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

7. Chapter 551 - 600

Chapter 550

The cloaked witcher stood proudly before the doppler, facing the contempt of the crowd, unfazed and unafraid.

"Roy?" Jiji stared at the witcher, dazed, touched, and worried. "You shouldn't be here."

Roy, without turning back, said, "We're allies, and witchers do not abandon their allies."

The nobles around the stake yelled and cursed at Roy for his actions that inadvertently hurt them. Some of the peasants who escaped the impact broke into an uproar, while some of the younger rebels looked at Roy, impressed.

"You know this guy, Grimm?" Cahir helped a beautiful young girl up after she was bumped into by the crowd. The lady stared at the toughened knight, infatuated by his looks.

"We met once in Cintra. Friend of Ravix of Fourhorn. Ravix is an alias for Geralt." There was excitement in Grimm's eyes. "Find him, and we find Geralt. Then we find Ciri."

Cahir let go of the girl and clenched his fists. "So are we…"

"No. Not yet. Let us see how things unfold."

The slender Schirru stood among the crowd, sizing up the witcher. A sneer curled his lips, and he whispered something into the woman's ear.

"You filthy mutant. I was going to capture you after I burned this blasted doppler into cinders. You dare trespass into my domain?"

With his guard's help, Cyrus slowly stood up. He was trembling, and he spoke, his voice sharp and majestic.

"You have defiled this sacred cleansing with your evil ritual. You have flouted the laws of Novigrad and spat at the authority of the Eternal Fire! You have committed grave sins! Guards, capture them and burn them at the stake!"

"Burn the mutant!" someone in the crowd shouted, but then they curled up like the craven scum they were.

"Did you not hear his request, Hierarch?" Cleaver roared, his voice thundering like a gong, and his greased Mohican hair glimmered under the sun. He glared at the Hierarchy and crossed his arms. Righteously, he demanded, "Regale him with his sins. Tell him every detail of them. And even if he's a criminal, death by fire is a touch too far. A week in the dungeons should be enough. Not to mention you have no proof for your accusations toward the doppler."

"He's right," one of the beggars said. "The church has to be fair. We're all witnesses here, Hierarch. If you want to pass judgment, you'll have to convince us first. And we have bards among us. I'm sure they'll turn these events into a play, a story, or what have you. The North will hear of this. Your lies will never stop them."

The bards and poets nodded.

"You don't want your reputation ruined, do you?"

"Silence!" Cyrus knew he was in a pickle, but he stood up straighter and stared at the young witcher, meeting his gaze. "Very well. As you wish. Over the last two years, with the assistance of this filthy animal, you and your accomplices have conducted evil experiments on the poor orphans, turning them into new witchers." Cyrus roared, "Do you confess?"

The witcher approached Cyrus, and three guards quickly stood before him, cautious and on high alert.

Roy seemed alone, but when he spoke, his voice traveled far and wide for everyone to hear. "Cyrus, if you think helping a group of orphaned children get back up on their own two feet is a crime, then you're saying all blacksmiths, teachers, farmers, and hunters who lend a helping hand to the children who need it are criminals as well. Should we burn all of them, then?"

"That's a different thing, witcher! Do not equate them with your crimes."

"How is it different? Monster hunters are tradesmen as well, aren't we? We are paid to get rid of any monster infestation after all." Roy gave the Hierarch a knowing look.

The elderly Hierarch hissed, his face turning a shade of white, then it gained the color of grass. He shivered and almost fainted.

A burly guard with a mustache snapped, "Don't change the subject, witcher. And if that's your argument, I take it that you confess to your crimes?"

"I do not understand why we're criminals," Roy answered coolly. "We take in children who have lost their parents and their homes. We give them food and a place to stay when they have neither. We care for them and raise them to be better people. How is that a crime?"

"If that makes me a criminal, then everyone here who's ignored the children and left them to the mercy of the elements and kidnappers would be nothing but human scum." Roy skewered the crowd with a lethal look. Everyone he looked at hung their heads low, unable to counter his argument.

"And the claims of evil experiments are nothing but a fool's theory. We have never forced any children to walk the path of a monster hunter. They did it voluntarily."

"And how can you prove that?" A portly mercenary in a jacket—hired by Schirru—asked, "If we don't see them for ourselves, how can we be sure the children aren't abused? Bring the children to us so we can ask them ourselves. Every child in the orphanage has a file in the church and city hall. Bring them to us. All 53 of them."

Those who despised the witchers finally had a place to vent, and they capitalized on it.

"Bring the children to this plaza, witchers. Prove your innocence."

"No evil can hide under the light of the Eternal Fire!"

"Dare you take the challenge?"

"It does not matter even if you don't. The guards will cleanse your evil themselves."

"Do you hear that? That's what the people want." Cyrus finally found his voice, and he pointed at the witcher. "Dare you take their request?"

"He does not have to do that." A beggar in tattered clothes spoke up. "We've seen the orphanage for ourselves. Some of the guards here did as well. We've seen the children, and they were as happy as the witcher claims. They didn't force them to do anything. The children are living better lives than most of us here."

"Who are you?" A guard charged ahead and dragged the beggar out of the crowd. "And why are you defending him? Are you his accomplice? Answer me!"

The beggar shook his head. This was as far as they could go for the witcher. Any more and they would be exposing themselves to danger.

Cyrus turned around and scanned the guards around him.

"Anyone willing to testify for the witcher? Come forth!"

The guards exchanged a look, but they said nothing.

"When I was the commissioner, I—" Jiji spoke.

"Silence, heretic. You're the mutant's accomplice. Your testimonial bears no weight. So what now, witcher? Everyone's waiting for your answer. There's no way out of this."

The look on Roy's face took on an icy tint, and he said nothing. The children had escaped to the shelter right underneath this island. He wasn't about to lead them into this mess.

"Abduction isn't their only crime." A gaunt woman in cheap clothes in the crowd let out a roar, and she glared at Roy with hatred. "Their sins are far more grave."

Cyrus gave his guards a look, and they made a path for the woman. She walked past the crowd and approached the Hierarch, her back hunched, and she fiddled with her fingers, her gaze devout.

"Worry not, child. Talk slowly. Give us all the details." Cyrus held her hands gently and gave her a warm smile. He prayed to the Eternal Fire a thousand times for her. Ah, just in time to extricate me from this mess.

"What is your name?"

"Tarika."

"And you have a grievance against witchers? They have brought untold harm to you? Tell everyone what they did. The Eternal Fire, I, and the citizens will bring justice to you."

Roy's calmness disappeared, and a frown furrowed his brows. He had an ominous feeling about this.

"Yes!" The skeletal woman was shivering. There was anxiety in her sunken eyes, and a hint of excitement too. Excitement from finally bringing her enemy to justice. "Five years ago, I had a home in the outskirts of Tretogor. In a village called Sweetwater. We had a ghoul problem, and one day, a passing witcher dealt with it for us and claimed his payment, but he did not leave. That night, he…"

The woman shivered, and she opened her mouth. She let out raspy gasps as if her chest were sliced open by a machete. "Like a madman, he slaughtered everyone he saw. Dead, all of them. More than fifty families, killed by that monster. Only I lived."

She glared at Roy with unadulterated hatred, but the witcher was unfazed.

Hey, I wasn't the one who killed your family. Don't dump your hatred on me.

"And the bastard left without saying a word, as though slaughtering a whole village was nothing to him. He's an animal!"

"A monster indeed." Cyrus narrowed his eyes and gave the witcher a knowing look. He cleared his throat. "Now do you see? We have a witness. Tarika's testimonial proves that witchers are born without any humanity. Their mercy was killed in their experiments. This witcher is lying. Everything he says, he says to gain your trust."

"Tarika." The blond, handsome knight cut in, "Do you swear everything you say is the truth?"

Roy looked at the person who spoke up, and it caught his attention. Oh, it's him. The guy who sparred with Geralt in Cintra. The guy with a powerful sword. Though he went around the world after he was kicked out by the duke.

"I swear!" Tarika was furious about getting doubted by a knight. She raised her right hand and bellowed, "I swear to Melitele, Eternal Fire, Kreve, and all the gods up there! If a single word of that was a lie, then may the gods plunge me into oblivion!"

The solemn oath garnered Tarika the crowd's trust. Most of them had their faith in Melitele, after all, and an oath to Melitele would catch their attention.

"Settle down, child." Cyrus smiled at Tarika warmly. "The Eternal Fire has shown me a vision. You are a loyal believer, and your word is true. And now…" He looked at the deadpan Roy. "Anything you wish to say for yourself?"

"Witchers are evil! They have and always will be the same!" The men Schirru hired started spreading rumors among the crowd. "Witchers and that godforsaken doppler make a perfect match."

The crowd watched on, and Roy laughed. He laughed as though he'd heard the world's greatest joke being cracked. And his laughter drove a chill down everyone's spine.

Someone in the crowd roared, "You laugh in the face of death and condemnation?"

Roy ignored the accusation and looked into the crowd. He raised his voice. "People of Novigrad, I have a question for you. Do you think the soldiers of the South, the very same who invaded Cintra and destroyed countless families, should be condemned to oblivion?"

"Is that a trick question? Of course they should suffer!" Cleaver roared loudly. He had no idea what Roy was trying to say, but he showed support, and his brethren chipped in as well.

Some of the cheekier citizens added fuel to the fire too. "Nilfgaardian pigs should burn in hell! All of them!"

"Good." Roy turned his attention to Cyrus and announced, "Then that condemnation extends to you as well, Cyrus."

"You bastard!"

The guards unsheathed their swords and whipped out dimeritium cuffs. They surrounded the witcher, the edge of their blade gleaming icily under the sunlight.

"How dare you? Beg for the Hierarch's forgiveness immediately, accursed mutant!"

"Hey, I was only speaking the truth." Roy looked down at the guard from high above. "You're the ones who claimed that all witchers should be held accountable for the killings done by a single witcher. I'm just extending your line of thinking to the invaders. If you're condemning them for their actions, then shouldn't anyone and everyone who works with them burn in hell as well?"

Roy looked at the esteemed Hierarch, and a sneer curled his lips. "Well, come on, Cyrus. Defend yourself. Or do you think you're exempt from that line of thinking? Only beasts get to escape that judgment, though I guess you're no better than a common cur."

Dead silence enveloped the plaza, the crowd astounded and flabbergasted by the brazen accusation thrown by the witcher.

"That witcher has serious guts. This is nothing but trouble for him," Cahir praised quietly. "No one in the South would ever insult the Great Sun's Hierarch. They'd be skinned alive at least."

No one had ever dared to insult the Hierarchy of the Eternal Fire, especially not in Novigrad, where the cult's base of operations lie.

Fury flared within Cyrus' heart, and his mind was clouded with rage. He patted his chest and took a deep breath, a pained look smeared over his face. Everything around him started spinning, and he fell backward.

"Hierarch!"

"I am fine! You're twisting the story in your favor again, accursed mutant." Cyrus held the guards' arms with trembling hands, veins throbbing on his face. "There are but fewer than a hundred of you out there in this world. The differences between your schools of thinking mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. Do not equate yourself to us."

Roy took a deep breath.

"They have fifteen witchers at least," someone in the crowd said. "Tell 'em to gather round this plaza. Tarika will see if the butcher's among you."

Roy whirled and met eyes with a mercenary. Murder flared in the witcher's eyes, shining brightly like a crimson comet smashing into the earth.

The mercenary shivered. He felt his brain skewered by dozens of invisible knives. His pupils dilated, his mind scattered, and he wobbled, but he snapped out of it and covered his bleeding nose as he ran into the crowd.

"Do you hear that, witcher?" Cyrus noticed the witcher's ferocious expression, and he laughed. The more he lost composure, the more afraid he was. "If you wish to prove your innocence, take all the children and witchers here for us to see. We will be the judge of your claims and decide if that orphanage is just a home for poor children. Why the silence, witcher? No more lies? Or are you scared? Trying to find your escape?"

Roy was silent. He was now sure that this whole fiasco was a setup for the witchers. First, the enemy set Jiji up to lure the witchers out, then they slandered the witchers and tried forcing them to show the children in a bid to find Ciri. And now they came up with a so-called witness. All these just to make sure the witchers would leave their well-protected stronghold.

