicious figures prowling Novigrad lately?"

The blacksmiths listened to the conversation quietly. It sounded like a warm and regular chat. The witchers were quite different from the ones they had in mind.

"She can protest all she wants, but Yennefer has her nailed. Aiden, Lambert, and Gawain's men are keeping a close eye on the goings-on in the city. If anyone tries anything funny, they're done for."

"I knew you guys would keep the place running well." Roy nodded. "You're dealing with the blacksmiths now."

"You're not coming with us?" Klaf looked befuddled.

"I have unfinished business back on the isles." Roy looked at the blacksmith. "Don't worry. The brotherhood will take care of you." He whipped out the loot he gained from his trip to Skellige Isles, including but not limited to ekhidna mutagen, troll mutagen, a mountain of organs and teeth and claws.

"Take these to Letho and Kiyan. They'll put these to good use."

Serrit's lips twitched. Did he strike down a whole monster den?

"Oh, I almost forgot. Present for the kids." A mischievous smirk curled Roy's lips. He whipped out a sopping wet sack, yellow liquid dripping from the edges. A rancid stench quickly filled the air.

Serrit covered his nose and turned around, disgust filling his eyes. Even though he'd seen his fair share of horror throughout his life, the stench of whatever Roy whipped out still almost suffocated him. "What is in that sack? A shark's excrement?"

"What? No. It's good stuff. Pickled shark meat, whale meat, and pickled auk." Roy grinned toothily, his brows wriggling. Mimicking the trolls, he said, "It smells bad and good."

The smirk Roy wore made the blacksmiths shudder. Do not cross this guy no matter what.

"Make sure every kid gets a piece, especially the new apprentices and backups." Roy handed the sack over to Serrit, who was already twitching. "Two pounds each. Tell them it's a witcher trial, understand?"

Serrit shot Roy a glare. "This is going to kill them."

"Still better than taking a dip in a shithole. Just do it. Oh, get me a bottle of ogroid oil and our school's pufferfish toxin. I need them for something important."

Yoana came into the House of Gawain. This was the first time in her life leaving the isles. Curious about everything, she looked around the wooden houses, her ponytail swaying. Some were reading and writing, some were fiddling with vials and vessels of a lab, and outside the fence, a few boys with soil-covered faces were tending to the tomatoes and eggplants in the fields. On the right side of the yard, twelve half-naked boys were eyeing their new guests curiously.

Then a lean man with sunglasses showed up and barked at them. The boys quickly crouched. A girl with silver-gray hair stood in the center of the yard, tersely ordering a dog around like she was a beastmaster. The wiener dog rolled around, spun, ran, sauntered, and did everything it was told. Eventually, exhaustion got the better of it, and it barked.

"What is this place, Serrit?"

"Roy didn't tell you? The House of Gawain is an orphanage run by witchers."

"Wait, who's Roy?" Klaffs heart sank, and he had a weird look on his face. "Do you mean Auckes? The guy who left?"

Serrit massaged his temples. Gods, what am I supposed to do with that lad? The damned brat goes around raising hell using my brother's name. One of these days, Auckes is going to pay for some of Roy's shenanigans. "That lad's name is Roy. He's in his rebellious phase and loves to pull pranks. The name of Auckes belongs to someone else."

"Is that a joke? He's not even a full-fledged witcher, and he managed to kill two ice trolls?" Klaf was in utter disbelief.

Serrit smiled and shook his head, then he led the blacksmiths to the smithy outside the fence. It was a small building made of rock and mud.

Yoana and Klaf were disappointed. The smithy's equipment was lackluster, to say the least. The forge, its flames, and even the anvil seemed haphazardly slapped together, as if the witchers only needed something good enough for them. This was a far cry from the smithy back in Undvik.

However, it wasn't totally useless. Serrit showed them a pile of diagrams that recorded the steps involved in making many incredible armor and weapons. There were even mentions of special alloy too. Even a veteran like Klaf was impressed.

"We have Wolf, Griffin, Viper, Bear, and Manticore gear diagrams. You can start on whichever you want," said Serrit. "Make one set of each school's gear. We have most of the components ready. If you have anything else you need, tell Vesemir. He'll be back at night."

"These diagrams contain a few types of metalcasting I've never seen before." Klaf mused for a moment. "It'll take at least three months to figure it out."

"You have the freedom to push the progress as fast or as slow as you like. I have faith in your skills. Vesemir will tell you more about the research on dragon bones and scales."

Klaf clenched his fists, excitement filling his eyes. He'd stayed in Undvik for decades, and rarely did he ever run into any challenge that could excite him. This was one of them. He had the privilege to research the mysterious witcher diagrams, but more than that, he was also privy to the development of gear made out of dragon parts.

"If you are less than happy with our smithy, we can go around Novigrad in the afternoon to make some purchases. It's time to fix this place up. After all, this is going to be your workplace for quite some time."

"A-Are they learning how to read and write?" Yoana glanced at the classroom, where the children were writing away. She looked a little envious, yearning to be in a classroom as well. She had never been to school her whole life. Her late mother was the one who taught her how to read, but it was only basic northern language.

"Yeah. General class. My colleague's teaching them a bit of this world's culture. Yoana, correct?" Serrit fell silent for a moment. "If you'd like, you can join the class every morning. Aside from blacksmithing, alchemy, and hunting, you may do as you please."

"But this isn't in the contract. I'm here to work, not to play." Yoana shook her head nervously.

"Didn't you see what Roy wrote at the end of the contract? Just think of this place as your home."

The blacksmiths exchanged a look, and their tension melted away. The witcher was more approachable than they thought. They had a feeling this trip would be more vibrant and lively than they first thought.

"Get to know this place for a bit. I'll introduce you guys to everyone else at lunchtime. They're more than happy to make new friends."

Roy teleported back to Undvik and made his way to the northern mountains. He passed through the mines occupied by the dead trolls and climbed up a ravine, eventually coming to a triangular cave entrance. The slope led downward, and the stench of blood formed ribbons in the air that led deep into the cave.

The witcher stood before the entrance, knocking on the air, excitement flaring in his eyes. "Hope you had a good sleep, ice giant. You're about to have a rude awakening."

Chapter 524

The cavern's paths were twisted, with steep cliffs accompanying them. Scores of hanging stone bridges stood between junctions, the deep abyss sleeping underneath. In the corners of the cave were skeletal remains of all manner of beasts, and the witcher glimpsed human bones too. Some smelled fresh, while some had been sleeping in this cave for centuries, acting as a bit of a spook for intruders.

Roy darted through the darkness like a phantom, ascending the path leading to the top of the mountain. Bones crunched underneath his feet, his eyes glinting like a beast's. The darkness did not rob the witcher of his sight.

He passed through the suspension bridge and entered an enormous cave. It was the shape of a dome and perhaps bigger than any castle. Stalactites hung from the ceiling, closely jumbled together. They almost looked like vines, and Roy's sense of space was slightly skewed.

Grey and green stalagmites jutted from the ground, their base thick, but their tips thin. Some were even taller than Roy. Water dripped into the holes between the rocks, splashes echoing in the air.

Roy felt something watching him. Quickly, he cast Quen over himself, and he slowed his steps, treading carefully.

A pair of crimson eyes snapped open behind a stalagmite in the corner and looked at him. Something rustled, and the creature hiding in the shadows opened its maw. The humanoid monster swung its arms and leapt out of its cover like a bird.

Roy could smell a rancid stench of excrement coming toward him. Eventually, the monster showed itself in its full glory. It had a body similar to a drowner's, only more disgusting. Layers of skin hung flaccidly on its head, forming a loose hat made of skin and flesh. The creature had crimson hair the girth of intestines, wriggling randomly in the air. Its muscles were red, its tendons were yellow, and they were hard enough to protect the creature. Its teeth were sharp and squalidly yellow, its claws deadly.

The monster looked hideous.

'Zeugl

Age: 20 years old

HP: 100

Strength: 10

Constitution: 10

Dexterity: 11

Perception: 5

Will: 6

Charisma: 2

Spirit: 5

Skills:

Corroding Venom Level 5: Zeugls live in places with an abundance of corpses and rotting flesh. Their claws and teeth are laced with a special type of venom. Targets who are attacked have a chance to be weakened and contract a fever.

Strength in Numbers (Passive): Whenever zeugls go around in groups, they gain +2 to Dexterity and Will.

Self Destruct (Passive): Before Zeus dies, they will self-destruct and deal a great amount of impact damage and corrosive damage to everything around them.'

Roy crouched, holding Aerondight with both hands, and he swung his blade across the charging monster's torso.

The zeugl's flesh was cut open, its innards spilling to the ground. A crimson flash flew through the air, and the witcher rolled ahead on the ground, leaving the mangled corpse behind.

The zeugl burst open like an overblown balloon. Its blood and innards flew everywhere, drenching the stalagmites with blood and flesh. The ground and walls sizzled from the corrosion. Some of the blood got to the witcher, but Quen kept it off, yet the shield broke after that blow.

'Zeugl killed. EXP +100. Level 12 Witcher (13900/12500).'

"That self-destruct was something." Roy heaved a sigh and flicked the blood off his blade.

And then howls echoed everywhere around him. A group of humanoid monsters leapt from behind the rocks, charging at the witcher.

Devourers.

The witcher was trapped in claustrophobic space, and these monsters could self-destruct. If he were to kill them, the impact from the self-destruct would hurt the killer, but if they were not killed, they would kill their prey instead. Even witchers would find this to be a predicament.

Roy, however, wouldn't let them get near him. Even before the monsters could get within ten yards of the witcher, Roy had already changed to his hand crossbow, and he fired six shots almost without stopping.

His first shot was fired backward, and he blinked away along with it, putting some distance between him and the suicide squad. Once he was sure he was safe, Roy fired five more shots, the bolts hurtling across the air. Some even turned an angle, and all bolts blasted the monsters' heads.

The corpses were sent flying backward from the shots' impact.

Something incredible was happening. The five devourers flew into the air, and their heads burst open like watermelons even before they hit the ground. The bolt ignited the explosion within the devourers, and their corpses exploded into mists of blood, the rain of red drenching the walls.

Roy stood in the distance, watching the bloody show unfold, and he blew at his hand crossbow. "Self-destruction won't work on me twice."

Why zeugls and devourers would self-destruct, Roy had not an inkling. One thing was for sure, however: this violent reaction post-death was a great hassle for the witcher. Their flesh and innards burst into little chunks, leaving nothing but ribcages behind. Their teeth, claws, and their flesh flew everywhere, falling into the abyss underneath the bridge.

Collecting loot was nigh impossible, but fortunately, he found a devourer den behind the stalactite. Most of the den was hidden underneath the ground, formed into a spindle. The surface looked like a little volcano made of snow, soil, and skeleton. Roy tossed a fireball into the den and blasted it to smithereens. He gained a lesser red mutagen from it.

On his way to the ice giant, two types of self-destructing monsters attacked the witcher. After witnessing their self-destruction first-hand, Roy would not let them get close to him. Either he shot them off with bolts, or he burned them with fire and lightning. No monsters could approach the witcher.

The elevation was getting higher. The witcher came to a stop upon a great boulder, suspension bridges hanging from all sides. A great, gnarly tree stood in the center, its branches devoid of leaves, replaced by balls of soil, mucus, and black feathers. The flapping of wings echoed from the branches, and the air was filled with hisses and crackles.

A few slender erynia were perched on top of the branches, looking hideous as usual, yet they were cleaning their feathers with their beaks like they were the most beautiful fowls in this land.

Apparently, these monsters had turned this tree into their nest. Around the root of the tree, skeletons sprawled. Skeletons of animals, beasts, zeugls, and even their own. These monsters saw everything as prey.

And another one walked straight into their line of sight. Squawking and screeching with delight, the erynias dove at the witcher.

And then their screeches became screams of horror.

Bolts flew and fluttered across the air, and the witcher disappeared. He reappeared right beside an erynia like a phantom and swung his blade away. One by one, the erynias fell with sickening thuds, their bodies carved by holes and gashes of the witcher's attacks.

Blood and flesh covered the ground, and a few moments later, the witcher stood on top of the treetop, smiling at the bright exit ahead of him.

'(8) erynias killed. EXP +640. Level 12 Witcher (15040/12500).'

"Well, that was a good EXP farm."

The witcher darted ahead and fell back down to the ground, swinging his short sword away at the erynias' bodies, taking everything valuable.

And he left the cave. Outside the darkness was a meandering path that surrounded the whole outside wall of the mountain, leading up to the top. Cold winds howled loudly, cutting the skin of those who were foolhardy enough to step foot into these parts of the mountain.

It was fourteen degrees outside, and snow was falling down slowly, fluttering onto the witcher's cloak, glimmering like stars.

Roy pulled his cloak tighter and embarked on the slippery path ahead. Ten minutes later, he came to his destination—the cave on the highest peak of Undvik.

Years and years ago, the people of this isle piled a mountain of granite before the hole, almost blocking it completely, leaving only one little slit on the top, allowing air to enter.

The witcher sniffed the air, and he was greeted by a familiar odor. The same odor he caught from Old Speartip. Yeah, that's an ice giant inside alright. "This explains why the ice giant hasn't shown up for a hundred years. The entrance to its cave is blocked off, and with no one disturbing it, it fell into hibernation."

Sleep for a hundred years. Only ogroids can do that. Still, as long as the giant is around, it will wake up someday, and that's going to spell disaster for Undvik. "Very well, by my endless grace and generosity, I shall deal with this matter for the people." But I am not going to kill it.

Roy fired a bolt through the slit on the top, and he disappeared into thin air.

The cavern was titanic. It was at least thirty-three feet tall, and pillars the size of tree trunks held up the ceiling. This place was big enough for a horse to gallop. The perpetual freeze of the mountaintop had frozen the walls, icicles jutting out. Some of the walls had holes in them, linking them to the outside world, letting the chilly air in.

In the deepest depths of the cave lay a beast that was more than thirteen feet tall. Its skin was icy blue, its muscles were towering. The beast lay with its belly on the ground, sound asleep and cradled by its dreams. Bear hide covered its back and chest, the same hue as its dark brown hair, and it swayed as the beast snored. With every snore, the snow around it would swirl as if on command. Yellowing wooden armor covered its arms and legs. It looked ancient, as if it were made of wood torn off a drakkar and tied together with a stretch of rope.

'Ice giant

Age: 280 years old

Gender: Male

HP: ? (Hibernation, weakened, starving)

Strength: ? (Weakened)

Dexterity: 15 (Weakened)

Constitution: ? (Weakened)

Perception: 12

Will: 12

Charisma: 4

Spirit: 10

Skills:

Ogroid (Passive): Possesses an incredible amount of life force. +20 to Constitution. The ice giant's thick hide grants it great physical resistance. Minor wounds heal right away. Regular wounds heal faster than usual.

Pillar of the Frozen (Passive): Ice giants share a mysterious bond with the harsh cold. The cold is their source of strength. Ice giants gain great strength whenever they are situated in cold weather. +20 to Strength. Imbues its attacks with the power of ice. Slows or even freezes its target's blood flow.

Monster Tamer (Passive): Ice giants have the talent to tame bird-type monsters (ekhidna, erynia, harpy). This ability is deeply ingrained within its bloodline. The types of monsters it tames will also follow its every beck and call so long as they're in the ice giant's territory.'

"Hm. The erynias I fought earlier were probably the descendants of the bird this guy tamed." Roy peered quietly at the beastly creature. Even from ten yards away, he could feel the giant's heartbeat and overflowing life force.

If this creature had been in its prime, it would've been even stronger than Old Speartip. Roy alone would find it difficult to defeat this creature. Alas, it had been asleep for far too long, and the passage of time had robbed it of its strength. It was malnourished. Which explains why it rampaged and ate all it could the moment it woke up. "Sorry, but that won't happen this time."

Once he confirmed that the giant was in a deep slumber, the witcher sat down cross-legged and went into meditation to heal back up, then he prepared for the fight.

First, he whipped a piece of cloth out and greased both of his swords with a brown paste. Part of it was ogroid oil, and the other part was the puffer fish toxin he asked from Serrit. He dipped two hundred bolts in a second bottle of ogroid oil, and he dipped them in poison as well.

These items would be instrumental in his plan of attack. He laid three bottles of decoctions out. Thunderbolt for strength, Petri's Philter for Sign intensity, and ekhidna decoction for healing at the cost of mana.

Roy uncorked everything and downed the decoctions. His heartbeat started to race, a sickly red hue tingeing his cheeks, and black veins crept onto his face. He then whipped out a pair of bombs he hadn't used in a long time: Dragon's Dream. And then he took out a barrel of oil.

The witcher made a Sign, and Quen covered him. His clone appeared before him and picked up the barrel and bombs, then it strapped Aerondight on its back.

Roy saw it off as it slowly went around the snow, approaching the sleeping ice giant.

And the clone splashed the oil all over the giant. The air was filled with the rancid stench of oil. The giant's back and sides were covered in the liquid, but still it was deep in sleep.

The clone then set off the bomb, and a cloud of white, inflammable smoke covered the beast. The ice giant's gigantic finger moved, and its eyelids twitched. Finally it was stirring.

Quickly, Roy summoned his minion, and an atronach of fire sashayed out of the doors of Oblivion, hovering beside its summoner.

The clone, the atronach, and the witcher went into a triangle formation. Its orders received, the atronach pirouetted and tossed a fireball across the air. At the same time, the clone held up Aerondight. Crimson light flared from the edge, and it swung the blade down at the back of the giant's left foot.

Dragon's Dream and the oil touched the fire.

A pillar of flames roared into the air, and an explosion rumbled the whole cave. The fires that covered the giant shook and danced, sparks flying in every direction, and air currents undulated, shaking the very ground and air.

Stalactites fell like rain, smashing into little pieces. A towering silhouette stood up within the flames, and it staggered leftward. An ancient roar reverberated across the cave, and the mountainous figure trundled out of the flames.

The monster almost resembled a misshapen and disfigured human. Its forehead protruded so much it was sagging. Its nose was wide, its mouth was a gaping maw, and its eyes were glinting like rubies. Its features were mashed together to form a jumbled and hideous face.

Its dark brown beard extended to its chest, looking like an oversized broom. Thanks to the oil and Dragon's Dream, the flames stuck to the giant's icy skin, refusing to get off. The monster looked like it had an armor of fire on, but icy whirlpools spun in its pores, putting out the fire.

The flames and cold were locked in an intense fight on the giant's body, yet the giant's blackened skin was quickly healing up. The giant charged toward the flame atronach. Even though it was tilting left and wobbled with every step, it didn't hinder its speed. The giant covered at least four yards with every step.

The giant's lumbering rumbled the cave, and a moment later, it was already before the atronach. At the same time, the witcher quickly fired off a volley of bolts. The bolts exploded, carving chunks off the giant's back, and dust filled the air.

The ogroid oil and toxin on the bolts seeped into the ice giant's bloodstream. The giant froze in pain for a fraction of a second, then it bent over and grabbed the atronach, squeezing it between its palms.

The atronach vanished into the air, turned into particles of mana. Roy fired off more bolts, and they hurtled through the air like a rainbow of death, falling on the ice giant.

The monster held its muscular left arm before its chest. If it were any other monster, the bolts would've blasted it away, but all they managed to do was leave small marks on the giant's arm, and then they fell to the ground.

The giant kept its arm held up as it rammed at the stone pillar the witcher was hiding behind.

The cave rumbled again, and the pillar snapped, its lower half falling backward. Dust flew high into the air, debris ricocheting in every direction.

Despite its best effort, it was for naught. Before it knew it, the witcher had reappeared somewhere else in the cave. This time, the witcher made an Aard sign and tossed a bolt of lightning across the battlefield. At the same time, another atronach and a clone with Gabriel appeared behind him, quickly running to their positions.

The ice giant shouted loudly, trying to summon its own helpers, but Roy had killed all the bird monsters. It would have to fight all by its lonesome. Left with no choice, the giant charged around the cave, trying to attack the witcher and his allies.

The enormity of the cave put the giant in an even bigger disadvantage. It spent too much time chasing its prey. Even though it had enough strength to pulverize any foe in a single blow, if it couldn't even touch the witcher, its strength was nothing.

The atronach, the witcher, and the clone hid in three different corners of the cave, tossing out a barrage of attacks at the giant. Lights of different colors shone and glimmered, explosions and the whizzing of bolts filled the air, the giant's roars playing along like a cacophony of sounds.

The fireballs hurled by the atronach flew through the air in an arc, charring the giant's skin. The lightning bolts Roy cast carved gashes across the ground as it numbed the giant, and the clone's bolts carved the giant's flesh away, boring hole after hole in its body.

The wounds were not much, but as they slowly accumulated, even the giant was starting to feel the heat. The ogroid oil hampered its regenerative abilities, while the pufferfish toxin ate away at its nervous system, slowing its reflexes, and the broken tendons of its left leg dragged its movements down even more.

The witcher was not in a good state either. He was drenched in sweat, his face tense, his gaze nervous. This was a war of attrition as far as they were concerned. The incessant teleportation, summoning of his minions, lightning bolts, and occasional Fear ate up all his mana, including the restored mana he received from Activate, and it had only been five minutes since the battle began.

He only had five potions of minor mana restoration and one charge of Full Recovery left in his stash.

The giant roared. For the seventh time, he destroyed the atronach. The beast thumped its chest and let out another long roar. The cry slithered through the cracks between the walls, echoing between the mountains.

It staggered, almost falling down. The light in its eyes was starting to dim, and its breathing was ragged. With every breath it took, its body shivered. The burns, the gaping holes, and the blackened wounds from the electrocution were slowly tearing its body apart like it was a crumbling statue, and its hunger was helping them.

The giant ignored the exploding bolts, and it strode toward the western corner. It yanked a black, rusty anchor out of the wall, holding the anchor with one hand and the chain with the other.

With its weight put in its right foot, the ice giant spiraled and swung the chain. It was the monster's spin of death.

The anchor barreled through the air, howling like the wind. It traveled five yards in a single moment, hitting the spot where the witcher was hiding. The anchor smashed into the ground like a black meteor, snow and debris flying everywhere, and the metal left a crater behind.

Roy managed to teleport to his clone in the nick of time, yet he looked white, and he shuddered.

Before he could even heave a sigh, the spinning anchor loomed over him again, threatening to take his life away.

The clone shattered into pieces, and Roy couldn't manage to summon another one in time. The giant slowly moved closer, the shadow of its towering body looming over Roy, and it swung the anchor, the great metal charging across half the chamber.

Roy grabbed his hand crossbow. Ripples scattered across the air, and he reappeared somewhere else with his bolt, but luck was not on his side this time.

Even before he could land, he felt a gust of wind charging at his back, and a wave of power rammed through his back, breaking every bone in his body. The witcher hurtled ahead like a cannon before he could even let out a yelp, and he slammed into the wall.

The wall crashed into pieces, and a mangled corpse slid down from a human-shaped crater, leaving behind blood and mincemeat.

A smile of relief cracked across the ice giant's lips. It let go of the anchor and plopped down heavily, its hands resting on its knees, its breathing still ragged. Pain and exhaustion seared and flared from all its blackened and bleeding wounds. The oil and toxin exploded at the same time, sapping what was left of its strength.

I won. That was the only thought left in its rudimentary mind. That bug is dead. Woke me up and ran around so much, I couldn't hit it. But it's dead now. I want to skin him and chew him a thousand times before I gulp him up. I'm hungry. I want to eat everything. But first, let me sleep.

Its eyelids started to droop, and it hung its head low, its muscles relaxing.

And then a whizzing in the air swept away all its sleepiness. The bug that should've been quashed flew over out of nowhere, stepping down on an invisible staircase.

The witcher's hair was unkempt, a patch of blood and mincemeat hanging from his caved-in armor. His eyes were wide, and he opened his mouth, his throat trembling.

"Fus!"

The Shout slammed into the giant's head, and it bled from its face. Dizzy, it fell back down and held its right arm up by instinct, covering its face, but it was too tired to fight. The toxin had seeped into its innards. Even its hands were shivering.

Like a dancer, the witcher fluttered down onto the back of the giant's hand. He crouched and held his blade by his cheek, holding it out like a bull's horn.

The ice giant expended the last of its strength, holding up its hand in an attempt to squeeze the witcher to death. 𝙡𝙞𝙗𝒓𝙚𝓪𝙙.𝒄𝓸𝓶

The witcher leapt ahead and dodged the hand. At the same time, he thrust his blade into the giant's chest, the edge flaring crimson.

The giant's arm fell limp to its side, and it was coughing up blood and pieces of its innards. The witcher stood atop the dying monster, pulling his blade up and staring down at it, his eyes glinting.

The monster closed its eyes, falling into unconsciousness. Am I finally dying? Lived for hundreds of years, killed by an insect?

Death did not claim it. The witcher stepped ahead, crossing its neck and finally stopping on its nose. A smile curled his lips, and he pressed his right hand into the center of the giant's forehead, and a red light shimmered around him.

Chapter 525

The red sun perched over the horizon, half of it burning the yellow skies up, draping it with the hue of a great fire, the other half reflecting on the surface of the sea like a lone yolk in a bowl of seafood stew.

A fishing boat was floating around the isle of Undvik, a basket sitting in the center, and a small school of slender sardines jumped around in it. Brock was sporting a sealskin jacket and a straw hat that day, languidly sitting on the bow of his boat, fishing away while enjoying the touch of the sea breeze. He stared out at the sea, admiring the golden glimmer of its gently crashing waves.

The night before, the goddess Freya appeared in his dream and gave him a foretelling. She promised a weather good enough for a fishing session, and that prophecy held true. It had only been a few hours of fishing, but he had made a few days' worth of haul. Good. Another seafood feast for my grandchild.

And his boat started to wobble. Hastily, Brock held down the boat's hull and steadied himself. The waves started rising higher, crashing down with a roar, and whirlpools spun beside the boat, as if something were darting underwater at a speed so fast, it was stirring up a mess on the surface.

Brock's eyes went wide, and he saw a black silhouette swimming underneath his boat. The silhouette was a marlin, and one bigger than any marlin he'd caught before. The golden sunshine pierced through the seawater, illuminating something uncannily humanoid, something sleek and slender.

"Echidnas on a hunt for sharks?" Brock pulled his head back from the edge of his boat, holding his harpoon as tightly as he could. Frantically, he grabbed a sardine from his basket, cut a gash into it, and tossed it into the sea.

Blood colored the seawater red, and the foams of the waves swallowed it. "By Freya!" Brock desperately rowed to the coast, tossing a bloody sardine every hundred yards or so.

Yet he was too slow.

An enormous, elliptical being pushed through the surface of the water, halting the boat. It was a humanoid head, yet it was roughly ten times bigger than any human head. Its features were scrunched up and jumbled into a hideous face, a protrusion sagging from its forehead. The head had a big nose and an even wider mouth. The marlin Brock saw earlier was snapped in its maw, blood trickling down the monster's teeth. The monster had eyes as big as rubies, and they glinted with bloodlust.

A group of half-bird, half-woman creatures flapped their wings and pierced through the sea's surface. They took to the air, droplets of water raining back into the sea, glimmering under the sun. The monsters held sardine in their beaks, circling the boat, screeching into the air.

Freya, have mercy. Two of these monsters will spell doom for me. Five? An' a ne'er-seen-before giant? I'm done for. Brock let go of his oars and held his harpoon tight as he unsteadily stood up.

Sea winds howled across the waters, resolution flaring in the old man's eyes. These bastards might get the better o' Ol' Brock, but I ain't gonna turn tail and' run like a coward. I'll die in battle, just like a man of Skellige.

Much to Brock's surprise, the giant suddenly turned around and made its way to the beach, ignoring him. The bird monsters followed suit.

Slowly, the group of monsters closed in on the shore, and Brock saw something he would never forget for the rest of his life. A blue-skinned giant in a lackluster jacket walked out of the sea, heading toward the coast, a desolate, ancient whistle escaping its lips.

The echidnas circled overhead, screeching in response. The fisherman was slack-jawed, his breathing almost coming to a stop. And then a cloaked figure appeared, sitting on the giant's shoulder, the blades on his back glinting under the sun. The figure held the giant's sopping long hair with one hand, waving slowly at Brock with the other, as if saying goodbye to him.

Somethin's sittin' on the giant's shoulder? What's that? Brock rubbed his eyes, but the giant had entered the lush mountains, disappearing into the woods. All his strength lost, Brock plopped onto the bow, a rush of air escaping his lips. Beads of sweat drenched his beard and hair.

"By Freya… A blue giant that can control those flying monsters? Goddess, could that be? The slumbering' giant in the freezin' mountains? But why didn't it kill me? And who's the guy on its shoulder? No, first I gotta tell everyone about this. They must know the giant has come back."

Winds howled, the witcher's cloak and hair billowing. He was sitting on the ice giant's shoulder as it lumbered through the mountains of Undvik. Every step it took made the ground rumble, and the sound of its footsteps spread far and wide. Big flocks of snow buntings flew off the branches, seeking a quieter place.

Standing on a giant granted Roy a different perspective. The world felt different and new. The air was crisper, colder, and everything he saw was white. White ice, snow-capped trees, and snow covered branches. The witcher grabbed a frozen acorn, and a patch of snow fell to the ground, revealing a nest underneath. The hatchlings squawked, craning their necks, calling their mother to feed them.

The hatchlings' mother, however, was on the other side of the woods, scared off by the giant. The witcher patted the giant's head, and it bent down obediently, huddling closer to the nest as its master tore a fish into strips. Roy then fed the fish to the hatchlings, and he snapped his fingers.

The giant kept walking. In the bushes underneath, white foxes and hares carefully stuck their heads out, looking at the giant with curiosity and fear.

The giant roared and emerged from the woods.

"Start running, Leviathan."

The ice giant started to run. Despite its hulking mass, the giant could sprint. In just five seconds, it cleared nearly a hundred yards. The monster was faster than the best horse this world could provide.

The echoes of its footsteps spread across the air, an icy-blue mountain moving at high speeds across the snow-capped fields and woods. Everywhere the giant went, the earth would shake, and the mountains would crumble.

The witcher stayed with the giant as it charged through the prairie, and they came to the cliff of a snow-capped mountain. The giant scaled the walls, digging its toes and fingers into the stone easily. Ice giants were born with the talent and instinct to climb, and the skin on Leviathan's limbs shot out a surge of bizarre energy, sticking it to the snow.

The ice giant leapt from the top of the mountain, crossing a valley that spanned at least forty yards, and it landed on a mountainside. Despite the mountainside's uneven walls and jutting rock formations, the ice giant still climbed as fast as a lizard, holding a protruding boulder with both hands, swinging around like a gorilla.

Despite its mountainous size, the giant didn't feel slow. On the contrary, it was agile and had great balance.

Under the witcher's command and the echidnas' guide, the ice giant crossed the mountain range and climbed to the highest peak of Undvik's northern mountains. It was also the giant's old den.

Excited, Leviathan thumped its chest and let out a roar, announcing its return.

Roy stood atop the center of the giant's head, looking up at the golden sun, then he looked down, but everything looked as small as insects. Everything in Undvik was right under his feet. Under his mercy. "I'm the king of Undvik!"

They came into Leviathan's old home, and Roy sat beside a bonfire, balls of cotton plugging his nose. Even though Leviathan just had a bath and a change of clothes, the odor it had was still pungent enough to make Roy nauseous.

The ice giant sat on the other side of the cave, simpering. Resistance would bring it nothing but nightmares.

"After I leave Undvik, you're going to stay in your den and sleep, you hear? Only exception is when you have to hunt for food. Once every three days, you'll be hunting for fish in the sea. You're not allowed to attack humans. Good job staying away from the fisherman. Don't worry if you're seen. Just come back and hide in your den. If anything happens, contact me. You know how. And remember, tell your echidnas to stop hunting humans. The sea has enough fish for them to feed on."

Roy was stern with the giant, and Leviathan didn't try to argue. It nodded, a stark contrast from its old, belligerent self.

Roy extended his hand, and the giant quickly bent down and huddled its head closer for the witcher to pat. The ice giant almost felt like a pet. Roy nodded, satisfied. He meditated countless times and endured the dizziness and nausea from the mana exhaustion required to save this giant. Now, the giant was doing his bidding. No matter how powerful it was in the past, the beast now only followed his orders.

And now the witchers finally had their weapon of mass destruction. The ice giant was nigh invincible, had great strength, and was the size of a two-story building. It was enough to deal with an army.

After taming the ice giant, Roy read through its memories and noticed that the giant had been in hibernation for a hundred and ten years. Before this, it lived the life of a pig, spending its days eating and sleeping. Sometimes the sleep would last for five to six years, sometimes a century or two. If Roy hadn't woken it up, the giant wouldn't have woken up for at least eight years. Still, that was a good point. At least Roy didn't have to spend too much time keeping an eye on the giant.

After the lecture, Roy concentrated on his character sheet, his mind bombarded by a mountain of new information. After that smashing attack from the giant, he had to level up, or he would've died.

'Level (12 → 13) Witcher (100/14500) [3000 EXP spent on leveling up Sherry.]

Main stat (Will): 30 → 32

(1) skill points remaining. (1) stat point remaining.'

Level 10 Meditation had been a big boon for Roy, and now his first task was to get his second Level 10 skill. There was only one skill to spend the stat point on, then.

'Massacre Level 8 → Level 9

(Bloody Aura: Any enemy that is within a 3-meter radius (should they attack) has a 20% chance (locked) to be Feared by the aura of Massacre. If the enemy's Will is the same or lower than yours, they will lose control of their body for at most 3 seconds.

You now permanently deal (35 → 40)% extra damage to species of creatures you have hunted before.

Fear: You may activate this skill and Fear single, multiple, or all targets within a 3-meter radius around you. Performs a mandatory Will check. If the targets' Will are the same or lower than yours, they will lose control of their body for at most 3 seconds. Cooldown: 1.5 → 1 minute.

Note: This skill will level up as you kill. The higher the number and type of creatures you kill, the higher this skill's level is.)

"Massacre's corresponding stat is Will, and that's 30 points now. Once Massacre reaches level 10, it should power up once more."

Roy didn't spend his stat point. His highest stat was already 32, and that was enough for him for now. An increment would barely help him right now.

The young witcher turned his attention to his bound weapons. Once again, Gabriel's appearance had changed. What was once a crimson hand crossbow covered in gem dust had turned into an ivory weapon that was almost bonelike to the touch. The bowstring had changed into a greenish-gray tendon. One little pull, and the string would slither like a viper.

'Hand crossbow—Gabriel

You have dragon bones and dragon tendon in your inventory. Gabriel gains a special power up.

The Obsidian Bolt: The bowstring made of cyclops tendon is now switched out for the tendon of Mirmulnir. Gabriel's bolts gain more piercing power and effective range. Every tenth bolt, Gabriel's new components shall grant it more power, giving the tenth shot incredible piercing power.

Components: Mulberry wood → dragon bone, hemp, mana, cyclops tendon → dragon tendon

Specs: Weighs (9 → 15) pounds, measures at 0.9 meters long, draw strength (140 → 200) pounds. Effective range (143 → 200) meters.

Affixes: Simplify, Guided Arrows (Elevated), Blink (Elevated), Stun Bolt, Ogre's Fury (Elevated), The Obsidian Bolt, Mark of the Gemstone.'

Roy fired off at the frozen wall of the cave, the bolts leaving dark blurs. As they exploded at the walls, icicles and debris flew around, revealing small craters in the wall.

And then came the tenth shot.

No longer did the bolt whizz sharp and loud. Instead, it produced nothing but a whisper. The witcher froze. Even with his sight, he couldn't capture the arc of the bolt, and the impact didn't produce any cracks of debris.

The witcher went up to the wall and saw a small hole in it, and he felt a small gust of wind blowing into the cave, the rays of the sun forming a slanted beam.

The tenth shot pierced through the half-meter thick wall and flew into the air outside. So that's what it means by 'incredible piercing power.' I can't imagine what kind of substance can block this thing. It can probably shoot through dragon scales, let alone regular metal.

Half an hour of experimenting later, the witcher happily tucked the hand crossbow away.

The ice giant was sitting on the ground, watching its master in confusion. It stared at Roy, frowning and falling into a stupor.

Roy grabbed a sword out of thin air. Gwyhyr used to be smooth, level, and its blade glinted white. However, now its blade was swapped out for dragon bone, and it glimmered like white jade. It was slightly rough to the touch, the back and the edge of the blade curving ever so slightly.

It was a sharp weapon, and yet it looked so exotic.

'Steel sword—Gwyhyr

You have dragon bones, dragon scales, and dragon blood in your inventory. Part of Gwyhyr's components have been switched out. You currently possess the power to ameliorate your soul into the form of a dragon. You have learned Sword Mastery Level 3. Gwyhyr ganis a special power up.

Symphony of the Sword—Dragon: The amelioration of your soul grants you synchronization with the dragon components of Gwyhyr. You can launch an attack that contains nearly the full power of an adult dragon. This skill's strength will change according to the level of Sword Mastery and the strength of your soul. You have undergone thirteen level ups and the meditation for a dragon's soul. Cooldown: 20 minutes 54 seconds → 17 minutes 54 seconds.'

The level up strengthened Roy's soul as well, and the cooldown for Shout was reduced by three minutes.

'Components: Dark iron and pine wood → dragon bones, meteoric iron, magma, leather → dragon scales, powdered monster tissue → dragon blood.

Specs: Weights (3.06 → 6) pounds, hilt measures at 9.3 inches, blade measures at 36 inches.

Affixes:

Circulation, Ignite, Painful Strike (Elevated), Teleport (Elevated), Suppression (Elevated), Frostbite, Devour (Elevated), Symphony of the Sword—Dragon.'

Roy held the hilt tight, facing the ice giant. He blinked, and then a visible stream of air rushed out of his armor, stirring up a small dust tornado, floating in the air.

The ice giant tensed up, as if it would face a great enemy. It clenched its fists, staring at the witcher. Roy was still a puny human, and yet the ice giant suddenly saw something much bigger standing behind him.

A black, armored dragon, and it overlapped with the witcher. The dragon's head and the witcher's head overlapped, and it bared its fangs, its eyes filled with iciness, looking down at everything and everyone in this world.

Roy held the sword tight and bent his leg a little. He held the sword up by his cheek, getting into the ox position. He stomped his foot and charged ahead, thrusting his sword at the open air. The blade tore through the air with a buzz, and then a dragon's roar echoed throughout the cave.

For a moment, the Strength stat on his character sheet jumped from 16 to 30. The dragon's phantom swiped its impressive barbed tail across the ground, its scales undulating as the witcher charged ahead. Then it flapped its wings and pounced ten yards ahead into the air, tearing and snarling at whatever the edge of the blade was pointing at.

A dark silhouette hurtled across the air, crashing into the wall, and it left a big hole behind for the snow and fierce winds to come in from.

The silhouette disappeared into the air.

A smile curled Roy's lips. The dragon might be an illusion, but it could interact with the world around it. The moment he cast Symphony of the Sword—Dragon, for a few moments, Roy would possess enough strength to face an ice giant head on.

The witcher unsheathed Aerondight, its once-crimson blade possessing a tinge of gleaming ivory, as if small patches of snow had found their way into a pool of blood.

'Silver sword—Aerondight.

You have spent an extra 3000 EXP to level up Guardian: Whenever you wield Aerondight, Sherry shall join you in battle, increasing all your stats by (10 → 15)% (limited to stats not higher than [20 → 25] points). This skill can also level up one of the user's skills by one level (limited to skills not higher than Level [4 → 5] or an affix by one rank (limited to affixes that have at most gone through [2 → 3] power ups). The user may swap between these power ups once per day.

Note: Every time this weapon is strengthened, its sentience shall grow as well, but at the cost of more pure souls.'

Roy flicked the blade, and it let out a crisp sound, and then a slender, translucent silhouette leapt into the air, dancing behind Roy, and a silvery laugh rang in the air. Sherry looked even more corporeal than ever, her smile beautiful and almost lively.

Roy watched her dance without saying a word, then they exchanged a look, and he saw her off as she disappeared into thin air

The details for Aerondight changed.

'Silver sword—Aerondight

Components: Tearstone, dark iron → dragon bones, cured draconid leather → dragon scales, powdered monster tissue → dragon blood, nymph blood, silver

Specs: Weighs (6.06 → 9) pounds, hilt measures at 11 inches, blade measures at 40 inches

Soul Power: Guardian (the power up is now applied to Devour)

Affixes: Mana Reduction, Aqua Blessing, Aqua Summoning, Teleport (Elevated), Suppression (Elevated), Devour (Twice Elevated), Symphony of the Sword—Dragon

Note: This sword is a gift from the Lady of the Lake—Vivienne to Roy. Only you who have passed the trial can wield this sword.'

Roy took a deep breath, tucked his weapons away, and gave the ice giant—that was cowering in the corner in fright—a reassuring look. "Time to leave."

The level up this time just added a few more trump cards up Roy's sleeve. Fear, The Obsidian Bolt, Shout, Symphony of the Sword—Dragon, Ring of Time, and Worldgate. Roy looked out the slit on the wall to the far east, where Hindarsfjall was located. My preparations are complete. "I'm coming for you, Ortolan."

Chapter 526

Back in Novigrad, Ciri had once again resumed her arduous life of magic education under Yennefer's tutelage. The sorceress was strict and almost spartan-like in her teachings, never letting her take a nap. Whenever Ciri would lose focus, Yennefer would whip her into shape, speaking to her in an almost beguiling manner.

"Focus, you ugly duckling. Control your middle finger and pinky. Curl them up at the same time, but the ring finger stays up! Did you sleep badly last night?" Yennefer heaved a sigh of resignation and ruffled her hair. "You did well yesterday, but this is awful."

"Sorry, Yennefer, but I have a question. Until I get my answer, I can't concentrate. Why can't anyone else learn how to draw the patterns you made me draw? And why can't they make these gestures either?" Ciri was wide-eyed and curious. "I taught Vicki and Renee more times than I cared to count, but they just couldn't seem to get the hang of it."

"I told you that the gods themselves granted you a gift, and the other sniveling brats aren't that lucky. You're effectively trying to teach them how to pluck the stars out of the skies, which is impossible. Save your breath and spend more time improving yourself. Don't fool around with the brats or try to train the dog to pee while standing on its hind legs. That's not going to happen, and it's animal abuse."

"Oh, so you know? Then why does the magic I learn differ from the witchers'?" Ciri licked her lips. "Before they learn their spells, Carl, Monti, Acamuthorm, and everyone else first learn how to meditate, and they talk to colorful tadpoles while they do that. The tadpoles will nestle themselves in the boys' bodies and come back out when they cast their spells."

"That's chaos energy, not tadpoles. Meditation's only for those without much talent. It's a shortcut for them to get to their goal. Fine, it also helps with calming the mind. For Sources, however, meditation's not exactly needed. You don't need meditation to replenish your mana. You can take it from the convergence points in the earth, the waters, the fires, and the air. And remember, the things witchers cast are not spells. They are Signs. Far easier to cast, but weaker as well."

"So you're saying I'm going to be stronger than them? Even with the fire?" Ciri's eyes shone, a grin curling her lips.

"Do as I say, and you'll be strong enough to shock them within a year."

Driven by her urge to win, Ciri started putting in hard work in hopes of one day besting the witchers. The girl was smart enough to learn a dozen basic gestures, poses, and movements. As Yennefer instructed, Ciri would move to her luxurious room in Gildorf when night came. There, she lit up her magical lamp and started reading the basic tomes of magic Yennefer prepared for her. Dialogues on the Nature of Magic, Natural Magic, and Elemental Energy were some of the few references she must read.

Ciri started yawning after she was done with her reading. The sorceress would hold her in her arms as they slept, trying to prove that she had no unicorns lying around, and Geralt never had the chance to ride one, since it never existed.

Ciri wasn't really curious about it. She would fall asleep right after she lay down on the bed. Her training was exhausting, and she fell into a deep slumber, oblivious to the fact that Yennefer would get up after she fell asleep and go around gallivanting.

The children noticed Ciri's moving out, and it hadn't been that long since the lively girl joined them. She was no longer there in the dorms, and things got a little lonely without her. However, their attention was quickly turned to Yoana, the newcomer in their class.

The girls would surround the young blacksmith, asking her a lot of questions. One was why she spent her days in the smithy toiling away, while another was why her chest, unlike most girls, looked like a pair of mountains.

Some of the more precocious boys would steal glances at the curvaceous Yoana, even those who used to steal glances at Ciri. Carl once got too distracted staring at Yoana, he ran straight into the stake and got a bump on his head that took three days to heal. He became the butt of everyone's jokes for two weeks.

Ciri felt down about that for a long time. "They only care about the new girl now, hmph!" Just like that, the young girl decided to give all her time to magic, with Yennefer as her tutor.

"Keep on walking, you ugly duckling. Vort called me. Hold your hands out in front of you. Relax. Keep walking ahead."

Frustrated, the girl stomped her foot. "Where is the stream supposed to be?"

"The stream is everywhere, and keep your temper in check."

Ciri awkwardly held her hand before her chest, stiffly going into the bushes. "There are four elements, aren't there? Why can I only take mana from streams instead of the earth or fire or the air?"

"Mana comes in different ways. You do not have enough strength to take mana from the earth; you do not understand magic enough to glean mana from the air; you do not have enough control over your will or mana, so you won't be playing with fire unless you want to get burned and turn yourself uglier."

"Hey, I felt something over there! Right behind the flower!"

"Good. Now focus your mind and hold your excitement in. Slowly move toward the stream, find out its location, and point it out to me."

"It's right here!"

"Well done. You should feel your index finger twitching now. See how it's bending downward? That's a sign you found a convergence point. Yes, that's a stream right there. Perfect for an aspirant. Now, take this slow and capture—"

"Can I absorb mana now?" The girl swiveled around, staring at her teacher with excitement in her eyes.

"Hold on. I need to check the mana leve— Dammit, stop!"

"Bear witness, Yennefer!" Ciri cupped a ball of blue water in her hands, ripples spreading across its surface, and the water reflected the golden sunlight. She turned around, cackling. "I, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, hereby announce that I have captured mana! I am now a proud sorceress! I am the queen of monster hunt—"

Yennefer quickly held the dizzy Ciri in her arms. Blood was spurting out of the girl's nose.

"I'm seeing stars, Yennefer. And there's blood everywhere? Am I going to die? Am I seeing Grandpa soon?" Ciri looked green, and she shivered in fear.

"Why the queen of monster hunters instead of the queen of magic? Here I spent so much time teaching you everything I know, but all I get in return is an insult?" Yennefer plugged Ciri's nose with some cotton wool and checked if she was fine. She heaved a sigh of relief and rolled her eyes. "You ungrateful duckling. Now tell me your last words."

"L-Last words? I-I saw something just now. It's like a kind of vision."

Yennefer arched her eyebrow, her face tense. What's going on? Some divination from overstimulation?

"I see that scar-faced sorcerer. The same one who wants to catch me. He's coming!" Ciri said, her voice quavering, and she held Yennefer's hand tightly.

"What? Where is he?"