Cyrus dismissed his guards' help, and he approached the witcher, holding his crutch. Shrilly, he said, "Turn around and face your adoring defenders. They have heard of your odes. The fair witcher, the helpful witcher, the ally of justice. They have high hopes for you. You will not disappoint them, will you know? If you still have any misgivings, then I, Cyrus Engelkind Hemmelfart, swear on the name of the Eternal Fire."

Cyrus held his crutch up and poked Roy. "Prove that you've never forced the children to turn. Prove that you are not harboring the butcher of Sweetwater, then I shall humbly apologize. And to sweeten the deal…" Cyrus looked at the doppler, a hint of reluctance flickering in his eyes. "I shall release this bastard. How about it?"

"Witcher!" A beautiful girl in a green dress looked at the witcher, her eyes glimmering. She swung her fists, cheering him on. "Prove your innocence! I know you're not evil!"

Roy cocked his eyebrow.

"Witcher." The beautifully dressed bards looked at him with anticipation. In their hands were their lutes. "Please, prove that our plays were telling the truth."

The King of Beggars stood among the beggars, the hood of his cloak covering his head. Cleaver looked at the witcher, his hair swaying in the wind. The merchants, blacksmiths, tradesmen, nobles, and people from every level of society, had their eyes on him.

"You think he'd do it? Look at him, he's scared."

Part of the crowd jeered, while part cheered for Roy. The witcher crossed his arms, his leather vambraces rubbing each other. A sliver of frigidity slipped into the air around him. A long while of hesitation later, another voice broke the cacophony.

"Very well. As you wish."

A bald, burly man as towering as a bear pushed away the guards standing sentry.

"Who goes there?"

"Back! Back, I say!

The guards pointed their swords at the newcomer and held their dimeritium bombs.

A stiff smile cracked Letho's lips. "You wish to see all the witches of the orphanage? We're all here."

A group of witchers clad in armor from different schools appeared, and the crowd made a path for them. The witchers' medallions glinted under the sunlight, and with every step they took, the crowd parted for them. They looked around them, their swords swaying.

Aiden and Kiyan of the Cat School, Vesemir, Lambert, and Geralt of the Wolf School, Letho, Auckes, and Serrit of the Viper School, Coen of the Griffin School, and all the boys who'd just passed their Trial were here. Monti, Carl, Acamuthorm, Charname, and Lloyd. Aside from Felix, Eskel, Evelyn, Coral, Kalkstein, and Gryphon who had to stay back and guard the stronghold, all the combatants were here.

A sharp air of solemnity undulated across the plaza, and the crowd held their breaths.

"Life is precious. If you hold it dear, I suggest you do not make any sudden moves," Serrit said, his voice steely like iron.

"Hierarch, Tarika." Lambert followed his brethren to the stake and bowed at the guards, the Hierarch, and the crowd, but there was not a smile on his face. His pupils were as sharp as a viper's, determination flaring within his eyes. "All the witchers you wanted are here. See if the butcher is among us."

A pair of sorcerers stood in the second floor's antechamber in the eastern plaza. Sunlight poured through the window, shining upon a man with a scarred face and a pair of razor-thin lips. He rubbed his chin, a smile curling his lips. An elegant sorceress stood beside him, her face shifting like the aurora lights. They were staring at the plaza.

Beneath them was a man in purple robes made of silk. He was handsome, his skin was fair, and he had a beautiful goatee. The man was tied up, his hands cuffed, his mouth stuffed with a piece of cloth, and he was curled up like a shrimp cooked to perfection.

At the same time, a group of elves swiftly slithered into the forest in the outskirts of Novigrad. They wore leather armor of different shades of colors, and they were armed with wooden bows, silver swords, and dimeritium bombs. Ornaments resembling a squirrel's bushy tail hung from their waists.

Chapter 551

The air was stultifying, filled with the scorching heat of the sun, but the witchers had expressions as frigid as ice.

Some of the peasants wilted under the witchers' reproachful looks, and they hung their heads low, muttering and cursing under their breaths. Some of the nobles shrank in silence, while the guards, Cyrus, and Tarika glared at them murderously.

The bards and the patrons of the ballroom stared at the witchers, their eyes shining. The knights could see the White Wolf who was standing within the group of witchers. They exchanged a look and heaved a sigh of relief. With Geralt making his appearance, they were one step closer to finding Ciri.

The mercenaries hiding within the crowd sneered, as if their plan had finally worked. The mutants had to give in after all.

The dwarves, elves, and part-elves had conflicted looks on their faces. The fate of the witchers was nothing short of a prophecy to them. They too were non-humans. If the witchers were judged despite their innocence due to sheer ignorance, then who was to say they would not fall into the same circumstance in the future?

The plaza, once again, was plunged into chaos and cacophony.

"You shouldn't be here. What about the orphanage?" Roy muttered to his companions.

Serrit turned around and looked at him. "Too late to backtrack, kid. We have to push on."

"If they want peace, then we would've left them alone," Kiyan hissed coolly.

"But should they yearn for war, then they shall find themselves waking up in the burning hells," Letho added tersely. He'd had enough of these fools' unfounded prejudice. They wished for nothing but peace, but…

"All we wanted was to be left alone, and yet they wish to back us into a corner." Vesemir looked at the crowd around them, his emotions conflicting. This scene reminded him so much about that battle in Kaer Morhen a hundred years ago. "This time, I shall not run."

The guards surrounded the witchers, and Cyrus scanned them, delighted. They take the fight to us. To our turf. They've lost their advantage. There was wariness in his eyes as well, and unbridled contempt. He had no idea a group of witchers had made their home near his abode, and seeing them gathered in the plaza only intensified the impact of that reality.

He was old and experienced enough to know how dangerous these mutants were. They were unpredictable. Uncontrollable. Should anything go wrong, these mutants could destroy Novigrad as it was. They must be eradicated.

"Fifteen of you, and one-third are nothing but children." Cyrus clicked his tongue. Coldly, he judged, "Witness their sins, citizens. This is proof of their evil experiments!"

The boys snorted in disdain, refuting the Hierarch's claim. They were young, wet behind the ears, inexperienced, and a little nervous. They'd never been in front of this big a crowd before, and they were a little excited about this show they were putting on. They shivered, eager to go.

"Do not change the subject, Cyrus." Roy stepped ahead. "As per the citizens' request, my brethren are here. What are you waiting for? Come forth, Tarika. Find the butcher. See if he's among us."

"Worry not, child. We have many witnesses here." Cyrus sneered at the witchers. "The mutants wouldn't try to butcher everyone."

If the witchers resorted to violence in this circumstance, then no matter the reason, the people would see them as evil incarnate. Novigrad would never allow them to stay.

Despite the guards' protection, Tarika still shivered. She clasped her hands and gritted her teeth, then she approached the witchers, scanning their faces.

Everyone's eyes followed hers. When they saw Kiyan's scarred, disfigured visage and crimson eyes, the people gasped.

"Is that even a human?"

"Was he thrown into a fire?"

"No, must'a been the mutation. Evil mutation."

Kiyan ignored the disgust and contempt shown by the crowd. He held his head up proudly. He had his brothers by his side, a bunch of students he must protect, and a woman who loved him. He cared not for these people's opinions.

He was not the only one who held his head high. The witchers Tarika looked at all stared into her eyes, unafraid. They had never met this woman in their lives.

"Look closely, Tarika." Auckes smiled at her. He thought it was a friendly smile, but Tarika shivered. She thought a beast was glaring at her. "Make sure your verdict is correct. Do not make any mistakes. We don't want to live our lives branded by a crime we never did. Remember your oath. One word of lie, and the burning hells will be your resting place."

"Silence!" a guard roared. "You dare threaten the witness before the crowd?"

"They are nervous!" some people jeered.

Auckes snickered.

"Is the butcher among them, child? Do not let anyone slip." Cyrus had a foreboding feeling welling within his soul. Tarika's expression was turning downtrodden, beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

"No…" Tarika looked away from Kiyan and Aiden, the only Cats among the group. She looked disappointed. "Brun of the Cat School is not among them."

"Are you positively sure about that?" Cyrus' face turned the color of clouds. He clenched his crutch tighter, his knuckles white.

The guards did not look happy either.

"I swear to the Eternal Fire, I could recognize that monster anywhere." Tarika pursed her lips. "He's not among them. I cannot lie. Not when the gods are bearing witness."

Cyrus closed his eyes, disappointed.

The bard near the plaza heard everything, and he happily played a tune. He spun around, almost starting to dance. "Told you we weren't making things up. The witchers are innocent. They deserve to have odes written for them."

Cyrus slammed his crutch down. Through ragged breaths, he roared, "Too early for that, bard. They've only proven they didn't wipe out Sweetwater. That's not the only crime they have to disprove. There's also the children."

Cyrus looked at the witchers, his eyes blazing with fury. "Why'd you come alone? Where are the children? We must hear their testimony. They must confess that they've never been abused or forced to be your test subjects."

"Test subjects? That's the most ridiculous crockpot theory I've heard." Carl approached the Hierarch, his head held high. A few of the younger ladies were swooning because of him. "Let me tell you this, Cyrus. Nobody forced us."

Carl turned around and spoke to the crowd. "We lost our parents. We lost our homes. We had to fight for scraps. When this city treated us like dirt, the witchers took us in. Taught us how to fend for ourselves. We chose to be part of their order."

The other kids stepped ahead and stood with their brother, staring at the crowd. With their hearts soaring, they told their stories.

"We wish for more children to find a home among us. There are no evil experiments. Lies, all of them."

They turned to the veteran witchers, their eyes filled with gratitude and worship. "They are our teachers. Our family. They're the ones who took us in when nobody wanted us."

The crowd was shaken by the children's ardent support for the witchers. They knew the kids must've gone through unimaginable horrors for them to take witchers as their family instead of regular humans.

Cyrus was unfazed. In fact, his fury dove deep into the freezing ends of hatred. They are beyond saving. They must die. They must be sacrificed for the good of the Eternal Fire.

"Look at 'em! They have a beast's eyes! The experiments have taken over their minds! Standing with the witchers is like standing up for themselves! We cannot trust 'em!" someone shouted. "Show us all the children! All fifty-three of 'em! They're the only ones who can prove your innocence!"

A slight buzz hurtled through the air, and Roy disappeared. And then a man's howl pierced the crowd as a silhouette was sent flying across the row of guards. The man fell into the plaza, curled up like a cooked shrimp. His gut felt like it was slammed by a sledgehammer.

The man was burly, mustached, and donned in brown, grimy leather armor. He was a mercenary.

One of the guards barked, "How dare you harm an innocent citizen, witcher? You are in the presence of the Eternal Fire! Cease this at once!"

The guard swung his blade, pushing the crowd away and making his way to Roy.

Something moved. Before anyone could see what took place, the guard's blade fell to the ground, and he staggered backward, shoved by a great force. He retreated into the defensive line of his comrades, his face white with fury.

The guard tried to curse the witcher, but he was met with a pair of beastly, furious eyes. The air around the witcher tensed up. The guard could feel a terrifying aura swirling around him, and then something worse happened.

The remaining witchers glared at the guard, their eyes filled with a raging storm. The air itself felt suffocating, as if the desire to murder had taken the form of a crimson wave, threatening to swallow those who stood before it.

Not a single guard had the courage to take even a step ahead. Cyrus himself shut up, his heart thumping furiously. Something flickered in his eyes, and he slowly retreated.

"Got you, scum. Had fun riling up the people? Let's see if you still find this fun." Roy approached the mercenary and slapped him with enough force to swell his cheek. He then held the mercenary up by the nape, as though he were a puppy.

He swung the man in front of the crowd, but the mercenary could not move a muscle. "Hear my words, citizens. I shall bring this fiasco to an end. I swear to the gods that everything you see and hear is a conspiracy orchestrated by this man and his employers. They've played you like a fiddle and turned you against us all for their nefarious ends."

Some of the more rational citizens took Roy's defense into account and mused over the whole affair. They realized that the whole thing seemed too much to be a coincidence.

"Tell them the truth." Roy cast a Sign.

The mercenary trembled, and he spoke. "It's Kerls. The witcher slander was his order."

"Do not use your spells, witcher. Show us the children if you dare!" someone else demanded brazenly, but their attacks were nothing more than a whimper.

Roy said, "Oh, you'll see them. After this guy tells the truth."

"The mutants killed someone!" A scream tore through the air.

Chaos swooped in, and screams came from everywhere in the plaza, cutting Roy's interrogation short.

The witchers looked grim. They crouched a little, their hands on the hilts of their swords.

Crossbow bolts hurtled through the air. An unlucky guard standing beside Cyrus and the mercenary Roy was holding had their heads shot through. They fell headfirst, their bodies limp.

Schirru sneered and put his hand-crossbow down. He and his companions slithered back into the crowd. Mission accomplished. All that's left is for the other side to do their job.

A group of feral elven archers with bushy squirrel tails tied around their waists squeezed through the buffeting throng, approaching the witchers.

"The witchers attacked the Hierarch!"

"They've gone mad!"

"By the gods!"

"The Eternal Fire has fallen!"

Gasps and shouts echoed through the air, and any semblance of order was torn down swiftly as the crowd on the fringe stampeded their way to the bridge on the south side. The citizens jostled and pushed and stepped on each other all around the halls and plaza, and screams of bloody murder filled the air.

The guards, per their training, went into formation and covered Cyrus, all the while making their retreat into the main hall.

Grimm held his sword before him like a shield, covering for the escaping crowd. Cahir pulled the infatuated lady behind him into his embrace. Cleaver and his troop of dwarves huddled close and stood their ground like an oak tree facing the pummeling waves of the great seas.

"Tighten the lines!" Letho shouted. He spun his wrist, and his blade arced like a white flash, deflecting a crossbow bolt. Nine witchers stood around him in a circle, covered in the protective light of Quen. They kept the doppler and the fledgling witchers in the center of their circle, standing tall like a beacon in the darkness.

The panicking crowd crashed into them, but they allowed them no entry.

"Untie me!" Jiji shouted. "I can help!"

Carl swung his blade and cut off the ropes, then he took off the cuffs and fetters.

Colorful lights strobed from within the doppler, and he grew into a bald, burly man. A carbon copy of Letho was born.

More than a handful of citizens were toppled and stepped to death from the stampede, and their cries hurtled across the battlefield.

Within this stampeding crowd, a group of people were traveling against the current, slowly making their way to the center.

A burly elf donning a bandana and green cape stood among the crowd, pulling his bowstring back to the side of his ear, his eyes trained on his target. And he let the arrow fly loose.

The black-haired witcher stood tall within the crowd. He flicked his wrist and cut the arrow in half, then he locked eyes with the elven archer. The sword in his hand was switched out for a hand-crossbow, and before the elf could even run, he fell backward, his body limp.

And he was swallowed by the escaping citizens.

'Karaka killed. EXP +20. Level 13 Witcher (2520/14500)'

Roy pulled the trigger again, and a white haired elven swordsman let out a blood-curdling howl as he flew backward from the sheer impact of the bolt, and he fell with a sickening thud.

Most of the citizens had escaped, leaving the Eternal Fire's guards and the witchers in the battlefield.

Nearby, a group of elven fighters and archers charged into the battlefield, howling war cries into the air. They swung their weapons as they surrounded the witchers, giving them no reprieve nor escape.

The guards who'd snapped out of the initial confusion attacked the witchers from behind as well.

The witchers were facing off an army that numbered more than three hundred strong.

"Kill the mutants! They've assaulted innocent citizens and our fellow guards!"

The devout guards charged into battle, fueled with rage and hatred and reckless abandon.

The witchers were surrounded by enemies on all sides, and all they saw were hate-filled eyes and deadly flashes of swinging blades.

"Are you blind, you fools?" Lambert spun and smacked the cheek of a black-armored guard, knocking him out. He swung his blade around and blocked a mace that was about to smash his head in. Through the cracks of the clashing weapons, he glared at the young guard before him. "The damn elves are the enemies here!" he cursed.

"Kill the mutants. Leave no survivors," a wizened, imperious voice ordered from within the guards. Cyrus held his crutch, staring at the witchers like how we would look at ants. They must not be spared. I will never bow to these filthy mutants. This chaos is on their heads. Their deaths will be the fuel for the Eternal Fire to spread further into the Continent. This is Its will.

The witchers came to a silent understanding. They too had their souls dyed red with fury, their eyes glinting with anger.

"Leave no survivors," said Roy.

He charged into the melee with his blade in hand.

"Kill them all!"

The witchers roared into the high heavens, even the youngest of them. They were comrades, teachers, students, and brothers-in-arm. The witchers held up their blades and charged into the battlefield without any hesitation.

And thus, a great battle began. Driven by rage and murder, the witchers broke free of the fetters of rules, law, and neutrality. Here and now, for this moment, they were but machines made to kill. The only thing they yearned for was the life of the enemy.

Geralt leapt through the battlefield like a graceful dancer, his blade fluttering to the rhythm its master was playing. With every swing, a guard would fall dead on the ground.

Auckes thrust his blade and skewered two enemies in one go. He pulled his weapon out and leapt into the air, then he brought his blade down like a meteor. A bloody line parted an elf in two.

The youngest witchers were like wolves trying to take down a lion. They exploited every opening in the melee, dashing and swerving and running around, slamming their weapons into the vitals of the enemy.

This would be their first killing of a human, and they had to think of the enemy as nothing but monsters. The fledglings went for the vitals. The throats. The eyes. The hearts. Again and again they swung, following the instincts gained from their rigorous training. There was nothing in their minds but this battle.

This was their debut battle, and the children were performing remarkably. They traveled through the battlefield like a whirlwind of death, dicing the Scoia'tael fighters, drenching the beautiful marble floor in red. Blinding red.

Kiyan sliced the armor of an elven warrior open like it was butter. The elf didn't even see his killer's face as he died.

Letho jumped into the crowd and crouched, then he slammed his left hand onto the ground. Aard's devastating air current lashed out around him, toppling five guards in one go, then the Viper swung his twin swords, ending the lives of the enemies around him.

Coen conjured up twin Signs with both hands, and a stream of fire burst forth from his palms, blossoming like flowers of fire. The Griffin almost looked like he was holding a fire whip. Anyone who was foolhardy enough to take a step near him would be licked by the flames. Some tried to get closer only to end up running and screaming in agony.

The doppler joined the battle as well, though he was almost fighting defensively, only knocking his enemies out instead of killing them.

The plaza was draped in the bloody violence of battle. The ground was covered in blood and flesh, the air filled with screams and shouts and swinging weapons. Within the bloody battlefield, the witchers stood in a single file, tearing a hole in the wall of enemies around them like a lance crushing the defenses of the enemy's forces.

Roy was in the vanguard, facing the onslaught without fear. His swordsmanship couldn't be of much use here, so he relied on his instincts to battle.

His magical barrier broke in mere moments, and blood splattered everywhere. Fortunately, his brethren stood by his side, watching his back so he could take out the enemies before him.

Roy swung Gwyhyr around, and everywhere its edge pointed, a crimson crescent moon would charge straight ahead, shredding the flesh of all enemies standing before it.

Chapter 552

And then sounds of breaking glass slid into the air as the guards and Scoia'tael members hurled their stock of dimeritium bombs into the fray. Glimmering dust snaked and spread throughout the battlefield, and the protective light upon the witchers' skin was quelled.

From the corners of the plaza, sickly pale elves appeared. Layers of leather belts hung from their necks, their capes and pointy hats billowing in the wind. In their hands were wooden staves with engravings of leaves and flowers. These elves conjured complex gestures and chanted magical incantations under their breaths.

A spell was unleashed in the form of a red fireball. It burned like a small sun, crackling the air as it hurtled through the battlefield and slammed into the crowd. A pillar of fire roared into the skies, filling the air with smoke. Debris flew everywhere, and a crater left its mark on the ground.

Letho, Auckes, and Geralt were in the center of the explosion. Failing to dodge in time, they were thrown into the air and slammed into the army. They knocked out a group of soldiers and rolled around.

The explosion didn't tear through the armor reinforced by dragon scales, but it did hurt their innards. Letho and Coen held their chests as they spewed out blood, then they quickly whipped out a dose of Swallow and gulped it down.

"Carl, Monti, you guys alright?" a bloodied Serrit roared, slicing open the temples of a guard trying to break through their defenses.

"We're fine!" Carl kicked the belly of a hook-nosed elf and pulled his sword out of the corpse's neck. Blood spurted all over his face.

No longer was Carl as calm and adorable as he used to be. Veins throbbed all over his visage, contorting his face. His fledgling companions were furious as well. They were fortunate enough to escape the brunt of the explosion, and they huddled around the fallen Coen, fending off the swarming enemies as best they could.

Vesemir, Kiyan, and the witchers who got away with lighter injuries kept an eye on their companions so they could heal in peace. With their mana sealed by dimeritium, the witchers were locked out of their Signs and magical barriers. They could only rely on their swordsmanship and battle instincts to survive the ordeal.

The elven sorceresses did not rest either. They flung and hurled and threw every spell in their arsenal at the witchers, bombarding them with the wrath of the elements.

The witchers' advance was brought to a grinding halt.

The guards defending Cyrus were trembling in fear. They had never seen any warriors as fearsome as the witchers. In mere minutes, they'd taken down more than fifty guards. Demons, all of them.

Cyrus held his crutch, staring at the witchers on the battleground, a confident smile curling his lips. "They might be formidable, but their numbers are limited. Vilgefortz's reinforcements are here, and so are our guards. They cannot win."

As if on cue, an army of guards armed to the teeth came from the southern bridge, swelling the enemy numbers to nearly a thousand. A few were stationed at the port and city gates, and the rest came charging to the battlefield evacuating the people and reinstating order however they could.

And they attacked the witchers.

A minor altar stood in the northern part of the plaza, licked by flames. A gigantic greatsword flew into the air and swung at the elves, cutting them in half.

"Murder! Someone save me!" a pudgy spice merchant screamed.

"Shut it. The knights are doing their best to keep us safe." A gaunt young man looked at the knights with worship in his eyes.

Grimm wiped the blood off his face and took back his Sword of Justice. He stood before the defenseless citizens, fending off the elves that tried to attack them. Cahir kept an eye out for him, taking out any stragglers Grimm failed to catch.

A while ago, the knights noticed a group of elves clad in old fur armor snaking around the fringes of the plaza, tossing burning bombs at the citizens and the buildings around them. Everywhere they went, they killed.

These elves were agents of chaos, and they were filled with hatred and malice. Hatred for humans. Who are these terrorists? They attacked humans and used the witchers as their scapegoats. To what end do they do this?

Cleaver the dwarf stood by the knight, swinging his warhammer up. He leapt into the air and slammed his warhammer into the chin of an oncoming elf, embedding his weapon in his enemy's head.

As if hit by a siege weapon, the elf's skull was shattered, and he fell backward, his head a mushy mess.

Cleaver's hair swayed, his eyes wide as saucepans. He saw the crimson squirrel tail on the elf's waist, and his face went stern. He muttered, "Scoia'tael? Though the bastards were hiding in Dol Blathanna and Mahakam. Why'd they attack Novigrad?" Cleaver looked around, the look on his face dark.

The sanctified plaza was a mess of blood and flesh. Flames burned away at the buildings around, tendrils of smoke billowing in the air, blotting out the sun and sight of the people. In the center of the plaza stood countless guards and Scoia'tael members, attacking the witchers like hyenas trying to tear down a pack of lions. At this rate, they would chip away at the witchers and eventually take them down.

Roy held Gwyhyr before him and sliced at an incoming fireball. The stars on his blade shone, and something cut the fireball in half. The residual impact was absorbed by his armor, and the attack only managed to singe off a few strands of his hair.

"Stay here. I'll deal with the sorcerers." Roy gnashed his teeth and looked around. The witchers were rooted to their spots, buffeted by the fearless guards and elves and their relentless attacks.