"He's with Aiden, Lambert, and a man with a mustache and fancy clothes."

The sun was setting into the horizon, burning the skies red. Dandelion was in a house in the slums of Novigrad. He stood up, pulled his belt tighter, changed into his gaudy jacket and purple hat, then he said goodbye to the lady in messy clothes, who was still swaying around.

The bard passed through the squalid and claustrophobic alleyways, swiftly making his way to the trade quarter in the north, where the ballroom stood. Memories of the time he shared with the woman earlier delighted him, and he hummed a tune. The bard spun around under the beautiful sky, bowing at the imaginary woman before him.

"Your beauty shines brighter than even the moon and the stars above, milady. Just like a perfect poem. I actually have a poem for you. Shall we take this to a quieter place so I can recite it to you?"

He laughed. Dandelion touched his face and tidily-kept mustache as he sauntered back to the ballroom, his heart full. Ever since the ballroom was opened, his life went into the fast lane. His business grew, and the number of customers who came to his establishment didn't diminish in the slightest.

In just a single year, the ballroom managed to surpass Pike's Grotto and became the city's most well-received entertainment establishment. Not only did Dandelion make enough money to afford his luxurious hobbies, he also had a place where he could express all his frustrations and talents in their full glory.

Over the last year, Dandelion had created more than ten remarkable works of art, some of them poetry, and some of them theater shows. His fame had spread to all of Novigrad and everywhere the city had influence. People in the industry and the bards and actors working for him praised him to high heavens. Beautiful women took interest in him in droves. From the daughters of merchants to the aristocratic widows, all fell for him.

Priscilla might have kept a close eye on him, but Dandelion was a smart man, partly because he saw art and poetry as his ultimate goal in life. He had cleared Priscilla's doubts more times than he could care to count.

Women were sources of his inspiration, especially women from different walks of life. He must've been under the spell of alcohol when he promised he would stay loyal to the female bard, but eventually, the spell was lifted, and Dandelion knew he would never settle for a single woman. The bard managed to enjoy the life of many men's dreams, and the delight of his gallivanting was turned into his source of inspiration.

Now that's what I call a positive feedback loop. The bard had a spring in his step, his smile growing bigger.

And then it froze.

The dying light of the sunset shone upon the men in the alleyway's entrance, lending a darker shade to their already dark looks.

The man in the lead, a mercenary in a gray leather jacket, loudly proclaimed, "I'm very sorry to stop you in your path, Dandelion, and in a place like this too." Slowly, the man closed in on the board.

Dandelion might not know an ounce of martial arts, but his adventures with Geralt had opened his eyes to the more violent side of the world. Thanks to that, he could see that this man before him knew how to fight, and he knew how to fight well. The air around him was tense, and he had an imposing presence. There was also a hint of mystery surrounding him too.

His lackeys were regular thugs, however.

"But I do admire your work. When I caught wind of your opening a ballroom in Novigrad, I came as fast as I could just to talk to you myself. Worry not. If everything goes well, we'll all go home happy. I won't waste much of your time, either."

"It's a delight to talk about poetry with a fellow enthusiast, but this is no place for that. Talking about art in the slums is going to hamper my inspiration." Dandelion stomped his foot, flinging away the mud on his boots, and he slowly looked at the men.

The one in the lead had glistening black eyes, a sharp nose, thin lips, and a hideous scar across his face. "Let's take this to the ballroom. It's big, luxurious, and there are nice chairs we can sit in. And since I'm happy to receive new guests, drinks are in the house."

"Oh, don't be nervous, Dandelion." Rience took one step closer. He could grab the bard by the neck if he just extended his hand. "Why don't you listen to what I have to say first?" He gave his lackeys a look, and one of them went around Dandelion, cutting off his exit.

"Your work is unique, indeed. Came up with a fresh new genre, eh? An ode to the mutants. That's sacrilege and a transgression, I reckon. Can't believe no one cursed your guts for that. No, the Novigradians seem to enjoy it as well. Your talent's remarkable. You managed to turn something reprehensible into something enjoyable," he praised.

And then he started the actual conversation.

"To be honest, I've taken an interest in a particular character in The Unexpected Journey. An ode to a white-haired witcher, eh? That witcher's the one I'm interested in. Poetry takes inspiration from real life. The fact that you know so much about how he fights with a sword, how he never really means his callous remarks, and his complex past tells me that you two are the best of friends."

Rience stared into the bard's eyes sharply, trying to see through him. "Do you know where that witcher is right now?"

He's talking about Geralt? Dandelion mused over it for a moment and realized this man must be plotting against his friend. Geralt was an old friend, and it was also partly thanks to him that Dandelion could run this ballroom show. He must not betray Geralt. "What's your name, good sir?"

"Rience. It's expected that the famous bard does not know about me. You have a legion of admirers, and I am but one of them. Still, will you generously lend me your help?"

"Sorry, but I can't." Dandelion shrugged and shook his head. "This story came from another bard. It held my interest, so I committed it to memory and made some modifications of my own. To tell you the truth, I have no idea about who that white-haired bloke is."

"Please, think harder, Dandelion." Rience whipped out a bag of coins and shoved it into the bard's hands.

Dandelion weighed the coins, and he scoffed silently. Not even a month of profit. You think this is enough to bribe me?

"You must know him. There's no reason for you to sing an ode to a witcher otherwise."

"Some other witcher saved my life from a band of elven bandits, and he almost died for that," Dandelion said seriously, putting on an act of gratitude. He had perfected the art from acting all his life, and he could play any emotion as if it were real. "Since then, I vowed to change how people view witchers. I vowed to clear them of their infamy."

"Nice story." The look on Rience's face turned icy cold, and he no longer showed the bard any respect. "Think long and hard, bard. This question is an important one, both for you and me. Where is the white-haired witcher? If you give me an honest answer, then I will not have to use any violence. Don't want to hurt your precious little body." He looked at the leering, freckled thug behind him, and the thug licked his lips. "Some people are very interested in you."

Dandelion shivered and held his buttocks, putting on a look of dilemma. He hung his head low and stayed in silence. A long deliberation later, he heaved a long sigh, a look of dejection painting his face. As if he had given in, he said, "Fine, I remember that bard telling me that the white-haired witcher would make frequent appearances in northern Aedirn somewhere near Dol Blathanna."

Rience's frown deepened, and an eerie smile curled his lips. "Still lying? Guess it's death for you."

Dandelion whirled and tried to run, his hat falling to the ground, coins spilling all over.

Rience shot a bolt of blue light at the bard, then he opened up his left hand and clasped his index and middle fingers together.

Dandelion was lifted off the ground, an invisible power holding him up in the air by his shoulders. He kicked and shouted, but he was not let go.

Rience curled his pinky, and Dandelion's scream was cut off, replaced by muffled cries. He couldn't speak, and he started to hyperventilate. His face was turning red as the lack of air kicked in. 𝘭𝒾𝑏𝑟𝑒𝒶𝒹.𝘤𝘰𝓂

The sorcerer kept his left hand held up, slowly walking toward the bard. "Very well. If you choose the hard way, then the hard way it shall be."

Five seconds later, the power that was grasping the bard's neck let go of him, but he was still suspended in midair. The bard's breathing was ragged, and he gasped in pain. His left wrist was bent backward at an unnatural angle, his bones almost breaking, and he tasted metal in his mouth.

"You useless, philandering fool. You just had to go the extra mile to lie to me, and what did it get you? Nothing but humiliation." Rience looked at the bard, the gaze in his eyes as cold as the winds on the ice giant's mountain.

There was a hint of lassitude in his voice. "Now you're going to answer my questions honestly. Lie, and you can say goodbye to your hand. I can promise that you'll never play the lute again, nor can you ever flirt with the foolish women who adore you. I can see through your lies easily. Any made-up stories, any hesitation, and I will read your mind and turn you into a moron. You won't even be able to recognize a single word, let alone make poetry. You'll spend the rest of your days mucking in the mud and playing with your excrements like a pig."

Dandelion was held up in the air with his buttocks rearing up. It was humiliating. His face was red, then it paled, and then he nodded in fear.

"Good. Now tell me everything about the main characters of The Unexpected Journey. The white-haired witcher and the other girl, Ciri. Their whereabouts, where they might show up, what they might be doing, I want everything. No omission."

"They're in Kovir and Poviss. The Dragon Mountains near the bay, to be exact," Dandelion muttered, almost having a breakdown. "In a witcher fortress called Kaer Seren."

Rience listened closely, his face tense. A witcher fortress? That's possible. "Continue."

"They're at…" Dandelion suddenly grinned as he looked up the walls of the alleyway. His eyes went wide, and tears welled within them.

"I said, continue."

"Hey, Rience." Dandelion sneered at the sorcerer, his eyes filled with mockery and pity. "You have no idea who you just messed up. I'm not the kind of man you can cross and then get away with."

"You bastard!"

Someone tossed a glass container from behind the walls. It smashed right beside Rience's foot, and dimeritium dust filled the air like glittering fog, covering the sorcerer. He gasped in surprise. Chaos energy flickered like bolts of electricity around him, and then they fizzled out.

The bard yelped as he fell to the ground head first. Noticing the sudden change, the lackeys closed in. Four silhouettes leapt down from the walls. Two had eyes of beasts. They were lean, well-built, and carried a pair of longswords on their backs. The other two were much shorter and younger. Obviously, they were still teenagers.

The moment the witchers leapt onto the battlefield, they knew what they had to do. The grown monster hunters surrounded Rience, their blades slashing through the air.

The apprentice witchers dealt with the lackeys. Carl stood before the stronger thug and slammed a left uppercut into his chin with all the might he could muster.

The thug flew through the air and crashed into the alleyway's wall. His eyes rolled back, and he fainted.

Monti faced the remaining thug. He was charging at the apprentice, but the lad wasn't afraid. He quickly held his hand out and chopped at the thug's throat. While the thug was holding his throat and gasping for air, Monti swung his leg at the thug's crotch.

The thug let out a shrill scream as he curled up and keeled ahead, convulsing as he fell to the ground.

The tables had turned.

Rience's vast experience on the battlefield saved his life. The moment he was hit by the dimeritium powder, he swiftly retreated, clutching at the obsidian talisman under his shirt with one hand. At the same time, he brushed his right thumb at the ruby ring on his right index finger, then he raised his hand.

A pillar of blinding flames shot to the sky, illuminating the rundown alleyway. A fireball hurtled ahead, leaving a red trail behind.

The ball of flames charged toward Aiden. The witcher stopped mid-charge and leapt away. The fireball whizzed past him, and his Heliotrope disappeared. In the end, the ball of flames hit the wall, leaving a charred mark on the bricks.

Lambert leapt ahead, thrusting his blade forward with both hands, but he hit a wall of air. A loud thud resounded throughout the alleyway, and he was pushed back by the rebound. While he was in the air, Lambert quickly made a bizarre Sign. A wave of mana charged out of the blue triangle, and a blast of Aard hit the sorcerer.

Rience grunted and staggered backward, bumping into the advancing Aiden. The point of the witcher's sword was aimed at his waist, ready to carve a hole in the sorcerer.

The sorcerer's shield broke, and a patch of crimson bloomed on Rience's armor. He quickly rolled across the ground, looking messy, but he managed to dodge Aiden's attack.

And then Lambert's attack came.

A blinding golden light flashed across the alleyway, and an elliptical object appeared before Rience. He held his left side and jumped into the air like a fish struggling for water, then he jumped into the elliptical object and disappeared.

The golden light dimmed, and the sounds of battle quieted. It had been but ten seconds, the battle was done.

"Dammit. He escaped? Now how am I supposed to explain myself to Geralt?" Lambert muttered as he tucked his sword away in frustration.

"It's not our fault. He was already affected by the dimeritium. I have a feeling that portal wasn't his doing." Aiden rubbed the scar on his chin. "Maybe some other powerful sorcerer, his accomplice, or even his employer did it. Opened up a portal somewhere far away and took him away. At least we got a couple of lackeys, though."

"Yeah, and that's really nice." Lambert said, "Wanna bet that they don't know anything about that bastard?"

"Yeah, sure. Challenge accepted. Loser pays for the next Pike's Grotto visit."

"Help me!" the bard howled, interrupting the witchers. "Lambert, Aiden, you have to help me, or I'm done for!" He held up his swollen, misshapen, and contorted wrist, almost tearing up, and his lips were trembling. "I can't let anything happen to my hand. How am I supposed to work if it's broken?"

Carl came over, yanked the bard's dislocated wrist, and snapped it back in place. The bard let out a yelp of surprise.

"Stop yelling, sir. Can't believe you're so scared of a little dislocation, and you're so much older than us. Our training's a lot more painful than this." Carl and Monti shook their heads in disdain.

Lambert, however, had a little change of opinion about Dandelion. "Didn't think a bard would be that brave, Dandelion. You wouldn't tell them anything even when you were tortured. Thought bards only flirted around with women and did nothing else."

"Of course I wouldn't." Dandelion rubbed his wrist and stood up. He patted the dust off his clothes and righteously declared, "I'd rather die in agony and humiliation than betray my friends."

That was a little lie. Had Rience kept on with his interrogation, Dandelion would've spilled everything.

"Ah, shut it. You did this yourself this time." Aiden smirked. "We've been keeping an eye on you in secret. Can't believe you'd sneak out of the ballroom and come all the way to the slums just to sleep with a widow. You duped Priscilla and us, and you see what that cost you? For the love of all things good, use your head a little. The head up there. Your gallivanting ways aren't more important than your safety, get it?"

"You insult me. My love for Priscilla is true, and that will never change." The bard swung his fists as he explained himself indignantly. "I was just trying to find some inspiration for better works. All for the business and your reputation."

"You were finding inspiration while sleeping around with women? Yeah, whatever you say," Lambert retorted and held one unconscious thug on his shoulder. Aiden took the other one, and they went to the Collector's villa. The lads followed them, focusing on their every movement to sharpen their stealth tactics.

"Oh, right. What did the guy say his name was again, Dandelion?"

"Rience." Dandelion shivered. With fear and hatred in his voice, he said, "He was looking for Geralt and the Unexpected Child. Wonder why he was doing that. Could he be a Nilfgaardian spy?" As if nonchalant, he asked, "So you know where the Unexpected Child is?"

The witchers exchanged a look and shook their heads. "We're searching for the princess too, and this is none of your business, Dandelion. For your sake, the less you know, the better. Now go back to the ballroom and don't run around again."

Chapter 527

An ancient castle stood on the cliff overseeing a beach. A muscular man in black stood before the window of the library, a calm expression painting his handsome face, and he was staring at the shipwreck on the beach.

"My apologies, sire. I fell into their trap." Rience knelt behind him, his head hanging low. His hand was held against his waist, his voice filled with hatred and exasperation. "The witchers know that I'm searching for Cintra's princess. They told the third-rate bard to sing odes to them to lure us in, and they were waiting for us. If you hadn't saved me in time, those filthy mutants would've taken me in for interrogation."

"They?" Vilgefortz asked flatly, but there was unbridled rage under his voice. His hand that was holding the window's pane had veins popping on it.

Fear flashed in Rience's eyes. "Four other witchers ambushed me. Two of them were older. Skilled and experienced. Must be more than fifty years old. The other two were young. Couldn't have been older than teenagers. Perhaps they had just passed the Trial. Geralt didn't show himself, but it's highly probable that he's hiding in Novigrad. Only he knows me and my goal."

Vilgefortz fell into silence, gently fiddling with the thumb ring on his left hand. He was not interested in subpar magical creations like witchers, but he did hear of them during his chats with other practitioners of magic. He knew witchers fought alone. Two appearing in one place was rare, and four showing up together was nigh impossible.

Not to mention that it had been decades since the witcher added fresh blood to their ranks. They should've been in steep decline and on the brink of extinction. And yet two new witchers showed up. This is clearly different from what I've been told.

"Sir, I have a feeling that there are other witchers in the city aside from Geralt and the four who ambushed me. They're hiding in the shadows, scheming and plotting against us." Rience gnashed his teeth. "Because of their protection, that lowly bard cursed me. Threatened me. Me, a sorcerer. That is preposterous."

Vilgefortz stepped away from the window and circled around the kneeling sorcerer calmly, his hair swaying in the wind. "Mutants are no threat by themselves, but if enough of them band together, they'd be as annoying as a bunch of drowners. You are not to be blamed for this failure."

"Thank you, sir." Rience heaved a sigh of relief and wiped the sweat off his forehead. With conviction, he said, "Even though the princess managed to escape Emhyr's useless knight, where could she even go? The only thing she could do was join up with Geralt in Novigrad. That witcher is bound to her by Destiny, after all. Now that they've attacked us, that's effectively telling us where they are. I believe that Geralt and the princess are hiding in Novigrad somewhere."

"Your previous operation has alerted them to our presence. They're as cunning as foxes, so I'm sure they're coming up with countermeasures right now." Vilgefortz mused. "Rience, listen to me. Make sure you keep yourself hidden well enough. Do not alert the witchers again," Vilgefortz ordered.

"Contact Schirru and hire some trusted individuals. Powerful individuals. Money is of no concern. I want you to investigate Novigrad as much and as carefully as you can. I want you to find out where the witchers are hiding, how their forces are spread, and their allies in the city. I want everything. Come back with a report once you're done, and do not disappoint me this time. Do not reveal yourself and alert them either."

"Of course, sir." Rience touched his chest with his right hand.

"They're lucky I don't have time to deal with them. I have something more important to do. They can live their happy little lives for a while longer." A cold smirk curled Vilgefortz's lips.

Something more important? Rience bowed his head, his eyes glinting with admiration and worship. Vilgefortz was an incredibly young sorcerer, yet his talent for magic was unmatched. He knew countless powerful spells not even the brotherhood's top brass could cast. Rience would be taken out in five seconds should they get into a fight.

And this man was smart and cunning. Just a while ago, he helped the northern kingdom's alliance take down Nilfgaard's sorcerer in the Battle of Sodden Hill, dealing a heavy blow to the emperor of the south and gaining most of the northern brotherhood's trust and support.

And now, thanks to his efforts, the kings were about to sign a ceasefire. This time, he would take Emhyr's side. A carrot and a stick, as they always said. Vilgefortz would make Emhyr see that he was more important than the emperor had imagined, and he would need something much more valuable if Emhyr wanted his support.

This man had everything under his control. Even a ruler like Emhyr had to walk right into his trap. He had no choice but to do so. Still, that was good news for Rience. Once Vilgefortz had ensured his victory, his lackeys—Rience included—would be reaping great benefits too.

It was his dream for this future that drove him to risk being a double agent, even though being found out meant heads would roll. Even so, he would help Vilgefortz with the search for Ciri.

"I'll deal with the witchers once I'm done with my current matter. What belongs to me will be mine. The swallow can fly around for a bit longer. Only through trials can she grow. The stronger she is, the more valuable she becomes." Vilgefortz paused for a moment. "And don't even think about leaking anything to the empire's intelligence department. If you're trying to appease Vattier de Rideaux, then I advise you to discard that thought immediately."

"From the moment you saved me from Cintra's dungeon and cleared my debt, I have sworn fealty to only you."

Rience had his orders, and he slipped into a portal, disappearing.

Vilgefortze left the library and descended a big staircase, then he walked down a corridor with statues filling the niches in the walls before coming into a laboratory. The lab was clean and brightly lit. It had a long metal table and racks filled with glass items. Vials and vessels and tubes and curios of all kinds stood atop the rack.

And there was a fetus sealed within a certain glass bottle.

The pervasive stench of alcohol, ether, and formaldehyde filled the air. A poor test subject with unkempt hair was tied to a steel chair equipped with all kinds of exquisite yet cruel contraptions, her wrists bound to the armrests with metal. Her head hung low, and she didn't move an inch. The air around her smelled of fear and terror. She was like a rabbit forced into a corner by a rabid dog.

A cruel and excited smirk curled Vilgefortz's lips. He picked up a glass syringe about half a foot long, the needle slender and curled. He went ahead and gripped the test subject's chin in a vice grip. The lights of the lab projected the syringe's shadow on the wall, held by the shadow of a demon.

And then the screams started.

At the same time, a discussion had started in the lab underneath Novigrad's Temple Island. The light from the brazier shone upon the participants, all of which looked solemn. Geralt, Vesemir, Letho, Auckes, Kiyan, Coen, and a lot more were there. They were staring at a blue screen hanging in the air.

The screen showed the face of a man. Short black hair, dark, cruel eyes, thin lips, and a scar on his face.

Yennefer's finger danced through the air like she was crocheting a jacket. With every movement she made, the portrait looked livelier and more lifelike. "That's the man?"

"Yes. That's stupid-eyes Rience. Got his waist carved out." Lambert crossed his arms and nodded in frustration. "I'd know that guy anywhere. He almost destroyed that gallivanting bard's arm."

Yennefer turned to the White Wolf. Geralt's eyes shone sharply. "He was the one who stopped me from taking Ciri away back at the castle. When Ciri came back to Novigrad with me, she mentioned him, and she looked serious. This sorcerer was the one who'd been hunting her down, aside from that Nilfgaardian knight."

"So who's his master?" Serrit rubbed his stubble, staring at the ambusher. "Nilfgaard's emperor? Foltest of Temeria? Demavend of Aedirn? Henselt of Kaedwen? Vizimir II of Redania? Or Hengfors' League? What did the thugs say?"

Aiden shook his head. "Sorry, but the thugs are residents of rural Novigrad. They followed Rience into the city after he put them under a mind-control spell. They went along with the abduction plan to make some coins for themselves. They have no idea about Rience or his past at all."

"So we don't even know who the enemy is?" Kiyan adjusted his sunglasses, a hint of frustration flashing in his eyes.

"If any of the northern kingdoms' kings were behind this, they wouldn't have to send any sorcerer out. That was nothing but a skirmish," Letho explained, shaking his head. "I think it's possible that he's serving Nilfgaard like the knight. One's working in the shadows, one isn't."

"Rience is a spy for the empire's intelligence agency. That's why he operates from the shadows."

Lambert said, "But his accent sounded northern."

"Yes," Aiden continued solemnly. "And from the sound of it, the Kaedwen accent." 𝓁𝒾𝘣𝑟𝑒𝘢𝘥.𝘤𝘰𝑚

Everyone fell into silence. With Rience escaping, the enemy might eventually find their Novigrad base.

"Rience was arrogant," Yennefer said, scanning everyone in the room, and a smile curled her lips. "A sorcerer with a scar and speaks with a Kaedwen accent. I think I know a bit of his past."

Everyone looked at her, and the sorceress circled the witchers quietly. "Most of the northern sorcerers hail from magical academies. Either they're from Thane Dd's Aretuza or Kaedwen's Ban Ard. The former's for sorceresses, and the latter's for sorcerers."

"Wait." Coen scratched the pockmark underneath his beard, interrupting, "Why are the academies based on gender? Are the magical modifications different for the genders?"

"Witchers are split into schools based on their philosophy. Why can't sorcerers go to different academies based on gender?" Yennefer said crisply. "Men and women are different. From how they carry themselves in their lives to the talent they express during their magical training. Using Margarita's words, magic requires patience, an eye for detail, wisdom, keen judgment, an iron will, humility, a calm mind, and the ability to endure obstacles and failure. Ambition is the bane of you men. You love to chase after things you know you can never have while ignoring the things you can have."

Yennefer continued, "In other words, men are blessed with a bold mind and the spirit of innovation, but arrogance is your downfall. You're scattered and hard to manage. Women, on the other hand, are humble. We devote ourselves to the research, and we know how to serve. We're more well-equipped for the art of magic. Over the years, during magical tournaments, Aretuza wins by a lot. That's a fact."

"A moment, Yennefer." Auckes shook his head. "You're praising women too much. Counterargument: why aren't there many women who can pass the Trial and become witchers?"

"Ignore the fool." Serrit shot his brother a look of disdain and nodded at Yennefer. "Continue."

"Because of men's ego, students of Ban Ard who fail to graduate aren't that uncommon. These dropouts can never join the brotherhood, and the intelligence agencies of the north see them as valuable resources. They've been recruiting dropouts of magical academies, training them to be spies and assassins. These agencies now have agents who know magic and hand-to-hand combat. They can carry out difficult missions most people would have a hard time with."

"So you're saying Rience is working for Kaedwen's intelligence agency?" Vesemir stroked his well-maintained beard, It was tied into a neat bunch by a blue hair tie, courtesy of Mignole.

"So we've foolishly exposed ourselves to a nation's spy?" Eskel rubbed his nose.

"Oh, stop with the pessimism," said Yennefer calmly. "I'm going to contact someone I know in Ban Ard and find out what's the deal with Rience. Once I have the lead, I'll find out who he's working for."

"Someone from Ban Ard? Oh, a sorcerer, eh?" Lambert looked at the suddenly tense Geralt and Yennefer, a hint of schadenfreude filling his heart. "Please don't go too far. You know the White Wolf is still around."

"Stop messing around," Geralt cut in. "If Rience does serve a kingdom, then I'm afraid we cannot stop their plans. We can never persuade them to give up their search for Ciri. They will not stop until their political goals are met. So we can only…"

"Send Ciri away," Kiyan finished, his crimson eyes glimmering coldly. "The girl should go somewhere quiet and undisturbed and lay low. Geralt as well."

Everyone got an idea, and they turned their eyes to Yennefer.

Yennefer flicked her hair, and it slithered around like a viper. "My, you're heartless. The ugly duckling hasn't even been here for that long, and now you're sending her right back to a life of loneliness? Even if you wish for her to soar, she first needs enough love and care."

"You misunderstand us, Yen." Geralt looked at her, his eyes glinting, and a hint of guilt appeared on his face. Guilt for hiding a secret. "Ciri's been dying to leave. Has she ever told you that she wishes to see someone in Skellige?"

"Who's she trying to see?"

"Milady, please keep whatever we have to say next a secret," Vesemir said. That was the thing Geralt couldn't bring himself to talk about. "This piece of news is… unusual, so to speak."

"Very well, grandmaster. I swear I will never tell anyone about what you are about to say, or I shall live out the rest of my life by my lonesome, never to conceive my own child."

The witchers exchanged a look, and silence grasped at them for a moment.

Geralt answered, "Ciri's grandmother, Calanthe, is still alive, and she's currently staying in Bran's castle as a guest."

"What?" Yennefer stopped breathing for a moment, staring into Geralt's eyes, shock filling her soul.

"You heard that right. Calanthe is in Skellige as we speak."

"By the gods… The queen of Cintra, alive?" Yennefer held her forehead, shaking her head. "I need some time to process this. This is unbelievable. I don't understand."

A thousand thoughts flew through the sorceress' mind, entwining and entangling with each other. The northern kingdoms and the empire are going to sign the treaty soon. If news of Calanthe's survival makes its way to the kingdoms, what happens to the treaty? Will they still sign it? And if Calanthe was alive, then why didn't she announce it to the world? Skellige should be powerful enough to help her on that front. What is she worried about?

"Yen, I know you have a lot of questions, but you can ask her once we take Ciri to her. Yes, you're coming with us. You've been the one caring for her lately, and she trusts you a lot. Every time she tries to say something, she tells us what you told her about the subject matter." Geralt sounded a little envious, and he looked at his old flame, requesting, "But I hope that you will be visiting Calanthe as Ciri's tutor, friend, and family, not as a member of the sorcerer brotherhood or a royal consultant."

Yennefer took a deep breath, her chest heaving, and she cleared her throat. "I understand. You can trust me, witchers. I will not let anyone harm the ugly duckling or her family. I swear." Memories of the happy days she spent with Ciri flashed through Yennefer's mind, and a resolute smile carved its way across her lips.

"Alright, here's a suggestion." Letho slammed the table with his right fist, gaining everyone's attention. "Yennefer, you're taking Geralt and Ciri to Skellige, where you'll meet up with Calanthe. And then you guys are going to lay low until this blows over. And use a portal. Don't want any complications to happen. Remember to contact that Ban Ard sorcerer and find out more about Rience."

Letho looked around at his comrades. "As for us, well, we can't just up and leave because someone's coming for us. We poured our heart and soul into this piece of land. This orphanage and the kids are what we've worked so hard for. We'll stay and keep this place safe, but first, preparations must be made. We'll deal with Rience and his lackeys should they come."

Lambert stopped smiling and thumped his chest solemnly. "I think we're overreacting. Rience is just some irrelevant clown. We scared him off, but still, leave this to me. Aiden and I will keep an even closer eye on everything that's going around the city. Gawain's men have been polishing their swordplay with us over the last year. It's time for them to bare their fangs, and I'm sure they're willing to help. This time, I'm keeping a very close eye on Dandelion. He's not going around sleeping with any random woman again."

"Leave the orphanage's vicinity to us." Auckes rested his chin on his clasped hands, and he exchanged a look with Serrit. "The apprentice hunters will set up traps with us. Any invader tries to come in, and they're never going back out alive."

"That's not enough. Get Gryphon to keep an eye out in the woods. The beast is incredibly smart. It can understand us," Kiyan added. "I'll ask Evelyn to lend a hand. Her plant and beast friends can guard the perimeter as well."

Letho looked around again. "Come over to the lab to get a set of potions. The research Kalkstein and I have been conducting has been a bit of a success. Came up with a few improved potions and decoctions. And we also have the healing and mana recovery potions Roy brought from Skyrim. There's enough for everyone."

The light of reminiscence filled Vesemir's eyes, and he smiled. He loved to see a group of comrades banding together to fend off a threat. "I'm going to help as well. Tomorrow I'll tell Klaf to stop the research for the time being. We'll put all our efforts into the making of the witcher school armor. Everyone will be getting the best we have to offer. You will not go into this battle underprepared."

"Yes." Everyone nodded.

"I'm telling Igsena we'll be staying in the orphanage and keeping the kids safe from now on." Coen, Eskel, and Felix exchanged a look. "We'll be the last line of defense. The apprentices can deal with some small fries as well."

"I have a suggestion should things go south." Yennefer looked at everyone, astonished and impressed. She wouldn't have believed witchers from different schools could band together despite their different philosophies. "Now that Triss and Coral aren't around, before I take Ciri and Geralt, I'll be setting up a portal in the conference room leading to this lab. Should danger come for you, the kids can use the portal to escape to safety. You'll be paying for the portal, of course."

"Agreed."

"Get ready for some bumps, people. Things won't be easy." Serrit put his hand on the center of the table. He looked at everyone and announced, "If Rience and his master try to hurt us, we'll show them what we can do. Make sure the guy doesn't leave in one piece. Or make sure he does, but not alive, that is."

"Should we contact Roy and tell him about this matter?" Coen asked.

"The kid has something else to do, and it's a lot worse than what we have on our hands." Letho said, "Wonder how he's doing. Maybe he's found the target?"

Chapter 528

For three days Roy rowed his boat upon the icy waters, and he finally arrived at the eastmost isle—Hindarsfjall. Hindarsfjall was the smallest isle in Skellige, made up of a few villages, bushes, and a few forests.

Still, this quiet isle was the source of the isles' culture. Altars for Freya were erected everywhere, and a beautiful temple sat in the center of the isle, towering atop a long flight of stairs. Verdant ferns crawled across the walls, accompanied by common ivy and Boston ivy. A falcon was perched atop the overhand, dozing off. It was perhaps a sacred animal answering the call of the goddess.

A sacred garden circled the temple, flowers in full bloom all year around, and the small trees were beautifully trimmed. Underneath the dazzling sun and within the temple of life, young priestesses in long white robes were spread across the yard, feeding chickens, tilling the fields, or chatting with the believers and tourists. A few local guides stood by their side, accompanying them.

The believers of Freya residing in faraway Kovir and Poviss had gone into a long-term agreement with the priestesses. The priestesses would provide tour packages to the people of Kovir and Poviss at reasonable prices.

Roy realized that at this point in time, the infamous, cruelest pirate ever known to this land, Morkvarg, hadn't landed on this island just yet. The pirate had yet to destroy the temple and kill the priestesses. He still was not yet cursed to live his life as a wolf, plunged into eternal hunger.

Everything was in a serene peace, but he wasn't here for that. The witcher left the temple and swiftly came to the village of Lofoten. Triss told him that Ortolan was hiding in that village.

The village was surrounded by a wooden fence, housing about three dozen stark wooden houses. It was still morning, and the men were out fishing at sea, leaving the women in the yard, drying the fish under the sun. Somewhere out with wooden buckets doing laundry, their skin tan, their muscles as taut as men's.

The elderly were on their rattan chairs, basking in the sun, and the brats were running around with their dogs.

The villagers tending to the carrots noticed the witcher, but they were used to eccentric tourists anyway, so the sight of Roy did not faze them one bit.

While Roy was observing the village, a young man with the pelt of a red fox around his neck approached him. He had a stubble, and a smile hung from his lips. "By Freya! Good morning, good sir. Might you need a guide? I'll give you the best price. I'll take you around the isle and enjoy the best sceneries this place has to offer. We can visit the temple and pray to the goddess herself. If you'd like, we can feast on the local delicacies. All that for two crowns a day."

Roy looked at the young man, musing over his options. Triss had no idea if Ortolan had taken an alias, so he had to search for the man himself. "Then we'll start from Lofoten. Care to talk about the villagers? Every household if possible."

Surprise flashed in the young man's eyes.

"I'm Linus Pitt, a professor of social relations and environmental biology in Oxenfurt Academy." Roy lied as naturally as he breathed. "I'm very interested in the isles' culture, the locals' way of life, and how their family units work."

"You're a professor from the academy?" The young man was shocked. A professor in a black cloak and walks around like a shadow? You look more like a mercenary than a scholar.

"I am currently researching the relationships in the family units on Skellige, the islanders' eating habits, and the numbers of the precious bluefin tuna. I've recently finished my research on Undvik. Talked to the blacksmiths from Clan Tordarroch, and it's not a pretty picture."

"Stop!" The young man was starting to get dizzy. As if he was put under a great spell, he obliged Roy's request. "Very well, Professor Linus Pitt. For two crowns, I'll take you on a tour around the isle."

Krott cleared his throat and pointed at the house on his left. There were two trees in the yard. "This is the abode of the most esteemed person in Lofoten, the head priestess of Freya—Uva. The head priestess has devoted her whole life to the service of the goddess, never marrying or having children of her own. She spends her day praying for the people of Hindarsfjall. A wonderful and respectable woman."

Roy looked at the white robes hanging from a rope in the yard. "Everyone on this island worships Freya?"

Krott gave the 'professor' a weird look. A professor asking that question? But he kept up his smile. "Of course, professor. Otkell, the ancestor of the islanders, ran into a storm while he was at sea. Death almost claimed him, but Modron, in all her magnanimity, granted him a set of pipes. He blew on them, and the storm died, allowing him passage to this very land we stand on. It was here he procreated, and the people of Skellige were born. Since then, my brethren have put their faith in Freya."

The respect in Krott's eyes was replaced by disdain. "Disbelieving the goddess is akin to treason. People like those have turned their backs on their very own ancestors. No, they're no longer human, I say."

Roy smiled and asked, "I hear Skellige's fleet often loot and plunder the bountiful temples belonging to other gods. Gods like Melitele and Kreve, for instance."

Krott grinned toothily. Matter-of-factly, he said, "That's just the people's tradition, and Freya's the only goddess we trust. The other gods mean nothing to us."

"And if any islander were to blaspheme the goddess?"

"Then they shall suffer the disdain and enmity of their brethren. A curse that torments them for life shall be rained down upon them."

"And this is the house of Lofoten's blacksmith. Guy's name is Manshure."

"How are his skills compared to the Tordarroch?"

"Oh, you flatter him. Clan Tordarroch is the pride and joy of these isles. Not to insult him, but Manshure can at most sharpen our harpoons, repair the nets, and make some gardening tools."

"This here is Michdi's house. Has a great wife, he does. Gave him five children at once. Lord Dona and Cinda will provide for her every month until her kids come of age. 'Tis a reward for her contribution to this isle."

Krott looked at the kids playing with the mud, envy flaring in his eyes. He then thumped his chest with his right hand and bowed at the yard. "But it's a pity. Michdi went into battle a few months ago with Lord Crash, aiding our Cintran brethren in their fight against the Nilfgaardian invasion. Never came back since. His remains are defiled by the southern bastards." Krott solemnly said, "But his soul must have returned to the arms of Freya."

Roy just remembered that Skellige sent a fleet of drakkars to Cintra during the war, and they sustained heavy losses too. Fewer than one in ten soldiers made it back alive, but even so, he felt barely any sadness coming from the islanders. Perhaps dying in battle wasn't something to feel too sad about. Just like the Nordlings in Skyrim.

Krott led Roy to a rundown house in the east part of the village. The yard was overgrown with weed, gleaming cobwebs hung on the walls, and cracks formed in the wooden walls. This house was obviously abandoned for a long while. "Ortolan used to live in this place."

"Sorry?" The witcher's pupils contracted.

"Ortolan used to live in this place."

Roy clicked his tongue. Man, that sorcerer is arrogant. Doesn't even use an alias when he's in hiding. But yeah, these fishermen and farmers can't really know who he actually is. "Can you tell me more about him? What he looked like and what he was like as a person?" The witcher walked into the rundown house. The beams and ceiling were covered in dust, and there was nothing in the house but a few racks eaten out by maggots. There were barely any pots and pans either.

"You know him, professor?"

"I have a friend who shares that name." Reminiscence flared in Roy's eyes. "So I'm curious."

"He looked like he was in his forties. Gold hair, black eyes, and he was handsome." Krott caressed the rough, moss-covered wall. "About six-foot-one, lean, loved to wear a gray robe. Had a trimmed mustache and goatee."

Roy nodded. That's the same as Triss' description.

"From the first time I saw him, I knew he was different. He dressed, talked, and acted differently from any Skellig I knew. Spoke like he was real educated too." Krott paused, and something glinted in his eyes. "Is he really your friend? A friend of an Oxenfurt Academy professor?"

"Ortolan is a talented man. Did a speech in the academy. It was about biology, and the speech was special enough to leave an impression that lasts until this day."

"Wow, he sounds like a bigshot." As if finally having an answer to a question that had been bugging him for a long time, Krott waved his fist in excitement. "That explains his snobby and distant attitude. Must've had nothing to talk to us about."

"He was an eccentric man?" Roy crouched in a corner and activated his Witcher Senses. Aside from the usual critters and insects, he found nothing else here. That worried him. If Ortolan left this village, then the lead would go cold.

"He's only stayed here for less than a year. Barely talked to anyone. Spent most of his time in his house or somewhere else. Never came back until late at night. No one knows what he did during the day."𝘭𝑖𝘣𝓇ℯ𝘢𝒹.𝘤ℴ𝘮

Roy noticed something else in that answer. So he went out during the day? Perhaps there's a secret lab somewhere on this isle. "Do you know where he went, then? Or any possible haunt of his? Anyone else know where he is?" Roy patted the sand off his hand and looked at the young man, his eyes glinting imperiously.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but on one lovely morning, Ortolan left and never returned. It has been one year and two months since then." Krott shook his head, sighing. "Didn't even leave a message to his wife." 𝒍𝓲𝒃𝙧𝓮𝙖𝒅.𝓬𝙤𝓶

According to Triss, Ortolan had lived for more than three centuries, but he was indifferent to everyone. The sorcerer was used to being alone, giving all his life to the experiments of genetic modification. He was a mad scientist, and the news that he had a wife caught Roy by surprise. "So where's his wife?"

"In a red house on the other end of the village. Her name's Eva." Krott started gossiping. "Not long after her husband's disappearance, lonely Eva remarried Fahd, a local fisherman. It's been a year since then."

Roy thought, She cheated on a sorcerer? Boy, she might get blasted to bits when he finds out. "Is Eva a local?"

"Skellig. She was born in Ard Skellig. Ortolan took her here to settle in."

"How was their married life?"

"What's the purpose of that question, if you don't mind me asking?" The guide was getting confused. Is he here for a tour or investigation?

"Just wondering what kind of woman caught my friend's fancy."

"Eva's a beauty." Krott sounded envious. "Tall, lithe, has a pretty face. Comes from the village, but she ain't as crass as the other girls. Ortolan doesn't know how to treat her, though. Everyone knows he was cold to his wife."

Roy sighed silently. He had a bad feeling about it. I hope he didn't ditch her because he got tired of the marriage he wanted on a whim. Still, those who live long enough and sleep around a lot do this. They want novelty.

The witcher searched the house thoroughly and confirmed that there were no trapdoors or underground chambers. Then he followed Krott to Eva's abode.

A blonde with blue eyes stood outside the red house, her hair tied in a ponytail. Despite her oafish jacket, she still looked beautiful. The woman was twenty years old. Her skin was smooth, her nose was small, and she had beautiful lips. Her eyes twinkled with a smile only those blessed with a happy life could have, and she had a beautiful voice. There was a beauty mark on the corner of her lips, lending her a hint of allure.

Even the witcher, who had seen his fair share of beauties, stared at her a little. Using Observe, he confirmed that she was just a regular human with no hidden identities.

"This is Professor Linus Pitt, from—"

"Oxenfurt." Roy smiled, extending his hand. Eva froze, intimidated by Roy's dark getup, especially his cloak and sunglasses. She extended a finger and barely shook Roy's hand. "I'll make it short, Eva. I am best friends with your last husband, Ortolan, and I'd like to ask you a few questions. If possible, can we take this into the yard?"

"Ortolan? What is Ortolan? I don't know anyone who goes by that name," Eva denied, her smile freezing up, but Roy caught a conflicted look that flashed for a moment in her eyes.

Eva tried to close the door, but Roy quickly kept it slightly open with his foot, and he kept Krott's sight blocked as he cast Axii on Eva. "Calm down, lady. I just want to have a little chat. No matter the outcome, I'll leave once the talk is done."

"Come in, then." Eva turned around and entered her house, the look in her eyes vacant. Roy followed closely, then he closed the door, keeping Krott outside.

The guide smiled dryly and guarded the entrance.

The house's interior was simple but clean. Aside from a shark's skull and a rug made of bear hide, there weren't a lot of other things. Most of the space was filled with necessities, and this looked like a warm home.

"Why'd you deny it right away? Did he leave you with some bad memories?" Roy asked as he caressed the bench he was sitting on.

"Yes." Her emotions strung by Axii, Eva's face turned red with fury. "Yes. I never want to be involved with that disgusting cheater, no matter how rich he is."

"Has he ever told you about his job? His real job."

"I thought he was a merchant. Made a lot of coins in Lan Exeter during his trading days. Retired early and decided to take it slow," said Eva adamantly.

Roy shook his head. Oh no. The man is a famous sorcerer. Used to assist Alzur in Risberg during the witcher experiments. Poor lady. She knows nothing.

"Where did he go, then? If I can find any leads, I'll leave you to your own devices."

"He left a year ago without leaving any message to me." Eva stirred the fish stew in the cauldron as hard as she could, her arms shuddering with rage. She then plopped down on the couch across from the witcher and rested her chin on her clasped hands. Then, as if finding a reason to let her rage flow out of her, she sighed. "Left and never came back."

"Did he act weirdly before he left?"

Eva was silent for a moment, a hint of struggle flitting through her eyes. "Plunged me in pain and broke my heart as usual."

"Details?"

Eva was silent. The answer to that question would obviously hurt her. Not even the power of Axii could make her speak. Roy changed the question. "Aside from your home, has he ever gone anywhere else? A usual haunt?"

Since there were no traces of magic in the abandoned abode, then there must be a secret lab on this island somewhere.

"He'd leave the village frequently, probably wandering somewhere out there." Eva shook her head, resigned.

Roy smacked his forehead. At this rate, I'll have to scour the whole aisle. "Let's take it from the top. How did you guys meet?" Perhaps I can find some clues if she tells me the whole story.

"It happened two years ago on Ard Skellig. 'Twas a shining noon. I was pulling up my haul on a boat. Heavy net, and my fingers were killing me, but that was proof I hauled a lot of good stuff. Pushed myself over the hull quite a bit so I could use more strength, but then a wave crashed into me, and I was pulled out into the sea. Fell unconscious and had a dream that I fell to the bottom of the sea. The fishes fed on me, tearing me up until I was nothing but a skeleton."

Eva shuddered, and she bawled her hands into fists, her knuckles turning white. "I should've gone back to Freya back then, but then I woke up beside the reef on the coast, throwing up seawater. Ortolan stood before me like a knight in shining armor. He smiled and held the weak little me up, then he draped a warm jacket over me and took me home."

Eva's eyes were shining. She was like a teenage girl depicting the man of her dreams, but that was only because Axii was making her drag that memory up. That feeling of love was suppressed by her hatred.

"And then it was a simple love story. Started seeing my savior. He was not young and wasn't nice to anyone. Spoke in a cold manner, but he was generous. Bought a lot of gifts for me and my family. I could feel that he was genuine. He was probably in love with me."

Yeah, that's how sorcerers work. They always ditch their lovers for someone new. Coral's the exception.

"I married him two weeks after that," Eva said. "He thought Ard Skellig was too bustling, so he took me to remote Hindarsfjall and settled in Lofoten. The first four months were bliss. We were always together. I could see the love in his eyes, and he did everything I told him to."

Roy cocked his eyebrow. That's not how I imagined the mad scientist. He sounded like a man madly in love. "He was with you all the time? Never went around and disappeared on you for days?"

"We spent most of our honeymoon in bed, if you know what I mean."

Roy's lips twitched. The old git sure could thrust.

"But happiness didn't last." The light in Eva's eyes dimmed. "Perhaps all men love novelty. After four months, he started disappearing without any reason. At first, he would leave home two days a week, then three days, then he would only come back once a week. I wanted to talk to him. To tell him of my worries, but he always had no time for me. Never had the chance to see him," Eva complained, the look on her face dark. She looked like a woman who wasn't satisfied in bed. "Do you even know how that feels, Mr. Pitt?"

Roy shook his head.

Eva tilted her head and complained, "He left me to myself four months into the marriage. Whenever I was alone in bed, I would often wonder where he could be and why he wouldn't explain anything to me. I would wonder why he wouldn't respond to my concern and if he had fallen out of love with me. My thoughts overwhelmed me, and I felt lonely, alone, and so, so abandoned. I could scream from how upset I was."

The woman took a deep breath, pain flaring in her eyes. "I started losing sleep, but even if I did fall asleep, I would have nightmares. I saw scenes too horrifying to even speak of. I was terrified, and I wanted to talk to someone, but he wasn't home. And then he came back. I thought he would change, but I was horribly wrong. He tormented me even more."

Eva took another deep breath, despair filling her blue, blue eyes. "He started sleeping around with other women."

Roy heaved a sigh. How could he hurt a beautiful woman like her, who's so loyal to him? He was then reminded of what Algernon wrote about Ortolan in his journal, and Roy got his answer. No wonder he's the cruel Ortolan. Algernon was right about that.

"Who were the other women?" Roy asked, as softly as he could.

"I do not know. I have never seen them before, but a villager—Eji who works at the port in the north—saw him leading a beautiful woman down a tourist's ship from Lan Exeter, and not just once too. He betrayed me."

Alright, so I have to get in touch with this Eji guy and find those girls.