With their mana locked away, the witchers had nothing to shield themselves with. They were covered in wounds, their breathing was ragged, and it was all they could do to fend for themselves while slowly chipping away at the enemy, but for every fallen soldier, two more took their place.

"I'm coming with you, kid!"

"No. You're staying here." Roy spat a cork out of his mouth and gulped another decoction. Black veins throbbed and spread from his chin, and he switched his blade out for Gabriel.

The witcher pulled the trigger, and a bolt flew through the air, eventually slamming into an elven sorcerer before he could toss out another fireball. The magical barrier around him popped like a bubble, and horror flickered on his pallid face.

He did not expect Roy's bolt to pack this much of a punch. It would take at least three bolts to break through his barrier, or at least that was the case for regular crossbowmen. The sorcerer sidled away, and not a moment too soon either.

Another bolt landed in the very spot he stood in earlier, its force chipping off a corner of the marble wall behind. The black-haired witcher charged ahead like the wind, the image of a great, terrible dragon appearing behind him, tearing and clawing away at the soldiers standing in its way, smacking them off the path.

The witcher was closing in on the sorcerer at a blistering speed, all the while pulling triggers and tossing a dimeritium bomb at the sorcerer.

The bomb broke into shards, but the elven sorcerer jerked toward the pillar of the church's hall, hiding behind it in a bid to escape the anti-magic dust. He waved his left hand and shot out a purple electric bolt. The air crackled, and the bolt charred the ground between him and the witcher.

The air was filled with blinding light for a split second, and the moment the bolt touched Roy, he exerted every ounce of his strength to jerk away. The arc of electricity grazed his left shoulder, and a great tendril of white smoke billowed from his armor.

The skin of his arm was charred, and Roy stopped in his tracks, wobbling like a drunken man, his face contorted in pain, but eventually, he came to the sorcerer.

The sorcerer's eyes glinted with icy resolve. He would take Roy down with him even if it was the last thing he did. He held his left palm before his chest and quickly made a complex hand gesture. The sorcerer chanted something under his breath, then he shoved his hand at the witcher.

An invisible force of magic hit Roy squarely in the chest, and he was blown back, but even though he was flying through the air helplessly, the witcher still pulled his trigger.

The sorcerer thought he was safe behind the pillar, but that bolt was far more powerful than the ones that came previously. It pierced the pillar, the barrier, and the sorcerer's skull.

A bloody hole bore through the forehead of the elven sorcerer, and he fell backward, his face frozen.

Roy rolled around and neutralized the impact of the sorcerer's final spell, then he sprang back up to his feet, his body so much lighter than before. His mana was no longer locked. If it is death you seek, then death is what you shall get. Roy gnashed his teeth. Come forth, Leviathan!

A thunderous rumbling exploded across the plaza, and a great shadow loomed over the smoking battlefield. In came a giant with mountainous muscles and a crude canvas jacket. Leviathan was holding an oak tree in his right hand, and he slammed it into his left as he let out a roar, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

Kill again! Kill everyone!

Another roar was let loose, and everyone in the battlefield froze. The ice giant leapt high into the air and landed in the south, facing off the guards trying to barge into the plaza. He swung his oak tree and sent countless guards flying through the air. They fell with a horrifying thud, their limbs broken, their chests caved in. They were an inch away from death, moans and groans of agony swimming in the air.

"By the gods!" The citizens ran away frantically.

"Is this a sign of the end of days?" a man cried in fear.

The braziers of the halls shone upon the guards hiding within. One of the younger ones stared at the ice giant, agape. "What in the name of Eternal Fire is that?"

"Could that be… could that be divine retribution?" His companion was in disbelief as well, his hands shaking, his blade almost falling.

"But why'd the gods punish us instead of the evil witchers?"

Cyrus looked scandalized, and he quickly whirled around. "No, this is another trick of the witchers! Kill that evil creature! We have the numbers!"

And then hundreds of bolts flew toward the giant, trying to pierce it, but all were deflected by the giant's hard skin. Dozens of armored knights rode across the bridge, charging at the giant with their lances and weapons held high. Despite their best efforts, the giant squashed them into mincemeat easily.

Leviathan's strength and defense were to be reckoned with. Before him, humans were nothing but weaklings. Weaklings that could be taken out easily.

With Leviathan joining the fray, a huge weight was lifted off the besieged witchers.

"Must be Roy." Geralt was revitalized. He spun around and sliced the neck of a Scoia'tael member open, blood drenching his hair.

"I am not surprised, given that he tamed a griffin." Letho swung his blades and cut down a pair of guards. Now let's kill these bastards, people."

"Let's go!" Carl and the young witchers roared.

A breath of second wind was injected into the witchers, their morale boosted once more. Their attacks were swifter and deadlier, clearing the attacking army around them with lethal accuracy.

Leviathan distracted most of the enemies, and without their reinforcements joining in a timely manner, their line of defense was torn open. Like an unstoppable wave, the witchers crashed upon the guards and Scoia'tael members, crushing their bodies underneath their onslaught. Blood splattered everywhere, but then it was vaporized as soon as it was drawn.

The witchers roared as they cut open a bloody path to the main hall of the church.

A white flash of light shot through the air, heading toward the northeastern part of the church. An elven sorceress in green robes was making a great fireball, but then her magical barrier broke without a hint.

She felt the crimson silhouette of death looming over her, and a scream escaped her lips, then she rippled and disappeared like an illusion, reappearing ten yards away in the next moment. She thought she had escaped death, and she heaved a sigh of relief, holding her staff tightly.

But then the air before her shattered, and she felt the metal of a sword held to her cheek. A crouched silhouette came out of the portal before her, crimson tentacles dancing behind him. Murder flared brightly in his eyes, but it was cold. Freezing. The witcher's frigid gaze turned her soul to ice, and she couldn't even lift a finger.

"You shall die."

Another white flash arced through the air, and the elf's head flew high up into the sky.,

Two down, three to go. The remaining sorcerers knew someone was out to get them. If they didn't band together fast enough, the assassin would destroy them all eventually. Quickly, they made their way to the antechamber in the east, their cloaks billowing in the air, their steps quick as the wind.

Still, their magic was no match for the speed of Roy's bolts. A handsome sorcerer turned his head around in his escape, and his eyes went wide.𝘭𝘪𝑏𝑟ℯ𝒶𝑑.𝘤𝑜𝘮

The release of the bolt was the elves' death knell. He saw the magical barrier of his comrade burst into pieces, and then a crimson octopus leapt from the air behind him and grabbed the elf with its tentacles and wrapped him up until he was a cocoon.

It held the cocoon high up in the air, and the witcher appeared behind it mysteriously. He was holding an ivory blade with both hands, and he thrust the blade ahead.

The tentacles slowly moved away, revealing the elf within. The blade skewered him like he was meat, and blood frothed at his mouth. His eyes were wide, and whimpers of pain gurgled weakly from his lips.

Roy held him high up in the air, as though he were offering a sacrifice to an evil god. He humphed and pulled his blade out of the corpse, then he flicked the blood off its edge.

The witcher locked on to an elven sorceress, his desire to murder freezing her soul.

And then a few silhouettes appeared behind the sorceress, the magic radiating from them almost lighting the air ablaze.

Sorcerers. Roy scanned all of them, and he stopped at two of those he recognized. He had no idea who the elves were, but the humans he knew. One was in the attire of a mercenary. He was in hunting gear, making it easy for him to move. His eyes were black and glistening, his lips were razor thin, and a scar hung from his cheek.

The man was holding a short knife against the neck of his hostage: a man tied up beside him. The knife had made a small cut, drawing blood.

Rience had taken Gawain hostage, and the doppler was blinking furiously at the witcher, pleading for him to leave.

Standing with Rience was a sorceress in a clean, blue dress. She was a gaunt lady who radiated the air of an intellectual. There was a hint of sorrow in her silence, and Roy almost felt like she should've been an artist instead of a sorceress.

She was far removed from this battle. Her cheeks were bizarrely stiff and almost uncanny. Lights of magic strobed upon her skin. She could see the witcher sizing her up, and her eyes were filled with displeasure.

Lydia van Bredevoort. And Rience. Vilgefortz's most trusted lieutenants. Finally, These snakes are making their entrance. Roy knew the true battle was about to begin, and he moved behind the pillar.

"Don't move, or my hand might slip. Don't want to get your friend hurt, do you?"

Rience heaved a sigh of relief and stopped the elves from throwing their spells. The elves glared at the witcher venomously, but they followed their orders. Francesca specifically told them to listen to Rience.

And a conversation began.

"You're far stronger than I expected. Not even an army could take you guys down, and they lost a ton of them in the process. The church is going to find its reputation damaged significantly. And you. You possess the power to traverse space. A lowly witcher like you, possessing a power not even my master has, and he is the world's greatest sorcerer. And to think you also have control over that ice giant."

Rience clicked his tongue, part of it sarcasm, part of it compliments. "You are a respectable rival." Rience gazed at him. "It'd be a waste to kill you just because of your momentary ignorance. You have two options. One, surrender and give us that gray-haired girl. You know who I'm talking about. And I shall generously forgive your offensive behavior. I shall take you to my master, and you can swear fealty to him. That'll bring this fiasco to an end."

Rience proudly said, "My master is a powerful man. He can help you witchers gain a better footing in society. No longer will you be treated like scum. No longer will the people try to chase you out. If he's feeling generous, you shall come to possess a plot of land for yourself. A land where witchers could build their kingdom." Rience smiled, almost alluringly.

"But if you wish to continue with your futile efforts at resistance…" He turned around and looked at the church. Leviathan and the army of the church were in a stalemate, but the ice giant was slowly having his stamina drained. The unrelenting attack had made its mark, covering the giant with wounds. Even its swings were getting sluggish.

The witchers were engaged in battle with a group of guards before the entrance of the church. The guards were Cyrus' last line of defense.

"Then the Collector shall die, and soon, so shall your comrades," warned Rience raspily. "Even if a few of them manage to escape, there will be no place in this world you can call home. The armies of all kingdoms will chase you to the ends of this world."

Roy kept his silence, holding his blade tightly. His eyes were glinting. He must meet Vilgefortz and make him pay for everything he did.

"Worried about your precious orphanage?" Rience smiled brightly. "Don't worry, friend. My comrades are on their way to take care of the matter. The children should be all asleep by now. Don't waste my time and give me your answer."

Chapter 553

The trees rustled as they were buffeted by the wind. The scent of smoke and heat slowly seeped into the air, and lights of flames dotted the landscape. The trees, leaves, vines, and all greenery in the woods were burning, and bodies were strewn all across the woods' clearing. Bodies of elves in cheap clothes and squirrel tails hanging around their waists. Bodies of human mercenaries clad in grimy armor.

Some had their legs crushed by gigantic bear traps, their flesh torn to shreds, their bones exposed to the elements. They fell to the ground, holding their mangled legs in agony.

Some were slammed by logs that swung out of nowhere, and they fell, their innards crushed. Their chests caved in, and they coughed up blood.

Some had their feet grabbed by hidden ropes, and they dangled with their head upside down. Some were swallowed by the holes in the ground and skewered by the lethal stakes buried underneath.

Even though they'd lost a few fighters before they even saw the enemy, the ragtag group made out of Scoia'tael members and mercenaries pushed on relentlessly.

"Craven rats." Schirru broke into a small run, his ponytail swinging like a rotten branch. He rasped, "Once we get the witchers, I'll torture them myself. They must pay for the murders they committed."

As if on cue, the elves behind him were riled up, their faces contorted with rage.

An eyebrowless, ghoulishly skeletal man sneered. "Let me do it. I know how to hit them the hardest. It'll be an unforgettable experience for them. You can hear them scream. Free of charge, of course." The man held the witcher medallions hanging before his neck tightly. "You'll see how wonderful their screams are.

Behind them was an elf with an abnormally high nose bridge. He growled quietly, "Something's there! Look out!"