"I confronted him when I had the chance, and he said nothing. That was an answer itself. I wanted an explanation, but all he did was smile at me." She laughed sadly. "And that's the man I missed. The man I loved. He betrayed me time and time again. My heart hurt. I couldn't take his betrayal anymore, so I tried to take my own life."

She pulled her left sleeve up, revealing her porcelain-white arm and an ugly scar on it. Roy's heart skipped a beat. Wow, she's devoted to love.

"And then he did something more terrible. I finally saw his true colors and gave up on him." A long rush of air escaped Eva's lips. She looked outside the window, where the flowers bloomed. And she choked. "His disappearance is a gift from Freya. The goddess had delivered me from nightmare and pain. My current husband is a caring, honest, and wonderful man. I am happy."

She teared up and buried her face in her hands, then she started to cry. At the other end of the living room, a baby's cry came from the cot beside the window, feeling sad for his mother.

Roy shook his head. Ortolan has hurt her. Bad. "Very well. You need some peace and rest. I'll come back later." The witcher gave her ten crowns and left the house, the warm sunshine clearing the dark clouds in his heart. First, I'll find Eji and have him tell me about the prostitutes who got in touch with Ortolan.

"Why do I hear a woman's cries, Mr. Pitt?" Krott stared at the witcher's eyes.

"Ortolan hurt her badly. Reliving the past stirred something powerful within her. Now I'll need you to take me to Eji."

"The guard working at the port in the north, you mean."

"That's him. Lead the way."

Chapter 529

Golden waves crashed against the planks of Hindarsfjall's northern port. They were rotten from their longtime contact with the seawater. A pair of boats were moored at the bay, swaying with the waves. The seagulls perched atop the mast swayed along as well, the yellowish-brown emblem on the sides of the boat gleaming under the sun.

A burly man with oversized brigandine armor and a steel ax patrolled the port. A horned helm covered his head, his mustache fluttering with the wind. He was exhausted, his eyelids drooping. If he could, he would fall asleep right away.

"Oy, small-eyes Eji, dozin' off at work?"

"Arr, sod off, ye. Ye shout like that again and I'll make sure you don't get outta bed for half a year!" The burly man rubbed his fist, glaring at his coworker fiercely.

"Ye do that an' I ain't gonna buy ye any more booze." The young tour guide puffed his chest out and shot Eji a challenging look.

"I'm the bigger man. I can let this slide, ye oaf, but ye owe me a bottle of' mead now,' ' the man snapped, but he hugged the young tour guide, then he looked at the cloaked witcher.

"This is Mr. Linus Pitt, Oxenfurt Academy's professor of… romantic relations and anatomy." Eji gave the witcher a look of respect. "He has something he needs to ask you."

"Professor of social relations and environmental biology," corrected the witcher, then he shook Eji's hand.

Eji felt the witcher sliding him a coin, and a grin broke across his lips. He thumped his chest and guaranteed, "The people of Hindarsfjall are very welcoming and kind. 'Tis my duty to help you. Ask away."

The trio walked past the dimly lit inn and turned into a shadowy alleyway on the right.

"When I went to Lofoten earlier, I heard news of my old friend Ortolan, but his whereabouts are unknown right now. Do you have any clues that can lead me to him?"

"I've never talked to that man." Eji shook his head. "I do remember that he ditched his wife and' went missing' for a year. Even the head priest, that's our chief, doesn't know where he is right now, let alone me."

The guard's chubby face jiggled, the look in his eyes filled with disdain.

"You don't seem to like him very much." Roy noticed the disdain, of course.

"Skulked around all the time. Ain't very Skelliger, and certainly a failure of a husband too. I ain't the only one who finds his attitude annoying'." Eji didn't even hide his contempt now. "Only good thing is that he knew he ain't a good match for Eva, so he pissed off to where the sun don't shine."

The guard looked at the vast blue sea and continued with relief and jealousy. "Eva escaped her nightmare and found her own happiness. An' that bastard Fahd must've been blessed by Freya herself to even get his hands on a woman like Eva. Oh, ye lookin' fer 'im? Me thinks the bastard ran back to Lan Exeter after he got tired of Eva. Left her alone while he sleeps around with any woman he likes."

Roy nodded. If I can't find his lab here on the island, I'll have to look around Lan Exeter. "I heard you witnessed Ortolani's infidelity with your own eyes."

Eji nodded, and he started reliving that memory. "'Twas that guy's great luck he got to marry a beautiful and gentle Skellig. Didn't treasure it, though. I can still remember how he betrayed his wife, fresh like it happened yesterday."

Yeah, because you're jealous of him, Roy added quietly, then he motioned at Eji to continue.

"Two months before his disappearance, I was guarding this port, and I saw him taking a woman with heavy makeup off the ship. They were close, aye. Bastard had his arm around that wench's waist, and they whispered all the way through. Gotta be blind to think they were innocent."

"Do you know that woman, then?"

"Ain't never seen her before, but I've seen a lot of things in my life. Was sure that wench was a prostitute," said Eji. He sounded like he'd seen this more than once. "An' I was furious. Furious, I tell ya." His eyes flared with crimson fury. "How could he do something like that? The bastard. Just married Eva for four months, then gave her the cold shoulder. Then he started sleeping' around?"

Roy nodded. That's about the same as Eva's story. Four months after the marriage, he started staying out for extended periods of time, giving his wife the cold shoulder and started cheating on her.

Krott leaned on the wall, his legs crossed, and he nodded. "If I was the one who married Eva, I'd probably stay loyal for at least three years or so."

"If I was the one who married her, I ain't gonna stop until she's given me at least ten kids. She ain't leavin' the bed for years. Can't believe a loyal guy like me is still single until now." Eji thumped his chest in sorrow. "That oafish Fahd who ain't know a lick o' romance married her instead. Unbelievable."

The witcher looked at the men and shook his head, then he interrupted their fantasizing. "So where'd he bring that woman to?"

"Least the bastard had a sliver of morals left," Krott added. "Didn't take her home to Lofoten. Least he didn't humiliate Eva that much."

"Morals! The bastard was just scared, I tell ya," Eji retorted. "Anyone who betrays their marriage on this 'ere island will be punished by Lord Dona an Cinda himself. Cheating ruins families. Ain't what Freya teaches us either."

Whoa. These pirates actually have a better philosophy on family compared to the northern kingdoms.

"Betcha he brought the whore to some other village or even the wilds. If ya catch my drift," said Eji. "Never seen 'em before in any inns."

Hmm… Ortolan might have taken her back to his secret base.

"As someone from the same village, I couldn't have the bastard keeping his extramarital relations a secret from Eva, so I told her about the news. And she was devastated. Spent four months in loneliness, waiting for her husband to come home only to find out he betrayed her. Cried the whole night too." Krott said, "A few ladies tried to soothe her, but it was no use."

"An' I thought Ortolan would lay low after he got exposed, but nay." Eji's eyes flared with fury, as if he wanted to confront Ortolan and demand to know why he betrayed his wife. "He knew I was working at the port, but he still brought back woman after woman. Wouldn't even bribe me either. Won't pay for me to keep a secret."

"He brought back more than one prostitute?"

"Two months before his disappearance, I ran into him cheating three times." Eji suddenly widened his eyes as much as he could, glaring at the witcher, but his heavy dark circles only made him look like a sleepy turtle. "An' this was how I glared at him. The cruel, lootin', pillagin', nefarious Marokvarg used to send his crew to Hindarsfjall for some scouting', an' one look from me, the bastard went back running."

Roy's lips twitched.

"Oh, you gotta believe me, professor. My eyes are blessed by Freya herself. One look, an' I can scare off evildoers," said Ejis seriously. "But what Ortolan did wasn't evil. I could do nothing to him, so he did whatever he wanted. Brought three women to frolic around the aisle right under my nose."

"How long did they mess around?"

Eji gave it some thought and shook his head. "No idea. The whores probably went back to ship at midnight."

"All of them came from Lan Exeter?"

"Ain't sure." Eji shook his head. "Never had the chance to talk to them. I hate their taste in men, even if it was just business."

Roy massaged his temples. "What do they look like? And what's their figure? Any birthmarks or moles around the lips or brows? Think closely."

"Well, they certainly looked human," said Eji cryptically.

The witcher understood what that meant. He produced a crown out of thin air and gave it to the guard.

Eji narrowed his eyes and chuckled. "Ain't been in school or taught to read, so I can't describe them well. But they were pretty. And they shared one thing in common." Eji paused for a moment and frowned. "They all looked like Eva."

"You sure you got it right?" The witcher cocked his eyebrow, and a chill ran down his spine.

"I've liked Eva all this time, an' anything' that has something' to do with her, you bet I'll keep an eye on it,' ' said Eji adamantly. "The whores ain't as beautiful as Eva. Skin's worse too. Ain't as innocent, and their eyes didn't have the light of love. These smiles are as fake as they come. Whores care for nothing but money and profit. But if you just look at their profiles, they look like Eva. Specially when they held Ortolan's hand and left with him."

"Professor Pitt, is something wrong with your friend?" Eji blurted. "He left his beautiful wife at home just to pay to sleep with some whores who look like her? What kind of sickness is that?"

Krott shrugged. Even he had no idea about that detail Eji just mentioned.

The witcher started musing. What's the purpose of him doing that? He cheated on his wife with women who look like her, leaving her to stew in despair at home. Is the master of genetic modification some sort of pervert?

"Me thinks he should be treated with contempt, so I told everyone about his betrayal, aye. But I never thought that would crush Eva," Eji roared, then he hung his head low, guilt filling his eyes. "Broke down one night and tried to take her own life."

Roy was reminded of the scar on Eva's wrist. The one that gleamed crimson under the firelight. "And Ortolan saved her?"

"Aye, and to everyone's surprise," Krott said. "Can't believe he made it back in time to save her life even when he was messing with another woman. And he did something and healed Eva in three days. Not even Uva's good enough to do that, and she's a healer. For three days, Ortolan stayed with her until she calmed down. Eva only told the mother of five about the attempt when they had a chat. It was after that we were told of it."

Yeah, Ortolan probably used magic to heal her, Roy thought. Probably left some sort of surveillance item back at home to keep an eye on her. It's obvious that Eva's life is something important to Ortolan.

"Three days later, he disappeared. The man saved her from the brink of death only to abandon her to the grasp of loneliness," said Krott, perhaps a bit more poetically than he could usually muster. "He brought her back to life only to push her back into agony. Oh, the torment."

Wait. So he swung Eva's emotions between two extremes, tormenting her. Roy had an idea, and it was a terrifying one. From what Triss found out, Ortolan is a cruel and almost robotically logical researcher. There is no way he'd fall in love with some sort of bumbling lady. Could it be? He married her and flirted with so many women because he has some sort of goal he wants to fulfill? 𝘭𝑖𝑏𝘳ℯ𝑎𝑑.𝒸ℴ𝘮

"And this time, Ortolan didn't come back," said Eji. "Left completely. And he took away the pain he gave Eva. Slowly, she got over it. Two months later, she married Fahd. Been living happily ever since."

Roy shook his head, laughing at himself for the idea he just got. He's a sorcerer. If he'd wanted to use Eva, she would have ended up a lot worse. He would use her like a test subject. Yet now she has a husband, a child, and a home of her own. Perhaps I read too much into it.

Roy used the leads he had as of current to comb out the whole case. Two years ago, Ortolan saved Eva, who fainted from the waves crashing into her. They got married and moved to this island, living a loving life for four months. And for the next four months, Ortolan started leaving home for days. His wife had to endure long periods of loneliness. And for the following two months, Ortolan's infidelity worsened, though his affair partners looked like his wife.

Unable to take the hit, Eva tried to commit the unthinkable, but Ortolan rushed back in time to save her. And then he disappeared, their old home falling into disrepair. Two months later, Eva remarried, and one year had gone by since then.

That was the story so far.

Roy took a deep breath and massaged his head.

"That's all I know, Mr. Pitt." Eji looked at the port outside the alleyway, noticing a man in armor coming. "An' that's the cap'n. I gotta go back to my post. If you have anything more to ask, come find me at the Lobster Inn tonight."

Eji punched Krott's shoulder, and the tour guide winced. "Do you still wish to find Ortolan, or should we go to other villages now, Mr. Pitt?"

"We're going back to Ortolan to question a few more people."

Chapter 530

The warm ball of light slowly slid down to the skies in the west. After coming back to Lofoten, the witcher wasted no time in asking all the villagers about the case, but everything they knew was everything Eji and Eva told him.

And then he ran into a young man.

An old oak tree with entwining roots and a huge canopy stood in the eastern part of the village, and it was there a lad of about fourteen years old came to see them.

Compared to the average Skellige man, this lad was scrawny. He only donned a rough flax shirt and grayish-white jacket. He looked so weak, a gust of wind was probably strong enough to blow him all the way to Ard Skellig. His hands were covered in calluses and frostbite. Obviously, the boy came from a poor family.

He had freckles on his nose, his hair was short, unkempt, and gray. His face was red from all the sea breeze blowing on him, and his eyes were blue, but he had this sheepish look to him. He was fidgeting, hesitating to speak. "Krott, Mr. Pitt, are you trying to find Ortolan?"

Roy smiled at the lad warmly. "What is your name, child? Do you have news about Ortolan?"

Roy wasn't that much older than the lad, but his smile was so inviting and warm. The lad trusted him for some reason. "My name's Yank, and I need your help, please. If you find Ortolan, can you ask him where my father is?"

"Can you give me more details?" Roy cocked his eyebrow. "What's your father's name, and what does Ortolan have to do with him?"

Noticing Yank's hesitation, Krott shook his head, sighing. He explained, "His father's a man called Flanden. They live in Ivy Village just east of Lofoten, but Flanden's not a reputable man. Never works and gambles all his coins away. Never cares about his family either, but it's been a while since he showed up. Sorry, Yank."

"It's alright. That's the truth anyway." Yank shook his head, looking dejected. "My father used to spend all his time in Ard Skellig's gambling dens. Gambled all our money away, and ma got so angry, she fell ill. But about a year ago, my father went missing."

Roy stared into Yank's eyes. "And what makes you think Ortolan took him away?"

Yank pursed his lips and stared at the nearby village, where smoke billowed in the air. "It was about a year ago, at midnight. I woke up and had to pee, so I went outside. Then I saw Flanden and some guy talking under the roof. They then left into the wilds. 'Twas a bit far from where I stood, so I couldn't hear them, but that man didn't look like a Skelliger at all. Acted like snobbish landlubbers. When I came to Lofoten to see my friend, he told me that the man's name was Ortolan. When he came home the next day, he started acting weird. Would never talk to me or ma unless he wanted money, nor would he show us any pity, but the way he looked at us that day…"

There was surprise in Yank's eyes. "There was guilt in his eyes, so I wondered what he did with Ortolan that night to make him change so much. So I pretended to fall asleep for the next few days while I was actually keeping an eye on him, and I found out they went out for a week. Then came that fateful day. He took me over to ma's sickbed and talked to us about a lotta things, something he never did. Repented on what he did and started crying' so loud, I could go deaf. An' he made me promise I would take care of ma. He then left some money on the table and left. Never came back since."

"Why didn't you tell us about it?" Krott smacked Yank's shoulder, admonishing him.

"Ma didn't let me. I mean, the money is…" Yank fidgeted.

Ah, I see, Krott thought. Their father gambler left and gave them a sizable amount of money. There was no need to tell anyone about it, or they might get jealous. "So why are you telling us now?"

"Ma got better, and we've almost used up the money anyway. And the more I thought about what happened that week, the more I thought something was off." Yank looked at them again. "Back when Flanden left, the way he talked, he looked like he was, he was…"

"Leaving his last will and testament," said the witcher grimly.

"Exactly! Flanden might be a gambler who doesn't give a rat's arse about his family, but he's still my da." Yank ruffled his hair and took a deep breath. "I want to find out where he's gone. Ma's getting better and can start doing chores now, and she misses him sometimes too. Ortolan must've had something to do with it."

Yeah. Roy nodded. Meeting up at night for a week, leaving some money for his family, and going missing. Of course Ortolan took him away. "I guess that the money's from Ortolan as well?"

Yank nodded.

Pity flashed in Krott's eyes, and he consoled, "Maybe that's money for your father's services. Flanden might be a gambler, but he's a strong guy. He can be a good bodyguard."

"Really?" Yank's eyes shone with hope.

Roy shook his head. Judging from the story, that money was payment for Flanden's life. The life of a chronic gambler. Flanden must be dead by now, but he didn't want to crush the lad's hope. "Do you remember how long it's been since your father's disappearance?" Roy asked.

Yank answered without hesitating, "I made a record every month after his disappearance. It's been a year and four months since then."

Roy's eyes glinted, and he quickly plugged that info into the timeline of this story. Two years ago, Ortolan and Eva got married and had four months of fun on this island. Then came four months of neglect. Then two months of Ortolani's infidelity, and then he disappeared. Eva remarried two months later, and it has been one year since. Which means the lad's father disappeared between the period of neglect and infidelity.

Ortolan first took Flanden away and led three women who look like Eva to the island. Two seemingly unrelated cases, but perhaps they share a connection? Roy started wondering about a question. Is Ortolan actually a casanova, or is he just using these people to achieve a goal?

He had a strong feeling that the answer to these questions were hidden in Ortolani's secret lab somewhere on this island.

"You have to help me, Krott, Mr. Pitt. I just want to talk to Flanden," the lad pleaded.

"Tell me more about your father. His age, looks, height, everything," said Roy.

"He's about six feet tall and a hundred and eighty pounds heavy. Muscular, gray hair, has a faint mustache, and he's thirty-five this year."

"I see. I'll tell you once I have news." Roy patted his shoulder and saw the lad off.

He then looked at the skies. The sun was setting, and a layer of crimson light was draped over the houses of the village. "Let's go. Eva should've calmed down now. We should see her again." If I want to find Ortolani's secret lab, I'll have to start from his wife. She used to be the closest person to him, after all.

Chapter 531

"I'm just a poor woman who finally escaped my nightmare. Can't you just leave me alone?" Eva stood before the bonfire, the flame's light illuminating her face, but the look in her eyes spoke of sorrow. "I told you everything I know."

"After this time, I swear I won't disturb your peace, madam. Unless it's a life-or-death situation." Roy sat on the long bench across from the bonfire, his hands clasped over his knees, and he stared into Eva's eyes. "Yank told me that Ortolan took his father away. A gambler by the name of Flanden. Did you see them going around together?"

Eva clasped her hands tightly and fell into silence. Then she said, "One night, I awoke from a nightmare, and I saw Flanden and Ortolan at home."

"What were they doing? What did they talk about?"

"I didn't hear it too clearly. Ortolan only told me that it was something important. I thought it was weird that a rich merchant like him had something important to talk about to a gambler."

"How long ago was this?"

"About a year ago." Eva stared at the ground and pursed her lips. "He was starting to neglect me back then, but he still hadn't started sleeping around."

Roy tapped his knee lightly. That matches Yank's testimonial.

"Another thing. Eji from the port told me that the women your former husband slept with were prostitutes."

"And what about it?" Eva scrunched her nose up, her voice dripping with disdain.

"The prostitutes resembled you. Anything you have to say about that?"

"Are you trying to say that he still loved me?" A smirk curled Eva's lips, and she said shrilly, "So he slept with some replacements while leaving me alone at home? Don't you think that's a tad preposterous? I do not care about how beautiful the women he slept with were; betrayal is betrayal. If he still loved me, he would never have neglected me. He would never have given me that much pain!"

The baby inside the bedroom let out a loud wail. Quickly, Eva went and picked him up from the wooden cot, and she patted the infant's back. "It's alright, Arthur. Shh… Mother's here. Mother's here."

Roy glanced at the adorable, chubby infant, and he froze. He noticed a gray necklace hanging around the baby's neck. A stone the shape of a diamond was embedded in it, and a petite pattern was carved into the stone.

The light of the flames obscured the stone, and it seemed unassuming at first. However, when the witcher came within one meter from the infant, his medallion started to buzz. Chaos energy was swirling in the air.

The witcher's breathing turned heavier. "Unusual necklace your child has there, madam," Roy said as calmly as he could, hiding his excitement.𝑙𝘪𝒷𝓇𝑒𝑎𝑑.𝘤𝑜𝑚

Eva held her baby in her arms, a sacred gleam lighting up her face, and a loving smile curled her lips. "It's a gift from Fahd."

"Oh no. If I may, I'd say it's a memento from Ortolan." Roy stared at them, his eyes twinkling.

Eva tensed up, and she went a shade whiter, but she didn't argue. "Fine. Yes, it's a gift from Ortolan. It didn't seem valuable, so I let Arthur have it."

Doesn't seem valuable? Roy roared inside, It's more valuable than you think. He cast Observe on the necklace.

'Necklace of Warding

Components: Obsidian, silver, mana, zircon, specter dust, infused dust, iolite…

Affixes:

Physical Damage Protection, Energy Damage Protection, Evil Spirit Warding, Ailment Resistance.

Every time these effects are activated, the talisman will absorb chaos energy from the surroundings to replenish lost energy.'

It was Roy's first time seeing an enchanted accessory this powerful. It had quite a few practical effects, and it could self-recharge. This necklace is worth a few dozen crowns at least. "So this child's father is Ortolan?"

"I was already a few months pregnant before his disappearance. Gave birth to Arthur after I married Fahd. He doesn't mind that." Eva looked gently outside the window, where the sea was facing them, and she smiled sweetly. "He sees Arthur as his own."

Roy could see that the baby was just a regular human. He had no magical talent at all. Didn't inherit that part from his father.

Thanks to his mother's cajoling, the infant's crying stopped. He sucked on his mother's finger and stared at the witcher curiously. 𝑙𝒾𝒷𝘳𝑒𝑎𝒹.𝑐𝑜𝓂

The witcher in question was having conflicting feelings. Sorcerers might be rich, but they would never give something this valuable to anyone. He sighed, staring at the necklace and trying to get a closer look at the pattern on it. "Ortolan must have cared about Arthur deeply. He loved the child, and the fact you kept his necklace around means you still think of him."

"No, you understand nothing!" As if having a trigger pulled, Eva let out a guttural roar, and she glared belligerently at the witcher. "I loathe him! This necklace is just… is just a memento. He doesn't love me or Arthur! What he did before he disappeared was unforgivable!"

"What did he do to you?" Roy asked softly.

"I told you that he did something worse than betraying my love." Eva shook her head. Finally, she spoke of the final lead Roy needed for this case. "After his infidelity became public knowledge, the weight was too much for me, so I broke down and tried to take my own life. He saved me and helped me recover as soon as possible. I thought he would change."

Eva pursed her lips, his eyes flaring with fear. "But that night, I woke up with a start and saw him standing before my bed, holding a butcher's knife. He was staring at me. With a look I saw in pirates' eyes when I was a child." She curled up and held the baby tighter in her arms. "I could feel that he wanted to kill us both."

Eva started crying, the beauty mark on the corner of her mouth colored crimson by her glistening tears.

Feeling his mother's sorrow, Arthuir started crying as well.

"I begged and begged, and he finally left. He said nothing, but I could see that he was hesitant. He was reluctant to leave. He's Arthur's father! How could he try to kill him? That was even worse than his sleeping around. He spared me and Arthur, but I never wanted to see him, and he granted my wish. He went missing."

Roy held his silence until Eva was finished venting out her sorrow and fury, then she wiped her tears away.

Stayed in a loving marriage for four months, neglected her, then slept with someone else. Left an invaluable necklace for his child and then went away without so much as leaving a message. Never came back to see them either. Saved his suicidal wife and tried to kill her.

Everything Ortolan did sounded contradictory, or at least that was what Roy thought. He took the gambler away, slept with the prostitutes who resembled his wife, and then he tried to murder Eva. And to what end? There must be a goal, but he got cold feet in the end. There's only one way to get to the bottom of this.

"Eva, I have a request. Can you lend me this necklace?" Roy asked. "I promise I'll give it back by tomorrow at the latest. Or I can do you a favor."

"Yes, one." Eva held her baby tightly and turned back to look at the witcher, her eyes shining with tears. Hysterically, she pleaded, "Do not talk about that man or disturb my family again. I beg you."

The wooden door creaked open and shut as quickly as it was opened. The witcher held up the necklace, the vague light shining on the impeccable engraving on it. It was a star-shaped pond surrounded by three willow trees. His gut told him that this was related to Ortolani's secret base.

Krott had been waiting for a while. He said, "Mr. Pitt, I have gotten you a place to crash for the night. It's at the Lobster Inn. There's wine, food, and special service should you need it. You'll love it."

"Hold on, mate. You're a tour guide, aren't you? Surely you must know the entire island?"

"Oh, not to toot my own horn, but…" Krott smiled, and he pointed at his head. "I've memorized this whole place's map."

"Seen this place before?" Roy showed him the necklace.

Krott stared at the necklace for a few moments, and the look on his face changed a little. "Ah, I remember this place. It's in the woods near the northern parts of this island, which is a no man's land. Fished there a few years ago."

"Lead the way."

Chapter 532

The curtain of dusk was slowly drawing upon the isle of Hindarsfjall, the whispers of the sea breeze fluttering across the bushes and woods in the northern parts of the isle. A pair of ghostly eyes flickered within the forest, and something crunched near the floor.

The witcher had broken a twig, and he pulled back the blanket of leaves before him, revealing a glimmering pond behind it. The night was silent, save for the crickets of the bugs and the rustles of the willows beside the pond. Okay, this is the place carved on the necklace.

"We're here, Mr. Pitt, but make haste. The wilds are dangerous at night. If we run into any wolves, bears, or even arachases, we're never going to live to see tomorrow's sunrise."

"Calm down. As long as I'm around, no one can hurt you." The soil underneath squelched as Roy took the first steps toward the pond, and he circled it. He then came to a stop before a willow tree, for his medallion had started buzzing.

The witcher poked at the air ahead of him, and a ripple spread, refracting the dim light that swam underneath. Is it an illusion?

"What are you trying to do, Mr. Pitt? Are you on a treasure hunt?"

"Shut it and stand aside." Roy whirled around and quickly made a sign.

Krott shivered and walked stiffly toward a willow tree. He hugged the trunk and struck a pose not unlike a dog trying to pee, and he squirmed.

The witcher nodded and made the sign of Clamp, but this time, he didn't summon his clone. Like a needle, the black rune poked a hole in the illusion, and everything melted away. The layer of soft mulch before the willow tree disappeared.

A trapdoor with a handle appeared in place of the mulch, and the witcher pulled it open. He stabbed Gwyhyr on the ground outside and cast two magical shields on himself. Carefully, he descended the wooden ladder into darkness.

Roy came into a dark, claustrophobic space with empty walls. Before him was a tightly shut door gleaming with the light of magic, and a groove was carved on the door. A groove that was probably a keyhole.

Roy hesitated for a moment, and he pushed the necklace into the groove. It was a perfect match, and something cracked. The witcher opened the heavy door and snapped his fingers. A sprout of flames danced on his fingers, illuminating the chamber.

The chamber was the size of a single room, but it was spacious. The walls were sturdy, and the insides were barely decorated. There was only a table in the corner, a silk bag, a xenovox for telecommunication purposes, and a magical lamp hanging on the ceiling. 𝙡𝙞𝓫𝙧𝙚𝓪𝒅.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Besides that, the room was empty. There were no vessels or machines for genetic modifications either, unlike what the witcher expected. The most conspicuous thing was the hexagram on the yellowing wooden floor, and ancient runes for sealing were drawn in every corner.

The moment Roy stepped into that hexagram, the mana in his body felt sluggish and chained. It felt like all the veins in his body were clogged, and his mind slowed to a crawl. At the same time, he was assailed by the stench of rotting flesh.

The witcher bit the tip of his tongue and furrowed his brows. He tried to stay as awake as possible and held his buzzing medallion. He then crouched and scooped up some of the white powder from the hexagram, and he took a sniff. Infused dust. "Is this a formation to seal some sort of powerful being? It's already here for a year, and it's still in effect." Why did he create this chamber? What did he seal?

Roy turned on his Witcher Senses and saw a gray ribbon hanging in the air. A ribbon made of the stench of blood and rotting flesh. He followed the trail of the ribbon and came to the center of the hexagram, where the stench was the most intense. He then knocked on the ground, but a hollow sound came back.

"It's hollow." Roy made a blue Sign, and a blast of air crushed the wooden floorboard underneath. Splinters flew everywhere, and dust leapt into the air. As if stirred, the stench was getting stronger and stronger. The witcher thought he would hurl. He held his breath, and his eyes went wide.

What met his eyes was a skeleton, and a highly decayed one. A Skellige fur coat was draped around it, and only strips of flesh remained around the skeleton's skull, its empty eye sockets staring back into the witcher's eyes.

"This guy's been dead for at least a year and three months." Roy took the skeletal remains out of the hole and checked the skeleton's teeth and pelvic bones. There was still rotting flesh hanging off them. "Male, thirty-five years old. About six feet tall, gray hair. Fits the description of Yank's father. Ortolan must've killed him not long after he took the guy away. Knew that money was payment for his life. And there are fractures around his calves, ribs, arms, and nose. More than a few dozen in total."

Roy clicked his tongue. "Must've gone through unimaginable torture before he died." Roy's face fell. Anything involving torture when it came to magic meant at least an evil ritual. "Guess I should've expected nothing less from a master in the field of biology."

Roy shook his head and sighed. He bent over deeper into the hole and hauled another corpse out. This one had an orange blouse draped over it, and a cape made of fox fur covered her shoulder. "Twenty-eight years old. About five-foot-six. Female. Bone fractures in many locations as well. This one was tortured before she died too."

The third corpse wore a verdant jacket. "Thirty years old. About five-foot-seven. Female. Tortured before she died."

The fourth wore a white jacket made of fur and a nightgown made of velvet. "Twenty-nine years old. Five-foot-seven. Female. Tortured before death."

Roy gazed at the broken, decaying remains in the hole, and he inhaled sharply, falling into his thoughts. "Ortolan tortured and killed the gambler and prostitutes. All of them. I can imagine how they must've felt before they died."

Roy looked around, his eyes flaring with alert, and something popped in his head. "Could he have used human agony to create some sort of monster and locked it in this chamber with that hexagram?" But the door was tightly shut. No signs of it being broken. Roy was sure he was the only one in the room. There was nothing else in here with him.

He then looked at the silk bag on the table as well as the xenovox on its side. An image crystal was embedded on the tripod. The witcher approached the table and touched the crystal gently, giving it a surge of mana.

And then the same thing that happened in the underground lab happened again. The crystal glimmered and formed a screen in the air, and then a man appeared on that screen. He was in a gray scholar's robe, and he was in his forties. His hair was golden and cropped short, his eyes were filled with wisdom and history, and a perfectly-kept mustache and goatee hung around his lower face. He looked nothing short of a university professor.

The look on his face was icy, however.

No one would believe that this man killed four innocent souls. He then started to speak, his voice deep. "It was the year of 1261. I had bade goodbye to Rissberg, where I spent more than two hundred years working. It was in this castle I achieved numerous glorious achievements, including but not limited to: assisting Alzur and Malaspina in the creation of witchers, researching the elixir of eternal life with fifteen colleagues, and creating and improving a hundred and twenty-five types of creatures. I thought I would live my whole life researching magic until the day I died of old age or a workplace hazard. However, on my three hundred and fiftieth birthday, I felt a sense of exhaustion coming deep from my soul. I was tired of all this. I had a feeling death was coming for me. At most, I have forty years left to live, and so, I made my boldest decision ever. I left Rissberg and returned to my childhood home—Ard Skellig. I was born on the isles and grew up as a regular human until I was eighteen. It was in this place I met my first love, and it was something I could never forget. When I saw the scenery of this isle once more, I knew this shall be my final resting place. No more experiments and no more research. I shall live a peaceful life as a lonely old man. I shall enjoy my days of sunshine and beaches. And of course, surfing the seas and feasting on seafood."

Light started to shine in the man's eyes, and no longer was he speaking with a monotone voice.

"It was June 1261. I saw her when I was fishing on the shores. A young lady hauling her catch of the day. She was young, beautiful, and in the pink of health. Her skin was perfect, flawless, just like a diamond shining under the sun. For a moment, I was harkened back to a time when I was much younger. To the moment I first met Eledy. They looked the same, Eledy and this young lady, especially their beauty mark. I felt life surging in my wasting body, and my heart which had numbed after so many experiments started beating quickly. I couldn't believe it. I, a three-hundred-year-old man, the cruel and merciless Ortolan, finding himself falling for someone? If Algernon or Idarran caught wind of this, they'd think someone altered my mind."

A self-deprecating smile twisted Ortolani's lips.

"But it was fate. A great chance appeared. The waves took her under the sea, and I cast a spell to save her. Without hesitation too. I then took her home, and it was there I found out that her name was Eva. I can't remember why I smiled at her warmly. A wish welled within me. My only wish was to marry her. It was to give back what I owed to Eledy. Despite not many years remaining in my body, I started courting her."

"July of 1261. The innocent Eva couldn't resist my advances. I have money, inexhaustible stamina, and a deep well of knowledge. I am, as I have told her, a rich but retired merchant from Lan Exeter." There was confidence brimming within Ortolani's body.

"She married me, and I've decided to move to Hindarsfjall. It is quieter there, and no one will interrupt our quiet life. November of 1261. Four months had gone by since the wedding, and life was like a dream. I felt so much younger, my body filled with vitality and vigor. We stayed in a stark but clean house, and we spent so much time together on that little bed, but it never seemed like enough."

The ice-cold look faded, replaced by a small smile. "We merged in body and soul, and I knew her more and more with every passing day. She was an innocent lady who trusted me with all her heart and soul, and she melted my ice-cold heart. She looked just like Eledy, but I was starting to realize that she was not Eledy; she was Eva. She was a special and unique woman. And I accepted her truly. Then came December. I took notice of her bizarre change in emotions. Her smiles were fading, and sometimes she would stare vacantly into the skies, a depressed look coloring her face."

Ortolani's face fell, and his voice took a chilly turn, as if dropping the temperature around him by a few centigrades. "I found the reason. She was infected by the datt. That was a great mistake of mine. The data must've left Rissberg along with him. The datt was a special evil spirit. A modified hymn, so to speak, and it was cunning. It never showed itself after I left, for it knew it could not triumph against my soul. However, when I saved Eva, her soul and will were at their lowest points, so the datt possessed her and started whispering doom into her heart."

He explained, "From my repeated experiments, I found that the corruption was slow but steady. In a year at most, the corruption would drive her to insanity, and her symptoms were worsening, yet I could provide her no relief or explanation. The more she knew, the more holes it would create in her heart, and the datt would fill those holes with nightmare and agony. The more concern I showed her, the more the datt would torment her. The spirit loathed me, its creator, after all. And so I started neglecting her in an attempt to make the mistake that I was already tired of her."

Ortolan shook his head apologetically. "I'm sorry, Eva. The only thing from me that'll be with you from now on shall be the necklace."

"March of 1262. For four months I've been going back and forth between Rissberg and home. I've used more than twenty types of elixirs to goad the spirit out. I've used the exorcism contraption, but none of them worked."

Ortolan looked exhausted, and his voice was laced with dejection. "We've made the datt too powerful. Not even the necklace could stop Eva's depression and agony from getting worse. The hallucinations have started. Left with no choice, I went with the ancient ways the witchers usually employ against hymns. I used another weak soul driven by negative emotions as a lure for the datt, and I have set my eyes on a certain man. A gambler called Flanden who lives in another village.

"He gambled all his family's money away and hurt his wife and son badly. For that, he's always felt guilty, but he never showed it. Instead, he gave up on his own soul and fell into the depths of darkness. I gave him a chance to redeem himself, and he, like a drowning man, grabbed onto that chance. I used magic to intensify the guilt festering in his heart, and while Eva was asleep, I brought him to her."

Ortolan shook his head, sighing. "I did that for nearly a week, but the plan didn't work. The datt didn't care for Flanden's soul at all. It didn't care about ordinary souls. The reason it possessed Eva was to torture me, its creator. It was only interested in my soul."

Ortolani's face fell, and he said cruelly, "I might have some affection for Eva, but I am the cruel Ortolan, not some knight guarding over a princess. It is time to leave. Time to move somewhere else and live the remainder of my days out."

The footage disappeared, and a long bout of darkness later, the screen lit up again. "Her stomach churned, and she retched today. I checked on her." The look on Ortolani's face was peculiar. He stared vacantly at the air, a smile cracking his lips. His voice started to shake with nervousness and surprise.

"And she's already a few months pregnant. I've been working around too much the last few months to notice. When I first embarked on the path of magic, I went through a magical neutering so as to empower my resolution. It was supposed to be an irreversible process. The impregnation should've been impossible, but I checked with magic again, and the child she bears is related to me by blood, but I'm not sure if it is blessed with a talent for magic. This is nothing short of a miracle."

Ortolani's eyes were starting to shine brightly, his usual serenity replaced by a big smile. "Life is full of wonders. Creating a child with a woman is akin to expanding my own life and soul. I am the cruel Ortolan, and I have created more than a hundred types of modified creatures. Every time I made a new type of creature, I would always be filled with delight and a sense of achievement, but this time, I feel bliss and happiness."

Something flared in his gray eyes, and he solemnly swore, "Nothing can hurt Eva or my child."

"I gave Flanden a sum of money. A payment for his life. I then summoned him to this chamber and murdered him. Broke every single one of his bones before he died. He screamed and howled for two hours, begging for mercy. Alas, his cries and death did nothing to elicit any emotion from me."

The blissful smile on Ortolani's face was replaced by a frigid expression.𝑙𝑖𝑏𝓇𝘦𝑎𝒹.𝑐𝑜𝓂

"I was too naive. Torturing and murdering a regular human could never make me guilty or sad. All my human experimentation should have been enough to prove that I am a man with a heart of stone. The only people I care about are Eva and the child. For the first time in my life, I feel like having a steadfast soul is a sin."

"April of 1262. I was in Lan Exeter's library, searching for a way to save my family. I ran into a prostitute on the streets, and at first glance, I mistook her for Eva. The look from her back, the outline of her face, her nose… Everything was just like Eva, and thus, I came up with an idea to lie to myself. I gave her a huge sum of money so she could leave it to her family, then I took her back to the island. I spent two weeks with her and gained a sliver of affection for the prostitute. A lot of times, I mistook her for Eva, and I knew it was time to act. I took her to this chamber and murdered her after putting her through torture.

"And in that moment, for the first time in a few hundred years, I felt guilt and pain and anguish. The more guilt and pain I felt, the bigger the hole in my heart would be. When I went home that day and approached Eva, the datt was tempted. I felt the chaos energy hanging in the air stirring along with it. However, it was not enough. The spirit wouldn't come out, fearing it couldn't conquer my soul and spirit."

"May of 1262. I called in a lot of favors and spent most of my savings, but in the end, I found two more fake Evas. How foolish of me. I was supposed to be a sorcerer searching for magic and the ultimate truth, and yet I started lying to myself." A bitter smile hung on the lips of Ortolan, but the look in his eyes was of determination and calmness. "As usual, I spent some time with the two of them, taking them as Eva. Once I built up enough affection for them, I tortured them and took their lives."

The screen dimmed, and it flared up again, but this time, Ortolan looked different. His hair was unkempt, his face filled with grime, and his clean robes looked creased and covered in soil. Ortolan would cry at one moment and grin the next.

He laughed with sorrow. "I've killed 'the person I love the most'." He laughed again. "And I feel sorrow. Guilt. Every cut I make on her skin is like a cut I make to myself. And I killed my own child! I got back home at my lowest, and Eva tried to take her own life. Fortunately, the necklace helped me keep an eye on her. And my plan worked. I was weak enough, and the datt left Eva without hesitating. It possessed me instead. Me, the creator it hated the most. I did it!" He laughed.

"The blasted spirit can never threaten Eva or my child anymore. I don't feel anything special this time. Perhaps the datt can't control me due to my already dark emotions." He cackled maniacally, but a tear welled in the corner of his eyes. "And I started healing Eva with magic. If I can hold on and keep the datt's corruption at bay, I can live with her until my child is born. Until they grow up. Decades are nothing to me. No longer do I have to neglect Eva, and I've even told her what we'll name the child. If it's a boy, he'll be Arthur, but if it's a girl, she'll be Dora."

Ortolan was sickly, and his eyes were bulging. He caressed the air lovingly, making a cradling posture as if he were holding a baby. He looked almost mad. "Please, Eva, let me stay with you just for a moment longer. And you too, my child. A pity. I was delighted when I created the datt, and now it's tormenting me beyond my darkest imagination. My will was already crumbling to begin with, and it crushed it completely. Created hallucinations and controlled my dreams, striking at my mind. The guilt and dark emotions I feel are boiling over like hot water.

"Only three days had gone by since I came back to Eva, and already I couldn't control my actions. When I woke from my meditation, I was standing before Eva, knife pointed at her belly. I was an inch away from killing her and my child, and I would have, if it weren't for my unease waking me up. The datt read my mind and knew my weakness. It wished to inflict more pain on me, forcing me to take the lives of those I love the most.

"But I wouldn't let that wretched spirit win." Ortolan bared his teeth and roared hysterically, "I'll destroy it myself! So I left home and came back to this chamber, intent on sealing myself along with the datt. As its creator, I know full well there are only two ways to destroy it. One, I purge it from my body forever and kill it, but it would never let go of its grasp on me. Nothing is more enticing to it."

Ortolan sat down cross-legged, then he raised his head, his sickly-white face filled with despair and determination. "That leaves the second avenue: I shall disappear along with it, but suicide is not an option. If my flesh crumbles, the datt will be free to engulf my spirit. It'll become stronger. Strong enough to leave this circle and go back to harm Eva. I must destroy my own soul along with it. Three hundred years is more than enough for me. I'm just ending my retirement, but I have to find a good way to carry out this plan."

"June of 1262. Idarran contacted me. He claimed to be in possession of a way to destroy souls, and it was fitting for a sinner like me." Ortolan no longer had the serenity of a sorcerer. He was gaunt, his cheekbones protruding, and he had nothing but strips of cloth covering his body. He was like a ghost haunting this dark lab. Still, there was tenderness in his eyes. He stared at the screen and spoke softly.

"My child, if you can find this pond, see through the illusion, and enter this chamber, then that's a testament to your intelligence. Should you be able to turn on this crystal, then you would have inherited my talent for magic as well. You may take the talisman and register yourself at Ban Ard in Kaedwen. You may use the check in the silk bag to claim ten thousand crowns in any Vivaldi's Bank. It should be enough for five years' worth of tuition. Or you can use it to live a normal life should you want that."

One last message. "Oh, and one last thing. If there's one thing I did right in my life, that would be marrying your mother, Eva. She should have remarried by now and made a happy family for herself. Quite a few lads in the village fancy her. Eji and Fahd are among them, but judging by her character, she should marry the more honest Fahd. She deserves a better husband."

And he broke into cries and laughter again, but then he swooped down and stuck his face as close as possible to the screen, leaving mere inches between him and the witcher. His eyes were bloodshot, but he was staring intently ahead for at least ten seconds, as if he wished to see his yet unborn child.

And then two tears streamed down his cheeks.

Roy held his breath.

"My child, you're forevermore, the greatest creation I have ever made in my life. My time is almost up. I should be going now. Forever loving you, the cruel Ortolan signing out."

And the screen fizzled out, plunging the chamber back into darkness.

Chapter 533

The chamber was plunged into darkness, and Roy was staring at the crystal in the xenovox, his mind elsewhere.

"The cruel Ortolan, a master of genetic modification, and a sorcerer who's lived for more than three centuries, sacrificed himself for his wife and child. That's ironic." That was completely different from his conjecture. He did not expect the story to take this turn.

"Well, conjectures are always just conjectures. The truth can always be different. Lesson learned."

He still felt conflicted about this man. In order to save his wife, he cruelly tortured and killed four innocent people. Ortolan found salvation, but it was based on the despair of innocent lives. Roy thought that was wrong, and it was a twisted way to express love.

However, another voice in his head told him that Ortolan had given those people payment for their lives. It was nothing but a fair transaction.

Money can't be equated to a life, no matter how much the amount is. Roy shook his head and tossed out the jumbled up thoughts in his head. He then focused on the task at hand. He came for an important goal: to find clues about Idarran and his whereabouts.

"According to the last part of the testament, Idarran provided a way to destroy souls. Ortolan must've left Hindarsfjall to see him, but he didn't give any concrete locations. I wonder if Ortolan got his wish in the end."

Did the sorcerer destroy himself alongside that evil spirit? And what was the way Idarran provided? A way to destroy the flesh and soul of a sinner…

Roy thought that felt familiar. Just a few months ago, he came across something similar in Mayena. A sinful food provider was vaporized by a red light, and his servant, Mateo, was almost burned up right before Roy. It was possible that these cases were connected.

The grandmasters' tracks were hard to find, and the red light appeared out of nowhere. Even the druids from the circle failed to find the source of it. "I'll assume that everything that happened in Mayena was the work of Idarran and the grandmasters for now. If I extrapolate, then the reason for their joining the battlefields and reaping souls would be for the cleansing of this world's sins."

If that's true, then their way of thinking is naive and idealistic. Where there is good, there is bound to be evil. They are two sides of the same coin. Leaning into the extremes of either side would cause an imbalance, Roy thought. He took a deep breath and stopped thinking about it. Before he found Idarran, his hypothesis held no worth.

Five minutes later, he tucked the corpses away in his inventory and took the silk bag, but he hesitated for a moment and placed it back where he found it. He then took the necklace on the magical door and left the chamber.

A crescent moon was ascending into the night sky, the pond in the woods reflecting its dappled light.

"Oh, my baby, my mead. Come here and let me kiss you." Krott was still hugging the willow tree, giving it kisses and trying to sweet talk it, snot and slobber dribbling down his face. The young guide was imagining the tree as the woman of his dreams.

Roy shook his head, a smile curling his lips. He dug a big hole nearby with Gwyhyr and buried the dead. Then he snapped his fingers.

"Huh? Wh-What happened to me?" Krott wiped off his drool and snot. He almost caught a cold being blown on by the night breeze. He then stared at the moon, bemused, then he scratched his sore crotch.

"You had a good sleep, lad." Roy nodded at the guide. "Fell asleep sitting by the pond. Fast asleep too, so I left you to it."

"Ah, very sorry about that. Went around with you too much today, and my legs were going to break, so I was a tad panicked. So did you find anything, Mr. Pitt?"

Roy gave it some thought and nodded. "I found a mark Ortolan left. He went back to Lan Exeter and resumed his place as a wealthy merchant. Probably found another wife."

"I knew that guy was a cheating, disloyal bastard."

Silvery moonlight draped itself over Lofoten, a thin layer of fog slithering around the houses and streets. The barks of dogs and crickets of bugs played within the village, lending it an air of serenity.

Once again, Roy came to the red house, but this time, the witcher didn't knock. Instead, he looked inside through the window. The bright light of the warm flames illuminated a warm family. Eva had her hair tied and was wearing a gray apron. She was happily stirring the cauldron hanging over the crackling bonfire, the scent of meat and greens wafting out the window.

Standing beside her was a tall, muscular man in a simple jacket. He was holding an infant high up in the air, a happy, blissful smile curling his lips. The man looked honest.

"Do you miss Daddy, Arthur?" He poked the infant's nose and tickled the baby's face with his chin's stubble.

The baby gurgled.

"Gentler!" Eva chastised. "You're going to ruin Arthur's nose. What if he can't find a wife?"

The man laughed. "If he learns how to fish from me, he'll never have to worry about never finding a wife."

"Oh, what good will it do fishing forever? You were single when you were thirty, and you're the stupidest guy around the village!"

"Hey, I still married a beautiful wife like you. You're a great housekeeper, and you have deft hands. This is all as Freya has planned."

A pink hue tinged Eva's cheeks, lending her more beauty than usual.

"Oh look, my love. The little one's smiling at me. He's so cute. Oh, are you trying to make me stay? Ah, I promise I'll stay home tomorrow and play with you."

The baby gurgled again.

Roy watched the happy family in silence, staring at the smiles of the couple. He felt sadness stir within him, and the breeze felt slightly colder than usual. "You'll never know what the man you hate and can never forget has done for you and your child. You'll never know the price he paid, but I hope you'll live on happily without knowing that."

Arthur was just a regular infant with no talent for magic. There was no need for him to find out about Ortolan's story. The witcher had no plans to ruin their peaceful lives. A moment later, he carefully slid his right hand into the wooden window, placing the unassuming yet valuable necklace on the windowsill, and then he left.

"Oh, where'd his necklace go, my love?"

"Huh? I think I took it off and gave it a wash. Probably on the windowsill. I'll find it." Eva looked around the window and found the necklace. "Ah, found it. Knew it was here." She held up the necklace and patted her chest, heaving a sigh of relief. She then noticed a pair of silhouettes hurrying into the darkness of the night. One of them had a black cloak, and he looked alone and ethereal.

Fahd approached his wife and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder, and he kissed her neck. "Who's the guy that's with Krott?"

"I don't know him. Probably a tourist. And stop getting touchy. Let me go. It's time for dinner."

"I'd like to eat you first."

The foam of alcohol sprinkled into the air. A bonfire roared in the center of Lobster Inn, the sparks shining on the red faces of the inn's drunken patrons.

Three mugs slammed together in the air, glistening foam dancing in the air, spreading the fragrance of mead across the inn. Audible gulps rang out around the table. A man with big, hairy hands held his mug upside down. Eji narrowed his eyes at the witcher and his sweating old friend.

"Thanks for the booze, Mr. Pitt. Come to me if you need anything around Hindarsfjall." Eji thumped his chest. "Well, anything' 'sides Ortolan's matter. Told ya everything' I knew. An' you!" Eji shoved Krott's shoulder. "Take him on a tour, an' just a tour. Don't try to dupe him into buying' anything'."

"Hey, don't insult me!" Krott burped, and he roared, "I provide nothing but the best services for my clients." He looked at the witcher carefully.

"Oh, since you've found Ortolani's whereabouts, how much longer are you going to stay, Mr. Pitt?" Krott looked at him, the stench of his breath reeking of garlic and lobster. "Continuing your tour tomorrow? Once we get around Hindarsfjall, we can go around Faroe, Ard Skellig, and An Skellig. I know those isles well."

Roy shook his head, the look on his face dark. "I'm leaving tomorrow, but before that, I'll see Yank and his mother. I have good news for them."

Even in the bustle of this inn, all he could think of was that demon of a man. What he did was cruel, and yet he had enough love in his heart to sacrifice himself. More importantly, the fact that he still hadn't found Idarran was weighing down on his mind. It was annoying, and he needed to vent.

"You don't seem to be too happy. Is this because of Ortolan? If you ask me, you should forget about that philandering merchant. It's going to be the twenty-first of June in a few days. On Midaete, the isles will be holding a dance. It's tradition." Krott was gesticulating. "Someone as handsome as you can probably hook up with a few rich ladies from the capital, and all for free. Or you can flirt with some of the Skellige ladies too. Yes, our ladies might have bigger bones so they're not as petite as the northerners, and their skin's not as smooth because of the constant exposure to sea winds, but they're wild and plump. You'll never forget the taste of them once you try it. Stay awhile and listen. You won't regret it."

The guide was trying his best to gain more business. Roy nodded. Coral came from the isles, after all.

"Ah, ya don't have to wait 'til the festival for some women." Eji leered at the counter on the other side. Three waitresses in brown aprons were standing there, smiling around, giving potential customers seductive glances.

Compared to the other ladies in the inn, they were taller and curvier, and their smiles were broad. "If yer generous enough, ya can sleep with 'em right now." Eji fanned the air and scratched his hairy chest. "I've seen enough things in my life, and I think the lady in the middle, Mary, suits ye the best. She's hot and not as wild as the other ladies. Ye might be small, but ye can take her."

Roy shook his head and turned his eyes to the circle beside the bonfire. The circle had a five-yard radius, and two burly, red-faced Skelligers were engaged in a fistfight, their courage bolstered even further by the alcohol. Every punch splattered blood and sweat and alcohol.

The fistfight was a thrilling one, and a frenzied crowd had formed beside the circle. There were about a dozen of them, and all of them were burly Skelligers who reeked of alcohol. These patrons swung their mugs at the circle, roaring raucously while they tossed coins into the circle, encouraging the fighters to put on a better match.

The inn's liveliness was at a high point, the air filled with cheers and curses, the shouts almost flipping the roof over.

A man who seemed like a judge stood beside the circle, gesticulating frantically at the participants or breaking up fighters who were entangled like a ball.

"Are they having a match?"

"Ye never heard of it? 'Tis the Fists of Fury of Skellige Isles. Hindarsfjall selection. Winner's going to Ard Skellig's Kaer Trolde Harbor for the next round." Eji was staring at the ring with passion. "Any warrior worth their salt ain't lettin' this chance go. Every victory takes ye one step closer to Queen Birna's Arena, where ye fight in the finals. If ye come out victorious 'against Olaf the Unbeatable, ye'll be Skellige's hero. I lasted two rounds before I got eliminated, though."

"Don't look at me." Krott shook his head. "Fistfights are out of my depth. Those fighters are going to rip my head off."

Roy took a deep breath and downed his mead. A rush of air escaped his nose, his eyes glinting coldly. He then took off his sunglasses and cloak, revealing a lean body underneath. It was covered with brown leather armor. The enchanted armor was caved in from the encounter with the ice giant, and it needed to be repaired.

"Keep an eye on my stuff." Roy raised his head.

A burly man grunted and held his black eye, plopping outside the ring. He was howling in pain, while the winner in the ring held up his bandaged fists. He was naked from the waist up and covered in sweat and oil. The fighter glared around him, daring someone to step into the ring.

The crowd's shouts calmed down a little. None took up the challenge. The witcher then stepped into the crowd.

"Professor Pitt, fight defensively, and good luck."

Krott and Eji noticed the unique eyes, and they shuddered. The professor's a witcher? Someone's going to be crushed.

The inn's bonfire was burning strong, and the crowd's cheers were still thunderous. Then something astonishing happened. A burly, hairy man with a red nose flew into the air like a punching bag and fell outside the ring, a yellowing tooth spinning in the air.

The crowd's jaws dropped.

Skelligers might generally be stronger than northerners, but they were no match for witchers. To the crowd, Roy moved as swiftly as a phantom, and his strength rivaled that of a rock troll. The fight was already unevenly skewed toward the witcher in the first place.

"Winner, Professor Linus Pitt of Oxenfurt University. And he's also a witcher. Any challengers?" The judge half-crouched and waved frantically at the crowd. "Stand up, men of Skellige! Are ye going to hand over the honor of victory to a witcher? Or are we scared of his beastly eyes?"

"I'll fight!" A hook-nosed man entered the ring.

Two seconds later, he held his swollen left cheek and fell with a thud, his consciousness lost.

"Come on, children of the seas! Men o' Skellige, don't ye just stand there like a coward. Show 'im what we're made of. Knock 'im out cold!" the judge roared, wishing someone would defeat the witcher.

"Ain't gonna let a mutant laugh at us!" A towering man seven feet tall and more than two hundred pounds heavy stepped into the ring. He roared, "Freya bless me! I'll be your rival this time."

The man was ready to fight, and as soon as the judge finished counting down, everyone saw a blur whizzing past the ring. The witcher darted ahead, leaving nothing but a gust of wind behind. He easily passed through his opponent's defense and slammed his fist against the man's torso.

Like a cooked prawn, the burly man curled up and spewed projectile vomit consisting of alcohol and half-digested lobster and salted fish. His barf drew an arc across the air, drenching the judge and the audience.

"Ah, 'it's better." The drunken man burped.

The air was filled with the slightly acidic stench of vomit, and roars and curses filled the inn.

The witcher stood beyond the pool of mess, staring at the crowd sharply. The Skelligers were furious, of course, but when they met his eyes, they hung their heads low. These men worshiped the strong.

"Ye bunch of scallywags. Any more challengers?" The irritated judge wiped the barf off his face. No one came ahead. "Fine. Today's winner is Linus Pitt! Congratulations, matey. Tomorrow you can make a way to An Skellig for the next round of challenge."

"Hey, Pitt!" A red-faced man in a fur robe held up a barrel of mead and slammed it on the counter. "Ye might've won the fistfight, but do ye dare have a drinkin' match with me?"

"Rules?"

The Skelligers exchanged a look. "We're going to challenge ye. All of us against one of ye."

"Challenge accepted." The witcher stared back at them fearlessly. He wanted to toss everything aside and drink himself drunk just for one night.

At the same time, a pair of drakkars stood on the seas dozens of miles away from the bright inn, hiding in the dark like monstrous sea creatures quietly swimming across the surface of the sea, slowly wading toward the isle of Hindarsfjall.

Silvery moonlight shone upon the black ships. The edge of blades, axes, and the metal of armor reflected its glint, shining icily.

Chapter 534

The northern coast was draped in a silver layer of moonlight, and the sailor on the drakkar hurled the anchor over the hull.

Waves crashed on the sides of the drakkar, and chains rattled as the boats hanging from the sides of the drakkar fell into the waters.

A group of Skelligers in colored and assorted armor quietly rowed the boats, hedging toward the nearby coast. These men were equipped with an assortment of weapons and shields.

One towering, burly man stood on the bow of the boat, a star-shaped tattoo inked on his muscular arms. His nose was big, his lips were thin, and his mustache was short. He had a black metal helm, and his dark eyes stared at the shining Hindarsfjall, a sneer curling his lips.

"Ya sure we should be lootin' Freya's temple, cap'n?" Morkvarg's second-in-command, a man with a mustache, said worriedly. "Most of our sailors pray to 'er before they sail. This blasphemy will not go unpunished."

The men rowing the boats nodded.

"Scared, are ye, Einer?" the burly man asked shrilly, his voice cutting through the cold air. "Ain't nuthin' like Freya exists. Have ye even seen 'er before? Betcha not even her most pious believers have seen the goddess showin' up before. Gods are nuthin' but lies and jokes made to fool the gullible. I, the great Morkvarg, and my men ain't scared of those lies.

"We are known. We are infamous. Even the ships of Novigrad, Lan Exeter, and Nilfgaard fell to us." Morkvarg looked at his crew sharply, and everyone looked up at him. "We do every evil there is under the sun. Killin' soldiers, women, children, and the elderly. We ain't scared of nuthin'! All of Skellige knows Morkvarg's the brazen pirate of 'em all!"

Morkvarg's roars were drowning out the crashing sounds of the waves. "Aye, but those scallywags have something' bad to say 'about us. Said we ain't scared of nuthin' but the gods made up by the people who are long dead. Said we'd run away in fear when we see 'er priests. I've had enough of those insults. Tonight, we'll show them we're fearless. Tonight we'll shows them they're wrong! We'll loot the temple of Freya!"

Morkvarg stood atop the bow, slamming his sword into his shield. "An' I shall drink the blood of the priests and the believers! An' I shall do sumthin' that's never been done before! We shall topple the statue those fools pray to an' piss on it! Not even the king or the seven clans have dunnit! After tonight, we shall be Skellige's most wanted!"

The moon shone on the boats, and the seas saw quite a few pirates that were red with excitement, yet quite a few looked hesitant.

It was a silent night, and the boats were slowly approaching the coast. A group of more than thirty pirates had landed on Hindarsfjall's no man's land, quietly advancing toward the temple in the center of the isle.

A small team went to the south, keeping Dona an Cinda from sending his troops in to fend them off.

While the pirates were advancing toward the temple, it was still standing quietly. Even in the night, dim lights shone within the temple. A row of candles lent their sacred light to the silent and spacious great hall, illuminating its simple carpet, golden curtains, and crimson pillars. 𝓵𝒊𝓫𝙧𝙚𝒂𝙙.𝒄𝓸𝒎

The moonlight that shone from the skylight rained down on thin, white-robed Uva, caressing her gently. She knelt before the marble altar, her hands put together in a prayer as she silently meditated and prayed to the goddess. A golden light shimmered around her.

Before her stood the statues of the sacred cat and falcon. Atop them was a stone dais with shells made of stone. It was something made for the believers who gave thanks to their granted witches. Upon the stone dais stood the goddess Freya, the Great Mother.

She had a maternal light surrounding her, her robes billowing in the air, and she had a baby bump. Freya was staring down, her face covered by a piece of cloth, and her hands were clasped before her chest. A golden necklace hung around her neck, a blue diamond cut in the shape of a rose embedded in its center.

Uva opened her eyes, feeling something. She then turned to the Cat that sees and hears secrets and the Falcon that watches from far above. And something unfurled before her very eyes. A group of muscular evildoers stood in a long line, holding torches up in the air, and they were charging through the bushes. The man in the lead was strong and powerful, and he had a sneer on his face.

The group disappeared into the woods.

A hint of panic filled the priestess' face, and she turned to the goddess' statue. What was a holy and inviolable statue a moment ago was lit with crimson light.

"Might this be your warning?"

Uva then saw the stone-cold eyes blinking at her, pity welling within them, almost as if the statue were looking at her suffering child.

Change out of your robes and leave the temple. Quickly!

A voice spoke in Uva's mind. Uva fell to her knees, clutching her chest, but she shook her head. "Your humble servant will not leave you unattended. I shall protect the temple for you."

Uva stood up and quickly came to the priestesses' rest area. "My children!" Her voice, amplified by the power of a goddess, reached the priestesses' hearts. The priestesses exchanged a look and put on their robes as they got up. "Just a moment ago, Freya showed me a premonition. The temple shall be facing an assault soon. A group of blasphemous beasts wish to defile this temple, bringing it to the ground!"

"What?"

The priestesses found the news to be unbelievable, and shock filled their faces. They had no guards protecting this temple, for no one would be brazen enough to mount an attack on the temple. All the islanders respected Freya and saw her as their mother.

"Listen to me and leave, quickly. To the south. Tell Dona and Cinda to send his troops to the temple. Perhaps we can still make it!"

"What about you, Uva? Aren't you leaving?" A young priestess with big eyes and brown hair stood up. "I wish to stay back and protect the temple as well."

That was a signal, and the priestesses quickly stood around Uva. Even though they were young and inexperienced, they were ready to die as martyrs.

"This is a test of our faith. We are the priestesses of Freya!"

"We shall never turn our backs on the goddess!"

"We'll stop the baddies together!"

"When they bathe in the light of the goddess and listen to her teachings, they will recognize their transgressions."

"You silly girls." Uva heaved a sigh and looked at everyone. The youngest of them were about twelve. Nothing but children. The oldest were only in their late twenties. Hindarsfjall was the center of the belief in Freya. They were priestesses-in-training, and they should've been going to the other isles after they graduated, taking up the posts of priestesses, herbalists, midwives, and teachers, but now…𝓵𝙞𝓫𝒓𝙚𝓪𝓭.𝒄𝓸𝓶

"Very well. If you are unafraid of what is to come, then we shall protect this temple together. To the entrance."

Lobster Inn was still brightly lit as usual, and the air was filled with thundering snores. A dozen Skelligers were sprawled on the ground around the bonfire, some even lying in the muck of their own vomit.

They were piled on top of one another like a flesh mountain of alcohol and fermented seafood. Krott and Eji were entangled in a hug, their faces mushed together.

Among these drunken islanders was a slender figure in brown leather armor lying on a table alone. His brows were black and thick, his nose was aquiline, his lips were perfectly thin, and his chin was perfectly sculpted.

The lad was sleeping soundly, but then he stirred, and a frown furrowed his brows.

Within the darkness came a hurried call. "Witcher! Child of the Elder Blood! To the temple, quickly!"

The witcher managed to open his eyes with difficulty and sat up on the table, massaging his drowsy head. He looked around, and a happy smile curled his lips.

The whole mess started out as a challenge. The Skelligers and the witcher were engaged in a drinking competition, and then everything careened out of control. The patrons started drinking like their lives depended on it, and then everyone got drunk.

The mead was great, but the consequences were not. The witcher let himself go and didn't cheat in the competition. He drank as much booze in one night as he would in a year, and it cleared up the clouds in his heart.

Thanks to his high Constitution, the effects of the alcohol subsided quickly. He got up and looked out the window. The moon was hanging high in the sky, and silence covered this land in its embrace.

Even so, something unsettled the witcher. Who's the one that called me? And why to the temple? He looked at the drunken men around him. And why me?

The witcher stretched his arms and strapped Aerondight to his back. Driven by curiosity and the push from the Elder Blood, Roy decided to check things out at the temple.

Balls of firelight passed through the woods of Dona an Cinda, and rustling footsteps surrounded the temple of Freya. Light of the flames glinted off metal, and the owl near the entrance to the temple flew high into the skies, circling the temple and hooting in panic.

All thirty-five priestesses ignored that. They stood before the entrance like a wall of human flesh. Some were nervous, some were scared, and some were resolute. They clench their fists, their eyes darting around. They were white as bone, and the girls gulped in fear.

Some were even shivering, and they held hands with their sisters, attempting to comfort themselves. The priestesses muttered prayers under their breath, their nervous countenance a stark contrast to the high priestess standing in the center.

The nefarious Morkvarg led his team of snarling, scowling men up the staircase covered by mistletoe, coming face to face with the priestesses at the entrance.

The pirates looked at them and froze. What? What's with the priestesses standing here?

"Halt, intruder!" Uva shouted, her shrill voice lashing out at the air of the night, and the heads of the intruders buzzed. They stopped in their tracks. "Weapons are prohibited in the halls of the great Freya. If you wish to pray, then throw your weapons to the ground beside the stairs. That is basic respect to the goddess."

Uva did not have any fear in her eyes. She stood up straight, her eyes flaring brighter than any torch, and the pirates exchanged looks.

As if he'd just heard the most hilarious joke, Morkvarg burst into laughter, revealing his yellowing, rotting teeth. "An' what are ye standing' at the entrance for on this beautiful night, lovely priestesses? Shouldn't ye be sleepin'? Or are we trying to seduce some poor sod in the village?"

"Silence, you blasphemer!" A gray-haired girl with a ponytail stood forward and pointed at Morkvarg. Shrilly, she accused, "How dare you speak of something so vulgar in the face of the goddess' temple?"

"Name's Morkvarg. Be good if you remember that name. 'Tis the name the whole Skellige will talk about. The pioneer of destroying foolishness and superstitions. The most courageous man of Skellige!"

Morkvarg swung his sword and shook his head in contempt. "An' ye can stop with 'at stunt. If ye goddess does exist, tell 'er to show 'erself. Tell her to shower power. Shower us with 'er teaching' an' stop us from what we're about to do, or else…"

Morkvarg harrumphed. "Shut up and' take your clothes off. Spread your legs. I'll let you die happily. Judging from your looks and really straight legs, ye must be virgins, all of ye. Betcha never had a taste o' men. My brothers and I are very happy to help."

Furious and fearful, the priestesses were as red as blood. Uva, however, was still unfazed. She looked at the invaders, and then with conviction as hard as steel, she said, "Put that brain of yours to work and think why we're here late at night. The goddess has shown us the destruction that shall befall you for this action."

She looked at the sailors, and the men hung their heads low in respect, as if they had just been scalded by holy light.

"But the goddess is merciful. She knows that you are but blinded by your greed." A hint of warmth seeped into her voice. "And she is willing to grant you a chance to repent. Put down your weapons and enter the temple. Pray for her forgiveness, and she shall grant you mercy. She shall give you her blessings, and your ships shall sail through the high seas with nothing to stop you."

Einer and some of the pirates were tempted. They would pray to Freya every time they went on a looting spree. Not once did they imagine they would be blaspheming against the goddess.

Uva put her hands in a prayer and closed her eyes, then she hung her head low. There was no prayer or incantation, but then a blinding ray of golden light shone on the stairs. It flowed out of Uva and draped itself over one of the pirates. It was a man with a bandage over his face.

The man gasped and scratched his face, taking off his bandage in the process.

His companions then exclaimed.

"Oy, ye got slashed a coupla days ago, didn't ye? Yer wound's already healin'."

The light from the flames was shining upon the pirate. A long scar that extended from his left eye to his upper lip was already starting to heal.

The pirates were all astonished. As regular people who didn't belong to any of the seven clans, the healing prowess of Freya's priestesses was nothing but a rumor to them. They didn't have the chance or privilege to witness a priestess' healing powers up close. If they were hurt, they only had bandages and crushed herbs to heal themselves.

Part of the pirates were starting to waver, slowly letting go of their weapons.

"Silence, ye wench! Do not fool the sailors! Hindarsfjall be the source of the religion of Freya, an' ye supposed to be her high priestess, but healin's all ye can do?" Morkvarg sneered and slowly looked at the priestesses. "This ain't divine grace. If Freya's real, then tell 'er to smite me with sum lightnin'. Turn me into ash. Can she even do that?"

Uva took a step closer to the snarling pirates. "Freya is the Great Mother of all Skelligers. Unless push comes to shove, she will never hurt her own children. She would prefer to shower you with love and protection. That is why I used the healing arts. However, if you stubbornly continue on your quest to blaspheme the goddess…"

Her voice was thunderous, her eyes flaring with golden light. "Then I have a warning for you. Your journey shall be filled with storms and hidden reefs. Your drakkars will be haunted by the spirits, and you shall be drenched in blood and sin. You shall live days of loneliness and disease, and—"

Morkvarg darted ahead and thrust his longsword into the priestess' belly. He then held her up high like she was a cooked lobster on a stick. Uva grunted, blood spurting from her wound and drenching her robes, splattering all across the wall. She curled up, her eyes bulging.

Morkvarg cackled. "Look 'ere, lads. The so-called priestess of the goddess! All their… magic, belief, and creed are nuthin' but pathetic jokes. I gave her a chance. Let 'er spout rubbish as much as she wanted, but what happened? Nuthin'. The only thing reliable is our sword. Pathetic Freya. Can't even shield her believer from one puny attack."

Morkvarg put on a cold, cruel smile, the light of the flames projecting his shadow onto the temple walls, and it flickered like a phantom. "If she is a goddess, then I shall slaughter a god tonight! Kill them!"

"Charge!" Excited by the prospect of blood, the pirates felt brash bravado swelling within them. They whipped out their weapons and pounced at the poor priestesses, raring to tear them apart.

Some of the girls were petrified in shock, and a pirate took one on his shoulder, taking her to the nearest bed.

Some fell to their knees, praying to the goddess. The pirates slashed those down, drenching their robes with crimson blood.

Some were scared out of their wits from the bloodshed, and they ran into the temple's garden, screaming and hollering. The pirates sneered and followed them, playing a game of cat and mouse.

Morkvarg swung his blade down and stepped on Uva's belly, staring at the priestess.

She was coughing up blood, and with a trembling finger, she pointed at Morkvarg, speaking in a whisper so silent, it was almost inaudible.

"Freya… the Great Mother… She hath decreed… A protector… You are cursed… The blasphemers shall… live their lives… as beasts… Forever…"

The legendary pirate laughed the curse off and slit her throat, ending the priestess' life.

A few of the pirates remained behind Morkvarg, refusing to attack. One of them was Einer. They gave the high priestess' corpse a look of pity and turned to their captain. A struggle took place in their souls, and they silently touched the wolf fang necklace under their brigandine.

"What are you waiting for, lads? Charge! Destroy this temple!"

Chapter 535

The roaring flames and the screams and howls coming from the temple tore apart the silence of the night, and a pillar of crimson charged into the skies. The flowerbeds of the temple were overturned, the flowers crushed underneath the feet of the pirates. Some of the priestesses fell before the temple's entrance, drenched in a pool of their own blood.

The blood soiled their white robes and the marble ground, the last scream of terror forever etched on their faces. Fires licked the golden curtains of the temple's buildings, the light illuminating the messed up hall. A group of men were charging around, pillaging whatever resources they could find.

The beds, candelabras, tables, and chairs were strewn on the ground. Greedily, the pirates scooped all the silver and gold items into their bags. Even the coins in the donation box were not spared from their looting.

They tore the scriptures and tomes that recorded the holy words and acts of the goddess. These torn papers were tossed into the air and gleefully burned into cinders. Some of the invaders were cruelly violating the defenseless priestesses in the corner, smiling delightfully at their screams.

A dozen priestesses were trying to escape the pirates in the garden, but the pirates were playing the game slowly, as if they were lions trying to hunt a few gazelles. They relished in the screams of terror and despair coming from the ladies.

Morkvarg stood before the freshly-dead body of Ulve, scanning his surroundings. The once solemn and peaceful temple was brought to its knees, turned into a shadow of its former self. An' all because of' me. A sense of pride swelled within him. "Freya, the Great Mother, nuthin' but an insect before me, the great Morkvarg!"

He whirled and glared at his remaining crew. "An' what are ye just standin' there for?" There were five of them who didn't join the pillaging, and all stood behind Einar.

"Stop this, Morkvarg! We ain't complaining' if ye tell us to fight Nilgaard or the seven families!" Einar held his battleax, staring at his captain fearlessly. "But this pillagin' ain't right! Didja forget? We pray to Freya every time before we set sails. She protected us! She's the mother of' all Skelligers, an' I ain't gonna blaspheme 'er like ye did!"

"Cap'n, the priestess just showed us the power o' Freya!" The pirate with a scar shook his head. "Blasphemers will be punished! Freya ain't gonna let sinners go free!"

"Ye fools! Even a Skelliger woman would fight back against an invader, but what did the goddess do? Look at her priestesses!" Contempt and disdain welled in Morkvarg's eyes. "They ain't nuthin' compared to even a landlubber! The strong rules, that's what I believe. Freya has no right being' a goddess for these isles. I can do a better job than she did."

Morkvarg looked at his erstwhile sailors. None of them would charge ahead. They were holding their weapons and shields tightly, ready to defend themselves. An icy glint flared in Morkvarg's eyes, and he tensed up. "Arr, so be it, ye cowards. Get off me drakkar after tonight. Ye ain't the toughest pirates 'round these isles no more. But if ye like it, ye can stand 'ere like some fools while I raze this place to the ground."

Morkvarg raised his bloodied sword and charged into the resplendent hall of the temple. The crazed pirates were destroying the candelabras on the sides, trampling the overturned flowerbeds, and ruining the statues of the sacred animals.

The only thing left standing was the statue of the Great Mother. Morkvarg strode up to it and gave it a stare, and then he felt the statue blink at him.

A storm blasted away in his mind, the roars of thunder ripping through his head. Pain flared in every cell of his head, and Morkvarg wobbled. He held his hand to his nose and felt something warm trickling down it.

Blood.

The pirates stopped their destruction at once. "Y-Yer bleedin', cap'n!"

Morkvarg shook his head and roared in laughter. "Whatcha scared of? Keep it up. Don't stop!" He wiped the blood off with his sleeve and sneered at the serene goddess. Unafraid, he leaned closer to the statue. "That's all ya got, Freya? Ain't enough for me to warm up. C'mon, hurt me more! Show me what ya can do!"

The statue did not respond any further. Morkvarg's attention was grabbed by the thing hanging from its necklace: a blue diamond cut in the shape of a rose. It was the size of a fist and shone as brightly as the blue summer skies.

"Ah, the legendary Brisingamen. Freya's treasure." Morkvarg narrowed his eyes and licked his lips, staring at the diamond greedily. "Mine now."

And he kicked the statue down to the ground. Morkvarg pointed his blade at Brisingamen and tried his best to pry it out.

"What now, Einar?" Back at the temple's entrance, a pirate with a gray bandana glared at his pillaging comrades with fury. "Should we stop 'em?"

"Ye gone outta yer mind?" Another ashen pirate shook his head. "There's only five o' us and fifty of 'em. And they're feral! Yer crazy if ya think we can win! We should leave. Wasn't we who defiled Freya? She's generous enough to forgive us. Einar, it's now or never."

Einar rubbed the wolf fang necklace hanging around his neck. It was his family heirloom, and the necklace had the power to curse. He hadn't used it even once. "Leave just like this and Freya's going to look unkindly on us. Ain't gonna let us live our lives easily. We need to do sumthin' to repent. Can't kill these foolish blasphemers, that's for sure, but their leader, Morkvarg, must be punished."

The pirate on the lowest rung of the staircase looked back, and his eyes went wide. 'Oi, ladies, look there. There's someone there!"

"Will ye quit it with the shoutin'? It's in the dead of the night. Ain't no way anyone's here for a pilgrimage!"

"There's a guy in a black cloak coming closer!"

A breeze brushed across the pirates. One moment ago, the silhouette had just stepped onto the staircase, standing twenty yards away from then. And then, they saw something blur past them, and the silhouette was already standing before them.

It had a black cloak that shrouded it in darkness, and a pair of unique longswords were crossed behind it. The figure's eyes had different colors, and they flickered with a shivering chill.

"Einar?" Roy wondered what the pirate was doing here, and then he remembered why. He understood what was going on now. It's the night Morkvarg invaded the temple of Freya. The pirates were split into two factions. One went ahead with the plundering and pillaging, but the other stayed away from it. And this guy's the reason Morkvarg was turned into a wolf. I think I know who that voice belongs to. So I'm here to help a goddess, huh?

"W-What are ya? How didja know my name?" Einar bristled like a cat and unsheathed his weapon, pointing its edge at the witcher.

"I am Freya's emissary, here to cleanse the temple of the taint of sin," the witcher said with righteous fury, staring at the pirates.

A powerful pressure rained down on the pirates, and they felt their palms getting sweaty, their throats held by something invisible.

"Einar and his comrades. Since you have never laid a finger on the goddess' priestesses, you shall be spared. Stay here and let no one escape." Roy pointed a finger ahead, and a frost atronach leapt out of the gates of Oblivion, standing before the temple's entrance. It put its hands on its hips, standing sentry, its eyes devoid of any emotion.

Roy fired off a bolt, and the air itself rippled, then the witcher disappeared without a trace.

The pirates gulped.

"Hear that, lads?" Einar looked at the frost atronach, his eyes flaring with hope, and he raised his arms. "The goddess' emissary is here! We shall stand our ground and atone for our sins!"

"Keep runnin', ladies. Oh, why can't you run anymore? Haven't had enough fun." A burly man in brigandine armor sneered, swinging his blade around as he closed in on the corner of the yard.

The curtains hanging under the roof crackled as flames licked it up. Sigrdrifa opened her arms and stood before a petite, shivering clergywoman. With a trembling voice, she cursed the pirate. "Halt, you sinner! You are impugning the authority of the goddess yet again! You shall be punished for it! Touch us, and I shall curse your soul to fall to hell!"

"Well, don't stop. I am waiting for your curse. Music to my ears, ya see. Makes it more fun for me." Delighted, the pirate's face scrunched up from the grin. "Perhaps one day Freya's curse will be a mark of glory like me scars. Come on, then. Give me glory. Your goddess ain't gonna help ya. She's useless. Now come to me, lassie!"

The pirate grabbed Sigrdrifa's robe and tore the fabric off, revealing the priestess' shoulders. "Get off!"

And then something pierced through the flesh of the pirate. Something splattered everywhere. Sigrdrifa and the girl behind her stopped breathing for a moment. The pirate's grin froze. A sword had pierced through his neck, its ivory blade glinting coldly under the light.

The silhouette pulled its blade out from the pirate's neck in one fell swoop, and blood splattered all over the clergy woman's face.

Gurgles escaped the pirate's bloody mouth, and he fell to the ground head first, his legs twitching.

Sigrdrifa clutched her hands to her chest, and then the silhouette before her blurred. She saw something horrible happening right before her eyes.

The pirate who was assaulting a priestess in the left flowerbed froze as a blade pierced through his lower back. Like a mouse that was speared, his limbs tensed up, and he drew his last breath.

The silhouette darted across the temple, and the burly pirate chasing a horrified priestess in the western corridor shivered. A moment later, his head flew high up into the air and rolled away. Blood spurted from the stump like a fountain, and the headless corpse took a few more steps toward the clergywoman, driven by the last puff of its momentum, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.

The body then fell to its knees and lay on the ground.

The golden-haired girl who escaped the ordeal fell into a stupor, and all she could see was the glint of a blade dancing across the garden like a star. A black silhouette pirouetted and fluttered across the grounds, bathed in the light of flames. Its cloak billowed in the wind stirred by its dance, flapping like the wings of a garuda.

The silhouette would crash like a meteor and take flight like an eagle, filling the air with the buzz of its blade and the music of its bowstring, playing a symphony for the pirates who would die by its hands.

Everywhere it went, a pirate would fall before they could even scream for help. In just mere seconds, a dozen pirates had fallen without knowing what hit them. The priestesses quickly gathered in the corner of the garden, standing back to back like little animals searching for security.

A crying priestess asked through sobs, "Are you alright? What happened? Who saved us? Is it the goddess?"

"The goddess is saving us! She's punishing these evildoers!" a priestess with swollen cheeks hissed.

"But Love's dead! And so many have died! We're the only ones left!"

"Don't you cry! Their souls are in the goddess' kingdom now!"

The priestesses clenched their fists, their faces laced with sorrow, fear, and excitement.

The pirates pillaging the temples noticed something wrong. Their comrades had gone eerily quiet, which was something that shouldn't happen. They charged into the yard, but the moment they did, a gale howled across the grounds. The roof creaked, and the windows slammed.𝒍𝙞𝙗𝓻𝙚𝒂𝓭.𝒄𝙤𝙢

The pirates' hearts thumped. 𝙡𝓲𝙗𝙧𝓮𝒂𝒅.𝙘𝓸𝒎

A black cloak tore through the air, and a phantom appeared out of nowhere. It bent down a little, holding the hilt of its sword with both hands, and the phantom drew a line across the pirates, the blade cutting through chainmail and brigandine.

Crimson flowers bloomed as flesh fell apart.

Another team of pirates came charging out of another house, holding weapons and shields. The phantom disappeared and rained down on them, heralding their death.

It held its blade high up in the air and swung it down. A red crescent moon zipped ahead, tearing the pirates apart. Like firewood, the pirates' bodies were cut in half. Their guts spilled to the ground, drenching it in red.

The people behind them had their faces splattered with blood. Before they could do anything about it, the witcher pulled the trigger, and something whistled over to one of the pirates. He froze, and his eyes lost focus.

His head had a hole in it. The pair of pirates behind him had holes bored through their heads as well, the ghost of their last snarl etched on their faces. Somewhere behind the hole, a bolt was buried in the wall, the feathers on its end quaking.

A gust of breeze blew across the grounds, and the pirates fell.

The witcher took the lives of six pirates with a single blow and a single shot. Not one pirate was left standing in the yard, and the air distorted by the heat of the flames saw itself tinged in red, a silhouette standing within it. The silhouette held an ivory sword, blood trickling off its edge and seeping into the ground.

The priestesses could finally see the face of their savior. He was a young man with a deadpan look, but he was handsome, and his eyes were like whirlpools that shone silver and gold. Their savior was wiping the blood and flesh off his blade with the clothes of the dead pirates, the crescent moon hanging in the skies behind him glowing crimson.

Noticing the look of the priestesses, Roy gave them a reassuring look. "It'll be over in a moment."

A burly man with a big beard came charging out of the great hall, holding a big sack over his shoulder. Parts of a golden pot poked from the sack, and the man looked delighted, as if he'd just been smoking drugs.

He raised his head and saw the man standing among the sea of corpses. Their eyes met, and the witcher stepped into the pool of blood with his sword held up.

Then he appeared right before the man who came out of the great hall.

The pirate swung his ax down at the witcher's shoulder, but the attack was stopped by the witcher's blade, and the ax shattered into pieces.

The witcher went past the pirate and swung his sword at the pirate's neck. He tore the pirate's neck open, cutting the pirate's artery. The pirate's head was hanging on by an inch of the nape's skin.

He fell with a sickening thud, and his head rolled away like a ball. The sack of coins and valuables fell from his back.

The witcher dragged his bloodied sword and charged into the great hall like a dragon swinging its tail.

Einar and the defected pirates stood before the temple's entrance, battling alongside the frost atronach. Four bodies lay underneath them, and the fifteen clergywomen in the corner slowly followed them.

The once beautiful and resplendent great hall was now torn down and pilfered. A dozen pirates were destroying it, and a muscular man with a star-shaped tattoo on his arm was taking off his belt, trying to piss on the statue of Freya.

"Morkvarg?" The witcher looked at the man in the middle, and he was filled with disappointment and curiosity. This is the legendary, infamous, and arrogant pirate? He's just a little better than regular humans in terms of fighting skills. You're telling me that Freya, the goddess every Skelliger believes in, can't do anything to a dozen regular humans? She could only watch as her own priestesses got slaughtered? And she even had to ask a nonbeliever like me to help out? Why?

"Who the fuck are you? Where's my crew?" Morkvarg quickly pulled his pants up and pointed at Roy angrily.

The pirates glared at the witchers and whipped out their weapons. They snarled and came closer to the intruder, but Roy only waved and smiled warmly at the pirates.

"They're in hell right now, where you'll be soon. Shall I send you there?"

"Cut 'im up, lads!"

Chapter 536

The sacred falcon circled overhead, letting out a screech. The priestesses stood outside the main hall, fourteen of them on their knees, their hands in prayers. Their eyes were closed, and they muttered Freya's name under their breaths as if they were doing their daily prayers.

They were, however, shivering from the sounds of howls and grunts, and metal cutting into flesh coming from the main hall. Sigrdrifa, the most senior and calmest of them all, looked into the great hall, and she was met with the sights of fire, swords, and blood.

A golden silhouette was dancing through the pirates like a beast charging around at high speed. Like a war machine, the silhouette stirred up a storm of blood and flesh, its blade cutting through the pirates' weapons, armors, and bodies like they were nothing.

He was but a single man, and yet he fought like an army. There was an eerie element to the silhouette, however. A crimson tentacle was coiled behind him, pouncing at the enemies like a boa constrictor every time the silhouette swung its blade.

The pirates who were attacked would stand petrified, their necks craned for the witcher to cut.

Moments later, the sounds of battle quieted down. The ground was filled with flesh and blood, the air tinged red. Only two remained in the hall.

Lying before the statue of Freya was Morkvarg. His face was tense, his eyes darting around. He couldn't summon an ounce of strength, and it took his all just to hold his sword and shield tight. "W-Who are ya?"

Moments ago, his crew members were all alive and happily plundering this temple with him. All his lads that had gone through so many battles with him now lay dead on the ground, their corpses mangled. Morkvarg had never seen someone who could fight like that. This man was like a nightmare incarnate. Fear grasped his heart tightly. He knew he could never win this battle.

There was a crimson tentacle behind the witcher. Every time it swung, Morkvarg swore it was singing an elegy, and it stirred up the memories he had hidden deep in the recesses of his mind. Every time it sang, Morkvarg's mind would be filled with horrific hallucinations. The corpses of his past victims would crawl out of their graves, grabbing his feet with their bloody hands as they tried to drag him into hell with them.

Morkvarg hung his head low, his arrogance and contempt replaced by fear.

"Who am I? The emissary of the goddess you just contemptibly insulted. You wanted to cut me up, didn't you?" The witcher motioned at the pirate to move. He mocked, "Well, come on. Don't disappoint me, blasphemer of Freya. You aren't afraid of a mere sword wielding mortal, are you? Don't tell me you're just craven bastards who only take on the weak? You guys were happy as a lark when you went around tormenting the clergywomen."

The witcher tossed a blade to Morkvarg.

"'Tis w-was a joke." Morkvarg gritted his teeth and tossed his weapon away, and he forced a smile, but it was an ugly smile. "We won't ever fight people like you, sir."

Morkvarg took a step back and cleared his throat. "'Twas just a warmup to see how you could fight."

"And?"

Morkvarg peered at the witcher's face, trying to see if he was enraged.

"An' ye be stronger than I expected. Yer worthy enough to join my crew. Me right-hand man on Terror! If ye join us, my crew's bound to be more fearsome. If we work together, we can take over Skellige… No, the northern seas… No! Even the seas of Nilfgaard! But what can Freya give ya?"

Taking the witcher's silence as agreement, Morkvarg continued. "You saw it with your own eyes. Can't even take down a dozen pirates like us, an' she calls 'herself a goddess? She can't give you anything!"

Morkvarg put on a big smile and extended his hand to the witcher. "If ya work with me, I'll give ya all the loot we got today, and tomorrow, the whole world will know her name."

The witcher smirked. There was disdain in his eyes.

"An' I can give ye more!" Morkvarg quickly raised the ante. "I run a money lending' business in Novigrad and Lan Exeter. I'll give that business to ye if ye work with me. Ye be making' more money than ye can spend your whole life! A-An' I can give ye Brisingamen!" He whipped out the beautiful diamond. "This thing be priceless."

"Ah, the greatest pirate of all isles indeed. Trying to buy me out? Sorry, but I'm not a sellout. If I want anything, I'll work for it."

Roy swung his blade and drew a circle on the ground with the blood he flicked off. "Now tell me how many men you have left, and where's your ship? You're the greatest pirate of Skellige. Don't tell me you only have a crew of thirty?"

Morkvarg's eyes darted around, but he answered honestly, "I only took less than one-fifth of me in case Dona and Cinda found me out. Me other ships are docked at the north. I can take ya there right away. Spare me, an' I'll tell my crew that year the new cap'n. I can be your right-hand man. What do ya say, new cap'n?"

Roy tilted his head like he was listening. "Tempting, but sorry. The goddess has chosen not to forgive you."

Morkvarg saw something blur, and then a Sign glowed in the air. He stood petrified, staring at the air.

Roy took Brisingamen from him. "Come in, everyone."

Sigrdrifa, who'd been peeping, led her sisters into the hall. When they saw the carnage left by the witcher, their eyes went wide, but there was delight in their eyes. Delight that they and their sisters were avenged.

"W-Who are you, sir? Are you a believer of the goddess? Why did you help us?"

"You may regard me as an emissary of Freya, here on orders to execute the sinners." Roy sheathed his blade and pushed the statue back up, embedding the diamond back into its groove.

"The captain of the pirates is temporarily incapacitated. You may do what you wish to him, but his sin is heavy. Do not grant him a quick death."

"What about you, sir?"

Some of the girls carefully picked up the bloody weapons lying around, clumsily surrounding the pirate. Some grabbed a stretch of thick rope and started tying Morkvarg's limbs up.

"Me? I'm going to cut off this evil at its roots." And the witcher strode out of the main hall.

The clergywomen saw him off with respect and gratitude in their eyes. The witcher's cloak billowed in the air.

The emissary is so powerful and charming. They then turned to the tied-up and dumbfounded Morkvarg. Their gentle looks were gone, replaced by fury and hatred, and the priestesses gnashed their teeth.

"You did well to atone for your sins." The witcher came to the entrance. Einar and the other pirates were huffing and puffing, their weapons and armor covered in blood. They looked fierce and yet dazed at the same time. Lying around their feet were the bodies of their comrades that blasphemed against the goddess.

The frost atronach had disappeared, its time limit up.

Roy gave Einar's shoulder a pat of approval. "Keep this up. Stay here and take out any stragglers. I'll be back in a moment."

The witcher blinked through the bushes and woods, disappearing into the night. Eventually, he came to the bay in the north, standing on the reef overseeing the edge of the island. He stared as hard as he could and saw two dark drakkars docked at the port, hiding silently like beasts. Their masts swayed along with the night breeze.

Roy once again blinked through the air and landed on the ram of the drakkar on the left. What met his eyes were fifty fully-equipped pirates standing sentry on the deck.

Noticing the whistling in the air, the quartermaster stared at the ram, and he rubbed his eyes. A bolt then pierced through his open mouth and blasted his brains out. The quartermaster fell with a thud.

"Enemy attack!"

Shouts and the bellows of horns tore through the night, and someone lit the torches up.

The light from the flames shone on the dark silhouette, and it sneered.

"Freya's punishment comes for you now, sinners." The witcher fired off three bolts, blasting the heads of three pirates.

And then came the fourth. A black bolt. It pierced more than a few bodies before it bore a hole through the deck.

The remaining pirates swung their weapons down at the witcher.

"Playing the numbers game, eh?"

Roy summoned another minion of his, and a bang exploded through the air, the drakkar shaking violently.

The pirates' eyes went wide with horror as a towering figure slammed into the center of the other drakkar.

The light of the moon and flames shone upon it. The monster was hideous and about 13 feet tall. Its muscles were hard as boulders, and it was holding an alder tree in its right hand. The weight of the giant alone shook the drakkar and the pirates on it.

One of the pirates gasped, "An ice giant!" And his shouts were drowned by the winds.

The ice giant swung its tree and cleaved the mast in two. The mast fell, slamming on more than a few pirates. At the same time, the ice giant's rancid odor spread into the air, and the stench made the pirates stammer.

"M-M-Monster! 'Tis a monster! We can't win! Run!"

The pirates shouted and screamed, but Leviathan leapt across the air, traversing all the way from the bow to the stern. It quashed three escaping pirates into mincemeat, and Leviathan let out a roar as it thumped its chest. A gust of icy gale howled, and the pirates shivered in fear.

Leviathan turned its eyes to the group of pirates frantically swinging their weapons, and it sneered.

The giant charged.

The drakkar shook violently, as if it had run into a storm. The pirates who stood in its way were slammed into the air, their bodies mangled, and their bones broken. They fell into the sea, never to rise again.

The swords and arrows barely grazed Leviathan. Its hardened skin kept them all out. It was like a wolf that was hunting freely in a cage of cattle.

After that assault, the stragglers' fighting spirit was crushed, and they leapt into the sea. They thought they had a chance to live if they could get to the shore, because if they stayed, they would die.

Leviathan didn't stop them. It picked up a pirate and held it before its mouth. Just when it was about to eat the pirate, the giant looked at the witcher. Reminded of the witcher's rules, it reluctantly closed its mouth. Leviathan shook its head and hurled the screaming pirate into the sea like a rock.

A flower of blood blossomed on the surface.

It then swung its tree violently, smashing the deck. Splinters of wood flew in every direction, and the hull had numerous holes in it.

The pirates on the other drakkar were charging at the witcher, swinging their weapons at him. A frost atronach stood before Roy like a shield, stopping the pirates' attacks. One punch was all the atronach needed to knock these pirates out.