They were met with a greenhouse, and a layer of fog was draped around it. Refreshing scent of the plants invigorated the elves of Dol Blathanna. Captivated, they took a closer look and saw more than forty types of plants living within the greenhouse. Celandine, crow's eye, sage, and plants they'd never seen before were housed here, thriving and growing. Not even the Blue Mountains had a greenhouse with this kind of diversity.

The fog surrounding the greenhouse seemed to have a life of its own. It swirled and thickened, blocking the invaders' line of sight, and then two burly beings appeared from within the fog. They charged ahead at terrifying speeds, the ground beneath shaking with every step the beings took. Leaves fell like rain, and sounds of cracking branches echoed from the ferns.

The invaders stood back to back, pulling their bowstrings and whipping their weapons out.

"What in blazes is that?" Schirru's eyes went wide, and he took a deep breath. Leo saw the creatures as well, and his beard shivered, his eyes flaring with excitement.

"Look out!"

The ground rumbled, and finally, the invaders got a good look at the creatures. They resembled a pair of oak trees with rough bark and numerous burls, but unlike oaks, which were usually docile and unmoving, these creatures were running around like lumbering elephants, swinging their arms wildly. Despite their size, they were fast, and in mere moments, they crashed into the invaders' assault squad.

Everyone turned the color of clouds.

"Attack!" Schirru bellowed.

Even without his orders, the invaders were already letting their arrows loose, the projectiles whizzing through the air. They fell upon the creatures, but they swung their arms and swatted ninety-nine out of a hundred arrows away. The remaining arrows couldn't even puncture the creatures' bark deeply. All they did was draw a few drops of milky-white blood, but the creatures charged ahead, unfazed by the pain.

They swung their arms and captured two of the invaders like cockerels hunting for centipedes and worms. The unlucky invaders found themselves wrapped by branches and held in the air. They wriggled and shimmied like snakes trying to escape their captors, and their screams haunted the hearts of their comrades.

That was not enough to scare the invaders, however. They swung their blades away at the treants like they were gardeners trying to trim their yard's bushes. A moment later, the treants were already covered in bruises and wounds.

Still, they were stronger than any oak, and these invaders had no experience dealing with these creatures before. Despite their efforts, they couldn't even cut off the entirety of the treants' arms.

While they were attacking, the treants had already wrapped up a few more of the invaders, and in mere moments, there was already a row of soldiers hanging from their branches. Like boa constrictors, the branches were tightening their chokehold.𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒓𝙚𝙖𝙙.𝓬𝙤𝙢

Panicked, the invaders flailed their legs, but it was to no avail. Eventually, their eyes bulged, their tongues lolled, and their beards were drenched with their blood and vomit as they were suffocated to their deaths.

"Interesting!" Within the howls came the excited shout of a certain ghoulish bounty hunter. He laughed and spat at his runic sword. "Come, tree. Let us dance!"

He pounced at the treant on the left, swift as a hare and quiet as a cat.

The treant was suffocating a yellow-haired elf to his death, and it only spared one branch to fend this invader off.

Leo swung his blade down at the branch, and the clash sounded as if two pieces of metal were slammed together. Most metals couldn't do anything to the branches, but Leo's sword was different, and he had strength and speed that far surpassed any regular man. He sliced the monster's arm with ease, and the broken arm wriggled like a snake for a moment, then it went still.

The bounty hunter closed in on the treant, and a dozen branches lashed out at him. Like a spinning top, the bounty hunter spun around. The whirlwind of death sliced off the branches, and they fell like corpses.

Like a billy goat leaping across steep cliffs, he jumped around the battlefield, positioning and repositioning himself to avoid every single attack the treant threw at him. He did not suffer a single injury.

The other invaders saw nothing but a curtain of shimmering metal dancing around the treant, gouging its skin and drawing blood.

A few minutes later, milky-white blood oozed from the burl that looked like the treant's eye, and Leo pulled his blade out. The treant shivered for a moment, and it went still. It stood like a dead oak tree.

"That was fun!" Leo spun his blade and went to the other treatment.

Evelyn was standing in the greenhouse, dressed in a green dress made of tree bark, her hair tumbling down her shoulders, a mistletoe garland crowned atop her head. A wooden staff was strapped to her back, swaying with every step she took. Green light strobed upon her as she put out the fires erupting across the woods.

She then pulled back her magic and frowned. The guardian has returned to nature? A mortal killed it?

Evelyn found this unbelievable. A storm raged in her eyes, her fury icy enough to freeze the land. Green light burst forth from the woods like waves, and the ground rumbled, the air shaken with deafening roars.

Beasts of every shape and size charged from their hiding spots, their fangs bared, their eyes filled with cold-blooded murder. The invaders found themselves surrounded by beasts of all manners. Weasels, rats, vipers, lynxes, and even boars. They came by droves and charged at the invaders, ripping them into shreds.

The invaders were shaken to the core. Before they could stage a counterattack, the beasts had already attacked them, and the air was filled with a cacophony of roars and swinging weapons.

"They have a druid on their side! Damn it all!" Schirru roared and sliced an attacking weasel in half.

The invaders were scrambling to defend themselves. This was but the first bout of onslaught, and already there were people killed by the boards, but the smaller critters were the real trouble. The rats and vipers slithered and scurried everywhere, attacking the invaders where they least expected it. Spiders and lizards jumped down from the trees, sliding into the invaders' clothes and chomped away at their soft spots.

A burly invader's eyes bulged, and he howled in pain, holding his crotch. He jumped around in pain, his cheeks purple. And then he rolled on the ground, his pants slowly turning crimson. The sight of the man sent chills down his comrades' spines.

A freckled elf pierced a rabid dog's throat, but before he could do anything else, a lynx leapt through the air and sliced the elf's throat open, its claws glinting coldly.

The elf's windpipe was slashed in two, and he fell with a thud. A large group of mice held him up and scurried off deep into the woods like they were carrying a broken siege weapon.

The boars and wolves were working together, whittling down the number of enemies.

And to make things worse, a terrible creature that was the amalgamation of a lion and eagle dove from the skies, a great air current lashing out at the invaders. It caught an invader between its talons and took him high up into the air.

Moments later, crimson rain fell upon the battlefield, and a mangled corpse slammed into the ground.

"They have a griffin!"

"The witchers have a griffin!"

A muscular invader with a narrow forehead shouted in terror, and he fired at the skies, but all his arrows either missed or were deflected by the griffin's wings.

Moments later, the griffin flew back down and took with it another invader, sentencing him to his death.

Roars and cries and screams and the swinging of metal filled the air of the woods. The invaders were fending off the beasts, but every time the invaders killed a beast, three more would take its place. Eventually, the green of the woods was drenched with the blood of the dead.

"Damn these beasts! Get the firebombs! We'll burn them to cinders!" Schirru roared.

The invaders quickly took the oil jars from their utility belts and pelted them at the incoming beasts. A great pillar of flames charged into the skies, illuminating the snarling invaders.

The beasts' onslaught was stopped, cut off by the flames. The air crackled and sizzled, the aroma of burning flesh undulating across the battlefield. Burning beasts ran and pranced around, bumping into their companions, spreading the fire further.

The beasts' attack slowed, and Leo pulled his blade out of the second treant's eye, killing it. He swung away at an incoming boar, slicing it in half. Blood drenched his face, and a sneer twisted his lips. "Who shall be my next partner, I wonder?"

A round glass container shattered into shards, and the explosion sent more than five invaders flying away, burning like a pyre. Sparks flew in every direction, and the flames spread faster than the screams of the invaders could.

Behind the army of beasts stood a mousey, balding man in grimy robes. He held up a special firebomb, a smirk curling his lips, and he blinked, the dark circles under his eyes sagging.

"Regular firebombs are bland." Kalkstein invited sinisterly, "Why don't you have a taste of my custom bomb? It's an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Another bomb was set off, but this time, a cloud of freezing vapor lashed out at the invaders, turning the closest pair of invaders into icy sculptures. On the other side of the beast army was a woman in long black robes, and a ball of ice swirled within her palms. Her robes billowed despite the lack of winds, and they clung tightly to her perfect curves.

Sunlight shone upon her beautiful visage, her crimson hair billowing in the air, but her eyes were cold as ice. She was like a goddess holding the power of the whole winter in her hands.

"They have a druid, a griffin, and two sorcerers guarding this place? Damn the witchers! We're in deep!" Schirru snarled, fear flickering in his eyes.

The invaders were slammed into disarray. Schirru tried to fire at the sorcerer, but he quickly jerked away and behind a tree and cackle maniacally as an exploding dimeritium bomb missed him. At the same time, the sorceress disappeared into thin air.

The sorcerers flickered in and out of the battlefield, shielding themselves behind trees and escaping with their spells whenever they had to. The invaders would find themselves bombarded by their spells from time to time.

"That ain't the only trouble here." Leo dragged his blade across the ground and walked past the group of invaders, making his way to the other side of the battlefield.

Within the fog and fire stood two silhouettes, and in their hands were swords. One was burly and equipped with a pair of spiked spaulders. The medallion of a wolf's head hung around his neck, and a scar spanned the right side of his face. His gaze was filled with ice-cold fury, his face deadpan.

The witcher held his sword high above his shoulder, slowly closing in on Leo, preparing to charge into battle.

The other witcher had a pair of sunglasses hanging from his nose. He was gaunt, and he donned Cat School's light armor. Hanging around his neck was the medallion of a cat's head. His steps were light and fast, and his razor-thin blade swung around. The look in his eyes was as cold as his companion's.

They walked together, taking big strides toward the crowd, and they met the gaze of Leo, the bounty hunter with dead eyes, and sparks flew.

Adrenaline pumped through Leo's veins, and he shivered uncontrollably. This would be his first time facing off two witchers at once. It would prove to be his deadliest battle to date, but it would also be the peak of his career.

"Come, witchers! Swing your blade. Dance with me! This is a party for three!" Leo roared at his adversaries and beckoned at them, his eyes glinting darkly. "Two on one. This shall be a never-before-seen performance, and heads will roll. Not mine, though. Before you draw your last breath, I shall grant you the last ever joy you'll taste."

Leo drew a line across the ground as he held his blade up. He thrust his left hand forward and charged toward the witcher, fast as a phantom. The leaves behind him flew high into the air. "The tune begins!"

Dimeritium bombs were tossed, and the witchers found their mana restricted. Felix and Eskel could've dodged that, but out of their pride as swordsmen, they took the hit head on. This would be a duel with swords.

The shrill shriek of metal clashing ripped the air as the witchers flanked the human arrogant enough to take them on at once.

Leo didn't retreat, however. He leapt ahead and jumped through the crack between the witchers' attack. The blade cut open his armor, but in exchange, he managed to land behind his adversaries.

The bounty hunter whirled and lashed out twice, his blade flashing like comets streaking through the skies.

The first attack cut Felix's shoulder open, and the second hit Eskel's left rib.

Blood spurted, and the witchers grunted, but they did not stop or slow down. One whirled and swung his blade down at Leo's nape, while the other crouched and thrust his blade at Leo's chest.

Metal pierced the air, hissing like snakes. Leo rolled backward and dodged the attacks. Before the witchers could launch another attack, Leo fought back, swinging his blade again and again.

Metal clashed, and sparks flew around, creating a mini waterfall made of fire. It shone brighter than any flames dancing in the woods.

Schirru pierced the head of a lynx with his sword and stopped it cold in its jump, but he was drenched with sweat, with not a smile on his face.

Flames and icicles were raining down around him, his companions howling in agony. They were two hundred strong when they started this mission, but not even five minutes later, they lost more than half of that, and their numbers were still dwindling at a worrisome speed. The forest grounds were now a hellscape of blood and cadavers.

As if the sorcerers and griffins were not trouble enough, the druid decided to join the fray. She turned the invaders into cinders with her lightning bolts, sending them flying with her hurricanes only for them to fall back down and break their limbs. 𝓵𝙞𝓫𝒓𝙚𝓪𝓭.𝒄𝓸𝓶

The beasts seemed to be endless, and they swarmed the invaders, keeping them away from the spellcasters. Most of the arrows and dimeritium bombs couldn't hurt them. They easily dodged those using their home advantage. The sparse arrows that hit them failed to break through their magical barriers.

Schirru felt powerless. He might end up letting Vilgefortz down. If we can't even take down the witchers' companions, their main team in Novigrad must be shaking the city itself.

Schirru stared at the clearing, despair welling in his eyes.

A trio of silhouettes were clashing and breaking apart at blinding speeds, sparks flying everywhere. The fighters had strength and speed that outstripped regular humans, and their swordsmanship was on a level of its own.

Schirru couldn't even see how they moved or fought. All he could make out was the sweat and blood that poured to the ground with every clash. And the crimson sparks of blood.

Thirty seconds later, a shrill hum of a swinging blade brought the battle to an end. The witchers and Leo separated for one last time.

Leo was hunched over, barely holding himself up with his sword as a crutch. His armor was tattered, his body covered in horrifying wounds.

He was worn out, his snow-white beard covered in blood, and he stared at his adversaries with bloodshot eyes, but there was a satisfied smile on his lips.

A bloodied Eskel grunted and fell ahead on his knees. A gust of icy gale sprinted through the woods, and a gash opened up the witcher's neck. Blood poured forth like a fountain, and Eskel fell to the ground, his life slowly ebbing away.

He saw flashes of his life playing in his head. Scenes of his early life as an orphan. Nightmares of the experiment. Then memories of his time with his brethren. All the dull moments, triumphs, and deadly battles ran through his head, ending with memories of the brotherhood and his time with the succubus.

My brothers, children, Pashia, I'm sorry.

Eskel's pupils started dilating, and his consciousness was fading to black.

A wounded Felix spat out a wooden cork and gulped down a dose of Swallow, then he held up Eskel's body, his chest drenched with his blood. The Cat could feel his companion's breathing slow down.

"It's your lucky day, mate." He whipped out a prized possession he'd been holding on for quite a while now. Felix intended for Carl to use it, but he passed the Trial without a hitch. Lucky him. Since then, he'd kept this item on him.

Leo roared with laughter. "Ain't had this much fun in a while. Witchers really are the best dance partners. Twice the fun if there's two of ya. Been a real blast!" He grabbed the medallions before his neck and tore them off, then he tossed them at the witchers. "Take this. It's your reward."

His dark, raspy voice was drowned out by the roars of battle, but his smile remained. "I've been waiting for this day. Dying in battle is a lot better than dying in bed. Be it because of sickness or anything else. Better than getting feasted on by maggots." He turned to the body of Eskel. "And now I have my wish. One for one, ain't too bad."

He looked at the fallen Eskel, his eyes flaring with battle spirit. "We're resuming this battle when we meet in hell. Ain't gonna be a lonely trip with a battle partner with me. I have… no regrets."

The ghost of Leo's smile was etched on his face, and death claimed him. He drew his last breath, still leaning on his blade. The gash on his lower back cut deep, his bones exposed to the elements, and blood trickled to the ground.

"You were a terrifying adversary, Leo. The strongest human I've ever fought." There was praise in Felix's eyes, then he shook his head. "But you didn't claim Eskel's life." He popped the acorn into Eskel's mouth. "You died for nothing."

The acorn slid down Eskel's food tract, and the power of life radiated from his body, forming a green cocoon around him. It clung tightly to Eskel's wound, and as if the witcher had just taken the most brilliant healing potion in the world, the gash on his neck was healing up quickly. Like a snake, he shed his old skin, replacing it with a layer of silky smooth skin. Even his scar was gone.

Life swam into Eskel, and his eyes snapped open, shining like two small suns.

The flames burst into an explosion, and Schirru felt everything spin. He flew into the skies, heat and agony drowning his mind. Exhaustion overwhelmed him from within, and everything faded into darkness. Sounds, smell, light, everything. His life was snuffed out, and along it, his ambitions.

Before he fell to his death, Schirru saw Leo drawing his last breath, their trump card fallen to the clutches of death. We lost. A crushing defeat. Vilgefortz… One last thought crossed his mind before he died. Avenge us.

Chapter 554

The battle at the plaza was coming to an end, though smoke still billowed in the air.

Like a great dam in the river, the ice giant barred entry for the hundreds of guards who tried to penetrate his defenses. Still, the guards charged ahead relentlessly, prodding him with their weapons, shooting at him with their arrows, and burning him with their bombs.

Even though their attacks did nothing but negligible damage, the accumulation of their insignificant attacks could still wear Leviathan down. Before he knew it, the ice giant was already covered in wounds, his breathing ragged, his ruby eyes dim. His oak tree bat was already broken from the countless swings.

Leviathan grabbed the stake that Jiji was tied to earlier and spun around like a whirlwind of death, the air crackling. Any guards who tried to even get near the ice giant, even the heavily-armored cavalry, was smashed into meat pies.

The plaza was covered in blood.

While the ice giant was distracting most of the guards, the witchers charged ahead, swinging their swords at anyone who would try to attack them. The guards fell by the droves, unable to match the witchers.

The witchers stepped upon the bodies of fallen guards and Scoia'tael members, carving a path through the northern part of the plaza. A path won through arduous battles. And finally, they came to the main hall of the church.

Letho and Vesemir cut down the guards who foolishly still defended the entrance. Lambert, Auckes, Geralt, and Coen cast Aard at the same time, and a devastating current of air smashed into the golden doors.

The doors yawned open, revealing the great hall behind. Braziers burned in the corners, illuminating the spacious chamber. The ceiling was held up by a few pillars made of gold, and a blazing red carpet unfurled before them, leading to the dais further down the chamber, where Cyrus' throne stood. Where a crimson wall overlooked the hall.

Cyrus stood with his staff in hand, protected by twenty guards. His robes were sullied by blood, his arrogance replaced by fear, his beard shivering. The old man looked nervous and worn out. Never did he expect this day to come. Fifteen lowly witchers. Fifteen bloodied, wounded witchers with black blood coursing through their veins.

They were outnumbered, their potions almost depleted, but despite the disadvantage, these mutants tore down an iron-clad defense line made up of five sorcerers and hundreds of guards. And they did it in Novigrad, the base of the Eternal Fire's operations. They carved a path through the bodies of their enemies and made their way to him, the Hierarch.

This was a feat no human could accomplish. Even with the ice giant lending them immense help, the witchers had proved themselves to be far more formidable than he had expected.

The apprentice witchers closed the golden doors. They no longer had the air of children after going through that bloody battle. Their eyes radiated murder and determination, almost like they were full-fledged adults.

With Letho in the lead, the bloodied witchers quickly closed in on the Hierarch. The blood that fell from their armor drenched the carpets in an even deeper shade of red.

Jiji trailed behind them, and he felt conflicted seeing his erstwhile superior. He never thought he could escape death and face Cyrus in triumph. For that, he was glad the witchers were his allies.

Rivulets of sweat poured down the guards' faces, their hands shaking uncontrollably, and they prayed in their hearts. The demons. They've arrived. Please, gods, deliver us from evil.

"Cyrus, you old fool!" Lambert mocked loudly, his voice laced with fury. He wiped the blood from his blade with the cloth of his shirt. "If you'd tried to coexist in peace, you'd never have this kind of trouble, but no. You just had to… what did you say again? Ah, yes, leave no survivors. Well, wish granted, I think."

The witchers glared at Cyrus, livid.

Cyrus' heart skipped a beat, his face red with fear. His back was hunched, his beard drenched with foam. "T-This is all a misunderstanding. Someone's trying to turn us on each other. A-And I fell for their trick. I swear this is a misunderstanding."

The Eternal Fire hasn't spread its flames far enough. I can't die here. At this point, I have to surrender and look for more opportunities. Cyrus took a deep breath. Once this crisis is over, I'll find a way to topple these bastards.

Cyrus raised his trembling right hand and swore loudly, "In the name of the Eternal Fire, I swear, if you cease this meaningless massacre at once, then I shall tell the citizens the truth of this chaos. It was the elves. Yes, the elves were the ones who brought this upon us!"

This is enough, isn't it? I'm bowing to you. Me, the Hierarch. The head of all fifty churches in the North. Cease this at once, mutants.𝓵𝒊𝒃𝙧𝓮𝙖𝓭.𝙘𝒐𝙢

Lambert scoffed, and he dragged himself up the stairs. "Oath? Your oath means nothing, you reneging scum."

Serrit's eyes twinkled. "But we don't mind knowing who your partner in crime is. So who's the one you've been working with?"

"Rience," Cyrus answered without hesitation. Rience is just a common goon. Vilgefortz might get mad, but at least I still have a chance for a negotiation.

"And who might Rience serve?" asked Letho, his voice monotonous.

Someone started slamming the golden doors, the wooden beam blocking it shaking tremendously.

Cyrus looked reinvigorated. Reinforcements are here.

"I do not know." Cyrus tried to buy time. "He despises witchers, and he proposed a partnership. I fell for his tricks, thinking it was a fair deal, but all is still not too late. Please, cease this at once. I'll explain everything to the citizens. You can still build a home in Novigrad, and I promise no one will get in the way of your… project."

"Sorry, but it's too late for that." Vesemir shook his head, a sigh rushing out of his lips. The moment they launched the attack, they knew the consequences that awaited them. Too many people saw their onslaught. Too many guards died by their hands. The influence would spread far and wide. It would not be something easily mitigated nor diminished in a short span of time.

The witchers couldn't deny all allegations either. Their home would never know peace for a long time. In response to Cyrus' feeble offer, the witchers unsheathed their weapons and flickered across the halls.

Flashes of light drowned Cyrus' guard, and they fell without making a move, blood spurting from their throats, and they rolled down the staircase.

Kiyan grabbed Cyrus by his hair and pressed him down on the cold, hard ground. The old man fell to his knees, too weak to even resist. He knelt before the very creatures he loathed the most.

"Repent. For the deaths your foolish decision has caused."

"You've won, witchers!" Cyrus' face was red with humiliation. Like a tamed dog, he howled. "Please, have mercy. You cannot kill the Eternal Fire's priest before Its eyes. This is blasphemy! It will rain down retribution!"

"You're invoking the name of your god?"

Fury flared within the hearts of the witchers. If his god is nothing but a monster that torments those who only want to live peaceful lives, then that monster deserves no worship.

"Silence!" A carbon copy of Letho took a step ahead, glaring at the once revered and sacred Hierarch. He once respected this senile man. "Cyrus, under your leadership, numerous commissioners found themselves beguiled and lost to the allure of coin, lust, and power. For their abandonment of the path, you condemned them, claiming that they were not devout enough to resist the temptation of worldly offerings."

Jiji hissed, "But you're blind to your own pitfalls. You, despite being the Hierarch for so many years, are blind to your own corruption. For many years, you've been consumed by your own greed. The power, title, and honor have gone to your head. You would do anything to reach your goal, no matter how nefarious the acts are. You'd twist stories in your favor and condemn innocent souls to death, and you claim it is done for the spread of the fire. That is nothing but an excuse. Excuse to cover up your own avarice. Your actions have brought nothing but the taint of darkness upon the sacred fire."

Jiji took a deep breath and turned his gaze to the golden emblem of flames behind the throne. "Your actions have consequences, and now they have borne fruit in the form of divine retribution. God hath judged you."

Cyrus shivered, his face turning three shades whiter. His conviction that he held on for decades wavered for a moment, and tears streamed down his cheeks, as if he had a mental breakdown.

Divine retribution? Me? Impossible. I spent my life spreading the glory of the Eternal Fire. I have given everything to it. For my mission, I've remained celibate. I've refused to sire my own heir, and I have no family to call my own. It cannot punish me! It cannot!

Cyrus raised his head and let out an ear-piercing shriek. "You doppler bastard!"

The witchers exchanged a look and nodded. They gave Cyrus not a moment more, bringing down their sword on his nape. Blood streaked into the air, and the head of Cyrus rolled down the staircase, his face contorted in rage.

Cyrus Engelkind Hemmelfart was venomous until the very end, but no longer could he do any harm.

Letho touched the head, and it disappeared, tucked away in his ring. He then tucked the headless corpse away as well, cleaning up the crime scene. Silence fell upon the hall. Besides the witchers and the Eternal Fire, no one was privy to the death of the Hierarch.