The witcher fired off at the pirates. The bolts whizzed through the cracks between the atronach's limbs, killing two pirates with every shot. The witcher made blue Signs with his left hand, and a white lightning bolt brightened up the dark knight, hurtling across the ship.

The pirates who were hit would sizzle and burn, and they fell to the ground. That was not the end. A fireball flew through the air and landed with an explosion. The pirates were tossed high up in the air, the deck charred.

One of the pirates who were set aflame ran at the hull, screaming in pain. He crashed into one of his comrades and fell into the sea.

Finally realizing this was a losing fight, the remaining pirates stopped their attacks and jumped off the ship in a bid for survival.

The frost atronach moved away as per its orders, and Roy grasped at the air, producing Aerondight in his hand. He stood with his legs separated, his blade held to his cheek, pointing at the scampering pirates like a horn.

The illusion of a black dragon appeared behind him, and as the witcher tensed up, the dragon flapped its wings, its scales undulating. The howling winds blew over the pirates' clothes, and the dragon dug its talons into the deck, boring holes in it. It opened its snout and roared into the air. 𝒍𝙞𝙗𝓻𝙚𝒂𝓭.𝒄𝙤𝙢

Symphony of the Sword—Dragon!

A black silhouette charged across the ship. The witcher had turned into the dragon, traversing twenty yards in the blink of an eye. The dragon's claws bore holes through the deck, and the head broke the mast in two, the broken part falling into the seas along with the sails. The dragon's wings smashed the bones of all who dared stand in its path.

The witcher stopped at the stern, and the dragon disappeared, but there was barely anyone left alive on the ship. He leapt off the drakkar and held Aerondight high up in the air. Pointing his attention at the drakkar, he swung the blade down, and a crimson crescent moon charged straight ahead, lighting up the night.

The energy slash tore through the hull, keel, gunwale, and ribs. Cleaved in two, the broken ship allowed the freezing seawater to fill it up, and it slowly sank into the seas.

The witcher stood upon the surface of the sea, seeing the drakkars sink into their watery graves.

Leviathan, who had torn apart its toy, happily swam to its master, growling at the pirates swimming to the shore.

"They have witnessed the fury of Freya. There is no need to pursue them. Dona and Cinda's troops shall await them on the isle. Now hide in a cave and wait for my further instructions."

When Roy came back to the temple, he was met with a hundred armed soldiers surrounding it. Their blades and shields had the emblem of Clan Heimaey on them. These were the reinforcements of the isle's lord.

Sigrdrifa was talking to what seemed to be the leader of these soldiers. She looked solemn, and a film of sweat glistened her forehead. The tied-up and beaten Morkvarg lay beneath their feet.

When the priestess noticed the witcher, she happily came to welcome him. "Y-You're back, sir." There was reverence in her voice, and she was staring at him like he was a true emissary. "If it were not for you, the temple would've been defiled, and me and my sisters would've died."

"Freya summoned me here to cleanse this place of filth. Thank her." Roy shook his head, stopping her from talking. "We shall talk later. I need to report this to Freya."

"You wish to communicate with the goddess? M-May I spectate?" The priestess trembled, and she went red with excitement.

"Yes."

Sigrdrifa whispered something to the leader and led him through the curious soldiers, and they entered the temple.

Roy looked around and realized that the corpses around the grounds and houses had been cleared away, but the deceased priestesses were covered in a white cloth, laid out in the center of the grounds. Everyone was mourning them, praying for their souls.

The surviving priestesses had changed into new sets of robes. Noticing the emissary's return, they stared at him with curiosity and respect. Some of the teenage priestesses were sizing up the tall, cloaked witcher.

They whispered among themselves, talking about 'the emissary of Freya.'

Roy shook his head and entered the main hall. The marks of Morkvarg's invasion remained. The burned furniture, books, and ornaments were not repaired yet, but the statue of the goddess and her sacred beasts were erected once more.

Roy approached the statue of Freya, and he felt the space around him change subtly. A blanket of fog swirled around him.

"Do not resist," a woman's voice majestically said.

Roy obliged. Everything around him was leaving him, including the priestess behind him. The witcher was taken into a strange world. Beautiful colors found on oil paintings swam around him like waterfalls, warm golden light swirling within it.

"Roy."

The witcher turned around, but there was nothing to be found.

"Witcher, the child of the Elder Blood, you have rescued my believers and prevented further humiliation on me. I shall answer what doubts you might have," the voice said. It was right in front of Roy, and every sound it made was filled with the power of this world's rules.

The light of an aurora shone in the air, changing ever so often. Liquid golden eyes appeared behind the mystical lights. They were the same eyes Roy saw in the temple of Melitele. He saw the silhouette of a woman with a slightly lighter shade of gold standing within, nodding at him.

He couldn't see her face, but her golden eyes were filled with wisdom and love as vast as an ocean. The silhouette alternated between the shape of a nubile girl, a pregnant woman, and a hunched crone.

Roy didn't use Observe on her. He had not the courage to. Instead, he slowly stepped forth. "M-Might you be the goddess?" Roy tried his best to stay calm and look peaceful. "The goddess of fertility, love, beauty and harvest? The guardian spirit of seers and clairvoyants?"

"That is what my believers call me, but now…" She shook her head. "Now I am just Freya."

"I thought I was in the temple. Where am I now?"

"This is my domain. Think of it as a place somewhere above the skies. It is rare to see humans with souls of your level of strength. Most people, my priestess included, only see this place as a vague dream. They can't see or remember anything of this domain. To them, my voice is but a whisper in their dreams. But right now, you are not communicating with me through any language or sounds. We are communicating through our souls," Freya said gently. There was encouragement in her voice.

"That's… cool. Great Freya, may I ask you a question? Why didn't you drag the pirates and their captain into this realm, then?"

"Those arrogant fools are not worthy of this privilege, and they would have resisted my call."

Roy thought he noticed disdain creeping up the silhouette's face.

"Now, child of the Elder Blood."

"Just call me Roy," the witcher said.

"You should know why I summoned you, Roy. Time is of the essence, so I shall cut to the chase. As thanks for your assistance, I shall answer three of your questions. Use them wisely. You only have three chances," said the goddess, her voice ethereal.

Roy was delighted. That was exactly what he had in mind, and he mused over what question he should ask.

Chapter 537

The beautiful aurora borealis swirled and swam and leapt around Roy and the goddess. The witcher stared at the golden-eyed woman, and he fell into silence. He knew he would get rewarded for helping the goddess, given that he was not her believer. That was the way of the witcher.

"Esteemed lady, before I ask, I would like to confirm that this is a no-holds-barred privilege?" asked the witcher carefully.

"I can only answer questions pertaining to the places where temples and altars dedicated to me exist. Or places neighboring the sea, such as Skellige, Cintra, and Kovir," said Freya.

Ah, so she's not omniscient. "Where is Arnaghad, the grandmaster of the Bear School?"

Freya said, "Ask another question."

Roy sighed. "You know what I've been up to since I came to this island. Can you tell me where Ortolan is? I'd like to know where he went after he left Hindarsfjall."

Freya nodded, and Roy was presented with a scene. It was a dark chamber, and a hexagram was drawn on the ground, with six corpses hidden underneath. Roy also saw a xenovox. It was the same chamber Roy had seen when he was looking for Ortolan.

Except this time, Roy saw Ortolan himself. He was gaunt, unkempt, and wore nothing but tattered clothes. His eyes were bulging and bloodshot, his cheekbones jutting like the horns of a demon. Ortolani's breathing was ragged, and then he tugged on his spindly right hand.

A gale howled in the chamber, and a dark portal the shape of a whirlpool appeared in the air. Through Freya's help, Roy saw what was behind the portal: a narrow alleyway.

The alleyway's ground was covered in squalid liquid, and mountains of garbage were piled at every corner, while the walls were covered in moss. Standing far away in the distance was a resplendent palace, and beside it was a sorcerer's tower with a red roof.

There were at least a few dozen cities with these kinds of buildings scattered all over the world. Judging from its style and beauty, Roy thought it was located in a city in the north. Perhaps it was in the capital of a kingdom too.

"Maribor," the goddess said, her voice ringing in Roy's heart.

Roy clenched his fists in excitement. "That means the base for Idarran, the grandmasters, and Alzur might be in Maribor. Perhaps it's in the city destroyed by that overgrown centipede. And that tower belongs to Triss Merigold."

Alright, now that we have an address, things got a lot easier. Time to start preparing for the battle. I have to at least pass the third trial and arm all my comrades with the best gear we can muster.

Then I'll go to Maribor, find out what the grandmasters are up to, and take revenge for what the grandmasters did to me. Especially Arnaghad. This time, Roy would not hesitate or show them any mercy.

"Thank you for your guidance." Roy held his left hand to his chest and bowed at the goddess, heaving a sigh. Now that he had news of the grandmasters' whereabouts, he should focus on getting stronger next.

He had the next question in mind. "I already know what I wish to ask next. You first called me Child of the Elder Blood. Given that a goddess like you has heard of the Elder Blood, may I know how I should strengthen this bloodline?"

The potion given to him by the Master of Mirrors had lost its effect, so he needed to find another way to power up.

For some reason, the goddess felt happy, like that was the exact question she wished for the witcher to ask. "The Elder Blood, Hen Ichaer, is the blood of the sacred, the blood of the cursed, the blood of the slayer, the blood of the savior, the blood of birth, and the blood of death."

The goddess spoke each term in a complex and ancient language. The witcher felt his heart thumping furiously, and his vessels were starting to contort as blood flowed through them at inhuman speeds, gleaming golden.

"This is not the power you're supposed to wield. You are not the descendent of Lara Dorren. You're not even an Aen Elle by birth, and Elder Blood is a recessive gene in males. Even so, you, against all common sense, have control over that power." The goddess muttered to herself, "What kind of secrets do you hold? How did you take the Elder Blood and polish it to this degree?"

Lara Dorren was the daughter of the ruler of the world of Aen Elle—Auberon Muircetach. She had the power to cross space and time. Lara fell in love with a human sorcerer of this world and came as one, giving birth to Ciri's ancestor.

Through that ancestor, the Elder Blood lived on for generations.

The witcher did not answer the goddess' question.

"You are the spare. Your Elder Blood is not something born of nature. It is nigh impossible for you to strengthen it beyond this point. Even if you train it every single day, it would take a hundred years or two to reach the level of Lara Dorren."

Roy's heart skipped a beat. But I thought my Elder Blood was partially awakened. And Ciri's in the same situation too. She didn't even spend ten years to control this power and advance to the next stage. I possess power unknown to most people, so why's it so hard for me?

"This is perhaps the arrangement of Destiny," Freya said, staring at the shimmering sky, her eyes glinting. "Not too long ago, I sensed a coming storm. Three bearers of the Elder Blood—Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, the unborn child of Calanthe, the Queen of Cintra, and you—have appeared on Skellige Isles, the territory well within my domain."

Ah, so Ciri's already here to see Calanthe.

"Those two shall be the key to your Elder Blood's evolution."

What Freya said next made Roy's blood go cold.

"All you have to do is steal their Elder Blood. The more it's awakened, the more control you'll have over space and time."

What? I have to take their bloodline to strengthen mine? That reminded Roy of Vilgefortz's actions. He too had a plan to steal Ciri's blood, and it was inhumane. If Roy had to harm Ciri and his own Unexpected Child to strengthen his own blood, he would be as reprehensible as Vilgefortz himself.

No! Roy shook his head and dashed that horrifying idea.

"You seem to share a deep bond with them, witcher. Worry not. You do not have to kill them or take every single drop of their blood." Roy's look of horror didn't escape Freya. She said, "As long as they trust you completely and submit to you and your Elder Blood, you can easily take one-third of their blood without harming their lives, and that's the best way to prevent any tragedy from happening to them."

Freya said cryptically, "Why do you think the Elder Blood is also called the blood of the cursed? Because its bearers will never find peace even in death. The stronger their blood, the more gruesome their deaths will be."

Roy was reminded of Lara Dorren and Pavetta. The former was chased down by her own clan members and died of exhaustion after she gave birth to her daughter in the wilds. The latter was set up by her husband Duny, aka Emhyr var Emreis, and Vilgefortz. She then died in Sedna Abyss.

According to the original timeline, Ciri would also live the life of a tramp and suffer all the way, meeting her end in loneliness. So the blood hasn't cursed me yet?

"The stronger your Elder Blood is, the more this world is going to reject you," said Freya, her voice booming through the space, and there was not an ounce of emotion in it. "The blood of death will not just curse its bearer; it will also bring destruction to the world. We thought we had ten years left, but we have less than a decade before doom comes for us all. The wolf shall engulf the sun, and the moon shall fall into an eclipse. The ouroboros shall once again bite its own tail and complete the circle. Once the loop of time is complete, the world shall fall into the age of the White Frost. The Wolf's Blizzard will come for us all, and this world shall enter a deep winter."

Oh, the universal threat—White Frost, huh? The ender of worlds.

If the timeline went as it should, the disaster would only strike more than a decade later, but now Freya proclaimed that it would come in less than ten years. Given the clues Freya had told him, Roy had an epiphany, and it was a terrifying one.

The Elder Blood attracts the White Frost? Wait. The White Frost was supposed to land more than ten years later because Ciri was the only bearer of the Elder Blood, but now that I and Calanthe's child exist, things just changed for the worse.

"The bearer of the Elder Blood is a savior. They have a duty to take on their destiny," Freya said, snapping Roy out of it. "That goes for you, understand? If you are willing to sacrifice, then you can end this disaster. Are you prepared, Roy?" Freya asked, her voice filled with anticipation, and she came closer.

"What are you talking about? Why should I prepare?"

"Use those eyes of yours and observe."

Everything around Roy started shaking. He felt something grabbing him, taking him off the ground. Higher and higher he went, passing through the aurora and the stratosphere. Eventually, he came to the deep, dark vacuum of space, staring down at the minuscule planet underneath him.

The witcher world.

Roy held his breath, his heartbeat stopping for a moment. Dark particles filled the vacuum of space, swarming through the vacuum like a horde of locusts threatening the plains, and they blocked out the sunlight.

A deep freeze descended upon the world, and an icy blue light was reflected on the blue planet underneath. Like a plague, the ice quickly spread, freezing the seas, the lush greenery, the yellow mountains, and the dark-brown soil.

The frost and blizzard entombed everything in blocks of ice, freezing all life. It was but a moment, but the planet underneath turned from something teeming with life to a big, icy sphere of death.

The endless particles swam across the universe once more, seeking the next planet.

Something in the void beside him moved. It was a voluptuous woman in a frilly dress. She was frozen and curled up, and Roy could recognize that face anywhere.

"The world shall face its end sooner than expected. Are you prepared for it?" the frozen Coral asked. "Are you ready to sacrifice?"

Sacrifice what? Roy's face stiffened up, and he pursed his lips in hesitation. A moment later, everything around him fell, and so did he.

Seconds later, the scene he saw disappeared, and Roy came back to that mysterious domain, but his mind was still captivated by the terrible frost that took over the world. He was a little angry. I was just trying to ask questions, goddess, and you want me to sacrifice myself to save this world? I am no messiah.

Roy shook his head. He knew that there was a way to deal with the White Frost. Even if its coming was brought forward, he still had about eight years to come up with a plan. I can't rush this.

Freya shook her head, sighing. "Are you not yet prepared? We do not have much time left."

A long while later, Roy finally managed to process the new information he got about the Elder Blood and the coming calamity.

"That is all for the second question's answer." Freya shook her head in disappointment. "Continue."

"My third question might be a bit forward." Roy took a deep breath to calm his raging heart down. "Why didn't you punish Morkvarg and his goons yourself? You could've struck them down with lightning or crushed their ships with storms before they even stepped foot on Hindarsfjall."

He couldn't understand why a legendary god couldn't deal with mere pirates, nor could he understand why she would watch as her most loyal priestess was slaughtered. He couldn't believe she would ask a mortal like him to help her out.

Freya said solemnly, "That is not an easy question to answer. It's far more than what I have promised you. If you wish to gain this knowledge, you must give something more in return."

"What would you like?" Roy sighed silently. Knew it.

"Be my believer. Patrol all my temples in Skellige and punish those who would disrespect or blaspheme me. Do that until the day the White Frost arrives."

Roy shook his head. "Sorry, Lady Freya, but I can't do that. I do not plan to stay for long. My home is in Novigrad."

He didn't want to lock himself up in one place and work as a goddess' thug. "I have another suggestion in exchange. Would you like to hear it?"

"Speak," said Freya calmly.

Roy closed his eyes to feel where Leviathan was. The ice giant was hiding in a cave between the reefs of the coast. It was a space covered in mud and seawater, and the creature was sound asleep. "Back on Undvik, I triumphed against an ice giant through sheer luck, and it has sworn fealty to me. If you would like, I can have it patrol your temples on Skellige and serve your priestesses. Of course, there are a lot of years left until the calamity strikes, so I can only lend it to you for a year. It shall devote itself to the protection of your clergywomen and deal with all blasphemers. However, if I am to run into something I need help with, I'll summon it to my side.

"The ice giant is a lot bigger, stronger, and more destructive than I am. Even its appearance inspires more fear and respect. Its existence should be enough to scare the blasphemers and spread your light to the corners of the world, attracting more believers for you." Roy was imagining a scene in his head. A scene where Leviathan would be snoozing in the garden while the priestesses would bathe the big guy and lather perfumed powder on him.

Oh gods, the scene is just…

"Two years. That's the lowest offer I can give you. Have your ice giant serve my temple for two years. And without my permission, you are not to tell anyone about the answer I will give. Swear on your soul, and I shall answer your final question."

"Deal." Roy felt himself tremble, and something mysterious welled within him.

Freya smiled at him, and she took on a gentler attitude.

Leviathan was gnashing its teeth in its sleep, unknowingly becoming a merchandise for its master to trade favors with.

"There is a reason I didn't smite Morkvarg." Freya turned around, and Roy felt a sense of resignation coming off her. "I wanted to, but I couldn't."

"What do you mean?"

"It's as simple as I said, witcher. You may laugh if you want. I used to be the religion for all kingdoms neighboring the sea. I used to be the ruler of Skellige and the goddess who would stir up storms at a whim, but I have grown old and weak. It is taking me my all to even keep my powers of clairvoyance and second sight. All that started from the Conjunction of the Spheres fifteen hundred years ago."

Freya waved her left hand, and an ancient scroll unfurled through the aurora strip on her left. Within the goddess' palm, numerous planets spun and coiled around the darkness of space, countless threads connecting them, and one of those planets was the world of the witcher.

Swarms of creatures swam from one planet to another through these threads that connected the spheres, and thus, the life forms from other worlds descended upon the witcher's world.

Roy spun and scanned the rapidly changing scenery around him. Never-seen-before species descended upon his world through the threads and quickly positioned themselves in the ecosystem of the witcher world, multiplying in numbers.

Roy saw ghouls and higher vampires adapting to his world, and then the scene changed once more. The entanglement of the planets had stopped, and most worlds had returned to the void, where they once were. Only one remained in place, spinning slowly.

Thanks to its momentum, the endless ribbon of energy coated every inch of the beautiful planet left in the chaos. The planet where the witchers resided. It was now an auroral zone that shone beautifully.

Freya touched that layer of light. "The Conjunction might have disappeared, but the energy strip that was born from it was left behind, coating our world and cutting off my connection to the material realm."

"Your kingdom stands outside of this world? Where do you live?" Roy was reminded of Nirn, the planet Skyrim was on.

The eight Divines who created the world floated in the space beyond Nirn, forming eight of the brightest stars that shone in the skies. To a degree, the stars were the kingdom of the Divines. 𝘭𝒾𝑏𝑟𝑒𝒶𝒹.𝘤𝘰𝓂

And Freya's kingdom was also beyond the planet. Roy felt something magical well within him. Despite being different worlds, the higher beings shared some similarities.

"I'm not the only one locked outside. Melitele is as well." Freya plucked at the auroral zone, but her movements were sluggish and slow. "The zone has gained more strength and chaos with time. The faith and support given to us by the believers are mostly gobbled up by this zone, but that's not the only reason. For the past one thousand years or so, humanity has been exploring this world at a blistering rate, creating new technology and knowledge as they go. New creations and facts pop up fast. Poems, theater, food, and entertainment have taken up most of their time."

She continued, "No longer are they focusing on work, rest, and reproduction. Most humans' faith isn't as pure as it used to be. It flickers out before it can even pass through the zone. Thanks to that, even though we have more believers now, the support we receive has dwindled. Since a few hundred years ago, I've been receiving less energy than I expend. I only make enough to maintain my kingdom and the souls of my believers who live in it. That, and granting my most devout priests some level of magic and second sight. I can never interfere with any of this world's affairs. That's why Melitele and I have never shown ourselves to the world."

There was resignation in Freya's voice. "We wish we could, but we can't."

She can only grant her priestess a degree of magic and second sight and maintain the souls residing in her kingdom. Roy was reminded of what he saw in Vizima. Specifically, where Vivienne turned the souls of the dead into water spirits living in the Lake of Vizima. Freya managed to lead the souls of her believers out of the planet and induct them into her kingdom. That was indisputably more powerful.

And he had another question. "But other gods and religions have shown up since the Conjunction, haven't they? Kreve, Lebioda, Eternal Fire, Lionheaded Spider, Svalblod, and Vivienne, for example."

Freya shook her head. "They are not real gods. Powerful aberrations, yes, but not real gods. They're lucky their domains and cores are located within the world. Thanks to that, the zone does not affect them, but their potential is limited. They are confined to this planet forever, unable to do anything bigger."

The witcher took a deep breath. "Is there no way to deal with the zone?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Perhaps the next Conjunction will create an impact powerful enough to destroy the zone, or perhaps it'll strengthen it and cut off my connection permanently. It doesn't matter after the White Frost descends, though. Once the people who revere and worship me are gone, I will have nothing to exist on."

A pregnant pause fell upon the space.

"And that makes the final question. Remember your promise, witcher. I have to leave, and tell the girls that the priestesses who died have entered my kingdom. They have nothing to worry about."

"Hey, can I come back if I have more questions, Lady Freya?"

"You're not my believer, so that will call for an equivalent exchange. Should you have questions, come to my temple or altar and chant my name. Pray to me, and I shall decide if I will answer your question."

Freya's voice was getting more distant, and the aurora disappeared like smoke.

Roy felt everything losing their footing, and he shook his head. The light from the candles before him was suddenly looking bright. He had returned to the great hall and was met with Sigrdrifa.

Chapter 538

"What did the goddess tell you, emissary?" Sigrdrifa blinked, her eyes filled with anticipation and nervousness.

"Call me Linus Pitt. The goddess offers her condolences to those who died tonight. Ulve and the priestesses who passed away have been inducted into her kingdom. You do not have to worry about them." Roy paused and looked outside the temple, where the young priestesses were staring. He said loudly, "She shall grant you a… um… powerful guardian that will keep this place safe."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You'll know soon enough."

Roy saw Dona and Cinda in the yard, surrounded by his soldiers and holding up a torch. He had a sword strapped to his belt. This man was the leader of Clan Heimaey. He was an elderly person with white hair and a beard that extended to his chest. Despite his advanced age, he was tough and lively.

"You must be the emissary of Freya," rasped Dona, his voice laced with excitement. "How should I address you?" Dona stepped forward, a big smile hanging on his face.

"Linus Pitt." The witcher wore his sunglasses and covered up his eyes. "I am no emissary. Just a man serving the goddess."𝘭𝑖𝒷𝓇𝘦𝘢𝒹.𝑐𝘰𝘮

"Ah, you're being modest. The goddess has told me about the events earlier through a dream, but my castle and soldiers are stationed on the other side of the island, and I failed to come in time. It's all thanks to you, or these bastards would've defiled the temple. That'd plunge my clan into the pits of shame. The whole island would've laughed at us."

Fury flared in Dona's eyes, and he gave his soldier a look. The soldier dragged Morkvarg over and made him kneel before everyone.

The face of the arrogant, blaspheming, and legendary pirate of Skellige was filled with bruises and slap marks. His head looked more like a balloon than a regular human's head. His clothes were torn from all the clawing, and he looked more like a beggar on the streets of Novigrad than a feared pirate captain.

Roy looked past him and saw two dozen captives in the same situation as their captain. They were on their knees, their clothes drenched with blood or seawater, their faces almost green from the exposure to the night winds. Some seemed crazed, and they muttered things like 'giants' and 'divine retribution' under their breaths.

Everyone present was giving them death stares. If looks could kill, these people would've been dead.

"Morkvarg. You crazed, incorrigible blasphemer. How dare you." Dona held the pirate's neck with his calloused hand, roaring into his ear, as if that would blow his brains out. "How dare you try to defile the goddess and attack her priestesses! Do you really think you're invincible just because you managed to escape the soldiers after your looting and murders? We're going to punish you for every single one of your crimes now. You. Are. Unforgivable."

The lord whirled, scanning his underlings and the remaining priestesses. He raised his voice. "We shall mourn for the dead tomorrow, and those bastards are going to pay for their sins in blood. They will never return to the embrace of the seas. Their corpses shall be thrown into the wilds, exposed to the elements and starving beasts."

The silent pirates went white, and they quickly pleaded for mercy. If they were not allowed to return to the embrace of the seas, then that was nothing but hell for them.

"Come at me, ye scallywag." Morkvarg raised his head and glared at the lord. Death would come for him one way or another, so he had nothing to fear anymore. "Least I'm tougher than ye fools. I exposed Freya for what she really is. She ain't a goddess. Couldn't even fight off mere pirates like us."

He turned to Roy. "An' she needs an emissary to help her. Ain't an emissary. Just a filthy witcher."

Furious, Dona whipped his sword out and smacked the back of Morkvarg's head. The pirate grunted and fell unconscious.

"Take him to the port and send our men to tell the islanders that the blasphemers will be sentenced to death at daybreak in three hours."

"Help me, emissary!" A shrill scream came from the end of the crowd.

"Einar?" Roy cocked his eyebrow. He was surprised the repentant pirates were taken in as well.

"Please, help us. We never defiled the goddess. We killed the blasphemers. We repented. We ain't no sinners!"

"Dona, can you…" Roy didn't like to turn his back on someone who'd proved their allegiance.

The lord stroked his beard, looking a little troubled. "They're Morkvarg's lackeys. If we don't kill them all, the people will never rest easy."

Sigrdrifa stood up for them. "Milord, they never hurt any of us. All they did was attack the blasphemers. Freya is a generous goddess. She will not rain down her wrath on them."

"Very well. Lucky bastards." Dona gave his soldiers a look, and they untied the pirates. "You're spared, but just because the emissary and the priestess said so."

The pirates heaved a long sigh of relief and gratefully huddled around the witcher.

That assured Roy. Alright, I can go ahead with my plan for him.

"Emissary, priestesses, dawn shall break in a few hours. Let us move to the port. We shall give the deceased a sendoff and witness these blasphemers' executions," Dona invited warmly. "Once this is done, we shall talk about the temple's reconstruction and your reward."

"Oh, hold on a minute." Roy looked at the priestesses and Dona. "I'd like you to see the gift the goddess has left for you."

A sliver of golden light shone upon the dark ends of the sea, brightening the icy sky. The light flared from behind the clouds, burgeoning and rising until it rained down a sheen of golden light on the raging seas.

A great crowd was gathered at the plaza before the northern port of Hindarsfjall, an air of festivity spreading around. Everyone was watching the gallows on the stage. The soldiers were carrying out a ritual of old. A ritual of cruelty.

The pirates who invaded Freya's temple were standing in a long line. In groups of three, nooses were hung around their necks.

Standing before the gallows was the legendary pirate, Morkvarg. He was made into a human flag, buffeted by the wind as he awaited divine retribution. His mouth was stuffed in case he spouted anything sacrilegious.

The crowd was red with fury, spitting and cursing at the pirates all the while throwing stones, mudballs, salted fish, and even excrements at them.

"Blasphemers!"

"Sinners!"

"Ye whale shit!"

"How dare ye hurt your own mother?"

The gray-maned Dona waved his hand, and the soldier beside the gallows pulled the lever. The wooden board underneath the pirates disappeared, and they hung in the air. Two of the more muscularly endowed Skelligers had their necks snapped from their own weight.

The remaining pirate went red as an apple, grabbing away at the noose, flailing and kicking. Nearly a minute went by, and then the pirate's head lolled, his tongue sticking out.

"To the gallows with 'em!" the crowd roared.

"Are your eyes actually that powerful, mate?" Krott looked at the hungover Eji. "The legendary pirate came to assault the temple at midnight, and his ships sank along with his crew."

"Aye, lad. Toldja Freya blessed my eyes." Eji's tongue hung out, and he stared at the pirates, the air around him smelling like alcohol. "E'ery evildoer I stare dies. Watch."

And another pirate was sent to his death.

"Wonder where Mr. Pitt went. He won in that drinking competition and woke up before any of us.

*** 𝑙𝒾𝘣𝘳𝑒𝒶𝒹.𝑐𝘰𝓂

Roy looked at the shuddering pirates standing beside him. "I have saved your lives, and I have a request. I hope you'll grant it."

"Of course, Mr. Pitt." Einar and the pirates exchanged a look. "We'll give up our lives if need be."

"Nothing that serious." The witcher shook his head and looked at the pirates. "Freya told me you possess a cursed item. It's dangerous for a mortal to take it around with him. It'll bring misfortune for you and the people around you. In case of danger, you'd better hand it to me."

Einar looked shocked, and then he fell into his thoughts. Realization struck him, and he noticed a hole in the witcher's story. "Ye have a point, but won't it harm ye too, Mr. Pitt?"

"I am Freya's emissary. I have my own ways to seal the curse of that necklace."

Einar hesitated for a moment, then he looked at the captain tied on the flag post who was drowning in salted fish, excrement, and stones. He gritted his teeth and nodded, then he took off his necklace.

Roy was then in possession of a uniquely-carved necklace. The string was grayish-black and made of wolf fur, and the pendant was a fang nearly the size of a human hand.

'Necklace of the Cursegiver

Components: Werewolf fang, werewolf hair, mana, werewolf heart blood.

Unique item: This necklace is the masterpiece of a deceased sorcerer. They locked a werewolf in a small chamber, torturing and tormenting it day after day. The werewolf was starved until it started consuming its own flesh, and the flesh it lost would grow back thanks to its regenerative abilities.

After the thirtieth time, the blood from this werewolf's heart was extracted along with its sharpest fang and best fur. With the use of magic, a powerful necklace containing the werewolf's grudge and curse was created.

Effect: Cut the target with the fang of this necklace, and the power of the curse will pump itself into the target's body. On the first night of the full moon from when the target is hurt, they will be forever changed into a werewolf and imprisoned in a five-hundred-yard-radius circle of the place the transformation took place.

The target will fall into the hell of eternal hunger, unable to satiate itself no matter how much it eats. No matter the kind of damage they sustain, they will be brought back to life within the place of their imprisonment.

Cure: Cut the werewolf with the fang, and the necklace will take back its curse.'

The witcher held the necklace closely, impressed by its power. In the original timeline, after Morkvarg destroyed the temple of Freya, the goddess-fearing Einar surreptitiously cut him and trapped the werewolf within the garden, damning it to an eternal life of starvation.

During Geralt's search for Ciri, he released the pirate from his misery.

Yes, the curse was not cast by Ulve, but this necklace. That was also proof that Freya's power had diminished greatly.

But now the necklace belongs to me. Roy took a moment to think back on his adventures. Ever since he came to this world, he'd encountered a few cursed people. Alan of the Sea Scorpion Troupe, Nivellen, a cursed man in rural Vizima who was helped by Geralt, and Adda, the princess of Vizima.

These curses might have differing effects, but the main ones were always transformations that would change the target into beasts. On the flip side, this transformation could strengthen the target's body by quite a bit, giving them bodies powerful enough to rival witchers. They would never be victims to any illnesses, and they would possess superhuman strength and speed.

Even now, Roy had no idea what the crux of curses were. Still, no one could deny that the power of curses couldn't be used to strengthen a witcher. "Kalkstein is going to be interested in this. I'll see if he can make something out of this." He tucked the necklace away into his inventory.

And then a rumbling came from afar. Everyone at the execution site held their breath, their eyes going wide. They stared at the source of the sound, and it came from the reef beyond the port.

Dona and Cinda stroked his beard, anticipation and astonishment flaring in his eyes.

The rumbling was getting more intense, and a rancid stench was carried to the site by the sea breeze, and the crowd held their noses.

The dawn light eventually rained on the wet reef, and a head stuck out from behind. The head had a protrusion hanging from its forehead, its eyes red as rubies, its nose blocky and fleshy and as big as a regular human.

The head grinned at the crowd, revealing two rows of yellowing teeth, and a fat fish was stuck between its teeth. It held up its muscular, blue-cloth-covered hand and held onto the reef. The ice giant pushed itself onto the reef, revealing itself fully to the crowd. The sun shone on its glimmering blue skin, turning it into a ghastly ice statue.

The crowd gasped.

A young boy tugged at his father's hand tightly, tensing up. He was going to cry. "Is that the ice giant, Pa? Are we dead?"

"But I thought it was in Undvik, sleepin'," a tall man muttered.

"'The ice-blue beast sharpens its teeth, first with flesh and then with ice. Its breath is icy, its eyes are red. The beast awaits the warrior with a big, gaping maw,'" an elderly man recited the child's song, tears glistening in his eyes. "I-I can't believe I got to see the legendary beast! I have no regrets now!"

"Run! There's a monster!" Most of the crowd shouted and screamed, and chaos ensued. They ran around like headless chickens, some unsheathing their swords, and a lot screamed.

"Run!"

One of the ladies was about the size of a big barrel, and all the running took everything she had. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and she fell unconscious.

"Alright, calm down! Calm down, people!" Dona shouted from the stage, his reassuring voice calming the chaotic scene down. "The ice giant is no enemy of ours." Dona grinned. "It is an emissary. One who came to protect the temple at the summons of the goddess. Its name is Leviathan!"

The giant is an emissary?

The crowd looked at Dona and the giant dubiously. This was certainly something they'd never seen before.

"It's the one that destroyed the drakkars of the great blasphemer last night!"

Morkvarg felt like screaming. If he'd known the witcher and this monster were here the night before, he would never have invaded the temple. In fact, he would've stayed ten thousand nautical miles away from it, but alas, he couldn't turn back time.

"In her generosity, the giant is now stationed on Hindarsfjall as a protector of the temple, preventing any more blasphemers like Morkvarg from showing up!"

"Praise be to Freya!"

The crowd whooped and cheered, but some had questions.

"Is it staying?"

"What's it gonna eat?"

"It won't attack us if it gets hungry, will it?"

"It smells so bad!"

The giant thumped its chest and roared, then it stepped onto the port, slowly making its way to the execution site.

The crowd could feel their hearts racing faster with every step the giant took. When it was ten yards away from the site, it stopped and touched the back of its head.

Sigrdrifa was beside Dona. She gritted her teeth and did her best to keep her smile up, then she rolled her sleeves up and slowly lugged a wooden bucket full of fish toward the ice giant. The stench from the ice giant was stronger than any fermented seafood she'd ever smelled, and she almost fainted from it.

I'm going to set up its home downwind from the temple, or no believers are going to come. She whipped an icefish out of the bucket, and Leviathan looked at the cloaked figure in the crowd, licking its teeth.

Master said listen to the priestess. No eating humans. Eat fish. The giant extended its left index finger, took the fish, and popped it into its mouth, and it chewed on the fish.

"Bear witness! I promise that the guardian appointed by the goddess will not attack her believers!" Sigrdrifa stood tall, her face gleaming golden. "It shall keep us safe, and from now on, Leviathan will stay near the temple."

The crowd said, "But the legends claim that ice giants kill indiscriminately."

"This is the power o' the goddess!" some believers were shouting in fervent devotion. "Who else can tame it but the goddess?"

"Oh, can we touch it? Can I visit it?" the crying boy from earlier asked with excitement as he sat on his father's neck.

"Respect it like how you respect the goddess. You may see it from afar, but do not disturb its rest."

"Aye, having' an ice giant we can stare at everyday ain't bad," a local said. "Not like ya can see this anywhere else."

Dona smiled. As the lord of the isle, he was coming up with ways to make profit through this. The ice giant could attract a lot of tourists, especially since it was harmless and listened to the priestesses' orders. With it around, Hindarsfjall would see a great influx of tourists, surpassing the other isles in terms of tourism. Which means taxes. A lot of taxes. That's going to be enough to cover the reward for the emissary.

To thank Roy for his assistance, Dona gave him the coins of the moneylender in Novigrad. It was a secret he pried from Morkvarg. All Roy had to do was lay claim to it.

"The time has come, and the leader of the blasphemers shall meet his end now." Sigrdrifa turned to Morkvarg sharply, and she commanded Leviathan, "Do it, Leviathan!"

Leviathan came to the flag post, its shadow looming over Morkvarg. It yanked Morkvarg off the flagpost and grabbed his limbs with both hands. The giant then held the pirate up in midair, showing him off like a crab.

"Morkvarg! You have enraged the goddess, killed her priestesses, and destroyed her temple! Your sins are many and unforgivable!" Sigrdrifa exchanged a look with the priestesses in the crowd. Coldly but sacredly, she announced, "By the power vested in me, I sentence you to amputation! And you shall be left to dry under the sun!"

A cruel smile curled Leviathan's lips, and it pulled.

A fountain of blood spurted into the air, and Morkvarg's limbs fell to the ground. Without his limbs, Morkvarg looked like a human bat, and he fainted from the intense pain and loss of blood.

The punishment was far from over, however.

Golden light flooded Sigrdrifa's finger and draped over the fainted pirate, staunching the bleeding. The giant swaddled the pirate in a white cloth and hung him on the flag post.

Over the next few days, the pirate was exposed to the elements, his flesh pecked by the birds. Bugs bit away at him freely, and the punishment continued until his soul had fallen to hell. All the while, he was closely watched by some soldiers.

After his death, his corpse would hang on the port forever as a deterrent for anyone who would try to blaspheme against the goddess.

Once the punishment was done, the soldiers took the corpses of the pirates away. The lord, surviving priestesses, and the crowd held up torches, pushing mistletoe-covered rafts to the beach.

On the rafts were the bodies of the priestesses who were sacrificed in the invasion. They would be set alight along with the raft and float into the endless sea.

"Time to see Ciri and Calanthe." Roy looked away. The witcher had gained the goddess' enlightenment and a necklace from this trip. It was great, and he left without saying goodbye.

Chapter 539

Juu was a burly man with red, ruffled hair. He had a room decorated with seal skins and shark bones located in the fort of Kaer Trolde on Ard Skellig. The sun shone upon the sturdy boulder, raining into Juu's room.

He sat before the windowsill, smelling like salt, seawater, tar, and exhaustion, yet he stared at the golden seas with shining eyes.

Faces appeared on the raging seas. Faces fierce as roaring lions. The warriors were donning fur armor and horned helms, charging into the army of black soldiers, swinging their axes away. Caught by surprise, the cavalry charged into them, the knights slicing their backs open. The warriors fell in the pools of their own blood, drawing their last breath.

So many people who grew up with him fell in that battle. People like Verkul and Tarant, who grew up with him. Even his uncle, the king of Cintra, Eist, fell in that war. Cintra was burned, its walls torn, its grounds filled with mountains of corpses. Flames licked them up, burning everything to ash.

"My brethren!" Crach and Craite's eyes were red with fury, and streams of white air came out of his nose. He clenched his fist and slammed the table. "I swear I'll avenge ye. Nilfgaard will pay!"

Once a few months had passed and things had settled down, he would ride his drakkar to the waters of Nilfgaard and raise hell on the high seas. The silver lining in this whole mess was that Cintra's royal bloodline managed to leave two… no, three offspring. Crash was glad about that, but then he was worried.

Calanthe was resting in Bran's bedchamber in An Skellig, and Crach wondered where his son's childhood friend was hiding. "Please bring Ciri to us safely, Freya. Reunite her with us and I'll refurbish ye temple."

As if hearing Crach's wish, a gale howled in his bedchamber. A black square door appeared before his desk, and crisp footsteps came from behind the door.

A heel made of lizard skin clacked against the ground, followed by a long, fair leg.

Crash held his breath once more, and he was met with a petite beauty in a black leather skirt and coat. Her skin was pale, her chin was sharp, and her black curly hair tumbled around her shoulder like black snakes. Her lips were luscious, and a beauty mark decorated its corner.

She was holding a little girl by her left hand, but she wasn't dressed like a typical girl. The girl was dressed in a gray jacket and leather pants, her short hair shining gray in the sunlight, and her eyes gleamed as green as a prairie. There was excitement and delight in her eyes.

"Yennefer of Vengerberg? Ciri? Thank the goddess!"

"Good morning, count of Ard Skellig, Crach an Craite." Yennefer smiled and bowed a little at Crash.

"I've missed you, Uncle Crack!" The gray-haired girl leapt into the arms of the burly count.

The count held her up by her arms, spinning her around and laughing. "Ciri, my daughter. I knew I would come back safely. Let me see ya. Been years, and ye be a big girl now. Praise be to Freya. Praise be to the sea and our ancestors."

"Where's Hjalmar and Cerys? I wanna hike and ride horses and fish and ice skate and go on boat rowing rides with them. I can't wait!" The girl smiled, dimples forming on her cheeks. "But first, I want to see Grandmother."

"They're fishing in Faroe. Gonna take a few days. Yer grandmother's fine. Staying in an absolutely safe place." Crach put her down and held her hand, but he was staring at the sorceress, passion flaring in his eyes. "It has been years, Yennefer, but ye be shinin' as ever. Why'd ye show up in my room? It's like a dream."

Crash signed silently. Yennefer was old enough to be his grandmother, but she was more beautiful than she was before their breakup.

"And you're looking more heroic than ever." Yennefer pursed her lips. She was feeling a little awkward. The reason she had the coordinates for Crach's bedchamber was due to their past, and this was the only coordinates in Skellige she had.

Ciri noticed the weird air hanging between them, and a cunning glint flared in her eyes. She rubbed her chin, hatching a cheeky plan.

Crash patted Ciri's head. "So tell me, how'd ya know the girl? And why are you two together? Though she went missing' after the war."

"We've been in Novigrad for months." Yennefer smiled. "I brought her here this time to see Queen Calanthe and escape the people trying to take her."

"A Nilfgaardian spy?" Crach's eyes turned icy.

"One of them. Spies from all northern kingdoms too. Skellige's far, far away from the Continent. It's a good place to lay low."

"Aye, smart move."

"So can you take us to An Skellig for a visit to the queen? We can talk on the ship."

"So the White Wolf found her?" Crash was seated around the table in the cabin, sucking on a cockle. He stared outside at the crashing waves. A school of marlins leapt out of the sea, swimming alongside the drakkar.

"That's how the Law of Surprise works." Yennefer took a sip of the mead and frowned. No matter how many times she had mead, she couldn't get used to the sickly sweet taste.

"I belong to Geralt." Ciri was beside Yennefer. She bit off the head of a lobster and munched on its flesh. The girl put on a stern look and adamantly said, "Geralt belongs to me too. That's fate. That's why he could find me anywhere. Even back in Brokilon, and even in outer Rivia."

"Alright, ye cheeky girl. Yeah right." Crash glossed over the topic and looked at Yennefer. As if nonchalant, he asked, "So ye got back together with Geralt? Staying' at the witcher's… um… base now?"

Yennefer was silent for a while and pulled her hair back. When Ciri didn't exist, every time she met Geralt, it was either on the bed, in a fight, or a session of silent treatment. However, when they reunited at the orphanage, she had one more thing to talk about with that white-haired guy: Ciri.

Yennefer looked at Ciri. She placed the lobster shell away and started feasting on the mint and salt grilled sturgeon and mashed carrots. The sorceress pulled a napkin and wiped the grease off the girl's lips.

Ciri smiled at her sweetly. The girl was a lubricant in this relationship, minimizing the fights that happened between her and Geralt. They were like parents trying to raise a child. It was clumsy and hard, but they would happily take care of the cheeky girl.

She enjoyed this peaceful life, but… "No. Not yet. I haven't forgiven him for his foolish and selfish behavior."

"What do you mean not yet? You're still observing him?" There was anticipation in Crach's voice. Even though he was married and had a family, he would feel lonely sometimes, and he wished he could relive the short affair he had with the sorceress.

What Yennefer said next dealt a great blow to him.

"Technically, yes. What happens next depends on him."

That's just like getting back together. The count hung his head low and took a deep breath, his beard trembling. For a long time, silence reigned. The only sound was the waves crashing against the hull.

"I've been curious, Crash. Since Queen Calanthe is still alive, why didn't she…"

"I know what yer tryin' to say, but she thought this through. She has her own reasons. Well, a surprise, more like. A gift from the goddess."

"What are you trying to say?"

Crash looked outside the window. The drakkar was closing in on the coast of An Skellig. The few seagulls standing on the dark, hard reefs leapt into the sea.

"Congratulations, Ciri. In a month or two, ye be havin' a new aunt. Your grandmother's going to have another child."

Ciri lost all her appetite, her eyes as wide as saucepans. The fish and drool dribbled down her mouth, and she fell into a stupor. "A baby? I'm the youngest again? I don't want to call a baby auntie!"

Crach and Yennefer teased Ciri, and the girl sobbed.

The Ringhorn slowly closed in on Urialla Harbor, a port with even land situated in the southern part of An Skellig.

The count led Yennefer, Ciri, and a group of bearded, armed warriors down the drakkar, entering the dark, ugly, and mud-covered port. They made their way north, quickly reaching the fortress of Bran the Conqueror.

Despite being the ruler, Bran's abode was a far cry from the resplendence of Kaer Trolde. The fortress was petite and only housed two towers and a yard. Bran received the news once Crach's ship had docked, and he was out here welcoming them.

Even though the king was already in his seventies, he was still lively and in the pink of health. His hair was white as snow, and he had a body as powerful as any young man. The king had a red cloak draped over his shoulder, and chainmail armor was hidden beneath his shirt.

He thumped his fist on the chest of his heavyweight nephew, bellowing in laughter. He then turned to the girl beside Crash, a hint of affection flaring in his eyes. "It has been a while, Ciri. Finally here to see me, eh?"

"Grandpa Bran!" The girl sprang into Bran's embrace, burying her head in his chest. She avoided his beard and looked up at him, shedding some tears. "Grandpa Eist is gone, and my home's fallen. I only have you and Grandmother left!"

"I knew Destiny could never hold you down, the Lion Cub of Cintra and the Swallow of Skellige Isle. You will always return to us safely, but I did one thing wrong. I should've led the undefeatable fleet of Skellige myself and crushed the southern bastards."

Bran held the girl tightly, his eyes glinting with icy fury. With steel-like conviction, he said, "But I swear that as long as you're in Skellige, none can harm you."

The girl cried.

"And this is…" Bran looked at Yennefer quizzically.

Yennefer nodded at him, smiling.

"Yennefer." Crash explained, "For quite a while now, she has been teaching and protecting Ciri."𝓁𝑖𝘣𝑟𝘦𝘢𝒹.𝑐ℴ𝘮

"Thank you, Lady Yennefer." Bran held Ciri's hand tightly, leading the group into the castle. "Come. Let's see her. She's dying to see you."

The group walked past the beautiful hall and traversed the staircases spiraling around the hall. They were led to a bedroom on the second floor. It was bright, and warm flames crackled in the fireplace.

A plump woman was standing beside the window, her hair tied in a ponytail. Her face was a little round, and the love of a mother shone in her eyes.

She was wearing an oversized and warm blue cotton jacket that acted like pajamas, her baby bump conspicuous. She caressed her belly and stretched her arms. Feeling something, she turned around.

The moment she met Ciri's eyes, surprise burst onto her face, and tears glistened. "Ciri, my dear granddaughter!" Calanthe slowly moved toward the door. "Come, let me kiss you."

"Grandmother!" Ciri let go of Bran and ran toward Calanthe. Right before she came in contact with her, the girl skidded to a halt and stood before the queen of Cintra, looking delighted and curious.

Calanthe held Ciri's hand and kissed her forehead, and Ciri kissed her cheek.

The jarl of the isles and Yennefer watched the scene in silence.

"My dear Ciri, I was worried sick when I was told of your disappearance. I was so scared that something might happen to you. I'd be alone if that came to pass."

"No, that won't happen." Ciri turned around to look at Yennefer. "Geralt, Yennefer, and everyone in the House of Gawain protected me well. Took care of me like I was their family." There was light twinkling in Ciri's eyes. And gratitude as well.

"They didn't force you to become a witcher?"

"I wish. They wouldn't agree to it."

"At least they held up their promise. It's good to see you here. We're finally reunited."

"We'll never be separated again, Grandmother. And I'm sorry for being so cheeky. I'm sorry for making you mad all the time," said Ciri resolutely.

Surprise found its way to Calanthe's eyes, and then she patted the girl's head, feeling glad. Glad that the Lion Cub of Cintra had finally grown through the war. Now she was being understanding towards her, and for that, she thanked the witchers.

Ciri extended her hand, trying to touch Calanthe's belly, but she was worried about hurting the baby within. She raised her head and whispered, "Is my… aunt in there?"

"Just touch it." Calanthe held her hand and placed it on her warm belly, gently drawing a circle on it. Ciri held her breath, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.

She stuck her tongue out, gasped, and made a lot of faces she learned from Auckes, then she stuck her ear close to the belly. "Oh, I hear her heartbeat." A smile curled her lips, and she felt a bond forming between her and the baby. An inexplicable delight filled her heart.

At long last, she had another family member besides her grandmother, Geralt, Yennefer, and Roy. On top of that, she felt a special bond forming between her and the child. There was great power within this bond. It was similar to the ties she felt with Roy. It was something they shared. Something that pulled them closer.

Yennefer, however, saw something different. The moment Ciri hugged Calanthe, the chaos energy around them started spiking and moving at a blistering rate. The elemental particles quickly swam around them, as if summoned by something. The energy piled and piled until it was enough to unleash a powerful and destructive spell, and it was still gaining more momentum.

"Ciri!" Yennefer stepped ahead and yanked the girl's arm. To everyone's shock, she took her away from Calanthe, and the ball of chaos energy dispersed. The sorceress heaved a sigh of relief and gave the queen an apologetic smile.

"Your Majesty, just for your safety, Ciri shouldn't come anywhere near you."

"What is the meaning of that?" Calanthe arched her eyebrow. Imperiously, she asked, "I cannot hug my own granddaughter?"

"No, you're taking this the wrong way. That's not what I'm trying to say. You should know that the Fiona and Riannon line of your family carry an ancient and noble bloodline. A bloodline with enough power to topple the world as we know it. Ciri and the child you carry, if I'm right, have inherited that bloodline, and they do not have the power to control that bloodline even now. Should they gather in one place, their bloodline will resonate and cause an unpredictable change that will end up harming you."

"What?" Calanthe had a look of horror on her face, and she was reminded of an old memory. One where her late daughter, Pavetta, was hovering in the air, blasting off magic. "But Ciri hasn't displayed that kind of power, and my child is yet unborn. I haven't felt anything from her."

"The girl's magical talent is outstanding." Yennefer looked at the setting sun and added, "It's late, everyone. Let's talk over dinner, shall we? I have a lot of questions to ask, Your Majesty."𝒍𝓲𝒃𝙧𝓮𝙖𝒅.𝓬𝙤𝓶

Chapter 540

"So you're keeping the news of your survival a secret on purpose?" Yennefer asked, a little surprised. She pulled her hair back and massaged her temples. "Because you're pregnant?"

Calanthe leaned back in the spacious chair, caressing her belly. She fell silent, a little nervous from the questioning, but her silence was enough for the sorceress.

Everyone else enjoyed their food in silence.

Bran was chomping on the roasted piglet on his plate, tearing it apart like a warrior digging his fingers into an enemy's throat. His queen stood behind him, placing a peeled lobster into young Svanrige's plate. The boy looked resigned, and he put the lobster back into his mother's plate defiantly.

Crach and Craite looked outside the window, his profile filled with frustration. Ciri was seated across from the crowd, munching down on the seafood. She stared around the room, the conversations everyone was having moments ago making no sense to her young mind.

Mousesack, consultant of magic to the king, stroked his long beard, and he broke the awkward silence. "That was not a decision Calanthe made alone. Her Majesty wishes to cleanse her home of those invading curses even now. She yearns to rebuild Cintra to glory." Mousesack's voice boomed across the room. Patiently, he explained everything to Yennefer. Evelyn had told him everything. This sorceress had the backing of a brotherhood of witchers, making her a force to be reckoned with.

"She wishes to destroy the dark soldiers and avenge her fallen home. Her people. Her family. And the men of Skellige. All who have valiantly fallen in battle." The druid looked at the queen, whose face was ashen and dim. He had spoken loudly of the queen's intentions. "When she first arrived on our shores, she was beside herself. Oftentimes she would be found crying before the grave of the late King Eist, and she lost sleep, day after day. The torment took a toll on her health. She came down with a cold, a fever, and even anemia. Her Majesty almost lost her child."

"What?" Ciri put her cutlery down and looked at her grandmother with concern. "Are you alright, Grandmother?"

Calanthe had a smile dancing on her lips.

"It might have missed you, Ciri, but I've nourished myself back to full health and then some."

"We got news from Evelyn back during the war. The witchers didn't find Ciri. She escaped the castle and went missing," Svanrige interrupted.

Ciri's face burned up a little. She was a little uneasy about the mention of her cheekier past.

"We thought she might have died, so that means Calanthe's child was her only living family left in the world. The only child her husband, Eist, had left for her before he so valiantly fell in battle. Should the news of Calanthe's survival make it to the Continent, she will be buffeted with a slew of troubles. The refugees of Cintra, the sorcerers of Nilfgaard, and the spies of the northern kingdoms will all come to her. It would prove nigh impossible for her to keep her child if she were to shoulder that much stress. We had to create an environment where she could carry the child to term without worry."

Yennefer was beginning to put herself in Calanthe's shoes. If she was stuck between avenging her fallen country and keeping her unborn child safe, she would choose the latter without any hesitation. That was her maternal instinct speaking to her. Something a lot of women had.

"And that's why we convinced her to stay." Crash shook his head, his frustration turning to lamentation. "To set aside her vengeance. Plans can wait until her child is born. Ain't gonna let those dogs run free, though, that's for sure. We ain't lettin' our brethren die for no reason. Drakkars 'have been waiting' to taste blood too."

"He is right." Bran wiped the grease off his beard. "Calanthe carries the future of the Cintran bloodline. I must keep her and her child safe. Can't face my fallen brethren otherwise."

Birna agreed with her husband, and she speared a piece of pig's hoof for him.

Yennefer, however, saw Birna's eyes glint with a hint of cunning. The queen is up to something.

"Surely that is not your only concern?" Yennefer asked.

"Hm, you are a representative of the esteemed witchers. Ciri loves and trusts you as well. Very well, if I'm being frank." Bran stroked his beard. Coldly, he said, "Cintra has been overrun and completely taken over by the south. We cannot change the situation, at least not for now. The south has begun constructing defenses in Cintra's vicinity, all the while spreading the religion of the Great Sun and the culture of Nilfgaard. They have also changed the local currency into floren, admittedly a coin with higher gold content. They are also sparing no expense in garnering support from the people left behind in the local towns and villages.

"According to our sources, the tradesmen and farmers who stayed in the occupied Cintra assimilated and are leading better lives than ever. They enjoy more freedom and wealth. The merchants now have more privileges as well. At the empire's behest, the people of the south are trekking across Amell to settle in the north and pioneer expansion efforts. Soon, their resources, labor, and production chains will be used to create more items so they can take over our market share."

Wariness flared in Bran's eyes. "This might sound like a tall tale, but in a mere six months, Nilfgaard, with their cultural and economical strength, has overwhelmed Cintra and Upper Sodden, conquering them effectively. Even if Calanthe were to appear and rally the people against Nilfgaard, will they, who have submitted to the empire and are reaping the benefits, risk their lives to join Calanthe's cause?"

The night was falling, and it brought darkness with it. Cold winds howled, shivering the hearts of those in the dining room.

No. Yennefer shook her head. Nilfgaard knows how to conquer a nation. They're experienced. They've been experimenting with the philosophy of conquest since the days of invading minor kingdoms like Ebbing, Maecht, and Nazair, and they know how to take over kingdoms.

"Which gives us this conclusion: There is no need for Calanthe to make her appearance and risk exposing herself to the kingdoms," said Bran.

"Most of the northern kingdom's kings are having a peace talk with Menno Coehoorn, governor of the province of Cintra and representative of the Nilfgaard emperor. As well as the hieronymus of the Eternal Fire. The conference is taking place at a castle in the center of Sodden, north of Yaruga. Vilgefortz, who performed outstandingly during the Battle of Sodden Hill, is leading the negotiations."

Bran gave Svanrige a look of encouragement, and the young prince added, "The agenda is simple: to bring this war to a stop. It has cost both sides a lot of men. And to talk about who gets which land after the war. It might seem that the North has emerged triumphant, but they've also sustained heavy losses. Redania, Temeria, Kaedwen, Aedirn, and Lyria and Rivia are reluctant to wage war for much longer. The one who goes first in battle stands to lose the most men, after all."

Yennefer nodded. The northern kingdoms had always been fractured. Eventually, they would fight among themselves, and Nilfgaard would be there to reap the rewards.

"On the other hand, Nilfgaard's high-speed expansion might have come to a halt, but they still possess a great army, and they all have the same goal in mind. They know what they want. With Emhyr, the uncontested emperor, leading them, they can do battle again and again. They have the upper hand in this negotiation. Should they come to a ceasefire…"

Svanrige scanned the room. "The most likely outcome is that the alliance will give away Cintra so they can rest and heal."

Silence swooped down on the room.

"Calanthe has lost her kingdom and army, and our drakkars cannot sail deep into land. Should Calanthe join the conference, she will only be taken hostage by the northern kingdoms, forced to be their puppet. Or the south might keep her imprisoned. Even if her lambasting of Nilfgaard's atrocities could tilt the scales in the North's favor and help her gain Cintra back, it would only make Cintra a vassal state of the North instead of the South. It is still at someone else's mercy. It can never return to its former self. Not much difference from getting conquered by Nilfgaard. Hiding is a much better choice. She can bide her time."

Yennefer looked at Calanthe. Even under this much pressure, Calanthe is still as ambitious as ever. To raise Cintra back to glory and never be any kingdom's vassal. How?

Svanrige's analysis came to an end, and Bran gave him a nod of approval.

"Still, it's not all bad news. Once Nilfgaard sets up Cintra as the base of operations for their expansion to the north, they will develop it aggressively and shift their military there, which means they'll 'have fewer soldiers guarding' the South. Ain't no way around that. The defenses for the City of Golden Towers' coastline will be weakened. The moment Nilfgaard and the Northern Kingdoms resume war, the drakkars of Skellige will strike."

A vicious sneer curled Crush's face. "Our drakkars will be striking Nilfgaardian waters and cutting off their trade routes. Oh, they'll feel the heat, I'm sure."

Ah, so that's why Skellige has been silent even though their sister kingdom is felled. They're setting up a gambit of their own as well.𝒍𝓲𝒃𝙧𝒆𝒂𝒅.𝓬𝙤𝒎

Calanthe clasped her hands over her stomach and stared at the crimson tapestry hanging on the pillar. The tapestry depicted a scene of a hundred warriors standing on two drakkars, spreading a net that covered even the skies. It was just like the scene of the plan they came up with.

A hint of resolve slipped into Calanthe's gentle voice. "Aside from Bran and Crash, my family and closest comrades, we had also established contact with Vissegerd a few years ago. He is creating an army in Brugge in secret as we speak."

Yennefer asked, "Ah, the general who commanded the army in the Battle of Marnadal?"

"Yes." Calanthe was getting red, and she gushed, "Praise Freya. He survived the war and moved to Brugge. King Venzlav, in all his generosity, accepted him and took in the refugees who ran from Cintra."

"Venzlav is an honorable man," said Yennefer. "He is just, accepting, and a peace-loving king. Two years ago, he sent Geralt into Brokilon and signed a peace treaty with the queen of the dryads. Verden and Kerack, however, still see the dryads as their enemies."

"Vissegerd is doing well in Brugge. When we exchanged news last month, I was told that the army was at four thousand strong, and they were still expanding at a blistering rate."

Everyone had smiles on their faces. Yennefer was a little surprised to hear that. Four thousand soldiers was nothing to be sneezed at. The fact they joined the army even though there was no hope of reclaiming their kingdom given the speed Nilfgaard took them down meant their will was stronger than iron.

"So Vissegerd knows where you are?"

"He has always been a loyal minister to the kingdom. We're like siblings. There is no need to hide anything from him. We exchange news and information every month." Calanthe looked at Ciri, who was wolfing down a grilled squid. "He too spared no efforts in the search for Ciri. Once my child is born, I will have nothing holding me back anymore. I can once more give myself to the work of reclaiming my kingdom. Once the North and South start their war once again, my chance will show itself. The army Vissegerd is rallying in Brugge and Skellige's men will strike the soldiers that have taken over Nilfgaard. We will stop at nothing to reclaim what is rightfully ours."

Calanthe had a captivating smile on her lips, and her eyes twinkled a bright emerald. "When I escaped Cintra with my tail between my legs, I made an oath to those who had fallen in the war. The people of Cintra, the warriors of Skellige, and Eist. One day, I will reclaim our lost land, and the dark soldiers will pay the price. Just you wait."

Gusts of gale slammed upon the windows. Everyone around the table had light shining in their eyes. For a moment, the fires of ambition flared in Yennefer's eyes. Should she succeed in helping a queen reclaim her lost kingdom, she would gain an unimaginable amount of wealth. She then looked at innocent little Ciri, and she shook her head, smiling.

To hell with ambition. I have to take care of Ciri.

"So, Yennefer, ya mentioned someone chasin' Ciri? Took her to Skellige to stay outta the hunter's sight?" Crash wiped his greasy hands on his deerskin coat.

"Yes. Rience, a sorcerer and a spy," said Yennefer. "I suspect that he works for the king of Kaedwen."

Calanthe pursed her lips. Her mind was conjuring the image of a white-haired witcher and his younger, heterochromatic-eyed companion. She still hadn't thanked them for all their help. With her kingdom taken over, she could never give Roy the reward she promised. "If he's noticed Ciri, then the witchers might be at risk."

Ciri looked at Yennefer. The sorceress shook her head and confidently said, "Danger is part of their lives, and they can handle it."

"The Novigrad witchers are more than meets the eye." Mousesack stopped fiddling with his antler headpiece. He praised, "Evelyn, a member of the Isle's circle, is now in service to them. She has nothing but compliments for the witchers, especially one named Kiyan." Felt like a wife praising her husband too, if you ask me.

"She claims that the witchers brought back seeds of plants she had never seen before. They claim that the seeds were prizes from their exploration of an unknown territory. I do not know how they procured those items, but with such power at their disposal, a spy is nothing to be afraid of."

Bran turned to his side so Birna could wipe his beard better. "In any case, the witchers have protected Ciri, keeping her out of the kingdoms' grubby hands. That makes them our friends. Our brethren."

He looked at Yennefer. "Should they need help, ask. We can always spare a few hundred Skellige men for them."

Yennefer gave him a grateful nod.

"Yennefer, there is another pressing matter at hand." Calanthe stared at her granddaughter. "What do you mean Ciri and my unborn child possess an ancient bloodline? Does that mean I can't even kiss my dear little Ciri before the child is born?"

Chapter 541

"The prophecy of Ithlinne describes the bloodline of your family in detail, Your Majesty." The light from the candelabra on the table shone upon Yennefer, her eyes twinkling. "I'm sure you have heard of it."

"There are dozens of versions of the prophecy, and it is included in Encyclopedia Maxima Mundi, which is an ongoing work. Humans, elves, dwarves, and gnomes know about it." Bran stroked his beard. He lowered his voice. "Ithlinne accurately prophesied the decline of the elves and the war that just happened."

"I do not think anything related to bloodline would be pretty, yes?" Mousesack looked at Ciri and Calanthe, concerned about flitting in his eyes. "The Elder Blood is the blood of the cursed, and it's involved with something regarding the end of days."

Curse? The end of days? Calanthe shook her head. Eist came to know of the Elder Blood that flowed within the royal family because he witnessed the power Pavetta possessed during the selection dinner. He refused to sire a child with Calanthe, thinking that this power would be incompatible with the explosive nature of a Skelliger.

He only agreed to sire a child when the kingdom was facing its imminent doom, and Calanthe's fervent requests helped. She did not expect her daughters and granddaughters to all carry the Elder Blood, nor did she expect them not to be allowed to come in contact with each other.

She blanched, fear welling within her heart. I lost my kingdom, two husbands, a daughter, and the whole royal family, and that's without the blood of the cursed. What will become of Ciri and my child, then?

"You do not have to worry, Your Majesty. Prophecies are but foretelling of one possibility of many futures." Yennefer shot everyone a look of reassurance. "And humans can always strive for a better future. I have always believed that we can control and use the power of blood for our own good.

"We're all born as crying, helpless infants, but we, by instinct, learned to walk. Much like walking, the Elder Blood is something akin to instinct. Ciri and your child have just awakened the power. Like toddlers learning to walk, they will fall and fail. However, should they be given proper guidance and training…" She looked at Ciri. Reminded of her grueling magical training, the young lady put on a scared smile. "They will be able to control their power one day. They will learn to walk, run, and even fly in the end."

Mousesack looked at Yennefer, and he raised a question. "Yennefer, if I'm not mistaken, you are a student of the arcane arts, and it derives its power from chaos energy that is scattered across the world. You do not possess the Elder Blood, so how can you train them?"

"That is a brilliant question, Mousesack. According to my checkups on Ciri, part of the Elder Blood is made up of mana. She was born to be a sorceress, and I am a student of the arcane arts. That is why I can teach Ciri how to channel that part of her bloodline."

"So you mean she is a Source?" Mousesack's hand froze.

Everyone had a concerned look on their faces, and they turned to Ciri, who was furtively gulping down a third glass of blueberry juice, against Calanthe's orders. Ciri smiled awkwardly, her teeth gleaming blue.

"No!" As if stoked by a poker, Calanthe seized the chair's armrest and tried to stand up. "I will not hand Ciri or my child to Aretuza. They are of royal bloodline, and I will not allow them to be turned into barren sorceresses."

"Worry not, Your Majesty." Yennefer sidled to Calanthe and put her hand on the former queen's shoulder. Calanthe calmed down. "They do not have to attend the academy. I shall be teaching them on the isles. If I prove insufficient as a teacher, we still have Mousesack."

The druid nodded and patted Ciri's head. "The path of nature is intertwined with the application of chaos energy. Come to me should you need any help."

"Sorceresses are barren not because of the power we possess." A hint of sadness flickered on Yennefer's face as she was reminded of a somber memory. "It is because of the cruel and unnecessary arcane modification. I promise that Ciri and the unborn princess will not have that problem."

Calanthe took a deep breath and eased up a little.

"Under my guidance, they will come to grips with their own power and find their own place in this perilous world." Yennefer spoke softly, but there was power in her voice. "They will gain enough strength to fend for themselves. To defend their loved ones, and even help you reclaim your kingdom. Ciri's talent is unmatched. She'll grow up to be an incredible sorceress, and you should know how instrumental the sorcerers were in the Battle of Sodden Hill."

"You wish for Ciri to learn the arcane arts and assist me in the reclamation of Cintra?" Calanthe shook her head and turned her attention to the young lady. She might have grown a bit from the adversity, but she was still a cheeky little girl. Calanthe was imagining Ciri standing amongst an army, shooting out fireballs and lightning bolts at the enemy.

And then a hail of arrows came raining down on them, plunging them into danger.

"No!" Calanthe spoke with raw emotions. "The reclamation of Cintra is my responsibility. Mine and mine alone. No one else's. All I wish is for them to grow up happy."

Since her granddaughter went missing, Calanthe did a bit of soul searching and had an epiphany. "I do not wish for more."

"Very well." Yennefer nodded. She gave Ciri a loving look. "If they learn how to utilize their talents well, regular soldiers can't even hope to touch them. Even without me by their side, they will be safe."

A moment of hesitation seized Calanthe, but she asked, "Why do you go so far for Ciri, Yennefer? There must be a reason."

Crash gulped down some mead. Jealousy, he said, "Calanthe, Yennefer share a close relationship with Geralt, and the white-haired witcher shares a close relationship with Ciri. Law of Surprise, as they say. Yennefer is extending her love to everything her lover cares about."

"The Law of Surprise again?" Calanthe was a little annoyed, but she was also relieved. Geralt had proved that he was a worthy guardian for Ciri, and destiny was a better bondmaker than blood.

Yenneger held Ciri's hand and turned her attention to Calanthe. "He's not the only reason." Calanthe was reflected in her eyes. "If I hadn't been modified by the academy and lost my ability to conceive, I would have gotten married and had a daughter as adorable as Ciri."

Ciri harrumphed. "Yennefer, that's not what you call me in private. Adorable? You wouldn't stop calling me an ugly duckling!"

Yennefer was speechless.

"I can't comment on Ciri's looks. Everyone's opinion is different, but she's definitely a troublemaker," Bran teased. "She used to spend summers and winters on the isles, and the isles were always lively when she was around pulling her pranks. She turned Birna's favorite bodice into a fishing net once. She, Hjalmar, and Cerys had the kitchen cook a bighead carp."

Bran held Birna's hand and smiled. "Birna almost fainted. She must've given you a lot of trouble too."

Yennefer smiled.

"I leave things in your hands then, Yennefer," said Calanthe. "Do your best to train Ciri and my child."

Yennefer nodded with a smile.

Bran took notice of Ciri's constant yawning. "The journey must've been exhausting. Let's retire for the night, shall we? We'll visit Eist's grave tomorrow."

"Can I sleep with Grandmother? I wanna feel the baby." Ciri blinked.

"You're sleeping with me, girl," said Yennefer. "That's if you don't want to hurt your aunt."

Ciri humphed.

A small, golden ball of flames hung in the skies of Skellige the next morning. The air was stifling and humid, a blanket of viscous fog draping the seas. A ray of sunshine shone upon a hill in the north of the castle.

Calanthe, Ciri, and Yennefer traveled up a long flight of stairs and came to a stop before a white marble grave.

Ciri went down on her knees and caressed the stone epitaph with one hand, wiping her tears with the other. "I'm sorry, Grandfather. I shouldn't have run around so much. If I'd been there with you, you would never have died."

"Do not take this upon yourself, child. You would've been no match for the army regardless." Yennefer shook her head.

"I blame my weakness," Calanthe cursed herself, holding her belly. "Roy had told me of the future, and I had months to prepare, yet the outcome remained the same."

"Wait. What do you mean he told you the future?" Yennefer cocked her eyebrow. Over the last few months of her stay in the orphanage, she'd heard the mention of the mysterious witcher a million times. They claimed he was the strongest witcher, that he tamed a griffin, and that he started the idea of the brotherhood. More absurdly, he went into another world and killed a dragon. "Is he a seer? Capable of seeing the future?"

Calanthe nodded and caressed the thick jacket over her belly, grateful and worried at the same time. "If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would've thought it was a fairy tale. The ramblings of a madman. A witcher, predicting the whole war of Cintra, as well as Eist's demise."

"That's far too detailed to be any regular fortune telling."

"Roy has lent a lot of help to Cintra, but we failed him. Still, I owe him something even now."

"Which is?"

"He asked for my daughter, invoking the Law of Surprise." Calanthe heaved a sigh, feeling conflicted. She wasn't as averse to the Law now, given that it was the same thing that saved her dear Ciri.

Yennefer froze for a moment, scanning Calanthe's face. You're deeply entwined with the witchers, you know that? Geralt asked for Ciri, and Roy asked for your unborn daughter to be his Unexpected Child. It almost feels like you're a baby making machine for them.

Yennefer thought she smelled something more insidious brewing behind these apparent coincidences.

Ciri swung her fists. "Two years ago, Roy and Geralt saved me from Eithné, then he helped Geralt find me when I was staying at Yurga's house in outer Rivia. But he couldn't show up anywhere near the orphanage, since some bad guys are hunting him."

The surprised Yennefer stared at the shimmering sea undulating beyond the hill, and she muttered, "Odd. That couldn't have been any simple coincidence. You are not bound to him by the Law, so how'd he find you every time?"

"I feel connected to Roy. We get on like… like…"

"Like a house on fire."

A frown furrowed Ciri's brow, and she nodded. "It was like the first time I met the baby. Like we're connected by blood."

Hm?

The older ladies had a look of shock on their faces. Ciri might have not realized the gravitas of her words, but they did.

The princess sharing a bond of blood with a witcher?

The ladies were going to rebuff the girl for even suggesting that, but then something happened. A great gash opened up in the air, and a silhouette cloaked in a black cape leapt out of the portal, landing before the trio.

The morning sun shone on him. He had short black hair, bone-like swords on his back, a viper medallion hanging before his chest, and a big pair of sunglasses covering most of his face. The silhouette stared at the trio before him and looked bemused for a fraction of a second, then a smile cracked his lips, though it was an awkward smile.

"Good morning, Calanthe, Ciri. And Yennefer."

The stranger turned to the petite but curvy sorceress. Roy could smell the lilac and gooseberries in the air, and he was transfixed for a moment. The sorceress had skin white as snow, lips lustrous as blood, and a face even the gods would envy. She had an air of mystery hanging around her. Roy could see why the White Wolf couldn't forget this flame of his.

"What is going on here?" Yennefer crossed her arms before her chest and made a gesture to cast a protective spell. The light of magic swirled over her head. "Who are you? You're a witcher, aren't you? How'd you conjure that portal? Did you use Eist's grave as a waypoint?"

Ciri suddenly let out a burst of laughter, and she jumped into Roy's arms. "Roy!"

This is Roy? Yennefer was surprised, but she let her guard down. So this is the founder the brotherhood's been yammering about every day? He's younger than I thought. Not even twenty years old. Clean and handsome too. Unlike Geralt, who never grooms himself. That guy has the 'smell of men' on him.

"It's been a while, Ciri. I see you've gained a few pounds. Guess the guys back at the orphanage haven't started your training yet." Roy looked at Yennefer and explained, "Yennefer, that portal's an ability I gained through my mutations. Just leave it at that." He held the smiling Ciri's hand and strode to Calanthe.

"How have you been, Your Majesty? Well, I hope."

"Yes, all thanks to you. Now all I have to do is wait for my child's birth." Calanthe extended her hand so the witcher could kiss it.

Roy bowed a little. He held Ciri's hand in his left and lifted Calanthe's hand with his right, then he gave it a light kiss.

The moment the three of them had skin contact, the Elder Blood flowing within Roy, Ciri, and the unborn child resonated and triggered a powerful reaction. Yennefer was watching everything. She saw a gigantic surge of chaos energy bursting through the void, swirling around the trio, and a blinding white light flooded out of them, charging into the skies above.

Roy's medallion was buzzing and shrieking like a sparrow caught in a net.

"No! You have to get away from each other, right now!"

A bolt of lightning flashed through the cloudless skies. Yennefer leapt ahead, but all she caught was air. The rippling space before her refracted the sun's rays like it was a shattered mirror.

"I am a fool!" Yennefer froze for a long time, and a bitter curl twisted her lips downward. "I should've known. He has the power to tell the future and cross space. That witcher possesses the Elder Blood as well! But three of them? Three of them share the same blood?"

Yennefer stared at the empty space before the grave, and she muttered, "Great. How am I going to break this to them?"

Darkness as far as the eye could see. Black, gentle darkness, devoid of any light. The trio's heads were buzzing, and their sight was robbed from them for a moment. A gust of icy gale howled across their skin, cutting through them like iron blades.

A worried Calanthe gasped, "By Freya, where are we? Ciri! Ciri, where are you?"

"I'm here, Grandmother! Roy? Yennefer? Where are you? I'm scared!" Ciri cried.

Ciri and Calthen shivered and huddled closer to Roy for warmth.

"It's alright. I'm here. I swore I'd protect you, and I'll take you both back unharmed." Roy grabbed his collar. First things first. What is this place, and what happened? Was that teleportation?

He focused on his character sheet and was met with a blood-red message.

'Your Elder Blood resonated with its kin, causing a chain reaction.'

The Elder Blood triggered a chain reaction and transported us to a random place?

Roy had his answer, and his sight was slowly coming back. The first thing he felt was vertigo. They were standing atop a tower nearly a hundred feet tall, the frigid morning air whistling at them. The tower's roof had a slope of thirty degrees, and it was made of red tiles.

Underneath the tower were rows of houses and rundown alleyways. Scores of human silhouettes as small as ants prowled the streets. Standing behind them was a resplendent castle.

Roy starred as far as possible, and he saw a great ravine cutting through half the city sleeping outside the mountain of refuse. It almost looked like a titanoboa slithering in the wilds, and the witcher felt a familiar feeling snaking into his heart.

"I've seen this in the vision the goddess showed me. Maribor. This is Maribor. That ravine is proof of the centipede's assault."

"What's happening, Roy?" Ciri narrowed her eyes. So nervous was the girl, her nails were almost digging into Roy's flesh.

"It's alright. This is just a chain reaction triggered by our blood.

"You mean the Elder Blood?" Calanthe held her bulging belly with one hand and the witcher's arm with the other. She looked down, and her legs buckled. "Yennefer did tell me that I am not to stay in close proximity with Ciri, or it would cause some reaction. What should we do now?"

Already there were people taking notice of the strangers atop the tower. They stopped in their tracks and discussed what was going on.

"Hold my hand," Roy said, seemingly unfazed, but his heart was thumping nervously. A great weight pushed down on him, and his temples were throbbing. This is where Idarran and the grandmasters are hiding, and we're standing out like a sore thumb. If they find us…

The sense of danger that pricked Roy's mind told him that his enemies were right here. He couldn't leave Calanthe and Ciri behind, so he had to make a desperate play. "Close your eyes and take a deep breath. Visualize Eist's grave in your heads and think 'I want to go there.'"

Roy spoke softly. Calanthe and Ciri closed their eyes.

Roy's medallion trembled. The space before the trio started to contort, and white light slowly unfurled.

The trio went into the light.

A moment later, a burly man in a gray cloak appeared on top of the tower. He had amber, feral eyes, and they were devoid of any human emotion. The man was as towering as a mountain, and his presence alone was suffocating. "Wave of special energy here just now."

"And I say you're overreacting, Arnaghad." A man with skin as pallid as a corpse and face as gloomy as a dark cloud appeared beside Arnaghad, seemingly out of nowhere. "Time to leave. We do not want to leave the master waiting."

The man looked at the ravine, his sickly, bulging eyes bloodshot and filled with excitement. "I have a feeling it will become stronger after this experiment. We'll be one step closer to our goal."

Chapter 542

On the northern part of the lonesome island of Faroe, a lad and a young lady were on a black reef of Harviken Port, the sun shining upon them.

"Don't just stand there, Hjalmar. Ain't gonna catch a fish standing' 'here like a statue. Move somewhere else, for Freya's sake." A freckled girl with short red hair and a hard jawline sat on the reef, staring at the empty basket. She chuckled. "Ya keep fishin' in the same spot, and yer not getting' anything' ever."

'Stop yammering', Cerys. Yer my sister, so ya listen to me! Ya gotta work with me 'ere!" The lad was tall, had broad shoulders, some stubble, and a scar under his right eye. "Now toss 'em pickled shrimps and fish, Have a feelin' some marlin's gonna bite soon."

"As if I'll listen to ye, ya big oaf. Tide's dippin' soon. You'd better not waste any time. And we're at the coast. Ain't no marlins 'are. Minnows, maybe."

"Ye sharp-tongued tomboy."

"I'm the sparrowhawk o' Crash!"

"No, ye a tomboy!"

"And ye a big oaf!"

The siblings stopped arguing abruptly. Like bristled cats, they leapt high into the air, then they turned around. A flash of white light burst in the air, and three silhouettes appeared out of nowhere.

Sunlight shone on the silhouettes, revealing who they truly were. In the center was a cloaked lad. On his left was a pregnant woman, and on his right, a beautiful girl. They met eyes with the siblings.

"Calanthe? Aintcha at Bran's place?" Cerys' jaw dropped. "What's going on here?"

Calanthe smiled bitterly. My. The girl's not even born yet, and already she's pulling a prank on me.

Their teleportation failed. They deviated from their intended destination.

Hjalmar noticed the girl on the left. She had eyes as verdant as prairie grass, and her features looked oddly familiar. Hjalmar's breathing was getting ragged. "Is that you, Ciri?"

"Oh, Hjalmar! Cerys! Been years! You're so tall now!" Ciri released herself from Roy's grasp and trotted toward the siblings. She stood closer to them and compared their heights, then she gave them a hug. Proudly, she held her head high. "That was a teleportation spell I learned. So, are you impressed?"

"Wait? Ye can cast spells now? When did that happen?" Cerys looked surprised.

"Long story. Now I'm a magical princess! So what were you guys doing?"

"Fishing competition. Hjalmar lost, obviously. By a wide margin."

"Don't listen to 'er, Ciri. So, ya here to finally marry me like you promised?" Hjalmar stared at the beautiful Ciri, his eyes burning with passion.

A few years ago, he and Ciri had an ice-skating competition, but he ended up breaking both his hands and legs, and he got himself a scar on his face. After the accident, Ciri stayed by his side, reading books out loud and chatting with him.

They promised to get married eventually, but his father, oh, in all his cruelty, broke apart the lovers.

The ever fearless magical princess, Lion Cub of Cintra, blushed. She was mortified by the childish promise she made.

"Ah, shut it, ye mangy cur. That promise of a' year is nothing' but shit." Cerys stepped in to clear the awkward air. "Wanna play, Ciri?"

"Ooh, yes. Loser drops down for a thousand squats."

Roy was a little miffed. What am I, chopped liver? "You can have your competition later. Come here, Ciri. You were thinking about other stuff just now, weren't you? That's why we came here instead."

"Sorry, Roy. Couldn't help thinking about them."

"Who's that guy? Why's he orders' me around?"

"He's my good friend. See ya around. I gotta go back." Ciri waved the siblings goodbye and retreated to the witcher's side. She held his hand. "I'll be staying with Bran for the time being. Come over."

Roy held Calanthe's hand. "Alright, you two. Close your eyes. No distractions this time. It's grave. Remember, his grave."𝘭𝑖𝘣𝓇ℯ𝘢𝒹.𝘤ℴ𝘮

"Roy, can we go anywhere if we just link hands? Anywhere we can imagine?" Something glinted in Calanthe's eyes.

"I'm not sure. I've never had any experience with teleportation of this level. It's incredibly fast, and there's no spell or waypoint needed. You can go anywhere you think. Aside from the slight dizziness, this is perfect."

Roy was a little shocked by the potential three bearers of the Elder Blood could have. Perhaps this is the higher power Freya mentioned. So I don't even have to steal their blood. Ciri's like a sister to me, and the unborn baby is my Unexpected Child. We just have to work together if we want more power. Not like they're going anywhere.

Waves crashed upon the reef. The trio was swallowed by another burst of light. Hjalmar and Cerys stared at the air, flabbergasted.

"Well, whatcha waitin' for? Leave yer stupid fish. Get Falc. We're gettin' to An Skellig right now. I'm goin' to get my chance at marryin' Ciri. Bran and Crach are gonna witness that too."

Just as Roy suspected, they still weren't at their destination. Instead, they were in a corridor. A brightly-lit corridor. A castle's corridor.

The ground was draped in a luxurious red carpet. On the wall were two kinds of flags. One, flags with ruby pendants, and two, flags with the white lily of Temeria's emblem.

Ciri's eyes shone with excitement, but she quickly shook her head at the stern witcher. "Not me this time!"

"I apologize, Roy. That was me." Calanthe stared at the flags. "We are now in the center of Sodden, the castle of the previous king, Ekkehard. It is now under the rule of Foltest, of course. This is also the place where the negotiations are taking place. I came here once a few years ago, so…"

"They don't call you the lioness for nothing. I should praise you for sheer bravery alone. You're practically giving yourself away to the kings who would hunt you down should they know you're alive. And not just giving yourself away too, in this case. Pray there are no other people around here."

"I just wanted to see how the talks are going. I won't rest easy until I do." Calanthe pursed her lips, longing flaring in her eyes. "It was just a fleeting thought, but now we're here."

Roy put a finger to his lips and took the ladies to a storeroom in the corner of the corridor. He leapt into the air and hung on the ceiling like a lizard, then he climbed away swiftly.

A soldier was approaching the corridor, but then someone loomed over him. He saw a green triangle, and his eyes lost focus. The soldier murmured something to the witcher.

"All ten kings of the northern kingdoms and their consultant for magic are gathered here in this castle along with Nilfgaard's emissary? And Vilgefortz is present as well?"

Roy gazed at the conference room at the end of the corridor. Eight armored soldiers stood sentry. Judging from the crests on their crests, they were from different kingdoms.

An urge seized the witcher. If I were to summon Leviathan right now, I wonder if I could flatten all the leaders of the Continent in one go. Roy then shook his head, chuckling at his foolish idea. Vilgefortz and the sorcerers would take Leviathan down easily.

The witcher tried to approach the conference room, but halfway through the journey, he felt the circulation of his mana slowing down to a crawl. Something invisible in the air was stopping his mana's circulation.

The whole door's made of dimeritium. Of course there would be anti-magic mechanisms for a summit like this. Teleport and Blink won't work, then. Roy gave up on the eavesdropping and went back to Calanthe.

"Sorry, but this place is dangerous. We can't stay here."

Calanthe looked a little disappointed, but she nodded in understanding. "Someday, I'll reclaim my kingdom through my own efforts."

"Let's go."

They linked hands again, and this time, Roy was the one who was distracted. The silhouette of a certain lady appeared in his mind.

The trio flew off as a blinding flash of light.

At the same time, the meeting was still going on, and the kingdoms were split into three factions. On one side, it was the alliance of the northern kingdoms, where rulers with crowns and different capes sat.

The most handsome of them was Foltest of Temeria. There was also the king of Redania, Vizimir II, the beautiful Queen Meve of Lyria and Rivia, pot-bellied Demavend, king of Aedirn, and mustached, burly Henselt, king of Kaedwen, all sitting in the first row.

Standing beside them were the consultants for magic, though they certainly looked like they were dressed for a beauty pageant rather than a peace talk. Among them were Keira, Triss, Philippa, and Sabrina.

The second row was for kings from smaller kingdoms like Brugge, Kerack, and Verden. The hieronymus for Eternal Fire was present as well.

There was but a small group of people representing the South. Current governor of Cintra, Menno, who was in black armor, emissary of Nilfgaard, Shilard Fitz-Oesterlen, who was writing furiously, and a few sorcerers. One of them was Fringilla Vigo, whom Roy almost killed. They were unfazed and calm.

Compared to them, the North had the numbers, and yet they looked grim and solemn.

Menno was smiling, smug and gloating. "Your Majesties, after two days of meticulous negotiation, we have finally reached an agreement. Allow me to reconfirm the main agenda of the agreement." Standing in the hole in the center of the round table was slender, black-shirted Vilgefortz. He cleared his throat, his voice booming enough for the leaders to hear.

"First, Nilfgaard's army will retreat from Upper Sodden and return the land to its ruler, King Foltest."

Meve fiddled with her ruby necklace, her bee-stung lips contorting. Temeria gets the advantage again?

"Two, from the day of the agreement's signing, Cintra and its vassal states, Verden and Attre, will belong to Nilfgaard, becoming its northern province fully under its rule. Brugge, however, has already been cut off from Cintra, becoming Temeria's land instead."

Foltest smiled, but the other kings looked dark, especially the kings of Aedirn and Kaedwen. They stared at Foltest's profile, fire flickering in their eyes. He can have it. He's the nephew of Ekkehard, after all. Not to mention Brugge is right in the middle part of Temeria. Not like any other kingdom can have control of it.

"Third, Nilfgaard must come up with recompense for all Northern Kingdoms save for Temeria. The amount will be based on the number of men who have fallen in battle, and the standard payment has been written out in the agreement…"

Menno glanced at the amount written on the agreement and stroked his bushy beard. The amount was nothing for the powerful empire. If it weren't for the fact the kingdoms wanted to melt the florens and turn them into another currency, he'd be happy to pay them more and double down on the economic takeover.

The rulers looked a little better now. At least they had some consolation prize.

"Fourth, Nilfgaard's soldiers and fleet are not allowed to take even one step across the northern coast of Yaruga. Verden will have its own army to defend its borders. And more importantly, Nilfgaard cannot have more than thirty thousand soldiers stationed north of Amell, or the North has the right to view it as a precursor to a full-blown invasion, giving them full right to launch a preemptive strike."

Shilard heaved a long sigh. That's going to be problematic.

"Fifth, from the day of the agreement's signing, the North and the South agree to a ten-year ceasefire. Should any side launch an attack, then the agreement is null and void."

The kings sat up straighter.

"And now it is time to sign the agreement, Your Majesties."

"Well, what are you waiting for? I'll go first, then." Foltest straightened his crown and unfurled the agreement, then he signed his name. Aside from Nilfgaard, Temeria gained the most from the agreement. Now Brugge and Sodden were under its rule. However, Temeria had also paid the heaviest price in the war, losing ten thousand men in the process.

The other kings exchanged looks with their consultants, and rustles of quills over paper scratched the air.

Vilgefortz slowly scanned the kings. With a powerful, booming voice, he said, "If the bloodshed caused in the Battle of Sodden has taught us one thing, it is that peace is always hard-earned. Please treasure it, Your Majesties. Should anyone dishonor the terms of the agreements, then they will make an enemy of all the rulers here."

The strongest member of the brotherhood of sorcerers then also issued a warning to the rulers of the kingdom. "And they will also make an enemy of me and the North's magical community. I am the one who spearheaded this conference, and should any of you renege on the agreement, then I apologize, but you will not leave unscathed."

Most kings shrugged the warning off. The northern brotherhood would help the North anyway. All of their consultants for magic were part of the brotherhood.

Vilgefortz heaved a sigh of relief. He was happy with the rulers' actions. Suddenly, he looked at the room's entrance, and the sorcerer massaged his forehead. Inexplicably, a feeling of loss filled his heart, as though he just missed something important enough to change his destiny.

This marked the third teleportation, and Roy found himself landing in the place he wished to go. It was an island filled with nature's gifts. It was like a gigantic pillar jutting through the waves of the sea. The island was filled with ziggurats, spiral paths, meandering stairs, platforms, lush gardens, and beautiful woods.

Majestic white towers were scattered across the greenery, leaning on rocks. There was also a building with a circular top surrounded by galleries.

Standing on top of the island was an ancient tower stretched into the skies—Tor Lara, or Gull's Tower.

The trio landed in the lower part of the island, where a quiet courtyard stood. Lily pads sat in the pond across them, dewdrops sliding across them. A gust of breeze danced across the courtyard, and the droplets of water scurried into the pond below. An old willow tree was swaying its slender leaves over the pond.

Roy looked past the low walls, where the grayish-green seas crashed. The waters reflected the sunlight, shimmering under the skies, and white sails dotted the watery expanse. The other side of the island had a bridge. Beyond that bridge was a stronghold of high walls and towers with sharp, shining tops.

"Gors Velen." Roy let go of Calanthe and Ciri, then he looked around the quiet courtyard. So where's the person I had in mind? The mountainous structure extending from the sea is Thanedd, then.

"The place where Yennefer studied the arcane arts? Then the towers must belong to Aretuza." Ciri stared at the white towers, her interest piqued.

"Why did you bring us here, Roy?" Calanthe nervously held her granddaughter. "Yennefer is teaching Ciri herself. My granddaughter will not join Aretuza.

"Don't worry, I'm just here to see a lady." Roy said, "You two got to go to where you like, so I should get my turn. No sexism in this household."

Calanthe could not argue with that.

Ciri, however, pouted and shot the witcher a glare. "Hey, you got your turn first. I know you did, Roy."

"No, I did not. Now hold your grandmother. We're going to the aca… de…" The witcher found himself tongue-tied. He turned his attention to the swaying willow tree and the pond before it.

Four naked arms suddenly popped up from the pond. Two were tanned, while two were white as snow. Glimmering droplets of water trickled down the arms and drenched the ground, then two beautiful faces appeared through the surface, situated between the arms.

One was petite and oval and looked no older than sixteen. She was fair and had a lovely face. Her hair was brown, drenched, and plastered to the back of her head. Her eyes were big and shining with childish innocence. Her nose was petite, and so were her luscious lips. She had a little baby fat in her cheeks, lending a hint of cuteness to her.

That face dragged up some memories. Ah, the girl from Aldersberg has grown up as well.

'Casiga/Toya

Gender: Female

Age: Sixteen years old

Status: Student of Aretuza

HP: 70

Mana: 180

Strength: 5

Dexterity: 5

Constitution: 7

Perception: 7

Will: 7

Charisma: 8

Spirit: 8

Skills:

Source (Passive), Meditation Level 2, Frozen Arrow Level 2, Icicle Armor Level 2, Fireball Level 2…'

The other woman had rose-red lips and eyes as blue as the deep sea. Her crimson hair danced like wildfire under the shine of the golden sun. She was as beautiful as a goddess.

Noticing the look on Roy's face, Ciri felt like pulling a prank. "Grandma Lytta!" she shouted.

The ladies in the pond had their attention grabbed, and they turned to Roy. Casiga gasped and shrunk into the pond. The other sorceress, however, laughed and got up, making a splash.

Lytta came out of the pond.

Ciri stared at the lovely lady before her. Her skin was smooth, her body more curvaceous than any nymph's or statue's. It was like staring at a sculpture made by the gods, the lines as voluptuous as could be.

The girl looked at herself, then she turned her attention to her pregnant grandmother. Ciri bit her lip. Oh wow. I am so lacking in these departments.