Jiji was surprised. He couldn't understand why the witchers did that.

Letho said, "Well, what are you waiting for?"

"I beg your pardon?" Jiji was confused.

The guards were pummeling the door even harder.

"He's not the only corrupted official around. There'll be more like him ready to exploit this power vacuum, but do you really want another Cyrus to take the throne of the Hierarch?" Vesemir stroked his bloodstained beard.

"What we're trying to say is… Why don't you take up the mantle of Hierarch and lead the church of the Eternal Fire? No, not just a single church. All the churches in the North. If you're Hierarch, no guards or believers would suspect you of being a doppler," Lambert suggested adamantly. "You can rewrite the rules and lead the church to a better path."

They want me to take over as Hierarch? Jiji shook his head. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

The door was moments away from being taken down.

"This is your chance to realize your ambitions, Jiji. Miss it, and you won't have another chance." Geralt patted Jiji's shoulder. "Or would you rather suffer the citizens' prejudice and escape like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, all the while allowing ignorance to rule this city?"

The witchers stared at Jiji, anticipation filling their eyes.

Jiji gritted his teeth, memories of being tied to the stake, slandered by the people, and judged by their ignorance flashing in his head. All his passion and uptight morality was cooled by his frustration, and he sighed. I will not run this time. Lights strobed from within the doppler, and his body contracted and wriggled like a ball of dough getting kneaded into another shape.

One moment later, Cyrus reappeared among them, hunched and in bloodstained robes. He stared at his gaunt, gnarled hands, confused for a moment. He then took a deep breath and straightened out the golden crown atop his head, his visage taking on a solemn shade.

He then felt the cool of a blade touching his neck.

Serrit looked at him apologetically. "Sorry, but we have to do this if we want to look more credible. Don't forget, it's all the elves' fault. And we'll always be allies."

If the witchers came out chatting happily with Cyrus when they were at each other's throats a minute ago, anyone would know that something was off. They had to appear like they were holding Cyrus hostage and ensure their future would be secure.

"Let's go. Time to bring this fiasco to an end."

The doors finally gave in, and they fell. Guards charged into the halls, roaring and swinging their weapons. And then they froze, their blood running cold. The sight they were served with was more shocking than the escape of the ice giant. It was unbelievable enough that the giant escaped through the sea, but now they were seeing something worse. The blasted witchers were standing atop a pile of corpses, holding the Hierarch hostage while slowly approaching the guards.

There was another battle going on in a certain antechamber, and it too was coming to an end.

Roy scanned the sorcerers slowly. Rience, Lydia, and two Scoia'tael sorcerers. Tension was running high. Should I kill them all? No. That won't help. The true mastermind is still free. As long as Vilgefortz draws breath, we'll never be at peace. I cannot allow him to live and scheme against us. This is for Ciri. For my Unexpected Child. And I cannot forgive him for ruining our hard-earned home.

Roy wouldn't stop until he met Vilgefortz and took him out of the picture. He has to pay for his actions.

"You promise we'll have a plot of land of our own if I shake your hand?" Roy held Gwyhyr like it was a crutch holding him up. He wiped the blood off his forehead, a gentler air surrounding him.

"Yes, if you give in willingly." A smile twinkled in Rience's eyes. "I will take you to Vilgefortz, and you shall tell him where Ciri is. Vilgefortz is known for his generosity. Serving him is miles better than working for any king. And you'd better get on it." Rience glanced at the plaza through the corner of his eye.

At the end of his wits, the ice giant charged through the defense line and leapt into the sea under the island. The guards charged into the great hall, raring to kill.

"Hesitate, and your comrades die."

Roy had hesitation in his eyes.

"What are you waiting for? Throw down your weapon." Rience stared at Roy, moving his knife around Gawain's neck. "Get on your knees and submit."

Lydia was deadpan, but the Scoia'tael sorcerers looked satisfied.

He wants me to kneel? Roy shook his head, smirking, and he stared at the arrogant sorcerer. "One little mistake, Rience. I do not take well to threats."

Roy pulled the trigger, and a Scoia'tael sorcerer was blasted through the air before the enemies could see what was happening. He slammed into the wall of the antechamber and fell limply, a big hole bore through his chest.

Roy blinked through space and appeared before the corpse. Crimson light strobed, and the other Scoia'tael sorcerer was drowned by the tentacles that leapt out of the void.

Roy swung his sword and lopped off the enemy's head.

Lydia fired a bolt of electricity at the witcher. The bolt leapt across the ground, but it only hit air.

Roy blinked through space again and appeared before Lydia. The bolt he fired smashed her magical barrier, and the sorceress' arm flew into the air, sliced by the witcher's blade.

She grunted, and a burst of green light came forth from within her body, then she disappeared into thin air.

Rience slit Gawain's throat and tossed him away, then he sent a column of fire flying at Roy, the flames burning up the air and ground.

Roy appeared beside the dying Gawain and spun his blade around, cutting the rope and cuffs off. His Elder Blood roared, and the power of time came rushing out of him, enveloping the dying Gawain.

Just like that, Gawain's slit neck healed and was good as new.

"What happened, Roy?" Gawain sat up, touching his neck. He looked at Roy, surprised. He vividly remembered Rience slitting his throat, and then he fell into the darkness of death. So how did I live?

Gasps came from the air.

"You have to hide. I'll explain later," Roy said. He then made a complex gesture with his left hand and held it high up over his head. The shield of Heliotrope opened up like a black umbrella and deflected the incoming fireballs.

Roy summoned his minion, and a frost atronach came jumping out a maroon sphere. It stood before Gawain, protecting him.

Roy fired off another bolt and appeared at the spot the fireballs were launched. He took a deep breath and…

Fus!

The power of the Bones crossed dimensions and lent immense power to Roy's Shout. The antechamber rumbled from the waves of the Shout, as if it were hit by a devastating earthquake.

A grunt came from nowhere, and Reince felt like a bird with broken wings, his invisibility spell dispeled. His face was bloody, his mind torn apart by a thousand knives. Everything was spinning, and a look of agony painted his face. All his bones were crushed, and not an ounce of strength would respond to his summon.

Someone propped him up and held a blade to his neck, drawing a line of blood.

The witcher's icy voice hissed into his ear, "Alright, Rience, I'm not a generous man, so you have one option." Roy looked around, trying to look for the masked sorceress, but there was only silence. Not a drop of blood was left behind. She's probably escaped, I think?

He turned back to Rience. "Contact your master. I'd like to talk."

Chapter 555

The frost atronach and Gawain were searching the corner carefully for the sorceress. At the same time, Rience had conjured a screen of light. A short-haired, burly man in a knight's attire stood within the screen. Behind him were rows of bookshelves and a vat filled with water. Roy could vaguely see an endless beach outside the window behind the man.𝒍𝙞𝙗𝓻𝙚𝒂𝓭.𝒄𝙤𝙢

Vilgefortz looked at his subordinate, and he tensed up a little. Surprised, he said, "What happened, Rience?"

A man was holding a blade seemingly made out of bones to Rience's throat. Rience's face was contorted in pain, guilt and frustration filling his eyes. His pupils were slightly dilated, and with a weak voice, he said, "I-I apologize, Master Vilgefortz. Th-The brat—"

"One more unnecessary word and my hands might just… slip." The man stuck his head out. He had short black hair and eyes of golden and silver hue. He seemed conflicted. The man warned Rience, "You'd better make peace with the gods when that happens."

Rience froze and stopped talking.

"Hello, Vilgefortz. Master sorcerer, member of the brotherhood, and beloved figure of the Continent's rulers. Your reputation precedes you."

Roy spaced out for a moment. After so many ordeals, he finally met Vilgefortz. The sorcerer who easily defeated Geralt and burned a higher vampire to cinders.

'Vilgefortz.

Age: 68 years old

Gender: Male

Status: Sorcerer, Druid, Alchemist, Member of the Sorcerer Brotherhood.

HP: 320

Mana: ?

Strength: 32

Constitution: 32

Dexterity: 25

Perception: 20

Charisma: 16

Spirit: ?

Skills:

Source, Elementalist Level 8, Staff Mastery Level 10, Quickspell Mastery Level 10, Meditation Level 10, Teleportation Level 10, Mirror Image Level 10, Anti-Gravity Field Level 10, Chromatic Barrier Level 10, Shadow Escape Level 10, Empathic Probe Level 10, Astrology Level 5… (more than three hundred skills hidden)'

Roy inhaled sharply. He knew Vilgefortz was powerful, but this was beyond his imagination. The multitude of spells he knew alone vastly overpowered Roy's repertoire, and his incredible stats meant he was also as much an experienced fighter as he was a sorcerer.

In the original timeline, Geralt and Vilgefortz battled during the political shift in Thanedd a few years down the line. With his skill with the staff, Vilgefortz broke Geralt's legs, and the White Wolf's legs weren't the same since then. In the game, this translated to Geralt taking lethal fall damage if he were to jump off the height of a one-story building or more.

In a real battle, Roy would be crushed in a few exchanges. Vilgefortz was the strongest enemy he had seen to date, but he would not run away. If he failed to take Vilgefortz down, this man would stop at nothing until he destroyed the witchers and the children.

"You seem to have seen me before, but I can't say the same about you," said Vilgefortz calmly. He stared at the young witcher, particularly the viper medallion hanging around his neck. He didn't remember ever seeing this lad before.

"Name's Roy. Nobody who got dragged into your schemes."

"I see. What a surprise." Vilgefortz smiled. There was praise and mockery in his smile. "I'm impressed, witcher. You managed to escape despite the heavy assault from Scoia'tael and Eternal Fire's guards. Not only that, you captured Rience and established contact with me. You're a top-notch escape artist if I've ever seen one. Very well, name your terms."

Vilgefortz crossed his arms nonchalantly. "What will it take for you to let him go?"

"Your rabid dogs have been running around attacking anyone they see. I wonder if you're as mad as they are. If you have even an ounce of shame left in you, you'll come over right away." Roy sneered. "Then you'll tell the people of Novigrad all about your conspiracy. And I demand you apologize to me and my brethren."

Vilgefortz smiled mirthlessly. "That is an amusing request, Roy. Despite this being our first meeting, you're already making unreasonable demands. If that insult is your way to get at me, then it is a lowly strategy indeed."

"Someone's mad." Roy smiled. "Didn't think a member of the Sorcerer Brotherhood would be so fickle. Oh, but I'm not done. We're not the only ones you owe an apology to. There's also Pavetta. And Ciri, who lost her home and family because of your scheme. No, an apology isn't enough. You will pay for your mistakes with your own life."

"Ah, Pavetta." Vilgefortz smiled again, but there was surprise in his eyes. "How did you know of her? Are you a relative of Emhyr? Or might you be the descendant of that ship's sailor?"

Memories were dragged up. It was back in the day when Emhyr was not yet emperor. He was still Duny, the husband of Pavetta and the son-in-law of Calanthe. Calanthe kept an incredibly close eye on Duny, giving him no chance to escape.

And thus, Duny contacted Vilgefortz in secret, requesting that he create a storm while he, Pavetta, and Ciri were coming back from Skellige. Pavetta, however, saw through her husband's scheme, and she left Ciri in Skellige. When the storm hit, she refused to work with Duny and lost her life in Sedna Abyss.

Duny made his return to Nilfgaard and emerged triumphant in his bid for the throne, and he became the emperor of Nilfgaard, the tyrant of the South, and the White Flame Dancing on the Barrows of His Enemies—Emhyr var Emreis. Ever since then, Emhyr has been in close contact with the sorcerer.

Vilgefortz knew that almost everyone on the drakkar died in the storm. Besides Emhyr and himself, no one knew the true story of that 'accident.' Even Calanthe was kept in the dark. She was oblivious to the fact that her daughter's husband and killer had become the emperor of Nilfgaard. In all his cruelty, Emhyr destroyed the kingdom of Cintra to hide this ugly past.

So how did the witcher find out? Pity I can't read his mind through the screen.