At the same time, a black dress covered Lytta up. "Roy, Ciri, and this must be Queen Calanthe." Lytta approached them and held Roy's arm, her hair brushing his cheek. It had a unique scent, and Lytta's gaze was curious.

"Trust me when I say this is an accident." Roy turned around and smiled awkwardly.

Lytta didn't even blink.

"Alright, fine, I came to see you. Tested out some new abilities with Ciri and the queen."

Calanthe held her lower back and frowned, a hint of exhaustion tingeing her face.

"What new ability?"

"Long story." Roy turned to the pond and met eyes with the young sorceress who was staring at him furtively, half her head still hidden underwater. "Toya? Or should I call you Casiga now?"

"Y-You still remember me, Roy?" Dimples formed on Casiga's cheeks as a smile stretched across her lips. The rims of her eyes went red, her voice trolling with delight, and also cracked from joy.

"We made a promise, didn't we?"

"Come on out, Casiga. You've missed him so much, haven't you? And you even made a promise. Come out and meet your dear lovely Roy." Lytta smiled at Roy, but there was fire in her eyes.

Roy tried his best to stay unfazed, and he turned away from Lytta's death stare.

Lytta let him off the hook.

For now.

"The queen seems to be worn out. Come. We should find a better place to talk."

Chapter 543

"Thanks, Coral. Take care of Calanthe and Ciri." Yennefer was on the other side of the xenovox, sighing in resignation. "But don't let them stay for too long. Make sure they return by today, or Bran will skin me alive. If they know I let a witcher take those two away under my nose, the Skellige brutes will feed me to the sharks."

"Yes, Yennefer. I'll make sure they return this afternoon. In one piece." Lytta covered her mouth and giggled. Ciri popped up behind Coral and huddled closer to the xenovox, her eyes glinting, and her lips curled into a smile.

"Don't you run around again, duckling." Yennefer stared at her charge and crossed her arms. Sternly, she said, "Take your grandmother and Roy when afternoon comes, and use your… Elder Blood's power to return immediately. If I have to go all the way to Thanedd to take you back, you'll be drawing the patterns two thousand times."

"Aye, aye, ma'am." The girl curled up, a little scared, but she giggled as well. She then darted to the bedroom's fireplace and lay on the settee like a pony resting from galloping. She rested her chin in her left hand and scanned the room.

Casiga, the girl who was only a few years older than her, was seated with her grandmother on the same settee, staring at the witcher across from her, her cheeks red.

Roy had an interesting look on his face. He was stiff, and he sat up straight, but his butt was fidgeting around, and his smile was as stiff as a statue's. Through the corner of her eye, Ciri looked at Coral, who was talking to Yennefer.

Roy and Casiga were about the same age, judging from their looks. The young witcher was handsome, and the young sorceress was adorable. They'd make a great couple. Or so Ciri thought. She nodded, looking like realization had struck her. As if nonchalant, she asked, "Hey, Roy, is she your girlfriend?"

Everything came to a grinding halt. Casiga froze, her jaw dropping a little. Coral turned off the xenovox and whirled around with so much ferocity, she might burn something.

Calanthe caressed her belly gently, a small smile twisting her lips. She watched on with interest. Given her experience in life, she knew the young witcher shared an interesting bond with these women. Still, it was surprising to see the witcher, once so confident in giving her and Eist advice, looking so awkward. She was more than happy to see Roy in a pickle. A joke or two would work wonders for her baby.

Roy put on a forced smile. A few moments later, he pinched Ciri's cheeks and pulled on them, as though he was trying to make pizza. "You shut your mouth if you have no idea what's going on, Ciri." He then pushed her away in case the Elder Blood decided to trigger another chain reaction. "She's not my girlfriend. Casiga's a good friend of mine, got it? Just like you and Cerys and Hjalmar."

Casiga patted her chest in relief, but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. Lytta had been helping her a lot with her education, and earlier, she was told that Roy was Lytta's romantic partner.

That quashed Casiga's dream of becoming Roy's girlfriend.

After Coral turned the xenovox off and whirled around, she placed her hand on the back of the chair and rested her chin on the back of her hand. She stared at Roy and Casiga, her face deadpan, as if she were trying to see what would happen.

Roy pretended not to notice Coral's death stare. He gently asked, "It must've been a couple of years, Casiga. How's life in Aretuza?"

"Roy, I…" Casiga felt her heart swell, and she stammered, her voice cracking, as if a lump had formed in her throat. The rims of her eyes turned red, and tears glimmered within them.

She shot up from the couch and spun around, showing herself off to Roy. An expression of delight and sadness adorned her face. "I'm all better now. Normal as a human can be. The insults are no more. No one's pushing me to do menial chores every day, and no more stones either. I have new clothes all to myself, and I can feast on food most people only dream of. And I made a lot of friends." She sobbed. "And I know magic too."

She weaved her fingers in the air like she was playing an invisible lute. Flickering flames, glistening droplets of water, arcs of electricity, and fluorescent lights of magic fluttered across her fingertips, illuminating the ceiling with strobing lights. Illuminating the tears that were streaking down her cheeks.

The young sorceress was putting on a performance for the witcher. "What do you think? I still remember the moment you showed me magic back at the pond, and I've kept the Gwent card you gave me close by my side. They're the very first things that taught me hope."

She produced a beautiful card in her other hand. The face of the card was a red-haired woman in a crimson dress. She was fiery, mysterious, and beautiful. She was Sabrina, Kaedwen's consultant for magic.

"And it's all thanks to you, Roy. You saved my life and took me to Aretuza. If it weren't for you, those scum would've killed me, if the rampaging mana didn't do it first."

Casiga spoke a lot, and it took a big weight off her mind. Her chest heaved, and a long rush of air escaped her lips. She looked at the witcher, her eyes glimmering with tears. "I've always wanted to see you again, Roy. So I could say thank you."

She gazed at the witcher, a hint of aggrieved sadness possessing her voice. "But you never came. You didn't write back to me either. I thought you'd forgotten about me. About your friend."

Calanthe heaved a sigh. The older queen could glean the gist of the young sorceress' earlier life, and it did not paint a pretty picture. Ciri's smile was wiped off. Inexplicably, she felt sorry for the young sorceress. Lytta looked sympathetic, as though she saw her younger self in Casiga.

She strode over to them and held Casiga in her embrace, caressing her hair like a mother would her daughter. Casiga's tears were drenching Coral's shirt, but the sorceress let her cry.

And she directed a scorching glare at the witcher.

"Sorry I'm late, but I'm here now." Roy sighed. What he did two years ago was nothing but an innocent presentation. He never thought it would leave such a deep impression on Casiga. Saving her was an easy task for him back then, and he thought he could use the favor someday too. His less-than-innocent rescue attempt didn't deserve an earnest thank you.

Roy looked at the sobbing girl and sincerely said, "As your friend, I'm glad to see you living the best life you can in Aretuza. It's good to see that our efforts haven't gone to waste. And I'd like to congratulate you, Casiga."

Lytta raised her head and humphed. "You're not going to give her any presents? Just empty congratulations?"

A frown furrowed Roy's brows. What's up with you? I can't give another girl a present right in front of you.

Roy stood up and approached the sorceresses. He glanced at Coral, and the veteran sorceress returned an encouraging look.

Roy opened his arms, and Coral pushed Casiga into the witcher's embrace. Casiga buried her face in Roy's shoulder and took a deep breath. She looked up at his perfectly sculpted face, reminiscence twinkling in her eyes.

She had always wanted to just cuddle up with Roy in silence. She had always longed to just be close to him, tasting his scent and gulping in everything that was Roy. I was just an ugly, insecure bumpkin who grew up in filth. Now I'm a healthy student of magic who's living her best life. I have everything a girl can hope for in life. I shouldn't ask for more. Not when something more means breaking Lytta's heart.

Casiga kept telling herself that, but she was on the verge of crying. She was hugging the witcher, and so tight was her hug, her knuckles were turning white. She was imagining something in her head. Casiga and Roy, seated in a boat on the pond, the light of the full moon and the branches of the weeping willow gracing them.

Nothing but a shattered dream now. All she could cling onto were what little memories she had with Roy. She cried. "I know I shouldn't cry, but… but…"

"It's alright. Just let it out, Casiga." Roy held the young sorceress, his left arm wrapped around her shoulder, his right patting her back. He was like an older brother trying to calm his inconsolable sister down. "I'm proud of you. Proud and happy that you found a fresh start in life in Aretuza. Proud that you found a new goal in life."

The queen of Cintra watched from the settee, a hint of melancholy flitting in her eyes. She was reminded of her younger and more passionate years.

"I pray that you'll work hard for your new life, but I also have a gentle reminder. Should you someday become a celebrated sorceress, don't forget to lend a hand to those in need. Never let go of that sliver of kindness in your heart."

Roy looked at Coral. The sorceress' crimson lips were glimmering more than ever, and she looked pleased. Good. He didn't try anything with her.

"I won't forget that, Roy. I promise." Casiga tightened her hug once more, then she backed out of his embrace. She wiped her tears away, determination and repose nestled back in her eyes. The young sorceress put on a smile. "Sorry you had to see that, everyone. I'm a bit of a crier."

"Earnest passion is worth its weight in gold. Its beauty shines more than any poem. Do not lose that, child," Calanthe remarked. She picked up the cup of tea and took a sip. "I see that the rumors of magical training whittling its practitioner's humanity down to oblivion is nothing but a lie now. I have no more worries about Yennefer teaching Ciri now."

"Magical training does not take away humanity; time, however, is a different story. Especially when it stretches for so long." Lytta hugged Casiga from behind and rested her chin on the young sorceress' shoulder, a hint of guilt flickering in her eyes.

A sigh escaped Roy's lips. "So, how much longer will you be studying in Aretuza, Casiga?"

"I-I'm in my third year now. The fundamentals will take five years to complete. Another ten years for advanced magical training." Casiga rubbed her cheeks with her smooth, silky hands. Like her hunchback, her calluses were waved away by magic.

"I've heard stories of graduates serving the academy for decades."

"Students who receive their education for free, yes. They'll have to work for Tissaia and Margarita for decades. I'm not included in that list, of course." Casiga whirled and gave Lytta a smile of gratitude. "Lytta paid off my tuition every year, so I'm a free girl. I can quit my studies and leave Aretuza anytime I'd like."

Roy gave Coral a questioning look. Lytta had never told him about that. Why'd she financially support Casiga in secret?

Lytta held Roy's arm, the light of remembrance twinkling in her eyes. "I've always wanted to have someone like Casiga. Once she finishes her education, she can assist me with my research. Innocent, grateful apprentices like Casiga are rare now. Most students who receive free education in Aretuza have a traumatic past. They're either vengeful, extreme, narrow-minded, or downright twisted. They may never heal from that."

Childhood trauma follows you forever.

"Casiga's a very likable girl. We can trust her. The teachers love her too."

Casiga hung her head low sheepishly, holding the hem of her skirt.

"And then you wanted me to move my base of operations to Novigrad." Lytta let go of Casiga and straightened out Roy's collar. "You then went on a quest to look for more spellcasters to join us. First, it was Kalkstein, then Evelyn, then Triss, and now Yennefer has shown herself. She hasn't joined us yet, but she's an ally. I know you're looking for more spellcasters to carry out your dream. Given that I am your lover, I will help you with it."

A smile curled Lytta's lips. "Don't you think Casiga would make a perfect addition to the brotherhood?"

For a moment, everything around Roy disappeared. It was as if everything were gone. Everything but the smiling sorceress. She's been helping me out in secret. A surge of warmth caressed his soul, and he held Lytta's hand tightly.

Casiga forced a smile and sniffled. She held her hands to her chest. With anticipation, she asked, "Lytta told me there are a lot of kids at the House of Gawain. You have alchemists, blacksmiths, and even a griffin. Is that true? Can I come over? Can I stay there?"

"You're always welcome, Casiga." Roy took a deep breath and sifted through his memories, calculating how much time was left until the political upheaval in Thanedd. "But you should stay in school and keep learning magic. At least for a year or two. You can always take a few days off, though."

Coral nodded at the young sorceress.

"Okay!" Casiga's eyes flared with joy. I'd die happy if I could go to Novigrad and see Roy more.

"Alright, I told you everything. Now it's your turn." Lytta stared into Roy's eyes, trying to pierce through him. "How come the Elder Blood flows in you? You're just a farmer's child in Lower Posada."

"Ah, so he has the ancient bloodline as well?" Realization struck Calanthe. "That explains why Ciri said she felt a connection. And it also explains why we can traverse space when we're together."

"So you mean Roy's my family too?" Ciri stared at the witcher. She puckered her lips, worried flickering in her eyes. "Don't tell me he's my uncle."

"I don't particularly like cheeky nieces either." Roy flicked Ciri's forehead. No more lies. "My Elder Blood is different from theirs." He looked into Lytta's eyes. "When Letho and I were exploring a mine in Mahakam, I ingested a Child of the Sun. Thanks to the herb, I awakened a sliver of the Elder Blood. Then I followed its guidance and traveled to the woods of Brokilon. There, I, along with Geralt and Ciri, drank the Waters of Brokilon, bolstering the blood's strength. I was not born with it."

Liotta's eyes twinkled with a bit of envy. "Still, it's remarkable that you managed to cross through space with your bloodline's power. I doubt any witcher can reproduce that feat."

"I didn't expect that reaction, however. When Ciri, Calanthe, and I came in contact, it felt like the power of our bloodline merged into one." Roy scanned Calanthe and Ciri. "I was transported here the moment I thought of you. And Casiga."

"I saw Hjalmar and Cerys!" Ciri quipped.

"It's not limited to just humans either," Calanthe added. "You can travel to any place you've been. Just like how we traveled to Sodden's castle moments ago."

"You can travel anywhere in an instant just by conjuring up an image of a place or a person in your head." Lytta's eyes glimmered, and she praised, "Not even the legendary Geoffrey Monck, who captured a djinn, possessed that level of teleportation powers. Have you ever tried taking someone along with you on these teleportations?"

"We haven't been experimenting a lot." Roy shook his head.

"I do not have time to perform any dangerous experiments, Roy." Calanthe was concerned. "Once we return to Skellige, I will not perform any teleportation before my child is born. Aren't you awash with vertigo every time we teleport? Besides, how can you be sure that teleportation will not overexert my unborn child and leave any complications?"

"True. For safety purposes, this will be our last teleportation for the time being." Roy conjured a bizarre mental image. Two months down the line, he would be holding a baby in his left hand and a girl in his right, traveling all around the world, arriving anywhere he wanted in an instant.

"Grandmother, Roy." Ciri's eyes were tinted with anxiety as well. "We should be going back now. Any later, and Yennefer's going to have me draw those patterns two thousand times."

"Take them home, now." Lytta understood their predicament. She approached the witcher.

Roy felt something press against his lips. Lytta left him a kiss.

"See you, Roy." Casiga stood with Lytta, waving at the witcher.

Roy held Calanthe's hand with his left and Ciri's with his right. They closed their eyes, and then a gust of wind blew across the room. A blinding light filled the air, and sunlight refracted like it was trapped in a room of shattered shards of glass.

Motes of dust fluttered like balls of light, and the silhouettes disappeared.

"I'm off to the library, Lytta." Casiga swung her fist, looking determined.

"Hm?" 𝙡𝓲𝙗𝒓𝙚𝓪𝙙.𝒄𝒐𝙢

"I need to learn quickly so I can help you guys one day."

Chapter 544

"Roy, what is the purpose of this brotherhood? Why'd you gather these witchers, sorceresses, alchemists, and orphans in one place?" Yennefer leaned on the balustrade, staring at the endless seas far from the castle. Blustery gales from the wilds blew upon her, billowing her hair. Her curves were as perfect as an hourglass.

Behind her, a room stood. Calanthe was seated beside the fireplace, wearing an oversized cotton jacket. She was flipping through To You, My Child, immersed in the pages.

Ciri walked around with her rear held high like she was a hen, trotting around the room to search for convergence points, the light of magic strobing from her.

"Simple." Roy crossed his arms beneath his chest and leaned on the railing as well. He stared at Calanthe and Ciri, a smile curling his lips. "So witchers can survive and thrive in this world."

"You've done that, haven't you? You've raised a few new witchers among the children, and everyone's doing well." Yennefer scanned Roy. "What next? The number of monsters are dwindling, and so is the need for witchers, yet your numbers are increasing. Are you suggesting that new witchers take up jobs as mercenaries or form a racketeering gang?"

"I don't remember any rules restricting witchers to violent or deceptive vocations. We can always run a business. Or a smithy. Or a potions shop. Or offer swordplay classes." Roy shook his head. "We're a new organization. If we don't grow fast enough to fend for ourselves, we'll be crushed sooner or later. We need more allies. Worry not, however. We do not have any ambition to overthrow the current regime of the world. The expansion of our organization is all so we can survive. Novigrad is an exception, but the world at large is still prejudiced against witchers."

Yennefer nodded. She was reminded of the prejudice Geralt had to endure. "That is true. The House of Gawain is facing a crisis even as we speak."

"Hm?"

"I take it Letho didn't tell you? A sorcerer named Rience came to Novigrad, searching for Ciri. Lambert chased him away, but his employers will not stop until they find her."

Roy cocked his eyebrow. They didn't tell me? That's important news. They'll have an earful when I get back. Rience, huh? Vilgefortz's proxy. We missed each other back in Sodden's castle. Should've stayed that way, but you just had to come knocking. What kind of host would I be if I didn't answer that knock, eh?

Seven Cats Inn stood on the outskirts of Novigrad, open for business as usual. Sunlight shone through the window, watching the rundown lobby and a round table in the corner. Two mercenaries equipped with leather armor, swords, and dagger sat face to face.

"I got one of Cleaver's men drunk, and he spilled some info." A hook-nosed man with a sharp chin and bandana said in a whisper, "A few months ago, the Cleaver, King of Beggars, and the Eternal Fire received an anonymous report that witchers were setting up a human trafficking joint in the outskirts. They charged to the witchers' base of operations, screaming for blood. It's an orphanage called House of Gawain."

The half-elf, a creature over six foot tall, listened closer.

"That orphanage is in a patch of alder woods about six miles away from this inn. These witchers are smart. Consummate survivor of the wilds too. Must've set up a ton of traps in the woods. Best stay out of it if I were you. That drunk bastard said there's about fifty kids in the orphanage, and it's home to about ten of them mutants."

"Ten, you say?" The half-elf tugged on his ponytail, caution tingeing his eyes, and the look on his face turned gloomy.

"And that was more than six months ago. Bet my last crown there's more of them now." The hook-nosed mercenary spoke adamantly. "They wouldn't set up an orphanage for nothing. Must be something evil they're doing. Like training up more of their kind. For some reason, Cleaver, the King of Beggars, and even the Head of Security were fooled."

The half-elf's muscular shadow flickered on the peeled walls as he sat up straighter. "So what about the mutants' accomplice?"

The mercenary took a sip of his liquor to wet his throat, and umbrage filled his face. "Oy, you call this liquor? This is nothing but juice!" He whirled and glared at the hunched innkeeper, but the innkeeper ignored him and caressed his swaying cat.

"That's why your inn's closing down." The mercenary sucked in air and held his vexation down. "I lost a few brothers just to map out the witchers' connections and background. The bastards are smarter than any fox I've met. Noses sharper than a hunting dog's. Nothing gets by them. The moment my friend got close to their territory, they went missing. I bet they used their darn Signs on them for interrogation. And he wasn't the only one. A few more went missing. No news came back. But I never told them about you, so the witchers couldn't find anything useful. Still, losing three of my men is a huge blow, and we came all the way from Rinbe too."

The half-elf silently tossed a gray pouch the size of an adult's fist. "Here. Compensation for their deaths."

The mercenary's jowls shuddered, and he opened up the pouch, his eyes glinting with golden greed, and a smile scrunched up his face. "Thank you. I have one more piece of information for you. The biggest ganglords of Novigrad, namely the King of Beggars, the Collector, and the Cleaver have all signed a peace treaty with the witchers, with the Collector being their closest ally. Most of the coins needed to run the orphanage are covered by the Collector. Everyone in the city hall knows that. He's also hired two witchers to teach his men swordplay. I'm sure they're working together."

The half-elf started tapping his finger on the table.

The mercenary paused for a moment. "Their second accomplice, well, it might sound far-fetched, but they say it's the church of Eternal Fire. To be precise, it's their Head of Security, Chappelle. From what I know, the witchers have helped Chappelle run a city-wide anti-human-trafficking operation. Captured more than thirty human traffickers and got in the way of many people's money making. Helped Chappelle's reputation among the people, however. After the Battle of Sodden Hell, two witchers helped him take in the refugees who came from Cintra. One of my men lodged an anonymous report to the church, but it gained no response. This can only mean one thing: Chappelle and the witchers are in cahoots, and they are not just business partners."

"There's also the ballroom. Even a blind man can see that it's run by a witcher apologist. The damn bard writes odes to them like his life depends on it. Praise their 'selfless acts' in an attempt to brainwash the citizens to accept those mutants. They're close too. And the potion shop next door, Gorthur Gvaed, wholly belongs to them too. A Zerrikanian woman is running the show. They have a few bestsellers too. The spirit potion, for example. Men love it. It's an infinite supply of coins," said the mercenary, his voice dripping his envy.𝓁𝘪𝑏𝑟ℯ𝒶𝑑.𝑐ℴ𝘮

"Seen the orphans working there in their spare time too. And before his disappearance, one of my men noticed the witchers keeping an eye on a veggie kiosk in the market. The owners, Moore and Susie, must be more than meets the eye too. I am not sure how you plan to bring the mutants down, but these are the people you have to look out for. You can ignore the ballroom, the potion shop, and the veggie kiosk. Nothing to worry about. Chappelle and the Collector, however, are prominent figures in Novigrad. You have to be very careful if you wish to deal with them."

"I can see why they call you Rinbe's best sleuth. The intelligence you've gathered is crucial for our operation." The half-elf nodded and whipped out another pouch of crowns, his eyes glinting coldly. "Now I have another request for you. Will you work with me to get rid of these evil, human-trafficking mutant scum? I'll give you ten times the reward once the operation is done."

The mercenary was red with excitement. Ten times the reward? I can retire and get myself a mansion in Kovir or Toussaint. He gritted his teeth and shook hands with the half-elf. "You have yourself a deal."

"Good. Now keep going around Novigrad to gather more intel on the witchers. I want a report every two days. And try your best not to die." The half-elf patted his shoulder. "I don't want to lose an important comrade before the fight even begins."

*** 𝓁𝘪𝑏𝓇𝑒𝑎𝑑.𝑐𝘰𝑚

Five minutes after the mercenary went on his merry way, the old man behind the bar counter perked up, his eyes glinting. His rough, wrinkly face was starting to change and contort. Moments later, the innkeeper transfigured himself into a man with thin lips, gleaming eyes, and cropped hair.

The half-elf approached the counter and poured a glass of cherry cider for himself. "You can't brew alcohol to save your own skin, Rience. So what now? We've gotten all the information we need on the witchers. Should we start?"

"Did you forget what he said, Schirru?" Rience shook his head and snapped his fingers. The inn's doors snapped shut, and the curtains closed, blotting out the sunlight. "We wait for his orders. It has been three days since the conference in Sodden. The kings should have arrived at a decision."

A magical music box appeared in Rience's hand out of nowhere. He spun the ring, and the knight in the music box slowly spun. From the tip of the knight's lance, a beam of colorful light shot ahead, weaving a blue screen of light in the air.

Moments later, a devilishly handsome man with ear-length brown hair appeared on the screen. He scanned his underlings imperiously. "Rience, Schirru."

Rience and Schirru tensed up like soldiers who were called upon by their superior.

"This is sudden. I take it that you've found all the information you need about those witchers?"

"Yes, sire, and it is more complex than we thought." Rience took a deep breath and told Vilgefortz what the mercenary had relayed to Schirru earlier. "The witchers are deeply involved with the Collector and the Eternal Fire, two of the most powerful entities in the city. They have also signed a peace treaty with the remaining gang lords. Should we try to mount an attack on the orphanage, the church and the Collector will join hands, and we're talking about a large-scale battle here."

A hint of surprise flickered in Vilgefortz's eyes. He rubbed a finger on the emerald ring on his index finger. "If my memory does not betray me, witchers are lone wolves who abide by the code of neutrality. They would never work with any organizations. However, you're telling me that these witchers, all from different schools, have come together and made allies out of local organizations. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought they were thugs, not witchers."

Vilgefortz muttered to himself, "But to what end? Are they helping the princess to regain her— No. That's absurd." He shook his head, a chortle escaping his lips. "The fact they allied themselves with the witchers makes them our enemies. First, we'll deal with them. We'll deal with the witchers' allies and pile on the pressure against them. Rience, the witchers must've been on high alert after your previous failure. It is too much of a risk to try attacking the bard again. The potion shop and kiosk might seem unprotected, but they're the hardest to tackle of them all. You're going to go for someone else this time."

Vilgefortz said coldly, "You will be abducting the Collector. Lydia will be working with you on this one. The Collector is a highly vaunted man in Novigrad. Heavily guarded, which is both an advantage and a chink in his armor. He hasn't been plunged into danger for far too long. A pair of sorcerers should be able to abduct him easily. As for you, Schirru, continue your recruitment efforts around Novigrad. Find those who've been persecuted by mutants or non-humans. Recruit powerful ones who have a grudge against all non-humans, or anyone who can go toe-to-toe with a witcher. Better yet, find those who had their homes slaughtered by witchers. Fatten them up. We have a use for them."

Rience nodded. With reverence, he asked, "What about the church, then, sire?"

"Chappelle is but a head of security. Him ruling over Novigrad along with the witchers is an affront to the hieronymus. The conference ended yesterday, and the hieronymus has yet to make his return."

Vilgefortz walked around, his eyes glinting with wisdom. Confidently, he said, "I will convince him to get rid of the pest called Chappelle. The witchers will no doubt be seized with panic once news gets to them. When that happens, you and Lydia will go in and abduct the Collector. Your next order will come once chaos is well underway."

The xenovox sputtered and flickered out. Vilgefortz left the bedroom and gave the masked assistant outside some orders. He ambled across the meandering corridor and came to a stop before a metal-rimmed oak door. He knocked on it. "Hieronymus Cyrus Engelkind Hemmelfart? It's me, Vilgefortz."

The door creaked open, revealing a wise, elderly face. He was in a white top with red sleeves, and red stripes adorned his collar. A long robe that resembled the colors of a burning sun was draped over his shirt. "Ah, Vilgefortz. Come in. I have you to thank for the peaceful conclusion of the conference. What brings you here, however?"

"Oh, long story. A comrade of mine ran into something rather bizarre during his travels in Novigrad. It is about Chappelle and the witchers. I am no believer of the Eternal Fire, but I have only respect for it. I do not wish to see the fire tainted by the filth of the mutants."

Chapter 545

A gust of sea breeze sauntered across the streets of Novigrad, blowing into the potion shop. The shop's entrance was framed with a set of blue curtains. Standing underneath it was the Zerrikanian shopkeeper. She stretched her arms, her mohican hair swaying with the breeze. Golden sunshine shone on her long, beautiful legs, her bountiful chest and tanned, slender waist covered by a striped leather shirt. The shopkeeper glimmered like a panther ready to hunt.

She put her hand to the scimitar hanging from her waist, staring sharply at the port, a hint of longing flitting through her eyes. Before she knew it, it had been a year since she left the troupe and started working for the shop. Now she had about six hundred crowns stashed away. Her hands that used to swing her scimitar around were getting used to handling the vials, vessels, and tools involved in alchemy.

She shook her head, her eyes glinting. "You're a child of the dragon, Kantilla. Do not lose yourself in this life, no matter how peaceful it is. Never abandon the tradition of seeking a challenge and a hunt. Yes, I should go out and hunt to my heart's content tonight."

"Kantilla!" an adorable voice called out to her. A young, beautiful girl with a golden ponytail approached the Zerrikanian woman, a sweet smile hanging on her lips. The orange potion pouch hanging around her waist was bouncing around like a ball.

"Vicki!" Kantilla patted Vicki's head and took the pouch. She checked the contents of the pouch. Aside from a row of neatly wrapped spirit potions, which was their bestseller, there were also two tomatoes, plump and glistening. She felt like taking a bite.

She's so lovely. Kantilla smiled, her eyes twinkling with delight. "You're early today. Wait, no. Your apprenticeship is tomorrow, not today!"

Vicki pursed her lips and shook her head sadly. "I don't think I can come over after today. Not for a long time."

"What? Why?"

"We'll take this inside, Kantilla." A cloaked man with a mask approached the shop. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, and they were crimson. His face was filled with hideous burn scars, but he was a lot better compared to how he was before. Evelyn's herbs helped his condition.

"Something's afoot in Novigrad." Kiyan took a seat on the stool before the counter, scanning the herbs and potions on the shelves. He was happy with how things turned out, and that was all the more reason he was reluctant to leave. "About three weeks ago, a sorcerer tried to abduct Dandelion, but we managed to severely injure him before he made his escape. Last week, we managed to capture three suspicious individuals. Strangers from the looks of it. Mercenaries from Rinbe. Experienced too. Been in their line of work for more than ten years."

He looked into Kantilla's eyes and told her without reservations, "They were paid handsomely to look into our business, contacts, and network. And they did a thorough job with it."

"So you're saying someone's trying to attack you guys?" Kantiall cocked her eyebrow, her hand slowly reaching for her scimitar, a glint of excitement flaring in her eyes. "But who in their right mind would do that? This is your turf."

"No answers to that question, I'm afraid. Their employer made sure we couldn't find any clues, but we bet it's related to Rience, the sorcerer who tried to kidnap Dandelion."

"So where are the bastards now?"

"Gone. Their souls returned to the seas, their flesh nourished for the fish," Kiyan answered, his face deadpan. "I can't guarantee this is the furthest Rience would go to get what he wants. He might go lower. There are hundreds of people coming in and out of Novigrad every day, and we can't keep an eye on everyone. For your own safety, today's the potion shop's last day of operation. At least until this blows over."

"If it were up to me, Kiyan, I would say we take them head on." Kantilla shook her head, an icy smile curling her lips. She unsheathed her scimitar, its edge glinting under the light. "They try to attack us, I'll lop their heads off with this. It's been a while since my blade has tasted blood."

Kantilla touched the wyvern fang necklace hanging from her neck, grumbling, "Roy promised he'd take me on a hunt, but then he goes missing for months on end. I only stayed because of him. Boys are the same, no matter the age. Liars, all of them."

"If it's a challenge you need, the House of Gawain might be the best place you can hope for." Kiyan scratched his nose. I won't lie. "The kids have too much energy to spend. They'd love to spar with you. Just close up shop for now and move in with us. It's quick and easy. And Vicki's there too."

Vicki held Kantilla's callused hand, her eyes filled with the light of anticipation.

"You mean the little ones who just passed your Trial?" Kantilla looked a little apprehensive. The oldest of the kids were but thirteen years old, and yet they were a lot fitter and faster than she was. They would make for a good challenge. She pursed her lips and looked around the shop, reluctant to leave, but eventually, she nodded. "What about everyone else? Dandelion, Priscilla, Moore, and Susie?"

"Everyone's going to be together."

Lambert belched and picked at his teeth with a finger. He smacked Dandelion's shoulder, ogling Priscilla, who was playing her lute on the stage. Beautiful Priscilla. Priscilla, who had a great voice; Priscilla, whose body was to die for; Priscilla, who was, most importantly, scantily clad. He also looked at pretty Igsena with interest. That lady was tap dancing with the crowd on the dance floor.

"You, Priscilla, and Igsena are moving to the House of Gawain starting tomorrow. Leave the day-to-day business to your men."

"Is that supposed to be a joke?" Dandelion was playing with the feather on his hat, but his hand froze, and he almost yanked the feather off. "Things have been going swimmingly, haven't they? With you and Aiden around, no one is stirring up any trouble. There is no need to move, is there?" Dandelion shook his head furiously. How am I supposed to look for inspiration if I'm expected to live in the woods?

"It's just for the time being. Don't tell me you want to be a permanent resident." Lambert gave him a side-eyed glance. "I'd rather not run into a cheating manwhore like you all the time."

"A tad bit hypocritical, I daresay." Dandelion shook his head and scanned the gallivanting witcher. He questioned, "Have you ever not slept with anyone besides your romantic partner?"

Lambert chortled and blew his bangs. He promptly answered, "I do not have any regular partners. To a degree, every woman in this world is my partner. Which means I have never cheated on anyone before. Oh, but Priscilla still doesn't know of your affair, does she? If you do not hold a woman like her dear, someone will eventually steal her from right under your nose."

"Please don't." Dandelion relented. He then turned to his wits to extricate himself from this sticky situation. "They do say that life is like a ball. Refusing to drink at all is nothing but spurning a good time; drink too much, and you make a buffoon out of yourself. Please put your faith in my self-control. I will never go too far. To be too invested in my affairs is disastrous. They are nothing but a mingling of the flesh. I would never surrender my heart or soul to them. As long as I do not cross that line, I will never hurt Priscilla."

"And now you're making a buffoon out of yourself, Dandelion. It's just a yes or no question. You didn't have to buffet me with a whole saga."

"But if I were to move, how should I express my skills and talents?"

"Perform for the children, then. You'd be a fine relief from all the boredom. We have more than sixty adoring viewers there."

"Fine. I'll explain it to them later." Dandelion sighed like he just lost all sources of inspiration.

"Don't give me that face. This is for your own good," said Lambert solemnly. "Didn't Rience's attack teach you enough? Novigrad is a big city, and we're spread too thin as it is. If he kidnaps you again, you might lose more than your hands. Maybe he'll cut your tongue off. Or probably your member down there."

"Alright, I get it." Dandelion nodded, his face somber, his mustache trembling.

"And tell your bards to stop any plays concerning witchers." Lambert raised his voice, "Or they might get dragged into this mess."

"Not even if it's the audience's request?"

"Not even if it's the audience's request."

Crippled Kate's, a brothel tucked away in a dark alleyway nestled within the slums of Novigrad. Eskel was in the third room, half naked. The room was filled with warm, pink light, and the witcher was lying on a red, heart-shaped rug with a towel on it, his head resting on his right hand, and a sigh left his lips.

Within his arm was a woman. She had eyes black as night, staring at his profile, and she gently touched the witcher's impressive pecs. Instead of regular human legs, she had a pair of goat hooves covered in gray fur. Her skin was a healthy mocha, her looks mesmerizing, her eyes amber like a cat's, a pair of curled black horns jutting from her lustrous hair. She was uncanny and exotic at the same time.

Any experienced witcher would know who, or what, this woman was: a succubus.

Succubi were new creatures introduced by the Conjunction of the Spheres. They were born with incredible charm, looks, and bodies. These creatures could easily turn the hardiest of men into their playthings, sucking them dry of life and vitality.

Some did stay in line, but those were rare.

"Have you been busy with your requests, my love?" Pashia purred, her voice nasal, and it made Eskel's heart flutter. "You've only come once in three weeks. I thought you'd gotten tired of me and found yourself a new lover."

She plucked at the witcher's chest hair with her perfectly manicured crimson nails.

"I would never." Eskel wrapped his arms around Pashia's waist, staring into her eyes. There was love and a bit of resignation in his gaze. Even a sturdily-built witcher would find it hard to satisfy a succubus for a prolonged period of time, but it was Eskel's burden to bear. He loved succubi.

"I do not have the strength to deal with any other woman with you by my side. My absence is caused by the recent change in Novigrad's activities. I have to be careful."

"Someone is trying to attack witchers? In Novigrad? Didn't you sign a peace treaty with the ganglords and the church?" Pashia only submitted to Eskel because of the brotherhood's influence in the city. The monster hunter's skills and abilities also helped as well.

Fate was a mischievous mistress at times. Pashia had been seeing this scarred, burly man for more than six months, and she felt some feelings stirring for him. For a long time, she'd been only sleeping with him. She was a saint among succubi.

"These are no ordinary people. They are spellcasters, and more than one of them is out for us."

Pashia bit her lip and twirled her icy fingers on Eskel's chest. "Do you need my help? I can charm some intelligence out of them. No one can keep any secrets from me."

Eskel frowned. "Don't do that." There was anger flowing in his voice. If the brotherhood knew he sold his lover out to deal with his enemies, he'd be stripped of his membership. "I am no pimp or cuckold. We'll deal with the sorcerers ourselves. Still, thank you for your offer."

Touched, Eskel held Pashia in his embrace. "Once we get over this, let's find someplace to stay."

"Really? But you're a witcher. Won't your mentor and colleagues laugh at you for staying with a succubus?"

Eskel harrumphed. "They'll understand. They did more egregious acts before."

Delighted, Pashia gave Eskel a kiss.

"And you be careful too, Pashia. Stay in the brothel as much as you can."

"Of course."

"Moore! Susie!"

"Ah, Letho!"

The vendors quickly waved at the bald witcher coming through the throng. "What brings you here today?" Moore grabbed Letho's hand. He asked, his voice tinted with anticipation, "Any news of Roy?"

Susie was patting the infant in her arms. The baby boy was fiddling with a turnip.

"Kid's still out for a request. It's going to take some time before he comes back." Letho shook his head regrettably and straightened out his collar. He was in modified Bear School armor. Scaled to let, plate spaulders, plate vambraces, rows of knives and potions hanging from his belt…

A few black, diamond-shaped scales covered his chest. Dragon scales. The Tordarroch blacksmiths and Vesemir's research were not progressing at a great rate. They could only make rudimentary protective armor with the dragon scales. Viper School's silver and steel weapons were strapped to his back.

With the blacksmiths' unrelenting hard work, all the witchers in the House of Gawain had gained new armor, including the apprentices who just passed their Trial.

The light in Moore and Susie's eyes dimmed.

"Hello, Mino. Oh, you've grown a little since I last saw you." Letho poked the infant's chubby cheeks.

Mino stared at the poker-faced witcher and gurgled, his laughter echoing in the air. That cheered his parents up a little. Well, at least we still have Mino around.

"It's not every day you show up, Letho. Why dontcha come over tonight?" Moore patted Letho's incredibly big hands, a big smile wrinkling his face. "We'll make stew for you. Taking care of the kids must be hard work. You should eat more."

"What?" Letho looked flummoxed. I could eat a horse every meal, and they want me to eat more? And why do I get the feeling they're treating me like their son? I'm old enough to be their grandfather.

"Later, perhaps. I have a proposition for you. Why don't you move in with us at the House of Gawain?"

"Ah, thanks for the offer, Letho, but…" Moore scratched the back of his head and sheepishly answered, "We still have to run this business. There's really not much time."

"Put aside the business for a while." Letho's eyes roved the couple's faces. The solemnity on his face made the couple stand up straighter. "Mino's about one year old, isn't he? It's the best time to start his early education. I would like for you to take him to the orphanage so he can join the classes as well."

Letho raised his hand, stopping the couple from interrupting. "If you seize this chance, it is not impossible for Minor to enroll into Oxenfurt Academy."

"An academy?" Moore's jaw dropped, and he stammered, "A-An educated man i-instead o-of a peasant?"

"Roy is a genius. I'm sure his brother is a bright child as well, but Mino's still young, and he needs his parents. You'll have to go with him as well. We have some fields around the orphanage. You can tend to them if you need anything to pass the time."

"But we'll lose our customers if we take a long leave of absence…" Susie said, a little reluctant to leave.

"Which is more important: your business, or Mino's future?"

That struck the couple where it mattered the most. Mino mattered to them, and they nodded.

Letho heaved a sigh of relief. You owe me one, kid. A big one. And it's almost time. Everyone else should be done with their assignments as well. We've made sure to hide all our loved ones. Now let's see what the sorcerers are up to.

Chapter 546

A gentle breeze ambled across the alder woods. The alder branches swayed in the wind, dancing along with its blustery paramour.

A burly man with not a strand of hair on his head was walking alongside a black-haired lad in the woods' clearing, a hyperactive griffin following them. The beast was scraping away at its master's trousers.

"This is sudden. I assume you've found the grandmasters' whereabouts?

"Maribor. They're in Maribor. They won't be coming to Novigrad anytime soon, so I'm safe for the moment." Roy's recent escapade proved that he had been too cautious. If the grandmasters could sense his presence wherever he was, they would've hunted him down. Now that he knew where their base of operations were, he could feel more at ease on his own turf.

Roy whirled and patted Gryphon. She's a little touchy. What's going on? "What happened to her?"

"The griffin's three years old." Letho grinned. "About time for her to get in heat. You know what to do."

Roy scratched Gryphon's chin, and he started musing over the matter. I can't actually get her a mate, can I?

"So when are we starting?"

"We'll have to deal with the orphanage's problem first. I can't believe you didn't tell me Rience is after the orphanage. If Yennefer hadn't told me, you guys would've dealt with it yourself, wouldn't you?"

Letho scratched his nose and retorted, "There are a dozen of us. We can do just fine without you. Besides, you're the lone wolf among us."

"Someone sounds confident. I'd like to see your defenses."

Branches and leaves crunched underneath their feet. Birds and cicadas chirped in the air. The witchers walked down the path briskly. Roy scanned the surroundings and saw a dozen traps lying about.

Deep holes hidden under piles of branches, wooden stakes tied to the trees, and bear traps. The last one was Auckes and Serrit's specialty. "Auckes had too much time on his hands, so he and his boys set up all kinds of traps around the woods. Two hundred and fifteen of them to be exact."

Letho carefully skirted around the traps, and he led Roy to a pond. A sliver of icy breeze slithered across the cracks between the trees, and ripples swam across the pond, making the lotus leaves sitting on the surface shiver.

A circle of wooden fence stood nearby, guarding a botanical garden. More than two acres of land sat within the compound. Bamboo fences split the land into more than a hundred squares, each housing a different herb. Mistletoe, ribeye, and raven's leaf were some of them. Some spaces had a few different species of plants housed together.

Heliophytes like ivy grew on the top layer, and underneath them were plants that did not need as much sunlight to grow. Dappled light was enough to sustain them.

Roy scanned the garden and counted more than forty types of plants living in it. They were blooming beautifully, painted in rich shades of colors, the air tinged with their refreshing scent. The plants he took from the world of Skyrim were thriving as well, and some were already used for potion making.

A wooden house sat in the center of the garden. Evelyn was working outside. She was wearing a dress made of flowers, mistletoes, and tree barks. The druid nodded coolly at the witchers and went back to her herbs.

Roy had his attention caught by the guards standing sentinel around Evelyn. They had the shape of oak. Big oaks. Their skin was made of thick bark, and burls grow on it. A pair of grayish-green eyes were embedded in the upper part of the tree, rolling around. There were no blind spots for these eyes. A small beak protruded right underneath their eyes, and the beaks were snapping, producing sounds like wooden boards slapping each other.

The antler-like branches were these creatures' arms. They swayed with the wind as if they were dancing to a slow tune.

'Treant

Age: 158 years old

HP: 240

Mana: 50

Strength: 20

Dexterity: 18

Constitution: 24

Perception: 8

Will: 12

Charisma: 12

Spirit: 15

Skills:

Whip Level 3: Treants can swing their arms and lash at their targets as if they're using whips. They can immobilize their targets and keep them from escaping.

Camouflage Level 3: Treants can blend in with the greenery around them and hide themselves completely.

Nature Sense Level 4: Treants can sense everything happening in the woods in a 500-yard radius around them.

Child of the Woods: (Passive) Treants are guardians of forests all around the world. They are blessed by nature. For their services to nature, they are blessed by the green itself. They can heal their wounds and regenerate their stamina and Mana at twice the speed whenever they are in a forest.'

"Evelyn went through a lot just to get those threats from Skellige." Letho crossed his arms, his eyes flickering. "They'll know if anyone steps into the woods. And they're decent fighters too." A stiff smile cracked Letho's lips. "Carl and the brats tried to challenge them, and they hanged the idiots on their arms. Took them for a run around the woods."

"The traps are laid out, the tree treants are keeping an eye on the woods, and Auckes and Serrit are patrolling the grounds." With determination in his voice, Letho said, "Our defenses are perfect. If anyone tries to invade our turf, they won't be going back alive."

The witchers came out of the woods and were met with an idyllic scene. The fields were home to cabbage and beets this time, and before it was the courtyard where everyone was gathered.

The witchers, the apprentices, the bards, Igsena, the Tordarroch blacksmiths, Moore, Susie, and Mino were there. The students in the classroom were leaning on the windowsills, watching around curiously.

The unkempt Kalkstein joined in the fun as well, which was a rare sight. Still, he looked cadaverous, and the dark circles under his eyes looked baggy. He could fall asleep any given moment.

A black dog was circling everyone, happily barking. Its tail was spinning around like a rotor blade. Ebony had gained a few pounds since Roy brought it back to the orphanage. It looked more like a log of wood than a wiener dog at this point.

Everyone had their eyes on the fighters sparring in the clearing. One of them was a woman with a Mohican hairstyle. She was swarthy, her body beautifully sculpted, her features exotic and pronounced. The woman was holding a scimitar.

Standing before her was Carl, one of the new witchers. He was in a light blue leather jacket. The young witcher was a little bent, holding his wooden sword by his waist. The sword's tip was pointed at the woman's neck.

The young witcher remained in this position as he circled the woman. A gust of breeze hurtled out of the woods and swayed the fighters' hair.

The fighters clashed, the scimitar drawing a thin line of light as it charged toward Carl's side.

Carl twirled his wrist, his wooden sword drawing an arc and deflecting the scimitar's impact. The muscles on his arms were taut, and veins popped as he unleashed a great force. He put his left foot forward and raised his sword, pointing it straight at the woman's chest, and he thrust his weapon forward.

The woman could barely parry the attack, then she bent her knees and pirouetted, going around the young witcher. She was now behind the witcher, and Carl, in a panic, tried to turn around.

But before he could, the woman held her scimitar level against herself and sliced the air open. The back of her blade hit Carl's lower blade.

The young witcher grunted and fell forward, his head buried in the ground. Before he could get up, the scimitar was already touching his nape.

"That's far enough!" Lambert crossed his arms and looked around. Raring for a little mischief, he announced, "Kantilla wins. That brings the total score to nine wins and one loss for Carl!"

Kantilla swung her scimitar around and sheathed it. A smile cracked her lips. After nine defeats at the hands of this young witcher, the Zerrikanian blades woman finally snagged a win.

Everyone erupted into discussion.

"Yay, Kantilla!" The young apprentices huddled around Kantilla, cheering for her. They were more than happy to see someone breaking Carl's victory streak. They had enough of him lording them around just because he was the first one to be a witcher among them.

Carl stood up in defeated silence. He held his blade tightly, his face ashen.

Acamuthorm grinned. "I'm no match for you, Carl, but I'd never lose to a regular human. I wouldn't even give her a chance to spar with me."

"Yeah, right." Monti shook his head and held Carl's shoulder consolingly. "Of course he wouldn't. He'd be suffering all the losses if he did."

Felix took his sunglasses off, his eyes twinkling. He finally had the chance to impart more wisdom to his protégé. "That's the price you pay for your arrogance."

"I'm sorry, Felix. That was embarrassing." Carl couldn't bring himself to turn around. He could imagine his friends' mockery and Vicki's disappointment. Carl couldn't believe he lost to a regular human.𝑙𝑖𝑏𝓇𝘦𝑎𝒹.𝑐𝑜𝓂

"Apologies are useless. Just because you gained more strength and speed from the Trial doesn't mean skills aren't important. You need more experience in battle. It's better to lose a sparring session than to die in a real battle from a lack of experience."

"Yes, Felix." Carl turned to Kantilla and clenched his fists. "I won't let my guard down next time."

"You better not."

Vesemir stroked his beard and announced, "Resume your training. Monti, Charname, you two show these boys what a real battle looks like. Everyone else, leave the clearing and begin your second drill."

The blond girl in the classroom tensed up and ordered loudly, "Everyone, gather round!"

The children in the classroom, alchemy lab, and smithy quickly gathered in the courtyard and went into formation.

The beautifully dressed Dandelion rolled his eyes and stood beside the children, forming the ninth row. Priscilla stood behind him, holding her lute. Moore, Susie, Igsena, and the Tordarroch blacksmiths followed suit.

"We're not running away!" The apprentices looked at the witchers pleadingly.

"You can stay if you can beat Acamuthorm." Serrit looked at them tersely. "If you can't, you're going to escape as you're told."

Aside from the witchers, only the apprentices who'd passed their Trial could stay and fight. That was the plan.

A snotty boy in the escaping team looked at the alder woods, and he shouted, "Roy's back!"

"Hey, everyone. Been a while. Miss me?" Roy walked into the courtyard with his arms open like a leader walking into his own welcome party.

Monti let out a howl. In the split second he was distracted, Charname smacked his face with his wooden sword, leaving a mark. Monti, however, ignored the pain and muscled through the throng, holding his cheek as he rushed toward the witcher who came back.

The children had broken their formation and came to the witcher, surrounding him like adoring fans.

"Roy!"

"It's the kid!"

"He's come home?"

The witchers stood in a line like a wall, and they were smirking.

"Where'd you go, Roy? It's been months! We've missed you!" Vicki held Roy's hand and grinned, then she swung his hand quickly.

Two of the boys hugged Roy's legs, their snot and drool sticking to the witcher's new pants. A few of the kids held his arm and squeezed their heads under his armpits, and they grinned.

Acamuthorm, the bravest of them all, held down Roy's shoulder and leapt onto his neck.

"Get off me, you brat!"

"I will not!"

Acamuthorm cheekily ruffled Roy's hair until it was unkempt.

Ebony ran up to its master and licked his boots.

Roy was like a tree, and the children were leaves hanging off his branches. Fine, they can have this.

He looked around and saw his parents approaching him, their eyes tearful.

"Hey, who's biting my hand? Let go! I'm trying to hold Mino here!" Roy managed to fling off one of the kids hanging from his arm and took Mino from Susie's arms. He pinched the infant's cheek and stuck his thumb into little Mino's mouth.

And Mino cried.

Roy scratched his nose awkwardly.

"You've been away for too long. Mino can't recognize you anymore." Moore smacked Roy's arm. "You're more muscly than ever. That's my boy."

"You have to stay for more than a few days this time." Susie held Roy's hand and looked at him lovingly. 𝙡𝓲𝙗𝒓𝙚𝓪𝙙.𝒄𝒐𝙢

Roy felt a little bad about leaving them alone for so long.

"Hey, Roy." Kantilla squeezed through the children and came up to the witcher, her eyes shining. "You owe me a hunt. So when are we leaving?"

"Once we get through this crisis."

"I can't believe you lied to us, Roy." Klaf and Yoana complained to the witcher. "Why'd you say you were Auckes?"

Auckes slammed his fists together and glared at Roy. "You're abusing my name again?"

"I'm making you famous!"

Reminded of something else, Roy whipped out the necklace he got from Einar and handed it to the yawning Kalkstein. The alchemist got red with excitement, and his eyes started to shine.

"A reunion is a beautiful occasion. It deserves a poem." Dandelion took Priscilla's lute and played away, then a soothing tune fluttered across the courtyard's cacophony. "Roy, my bosom friend. I shine for you to see me better. I sing for you to hear me better."

He had a smile on his face. "And my hands are big so I can hold you better. And my hands aren't the only big thing I have. It's true, and soon you'll see."

Everyone shot Dandelion weird looks. Priscilla looked at the stupid bard and sighed. She then glanced at Roy, her eyes flickering.

"Why are you looking at me like that, Roy? Say something."

Dandelion stopped playing.

Roy sneered at the bard. "I'd rather stitch your big mouth up."

Geralt covered Dandelion's mouth. "Let's talk business. The fact you're here means you've settled matters on your end. As for the orphanage…"

"Yennefer told me everything." Roy looked around. His friends and family are all around, and he smiled. "If Rience tries anything funny, he'll be paying with his head. Now, get back to your drills, everyone."

"Everyone, gather round!" Vicki raised her hand as she shouted at everyone. The children quickly went back to her as if they were put under a spell, and they stood in a formation once more.

The bards and Roy's parents joined in as well. The apprentices stood around the formation to keep things in order, then the children walked into the conference room. An archway drawn with purple paint stood in the corner, and a diamond-shaped teleportation crystal hung on the leaf beside the archway.

Carl took a deep breath and fired a blast of Aard at the crystal. A surge of mana swam into the dim crystal, and a flash of light burst from within.

The archway shone with magic, turning into a portal with a black whirlpool in the center. Little Koritz tensed up and mustered up all the courage he could muster, then he stepped into the portal.

The kids were queued in the order of age from youngest to oldest. Once all of them had gone to safety, it was the adults' turn, and Dandelion was up first.

The portal led to a spacious hall underneath the Temple Island, and braziers stood in all corners, illuminating the space with a warm ambience. This space could house a hundred people.

Bedrolls lined the flanks of the hall, and the kids went to their own spots without any hassle. This was not their first drill, after all.

Vicki then told the adults where they would be sleeping.

A big store room stood beside the hall. Fifteen shelves stood within, and they were filled with food that could be kept for a long time. Turnips, smoked meat, salted fish, pickled greens, black bread, water, and more. It was enough to last everyone a month.

"So, Roy…" Serrit said, "Why don't you use your third eye and see if we've prepared enough for the crisis?"

Roy knew better than everyone that Rience was working with Vilgefortz. The simplest way to deal with this would be storming Vilgefortz's stronghold and taking him out, but it wasn't as easy as that.

Vilgefortz was the most powerful sorcerer in the world, but more than that, he was smart, cunning, and cautious as a fox. Roy tried to have Yennefer and Coral request a meeting with him, but Vilgefortz would never accept any communication requests from anyone other than his trusted lieutenants.

His stronghold, Stygga Castle, was located in the empire of Nilfgaard, a place as vast as the North. It was nigh impossible to find the castle while keeping the orphanage safe at the same time. Roy would deal with Vilgefortz after they got through this crisis.

"Now that our friends and family are safe, we have nothing to worry about." Roy turned around and faced his comrades. He gave them a nod and smiled. "Let's give them all we have. And Coral's coming back soon. Take me to the lab and show me the modified potions. And I suggest everyone take a few dimeritium bombs with them.

Chapter 547

We turn our gaze to a resplendently decorated and warmly lit lounge. An enigmatic man in a knightly shirt was standing within the living quarters, and beside him was a woman as gorgeous as a field of flowers. She was draped in a celadon green dress that clung loosely to her perfect curves. Her hair was long and a lustrous gold, and a ruby necklace hung before her chest. Her eyes were innocently blue, and alluring elven makeup covered her face.

The woman was, at the same time, the image of innocence and seduction.

"Thank you for inducting us into the grace of Emhyr var Emreis, Vilgefortz. Now we stand a chance to revive our kingdom. We are in your debt. Of course, we shall lend you our assistance. I shall send in a vanguard team of ten elves to Novigrad. Should you require more, I shall also dispatch five of our sorcerers to serve you."

Vilgefortz stared at the flickering sparks in the fireplace, his face glistening red. This deal he struck was a win-win-win situation. Now that Nilfgaard had signed a peace treaty with the North, none could go back on their word easily, giving the Southern troops a chance to establish themselves in the North.

Following that stunt, Vilgefortz inducted Francesca, who wished to revive her elven kingdom, to Emhyr var Emreis, installing members of Scoia'tael into Nilfgaard's army. They would be the empire's secret vanguard, harassing and taking down the northern kingdoms' defenses, planting the seeds for future warfare.

In this case, Nilfgaard would be able to tear down the North's defenses while keeping their word. The treaty would not be binding to them. Once they took over the North, Nilfgaard would grant the elves the land of Dol Blathanna, where Francesca could revive her kingdom.

Francesca's army of Scoia'tael members detested humans, including the witchers. And in their years of battling humanity, Scoia'tael members had grown into formidable fighters, and given their spy identity, they wouldn't tell anyone about Ciri's news.

Vilgefortz smiled at the elven sorceress. With the Scoia'tael vanguard working with Rience and Schirru, he knew he could take down the witchers easily.

An unnamed inn stood in the southeast of Novigrad, neighboring Tretogor. White sunlight shone upon Schirru's dried, shriveled ponytail that extended down to his waist. He tapped his finger on the rickety table, asking, "Why do you detest witchers, Tarika?"

"I used to live in a village in the west of Novigrad. It was in the outskirts of Tretogor." A gaunt middle-aged woman in a crude dress spoke, but she had a craven look in her eyes. "Five years ago, the local graveyard was ravaged by a monster. 'Twas like a human but with its skin peeled. It had claws like scythes and teeth as sharp as iron. Messed up our graveyard. Defiled the dead and munched on them. Attacked my neighbors too. Vulcan and Oliver died."

"That sounds like a ghoul."

"Aye, maybe that's its name. Chief slapped a request on the bulletin board. Two weeks later, a black-haired, green-eyed mutant came to us because of that request." The woman clasped her rough hands together, and she was tremulous. "Called himself Brun. Had two strange swords strapped to his back. Some silver medallion hung around his neck. Shape of a cat's head. Said he'd help us with our monster problem, but he wanted 200 crowns in return."

The woman sighed. "That's two years worth of coins for our village, but safety is important, so we agreed to his term. That guy went to the graveyard alone and came back with the monster's head not even hours later. Chief gave him the payment."

"All two hundred crowns of it?" Schirru stared at the woman, crossing his arms, a powerful air surrounding him.

The woman froze up and licked her lips. "No. Twenty crowns short, but that was all the coins we had. That guy tucked everything away in his pockets without even counting. Didn't leave right away, though. Came to my inn and drank away the night. Wiped us outta our reserves. And his eyes were red as blood. Everyone held their kids close that night in case the mutant stole them. Then the mutant flipped his table over and cursed. Left the place looking like he wanted someone dead. Didn't pay me either."

"And… and…" The woman hung her head low, her voice cracking. "Blood. That's all I remember. He barged into one of the houses and killed everyone inside. Quick as a phantom wolf and deadly as a monster. The men tried to fight him, but they just died."

The woman screamed, shivering in fear. "No one escaped. Not when his shot was perfect as a deadeye. I only got away because I played dead. 'Twas terrifying. Mind was in chaos. Only got back up when the sun rose the next day."

She wept into her hands. "But everyone's dead. Even the kids. They were slaughtered. That monster turned my home into a slaughterhouse! And he went missing!" She sobbed. "He ain't human! Mutants ain't human. Nothing but devils! They should all burn in hell!" the woman hissed, poking the air angrily with her grubby hands.

You're angry at him? When did you break your word first? Schirru had nothing but contempt for this woman. Back in his mercenary days, he despised clients who went back on their word. He'd always wanted to kill them off like the witcher did. I can see why Cats are infamous. Killed more than twenty people for twenty crowns. This is going to smear the witchers badly. Just what I need. Hope the Novigrad witchers love this.

"I am so, so sorry about this, Tarika. I too had been persecuted by those mutants before. They killed my family. We're all victims of their brutality, and we must stand up against them." Schirru's eyes were filled with warm concern, and he held the woman's hands. He then stuffed a pouch of coins into her hand and gave the mercenary beside him a look. "Take these coins. You'll need it. And we'll give you a place to stay. The witchers destroyed countless families, and yet they're running a roaring business in Novigrad, lining their pockets with mountains of coins. They do not deserve this life."

The woman gritted her teeth and nodded.

"Then it's settled. Once we launch our revenge against the witchers, you must stand up and expose them for their crimes. By the gods, I swear I shall keep you safe."

"Y-Yes."

Schirru nodded and gave the mercenary beside him a look. The mercenary took the woman away from the inn.

It was Schirru's lucky day. Following his gaining of a powerful witness, another surprise fell into his lap.

A silhouette ambled through the inn's entrance, the light behind him projecting a slender shadow upon the ground. The man was more than seven feet tall, covered in grime, sweat, and oil. His grubby leather jacket clung closely to the man's ghoulishly gaunt figure, and a steel sword glinted by his waist.

The man's eyes roved around carefully, then he set his sights on the equally towering half-elf in the corner. The man sauntered up to Schirru and took his seat, the spurs on his boots clanging against the ground. He took his suede gloves off and clasped his hands together, holding his chin up. His beard cascaded down his chin, gray and almost catfish-like.

The man had a skeletal face, and his eyes, much like a fish's, were glassy and dead, yet there was unbridled arrogance within. The man had no eyelashes or eyebrows. His sunken sockets had nothing but a pair of eyes within.

Schirru tensed up quietly. Only one kind of creature had this man's eyes. Serial killers. And those who had a grisly amount of victims as well.

"I saw your request in Vidoff. Searching for skilled, and experienced warriors, bounty hunters, and mercenaries? Preferably those who have a grudge against witchers?"

The man slurred as he spoke, and he had no northern accent at all. The language he employed was closer to Elder Speech. Schirru realized he must be a Nilfgaardian.

The treaty promised at least two years without war, and some citizens were already roving around the North and South for work.

"Yes. Name's Schirru. How may I address you? You've taken the request, I assume? We're comrades now. Comrades in punishing the evil witchers. You despise them too, don't you?" Schirru extended his hand.

A sneer curled the man's lips, but he didn't shake Schirru's hand. "Leo Bonhart. That's the name," said Leo slowly, his eyes flickering with excitement. "To answer your last question, no, I do not despise witchers, though I do enjoy snuffing the life out of powerful enemies, especially in duels. Witchers make for the perfect duel partners. They're stronger, faster, and deadlier than any warrior. Great dancers and wielders of the blade as well. I always have more fun with them, given that they do not die as easily as anyone else."

Schirru's heart sank, and he looked at the man, doubt flitting through his eyes. He thinks witcher hunting is a sport? Sounds like a big claim to me. Must've never fought the mutants before.

The scorn did not escape Leo. He chortled, his grin as wide as his beard. He then rummaged through his chest pocket and took out three silver necklaces. The bounty hunter placed them on the table, revealing three different pendants. Three gleaming animal heads.

One was a wolf, its eyes glinting like phantom flames. One was a cat, its fangs bared. One was a bear, its maw wide open.

"But these are witcher medallions!" A long rush of air escaped Schirru's lips, and he froze for a moment. "Where did you get these?"

Leo snatched the liquor from Schirru and took a swig, and he stared into the half-elf's eyes. "Found them lying on the ground. Somehow the witchers, who value their medallions as much as their lives, left them behind for me to find."

"The sarcasm didn't go over my head. So you mean to say you killed them in a duel?" Schirru's face was painted with disbelief. This criminally gaunt man killed witchers? But he's just a regular man! 𝑙𝒾𝒷𝘳𝑒𝑎𝒹.𝑐𝑜𝓂

"Oh yes, witchers are inhumanly powerful, I admit, but that does not mean they are undefeatable. It doesn't mean humans stand no chance against them. I was born to be their curse. Their killer. Their executioner."

Leo spread his hands and took a deep breath, reminiscence glimmering in his eyes. It was as though he was reliving a great feast. A perfect orchestra. A wonderful performance. "The screams they produce before their deaths are riveting. These mutants have more piercing screams, and their eyes and tongues are more durable than any human's. Even when they're an inch away from death, they can still fight on for a long time. That's what makes them fun."

The bounty hunter slowly unsheathed his blade and spat on the edge. He spun it around. "But seeing is believing. Care to put me to the test?"

A breeze danced across the inn. Schirru knew something was off, and he touched his chest. His leather armor cracked, revealing the blue shirt within, but the shirt was not cut at all.

"We can skip that." Schirru gulped. This man was right in front of him, and yet he couldn't see how Leo moved at all. That speed and strength control is inhuman. This is no ordinary swordsman.

"Good. So how much are you offering? Which school is the witcher from? What's his name? Do you want him dead or alive? If you want him alive, you'll have to pay me a lot more."

"Ah, I apologize for not telling you this earlier, but we're not just dealing with one witcher." Schirru's eyes roved across Leo's face. "We're dealing with a group."

"What?"

"We're dealing with a group of witchers. More than a dozen of them. Do you still dare to face them? We'll be working as a team, of course. You are not alone, but you have to listen to our orders."

Leo grinned toothily. For a moment, he almost looked like a ghoul. "This is interesting." He stood up and spun around with his blade held to his chest. The bounty hunter danced a little, but he was moving like an infected tree that was about to die at any moment.

And he was frothing at his mouth. "Give me enough coins, and I'll join you. Oh, I can't wait. I get to fight a bunch of witchers? This is magnificent. I can hear the music!"

Schirru wiped his sweat away and sent Leo off himself. The bounty hunter's dead eyes unnerved him. This man is a wild card. An unpredictable hassle. To the witchers, of course. He'd better be their executioner as he claims.

Not long after Schirru left, a pair of bizarre men came into the empty inn. The one in the lead had golden hair and brown eyes. His looks were dashing, and his air had a grizzled feel to it. He was donned in dark gold knight armor, and in his hands was a greatsword.

The man behind him had black hair that billowed in the air. His eyes were blue and lively, his features were beautiful, and a short beard grew around his chin. Determination was plastered all over his face, and an olive green cloak cascaded down his back. His cloak was paired with a tight-fitting jacket and a pair of breeches.

The men were intimidating and powerfully-built.

"Are you sure we can find her in Novigrad, Grimm?" The man with black hair pulled a chair out and took his seat. He stared at the golden knight before him, a conflicting look flaring in his eyes. There was a hint of fear within his gaze, and it was mixed with a hint of respect.

Grimm placed his greatsword at the edge of the table, and a cloud of dust leapt into the air. The ground rumbled, and the wooden table creaked under the weight of the weapon. Grimm sat on the longbench and summoned the innkeeper. He asked for a mug of beer, and the knight took a swig.

"By my honor as a knight, Novigrad is the likeliest place she'll be in. Calanthe and Eist are no more, and Skellige is more than a few nautical miles away from the Continent. The only person she can latch onto is Geralt, the witcher bound to her by the Law of Surprise. Didn't you hear the stories on the way? There's a ballroom in Novigrad that plays shows about witchers. You don't see that anywhere else. If you want news about Geralt, that's the place to be."

Grimm took another swig of his beer, and he looked at the black-haired knight, his eyes glimmering with earnestness. "Remember what you promised. An apology from your heart and your greatest effort at patching up the damage you made. Return a regular life to her."

"Of course. On the name of my family, I, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach, son of Ceallach, swear I will do anything to find Ciri." Cahir placed his right hand before his chest. "And I shall protect and save her as atonement for my sins. Should I renege on my promise, then I shall be plunged into darkness forevermore, where the light of the sun forsakes."

Cahir looked at the golden knight. Gratitude flickered in his eyes, and a sliver of lamentation swam in his gaze.

After Ciri stole his steed and ran away the second time that night, Cahir went after her, but Grimm emerged from the bushes and knocked him out easily. Cahir thought Grimm would take his life, but the knight showed mercy and took him along on his journey, teaching him as though he were training a fledgling knight.

It was an arduous and bizarre period for Cahir. Many times Cahir tried to escape the humiliation, but Grimm managed to take him back every single time. It was then he realized how Ciri must've felt about her kidnappings, and Cahir realized that he felt something special for the princess.

Over the last few months, Cahir followed Grimm and crossed River Dell, passed Yaruga, and trekked north to Tretogor. Cahir accepted his fate as a prisoner of war, and he started thinking that Grimm's knightly lectures had a lot of merit to them. The lectures were changing his mind, and Cahir was slowly becoming something like a friend to Grimm.

He should've gone back to the South and faced Emhyr, repenting for him being unable to bring back Ciri, but he did not. He chose to desert his duties and travel to Novigrad. His father, the royal steward, Ceallach Dyffryn aep Gruffydd, would be immensely disappointed in him, but all Cahir wanted was to see that gray-haired girl again. Once would be enough.

Chapter 548

The church of the Eternal Fire stood tall atop Novigrad's Temple Island, its halls perpetually bathed in warm, welcoming light.

Cyrus Engelkind Hemmelfart was seated atop a throne engraved with the emblem of fire. The Hierarch looked at the group of people gathered under the staircase before him. One was a man in a black shirt and a leather cap. Chappelle. Standing around him were guards of the church.

The Hierarch spoke, his voice old.

"Under your management, Novigrad has changed into a safer city. The number of minor infractions have gone down by half, and the once notorious human trafficking ring is no more. The city is now more prosperous, and the people are taking to the church more. Thanks to you, we have twenty percent more believers compared to two years ago. This is a boon to the propagation of our religion."

He looked at Chappelle, praise flickering in his eyes. "Your contributions to the church are undeniable."

"You flatter me, Hierarchy. This is all thanks to you. With your blessed leadership, I am granted the strength to rid this world of evil and let it bask in the light of Eternal Fire." Chappelle bowed humbly. His metallic eyes were no longer cold and icy. Instead, he had nothing but respect for the Hierarch, as if he were a boy looking up to his brother.

The Hierarch nodded. "You have been in our service for ten years. All my past commissioners have turned to the path of corruption in mere years and abandoned the fire. You are different from them."

Cyrus had a conflicted look in his eyes. He was reluctant to punish Chappelle, and he paused for a moment.

"Do your prayers one more time, Chappelle."

"Yes, Hierarch." The doppler raised his head, his face basked in holy light. He turned his sights to the tapestry of the Eternal Fire hanging on the golden walls further in the hall, and he, with passion, chanted his prayers.

For a moment, Chappelle was harkened back to the night he was saved by the Eternal Fire. The night he was tormented by his raging mind.

"Under the flames, we are protected. Under the light, we are delivered from evil. The fire cleanses the souls of those bathed in sin. The fire is sovereign. Those who stand in the fire's way shall face reckoning. From ashes they come, to ashes they go."

"The fire illuminates. Under its light, no darkness can hide. No evil can scheme. Those who conspire with the dark shall be burned to cinders. And so we pray. May the fire envelop us in its protection forevermore and deliver us from filth. May the fire warm the path of its believers. May the fire punish evil and burn it into nothingness."

The guards loudly chanted with Chappelle, their voices echoing across the halls, bolstering the spirits of those who could hear it.

The braziers sitting upon the stage leapt and crackled, as if they were inspired by something unseen by the eye.

"You're a good commissioner, Chappelle, but you have one disappointing trait." Cyrus nodded, and then his face took on a stern expression. He crossed his hands before his chest, resting his chin upon them. The Hierarch stared at the commissioner, his eyes twinkling with severity.

"Under your management, Novigrad is seeing an increase in the number of non-human creatures. Dwarves, elves, half-elves, mutants, and even practitioners of magic have taken over southeast Novigrad. I see them everywhere. Their existence has broken this city's balance. How did this happen?"

A pregnant pause descended upon the hall.

Chappelle, without missing a beat, answered, "The non-humans have lived their lives abiding by the rules the church has established. They have never harmed anyone. They're better beings than the gang members of this city. I see no need to oppress them. That would only push them into a rebellion. And the fire is supposed to be fair to everyone, no matter who or what they are."

"Heresy, Chappelle!" Cyrus slammed his throne's armrest, veins throbbing on the back of his hand. He launched into a tirade, his voice scraping. "Non-humans will never be on our side. The dwarves owe their allegiance to Mahakam, and the elves are conspiring to revive their fallen kingdom. The followers of magic delight in playing with the human heart, and the mutants are the worst of the lot. Butchers who care for nothing but coins. They are the great connectors of every evil in this land. The witchers are the most egregious of them."

Cyrus was agitated. "Their sin is written in their blood. They will never put their faith in the fire. All their allegiance is nothing but a facade. Once they gather enough of their kind, they will show their true colors and push for their heretical beliefs to be respected. They want nothing more than to put out the fire and turn the city into their stronghold, where their rules reign supreme."

Cyrus clenched his fists, and he took a deep breath, his cheeks turning sickly red. "Chappelle, the fire has given me guidance. You have made a pact with the witchers and befriended the Collector, a follower of magic. You have abandoned the path of the fire. Your actions have infected this city with deep evil, but fortunately, it has not done enough damage just yet. It is not too late to repent. Given your contributions to the church, you are to retain your position and power as commissioner, but you must atone for your sins."

Cyrus pushed himself up and gave Chappelle his orders.

"Crack down on the Collector and Cleaver. Impose heavy taxes on herbalists, oneiromancy, and non-humans. Call it a non-human tax or magical tax or what have you. Bring down the number of non-humans in this city and reinstate balance. Take it slow, of course. You have six months."

Cyrus took a deep breath, his age spots red from fury. The Hierarch thumped his chest and ordered, "But this next order must be carried out immediately. You must rain down punishment upon the mutants. Lead the guards on a crusade and take down their sacrilegious base. You must stop their evil deeds. I will not allow Novigrad to be a stain on the honor of mankind. And tell the bards to put a stop to their nefarious odes to the witchers."

Cyrus turned to Chappelle, his eyes filled with anticipation and expectation. "Should you execute your duties perfectly, then you will be allowed to remain as my commissioner."

"Hierarch, you have never been so extreme in your measures. You have always encouraged a peaceful coexistence between humans and non-humans. That's the primary reason Novigrad became home to so many people. That's why this city is as prosperous as it is." A confused smile curled Chappelle's lips, and he had a conflicted look in his eyes.

"That was a different time. That was then the number of non-humans was under control. They were no threat then, but things have changed. I do not expect you to kick them out immediately, so let us talk about the witchers first."

Cyrus raised his head, his eyes glinting. He was reminded of that talk he had with Vilgefortz. They struck a deal. If he could get rid of the witchers and make sure Novigrad rejects them, Vilgefortz would assist him in spreading the influence of the fire, and not just in the North either.

Vilgefortz had connections with the South. He promised to put in a good word and spread the word of Eternal Fire to the South, where the Great Sun reigned supreme. Nothing was more important than the spread of the gospel. Cyrus was of an advanced age, and his only wish before his death was to see the word of the Eternal Fire spread across the world.

Chappelle tried to say something, but he shook his head and sighed, his face ashen. "Sorry, Hierarch, but I cannot do that."

"What did you say?" The Hierarch's eyes went wide, a look of disbelief hanging on his face. He could not fathom why his most loyal subordinate would go against his orders.

"Hierarch." Chappelle looked at the old man he once respected. "What you want me to do will inevitably take the church into decline. You will be ruining the work we've been doing for the last two years. The non-humans and monster hunters have never broken any laws, and they have lent their assistance in the quelling of the ills that have been troubling this city. They have done nothing but help us. They should not be punished for their actions. Perhaps you have been tricked by someone who wishes to take out the witchers, but I am happy to take you to them should you need me to prove my word."

He looked at the Hierarch with a plea in his eyes.

Chappelle knew he could feign obedience and carry out his orders, then he could tell the witchers about Cyrus' plan and escape, but it would be useless. The witchers would not leave. And from the moment he assumed the identity of Chappelle, the doppler had sworn to never escape like a dog with its tail between its legs anymore. The church would be his final home.

"You're paying them respect? Have they gotten to you, Chappelle?"

"No, Hierarch. I am merely telling the truth."

"You are beyond salvation." Cyrus closed his eyes, his face contorted in pain, then he turned to the guard. "Shed his robe and relieve him of his lamia. Take away his holy item. Chappelle, from now on and forevermore, you are no longer the commissioner of security. You have no right to be the fire's believer."

Cyrus held his chest, his breathing ragged. He was severely disappointed in Chappelle. "Novigrad no longer welcomes you. You are to leave this city within the day and never return."

Chappelle looked at the fire and spread his arms, letting his erstwhile underlings take his equipment away. A senile and addled Hierarch did not deserve his loyalty and trust. He started doubting if the Eternal Fire was actually a light in the darkness that saved him once.

"Hierarch." One of the guards looked surprised. "The commissioner doesn't…"𝓵𝒊𝓫𝓻𝓮𝓪𝒅.𝓬𝓸𝙢

"He is no longer the commissioner. What's wrong?"

"He doesn't have the holy item with him."

"You flout the church's rule this brazenly, Chappelle? You must have your holy item with you at all times. That has been mandatory for more than three centuries." The Hierarch walked down the stairs and approached Chappelle. He grabbed the doppler by the collar, his eyes flaring with fury.

Cyrus' hands were callused down to the fingers. They almost looked like little holes made of branches, and he held Chappelle down. "Where is your holy item?"

Chappelle stood up straight and feigned calmness. "In my room."

"You, retrieve the item," ordered Cyrus. He then turned his cataract-filled eyes to Chappelle sharply. Chappelle looked at him, seemingly unfazed, but the hand behind his back was sweating.

"Hold on. Have you ever seen him with his holy item before?"

The guards exchanged a look, then they shook their heads. "Now that you mentioned it, we haven't seen his holy item for a year or two."

"And that was when he started befriending the non-humans?"

"Yes." The young guard beside Chappelle had a conflicted look on his face.

A horrifying thought struck the Hierarch. His pupils contracted, his breathing got heavier, and he stuck his hand into his robe and whipped out a silver necklace with a torch pendant hanging on the edge.

"Capture him!"

Chappelle's face turned a shade of sickly red. He froze up for a moment and took a step back, fear flickering in his eyes for a moment.

The guards, however, realized something was off, and they clamped down on Chappelle's arms and legs, restricting his movement.

Cyrus held his pendant and squeezed it onto Chappelle's head.

Wisps of smoke billowed off Chappelle, and colorful lights strobed as his skin and bones bubbled like boiling water, then they shrunk. Chappelle's human face melted away, bubbling and wriggling like a ball of dough going through a long kneading process.

Not a moment later, Chappelle was gone, replaced by a bizarre humanoid creature. He was wearing a pair of suspenders. The creature was the height of a dwarf, but he had a disproportionately large head. His features were slammed together. His eyes were yellow and beady, his nose was round, his lips were thick, and his ears were pointy, though a bit shorter than an elf's. And his face was covered with wrinkles.

The creature had no neck, his head joined to its torso. His limbs were slender as a spider's. His arms extended down to his knees. The creature's hands were bigger than any human's, and they were covered in black fur. His equally gigantic legs had black fur covering their backs as well.

"You're a doppler. A heretic! A blasphemous creation! How dare you!" Disgust and contempt flared within the Hierarch's cataract-filled eyes. He slammed his foot into the doppler's belly, and the creature fell to the ground, a howl of pain escaping his lips.

The guards, though shocked, quickly propped the creature up, then they whipped out their holy items and held them against the creature.

"Take him to the plaza." Cyrus sat atop the staircase, wheezing. He could barely hold himself up, and he was leaning against the stairs as he issued orders to his underlings. There was nothing but contempt in his eyes. He would love nothing more than to destroy this heretical creation. Fury had burned away his mind, and his soul was driven by contempt.

"Gather our believers and the citizens. Pile up the firewoods and set up the stakes. I shall burn this despicable maggot before the eyes of the citizen and avenge my true commissioner."

"Yes, Hierarch."

Two handsome, shining knights left the ballroom, disappointed. They stared at the bustling streets and the blossoming flowers standing around, spacing out.

"What rotten luck. Dandelion's out when we need him. What now? Our leaders have gone cold," the black-haired knight told Grimm.

"Well, at least we're in Novigrad. No harm waiting for a little longer." Grimm smiled. "We should go for some sightseeing while we're at it. Oh, and one more thing. The more glorious a city is on the outside, the filthier the darkness it has on the inside. Toussaint might look peaceful, but even its people are conspiring with succubi." Grimm caressed his greatsword, his eyes flickering with excitement. "Novigrad's darkness will only run deeper. And that's where we come in."

He smacked Cahir's shoulder. "We shall cleanse this city's darkness as per a knight's virtue."

"You've been talking about virtues all the way, Grimm, and I've lost count of all the good deeds you've done." Cahir followed him to the street. "When is this coming to a head?"

"Have you heard of the legend of the Lady of the Lake? Once she appears before us and grants us the title of virtuous knights, our quest will be complete."

"Which means we'll have to travel to a lake. But Novigrad only has ports."

"Worry not. When the time comes, it doesn't matter if we're at a lake or the sea."

The knights chatted along the way, then they stopped in their tracks. They saw a group of citizens moving toward the northern part of the city, where the bridge leading to the Temple Island was. A group of men in black jackets and shirts with the emblem of fire on them were traveling down the streets, hollering at those who would listen.

"Citizens of Novigrad, come to the Temple Island at once. The guards have captured a doppler that has been hiding in their midst, disguising himself as Chappelle, the commissioner of security. The Hierarch himself will be setting the creature ablaze. You are all invited to witness this ceremony."

The knights exchanged a look and strode toward the bridge.

At the same time, Rience and a masked sorceress were waiting in a dark alleyway in Gildorf. Once they heard the shouting, they made their way toward Gawain's house, and they disappeared into thin air.

The gathering crow didn't escape the young witcher's attention. When he heard the guards' hollering, concern flared in his eyes. He quickly darted into a quiet alleyway and contacted his comrades.

Chapter 549

The plaza of Temple Island was a sacred place where believers and pilgrims exchanged their experience with the religion, but now the plaza was filled with roars and shouts of the citizens filling it.

The people's eyes were set to the wooden stake in the center of the plaza. More precisely, they were staring at the bizarre, dwarfish creature tied to the stake. Its hands and feet were cuffed in silver fetters, its wrinkly face pale as a cloud, and its head hung low, its face out of the public eye.

Firewood piled underneath it like a small hill. Men in black shirts and black hats and equipped with lamia whips were splashing oil onto the firewood.

A wizened man with white hair scanned the great crowd standing beyond the guards. He was in a white shirt with red sleeves, and crimson stripes adorned his collar. A robe that blazed like the sun was draped over his clothes.

There were more than two thousand people in the plaza, and everyone from peasants, to merchants, to nobles, and even to senators, were there. Non-humans like elves, dwarves, and half-elves were around too, and they were segregated. The elves stood with their kind, including the impure ones. Many of them were people who'd never appeared in the city before.

Cleaver's men, muscular dwarves who were armed to the teeth, huddled close around their brethren, and a few halflings stood with them. They were creatures built like dwarves but had a young-looking face instead.

The non-humans stayed away from the humans, and the opposite was true as well. The humans were split into little cliques as well, with the nobles looking at the merchants with disdain. Armed mercenaries and soldiers stood in their own group, and peasants were gathered in the outer ring of the plaza despite them being the biggest group.

"There is one thing I'd like to announce, citizens." The hierarch spoke, his voice wizened, but it penetrated the crowd easily. The cacophony stopped. "The real Chappelle, our respected commissioner of security, was brutally murdered by this evil doppler two years ago. This creature has been assuming his position, usurping the power of the commissioner for itself, committing countless sins in our city.

The crowd was in an uproar. The merchants were engaged in hushed discussions, while peasants had anger flaring in their eyes. They'd heard news of dopplers. Unsavory ones, and they despised dopplers for their stealing of someone's identity. They looked around for something to throw at the doppler.

Some of the smarter ones looked at the creature calmly as they came up with their own conclusions. They could see that Novigrad was becoming better over the last two years. That was not something an evil creature would do.

Schirru was hidden amongst the crowd. He patted the woman's shivering shoulder and gave her a reassuring look.

Grimm and Chair looked shocked. This was their first time seeing a doppler, and this one took on the position of commissioner for two years before it was discovered. It was a great oversight by the church. The knight tried to converse with a noble. He looked like a reasonable man.

"What'd that doppler do to deserve this?"

"Ah, hello, sir." The nobleman stroked his beard and shook his head. "It hasn't committed any crimes. Or nothing I've heard of, that is. Unless you count striking down human traffickers and criminals as a crime, of course. Perhaps its only sin is that it's a doppler, and the church has always been on the hunt for creatures like it."

Grimm frowned.

"But by the grace of the Eternal Fire, we have finally torn its mask away before it could do any more harm!" Cyrus continued.

Jiji looked at the Hierarch numbly.

"Bear witness, citizens. It is due to my oversight and mistake that this animal has lived on for two years longer than it should've." Cyrus had a look of regret on his face. "But praise the Eternal Fire, it hasn't done any harm big enough to ruin the city, and now the undying flames shall purge this evil that has obscured the path of its believers."

The believers put their hands in prayers and hung their heads low.

Cyrus held up the gleaming silver torch hanging before his chest and began his judgment.

"Bear witness. Every wrinkle on the face of this grotesque, blasphemous creature is a symbol. A symbol of all the lives it has stolen."

"Burn it!" the crowd roared.

Jiji's eyes roved through the crowd. He heaved a sigh, the light in its eyes dimming. He spent two years doing everything he could for the people, and they wanted him dead in exchange.

"Hierarch!" A burly, red-faced blacksmith with an apron around him spoke from the crowd. He'd been observing the creature, but unlike the agitated peasants, there was pity in his eyes. "You have been pinning generalized sins on the creature, but do you have any details? What crimes has it committed besides taking Chappelle's place? And do you have any witnesses who saw it kill Chappelle?"

"Darve, the Hierarch himself baptized you on the day you were born, and now you're doubting him?" A towering guard grabbed his blade and approached the blacksmith.

"I am not doubting him. I just want the truth." The blacksmith spat on the ground and wiped his sweaty hands on his apron. He raised his voice. "As a Novigradian, I believe I should voice my concern. Our city has been doing better over the last two years. Take my shop for example. If I left a bucket out at night, it would've been stolen before the next day even came, but nobody's stealing my stuff now. And business has been well. I had to hire a couple of apprentices, and even then, we're still busy. It's proof that we're seeing more tourists now. Think about it. Would people really flock to a city with a bad reputation?"

Everyone stared down and started musing over Darve's words.

"Darve's right." A skeletal peasant spoke. "All my poor Tina wanted was to play in the fields, and she was almost trafficked off to Skellige so those pirates could marry her. But Chappelle never gave up on the search, and he saved my Tina. She's at home feeding the chickens now. If the doppler is evil, why'd he help me then?"

Jiji heaved a sigh of relief. He was glad that at least some of these people had a mind of their own.

"Because the creature is a cunning one." Cyrus spoke, his voice convincing. "If it'd done nothing but evil, I would've seen through its ruse and taken it down, but it's a clever saboteur. A wily shapeshifting creature. It pretends to be an ally of justice and blind you to its real goal. Compared to the evil it did, its acts of justice are nothing."

Cyrus paused for a moment and looked at the crowd. One-third of them were non-humans. If he were to rile up tension between humans and non-humans right now, it would end in a disaster. He'd have to take it slow with the purge of these non-humans. First, the doppler must die.

"Its biggest sin is that it conspired with the mutants. They've built a secret laboratory in the alder woods right beyond the walls of Novigrad."

Cyrus dragged up the details of the orphanage Vilgefortz told him, and he circled the stake. "That place claims to be an orphanage, but it is a mask. The truth is, it is a laboratory where witchers conduct evil experiments in a bid to create their kind en masse. There are already children who'd fallen prey to their experiments. They have eyes like a beast's, changed into filthy mutants. Should this doppler keep its position, its accomplices would use the orphanage as a base to quickly expand their influence, turning this whole city into mutants."

Terrified gasps came from the crowd.

"How terrifying." Cahir shook his head. "The emperor has chased off all the witchers in the South. Are all witchers in the North as evil as he claims?"

"No." Grim shook his head. He was reminded of the White Wolf. The one who had a fair duel with him in Cintra. "I promise the Hierarchy is only lying. He's speaking from his deep prejudice against the witchers."

"Hierarch!" A bard spoke up, the look on his face solemn. As if he were professing the truth, he said, "Witchers are not as evil as you make them to be. They have saved countless people from the jaws of evil monsters, ridding this world of man-eating creatures."

"But their fees are outrageous!" someone argued.

"Your lives are worth more than the money you pay!"

Some people were defending the witchers. Judging from their attire, those people were regulars of the ballroom.

"They lifted the curse of Princess Adda of Vizima. They cleaned Novigrad's sewers of its monster infestation, and they helped Princess Ciri escape the nymphs of Brokilon."

The citizens quieted down. The bard's work was bearing fruit. Listening to the odes to witchers planted a seed within the citizens' minds, and they were led to think that witchers were benefactors and kind souls.

Cyrus thumped his chest, his right hand shaking uncontrollably. "You've been fooled by the bards of the ballroom! They are sponsored by the witchers! They made those odes to elevate their image, and you fell for their tricks! Think, citizens! Not everything the bards say is the truth! Would you believe it if they claim that the witchers are the creators of this world?"

The people quickly shook their heads.

"Go around and ask the people of any other city their opinion on the witchers. They'll tell you a different story than what the bards are saying. Anyone in any hamlet can at least recount one violent act done by these mutants. They are unforgivable!"

Cahir muttered to himself, "The Hierarch knows how to rile up the people."

"Hierarch!" A knight spoke up. He was tall, muscular, and had a head of golden hair. His smile was as warm as the first rays of sunshine, and the people around him felt nothing but affection for him. "Then if we play by your rules and prove that witchers are no evil beings, does that mean the dopplers who lent them its assistance is a kind soul as well?"

"They even get to you? But you're a knight! There is no possible way that these witchers are not evil." The Hierarch turned his attention to Grimm. "Once we cleanse this creature, we shall depart for the outskirts and apprehend the accursed witchers. This doppler possesses a bizarre ability. Once we take away our silver items, it can shapeshift into any person and read their memories. All memories. And then it'll take over your home, rape your wives, kill your husbands, and abuse your children. You're not exempt either, knight."

That spooked more than a few people, and someone shouted, "Burn it down!"

Grimm looked solemn. He stared at the doppler, his eyes glinting, and he held his sword tight.

"Dopplers are no creation of any gods. Their existence must not be allowed! It must die!" the hierarch bellowed, and he gave one of the guards a look. The very same guard who had been with Chappelle all this time.

The guard hesitated.

"Citizens!" Jiji suddenly spoke, his eyes roving across the people, his voice croaking and breaking. "I do not deny the allegations of impersonation, but I have done nothing to harm the people of this city. I have never taken any bribes or abused my power. I did everything I could to strike down crimes and the human trafficking ring all so we could have a better city. I am sure you know that very well. I swear to the Eternal Fire that I meant no harm." The doppler looked devout.

The citizens didn't know Jiji could talk, much less articulate his thoughts well. Some of the citizens hung their heads low when Jiji looked at them, while some glared at him.

"You lie, heretic!" Cyrus swung his staff. His eyes were filled with contempt, and he shrilly castigated, "You have no right to be a believer. Your oath is nothing but blasphemy to the Eternal Fire."

The people knew why. The church of Eternal Fire had been hunting down dopplers all this while. They were sworn enemies.

"Hierarch, the Eternal Fire is a symbol of salvation. A beacon of light for those stranded in the dark. All lives are equal to it. That's what the scriptures wrote. And I am a living thing as well, am I not?" Jiji asked.

Cyrus' face fell.

"So why am I judged? Because of the powers I was born with? Even when I've never abused my powers?" Jiji posed that question to everyone present. "Just because of your prejudice and unfounded worries, you condemn me to death? Even when I've done nothing wrong?"

A moment of silence fell upon the crowd. The demihumans who had also suffered discrimination from the humans sympathized with the doppler.

A dwarf with a warhammer stroked his beard. "If you claim to be the speaker of truth, then everyone present would be a potential criminal from the moment they were born. In that case, are you suggesting that we burn down every single infant to cut down crimes?"

His voice traveled far.

"Burn that doppler! Don't let it speak!" some people roared, hiding their embarrassment with fury.

"Do it!" Cyrus glared at the guard.

Jiji suddenly smiled at the people, but there were tears in his eyes. He knew death was coming for him, and he welcomed it like an old friend. "Do it, K'daai," he told the guard. Jiji scanned the crowd calmly, and he spoke once more, his voice traveling across the plaza. "Burn me. If my death is what it takes to calm the people, then I shall gladly give my life in the name of the Eternal Fire. I shall end their worries once and for all," he announced.

"I shall be the beacon that leads the people, and I have but one wish. Once I am burned, I would like for the people of Novigrad to put aside their suspicion and doubts about their fellow humans and non-humans. Yes, even witchers too. I wish for nothing but a peaceful coexistence in the great city of Novigrad."

A smile cracked the lips of the doppler, and his smile shone like the sun. "If I can have my wish fulfilled, then I shall gladly give up my life."

K'dari struggled a little, and he sighed. Cyrus gave another guard a look, and he tossed the torch at Jiji. The flames snaked across the oil and formed a ring of fire underneath Jiji. The blazing light shone upon the creature's face. He was unafraid, and he was smiling at the people, but the smile was contorted by the twisted air.

For a moment, everyone in the plaza fell silent. They stared at the burning, their feelings conflicted. The only sound left was the crackling of the fire.

Grimm grinned at his comrade, and he held his sword, determination flaring in his eyes. "Get ready, comrade. Time to carry out our duty as knights."

And then something whizzed through the air.

Something leapt into the pile of burning firewood, and it exploded. Firewood flew everywhere, and splinters rained onto the people.

The air was lit up by countless sparks, as if the church were holding a firework show.

Some of the wood fell onto the guards standing around, and they screamed in pain, for the wood was still burning. Some fell into the crowd, smoke billowing from them, and it stirred up chaos.

One merchant, bless his soul, was knocked out by the wood.

Cyrus, who stood beside the mountainous pile of wood, was slammed backward by a violent gush of air. He fell with a howl, and he tried to get up, but he couldn't, not even when he was trying his hardest until his face turned blue.

The wood eventually settled down, and the embers died out. Some semblance of order returned to the plaza, and the light disappeared. The stake was the only thing standing in the center of the plaza.

Jiji was grimy and sooty from the flames and heat, and his already thin hair was burned off completely, though he did not sustain any further injuries. His mind was straight, his body was healthy, and he was staring ahead.

The crowd looked at him silently, but they were met with a cloaked silhouette standing before the doppler. A pair of swords jutted from his back, and the viper pendant hanging before his chest fluttered in the wind.

The stranger was young, and his eyes were unique shades of gold and silver, though they glinted coldly with fury. He turned to Cyrus, who was getting up with the help of his guard.

"Hierarch Cyrus Engelking Hemmelfart. You think you have the right to pass judgment on my friend and all of the witcher kind? Very well, you have an audience. Regale me with my sins, then. All of them. I. Beg. You."