"Oh, that's not the only thing I know, Vilgefortz. Consider my offer carefully. Open a portal and come over so we can talk. Maybe I can talk some sense into you," Roy said. Rience, his hostage, was looking somber.

"Roy, is it? You might have not realized this, but your hands are shaking. You're nervous. Fearful." Vilgefortz's eyes shone like beacons. "The witchers' are infamous now. The people of Novigrad no longer think of you as heroes. Your brethren are all but dead. Submit and plead for my pity. Show your true self and release Rience. Be genuine enough, and I might find it in myself to spare you."

Vilgefortz held his fingers together and placed them before his lips. "Your resistance is futile. It will only destroy you in the end."

"You might not realize this, Vilgefortz, but there's weakness in your voice. You're too scared to show yourself." Roy pulled Rience closer to himself and held his chin up, forcing the sorcerer to look at his master. The witcher held his blade tighter. "And to think you risked your life to start a war for this piece of human scum. Even if I were to kill you right in front of him, he will not feel an ounce of sadness for you. You are nothing but his pawn. A disposable piece in his game of chess. He can always replace you with something else."

"No, please, have mercy!" Rience's arrogance was completely erased. He broke down and cried loudly, as though he was poultry trying to struggle for dear life before the butcher could kill it.

"You still choose to go against me, witcher?" Vilgefortz questioned. He narrowed his eyes, his calm attitude gone, replaced by icy fury.

Roy laughed and slit Rience's throat open. The sorcerer's windpipe was slashed, and blood spurted out like a fountain, drenching the screen in red.

Rience the spy, the sorcerer, and servant of Vilgefortz, was killed in the face of his master. He gurgled, his eyes filled with the longing for life and frustration of dying before his time. My master has yet to become the North's ruler, and I have yet to claim my reward. I cannot—

Rience's head went limp, and he fell to the ground facefirst, his breath gone.

Roy let go of the corpse and stared at Vilgefortz. "That's for the innocent lives lost to your schemes. And the lives of my brethren you ruined. This is but the beginning, Vilgefortz. You're next."

Vilgefortz harrumphed, and the screen went dark.

A gale howled within the antechamber, and a dark portal opened up behind the witcher. Noticing that, Gawain hurled a fireball at the portal, and it hit the invisible Lydia.

Lydia let out a scream and rolled into the portal, holding her sliced-off arm.

A split second before the portal could close, Roy pulled his crossbow's trigger, and a bolt hurtled into the portal. The air around the witcher rippled, and he disappeared into thin air.

Everything around him changed. When he blinked back into reality, Roy found himself transported to a dim, dark hall. Looming pillars held up the arched ceiling, and a spindly, spider-like chandelier hung from above. On the walls of the four sides, gorgeous oil paintings hung.

First Landing, Insignia of the Chosen, and Novigradian Union. All important historical events, where sorcerers played crucial roles in deciding the fate of humanity. So this must be Stygga, Vilgefortz's stronghold.

Roy stepped ahead and pulled Lydia out of the pool of her own blood. He placed a pair of dimeritium cuffs on her and staunched her blood loss with a makeshift bandage.

Lydia was in a sorry state. Her beautiful blue dress was drenched in the red of blood, she lost one arm, and Roy's bolt blasted her left leg to smithereens before she could get into the portal. Her leg was a mangled mess, and Roy could see the bones jutting out of it.

Her shifting mask was still as deadpan as ever, but it was glistening from the rivulets of sweat covering it. Lydia stared at the witcher in icy silence. She couldn't speak a word even if she wanted to. In a horrifying experiment, she lost her beauty, her chin, and voice. Since that nightmarish incident, Lydia concealed her true face behind a magical mask.

She was Vilgefortz's most trusted lieutenant, and Roy could see the concern and fear in her eyes. Even when her life was at stake, she was still putting her master before herself. Lydia was the only member of Vilgefortz's clique that Roy did not hate. Her only sin was that she chose the wrong side and was complicit in spreading his evil. 𝓵𝓲𝓫𝒓𝓮𝙖𝓭.𝒄𝙤𝓶

Sounds of footsteps slowly descended the stairs, and the air echoed with Vilgefortz's applause. "You are a very brave man, witcher," said Vilgefortz, his voice laced with magic. Roy couldn't shake the sorcerer's voice out of his head for a while.

Lydia's eyes shone with hope and love.

"Moments ago, you were insulting me, and now here you are. Alone."

Vilgefortz came off the final step, the darkness obscuring his face. He was holding a six-feet-long metal staff in his right hand, his body at ease. The sorcerer took one step ahead, and he split into four identical copies of himself. The copies surrounded the witchers, each as real as the other.

"Welcome to my castle, witcher." The mirror images stood ten yards away, staring at Roy. They spoke at the same time, their voices echoing and overlapping. The look in their eyes was not icy or deadly. Instead, it almost felt like they were looking at an old friend.

For some inexplicable reason, the sorcerer's attitude toward Roy underwent a change. There was even a hint of passion hiding deep within his eyes. "I hope you came here for a good enough reason."

"Finally we meet, Vilgefortz." Roy propped up the listless sorceress, looking around cautiously. Even with the power of Observe, Roy could not see which one was the real Vilgefortz.

Still, he had to stay calm in the face of this formidable enemy. This was different from their short meeting through the screen. Seeing Vilgefortz for himself told Roy how powerful this man was. His mana was overflowing and shone like the sun, his magical barrier made of chromatic shades. Bolts and arcs of electricity danced around him.

Roy couldn't be sure which one was the real Vilgefortz, but his temples were throbbing, his Elder Blood yelling out a warning. This castle was home to a danger far greater than Gruffydd the higher vampire.

"I have a feeling you know me and my story well." The mirror images looked at Roy curiously. "Can you tell me where we've met before?"

Roy looked around in silence. The medallion before his neck buzzed. The mana in the air rippled for a moment and quickly disappeared.

Vilgefortz was surprised. All the mind-reading spells he threw at the witcher were rendered ineffective. It was as though the spells had slammed into a wall that refused them access. He's born with anti-mind reading abilities.

Roy did not answer. Vilgefortz turned his gaze to the moaning Lydia, and he changed the subject. "Be gentle with Lydia. She's a good girl, and she deserves no torment."

Vilgefortz was gentle, but not out of love. He was only caring for a good lieutenant. This was just him being professional. The mirror images smiled. "The fact you barged into my home and didn't attack right away means there's room for negotiations. If you release Lydia and allow her to nurse her wounds, I will let Prince's death slide."

The mirror images took a collective step forward. The sorcerer was genuine. "And then we can talk. Equally and fairly, without any grudge or bad blood between us. You have a lot of questions about me, and so do I about you. A witcher possessing this many abilities is unheard of, and I do love making friends with powerful people. If we set aside our prejudice, perhaps we can strike a deal."

"Just because I'm young doesn't mean I'm gullible, Vilgefortz," Roy refused. He knew this man was a cunning old bastard. "I don't trust you, but you got one part right. Lydia's the only one in your clique who's sound of mind." Roy looked into Vilgefortz's eyes. "Schirru and Rience are fucked in the head, more or less. If I'm right, Lydia is also a painter, isn't she? Everything on these walls is made by her. I can see that she loves you deeply. She would do anything for you, even if it meant her death."

"But you've never responded to her feelings." Roy stared at the sorcerer. He was trying to use words as his weapon, attempting to break Vilgefortz's facade even a little, but the sorcerer was unfazed.

"You're the one who proposed a deal. I would like to see a gesture. Tell me, have you ever loved Lydia?"

The witcher launched his second attack, and Lydia froze. She then breathed heavily.

"Probing into another man's private matters is a peculiar hobby."

Vilgefortz's pupils contracted for a moment before he fell into silence. A gust of icy wind howled through the halls, the fire in the hearth crackling. The light of the fire projected shadows upon the faces of the chamber's occupants.

"Witcher, Lydia is a remarkable assistant. She's reliable, caring, and selfless. I trust her completely." He knew Lydia was staring at him, and he accepted that stare. "But that is all. I am no longer young enough to be swayed by love. Women are on a lower level of evolution, and that's why they're more easily swayed by their feelings."

Lydia hung her head low, the light in her eyes dim, her heart freezing over. Suddenly, she hated the witcher. Couldn't he let me at least hold on to this dream of mine? Why must he destroy my fantasy?

"I have a more important goal to reach." Vilgefortz was, to an extent, an idealist. His face was almost glowing golden when he spoke of his goal. "And I will sacrifice anything for that, even Lydia's life. Do not attempt to use her as a hostage or a chip for your goals. It will not work."

"Look at the skies above whenever you are making a decision, Roy." Vilgefortz then blurted his famous quote. "Do not mistake stars reflected in a pond for the night sky. You will find yourself in a predicament indeed."

Chapter 556

Sunlight shone into the dim chamber of the castle, the fire in the hearth flickering and crackling, illuminating the six silhouettes standing in confrontation against each other. Four were mirror images of Vilgefortz, donned in knight attire and equipped with a steel staff. They surrounded the witcher, who stood in the center of the chamber, right beside the settee. And he was holding an injured sorceress as hostage.

"I have answered your question, Roy. Now it's time to uphold your promise," said Vilgefortz calmly. " Release Lydia. At least let her not suffer."

Roy mused over his options and didn't argue. I can act this out. I have to. I only have one chance, and I have to find out who the real Vilgefortz is, or he's going to come back with a vengeance.

Released from the shackles binding her, Lydia leaned on the settee sitting before the hearth, though the air around her reeked of sorrow. She was heartbroken by Vilgefortz's answers.

Roy took a seat near her.

"Good. I like people who hold their word." The mirror images smiled brightly, their gaze toward the witcher a little warmer. "And now it's my turn to ask questions. Then you get a turn. Fair, don't you think? So, how'd you know of the real story of Pavetta's death?"

"A Skellige sailor survived the ordeal. I ran into him, and he told me the truth," Roy said. He pretended to be thinking, as though that would fool Vilgefortz.

Vilgefortz was displeased. A mere sailor could never have guessed that Emhyr and Duny were the same person, nor could he realize that Vilgefortz was the one pulling the strings from the shadows. He's hiding a lot of secrets.

"My turn. I'm very interested in your early life." Roy looked at the mirror image on the left. Sharply, he asked, "Were you born an orphan? Or did your parents abandon you?"

If Vilgefortz was an emotionally sensitive person like Geralt, the question would hit him hard. He would either look sad or angry, but the mirror images were unfazed. They were as calm and collected as ever. This part of Vilgefortz's life was nothing but a distant past.

"You seem to have an obsession with my private life." Vilgefortz smiled. "But yes. When I was five, my parents, both of whom are Sources, abandoned me. I was left with a group of beggars in Lan Exeter's slums. Like a poor stray, I had to beg for the citizens' mercy and rummage through dumps for scraps. I had to fight scores of beggars sometimes just for a piece of moldy bread," said Vilgefortz, unashamed.

"Though the food was scarce and rotten, I managed to survive for years"

Lydia listened intently. Vilgefortz had never told her of his story.

"And that's how you answer questions, Roy. With honesty and detail. No omissions or secrets. Do not let your feelings alter how you look at your story. I expect you to follow this rule from here on out." The mirror images looked at Roy. "Similarly, I am interested in your story as well. Why did you walk the path of a witcher instead of a sorcerer? Does the mystique of magic not intrigue you? The mana you radiate is leaps and bounds higher than any witcher. That is proof of your talent." Vilgefortz took a deep breath. It was almost as if he could smell the taste of chaos energy. "If you'd attended Ban Ard, you could've been a brilliant magical apprentice. Then all you had to do was apply yourself, and you'd graduate as a full-fledged sorcerer."

Roy looked around. The mirror images were completely in sync. They even blinked at the same time. "Destiny steered me away from that path. I met a witcher first. A monster was on the verge of killing my family, and that was the only path to power I had, so I took it. I needed some form of power if I wanted to control my destiny," Roy said, his story mostly true.

Vilgefortz nodded. "You are certainly different from a lot of people. First time I've heard someone willingly take on the trials to be a witcher. You saw an opportunity and seized it instead of resting on your laurels. Had you lived life like a normal person, your dreams and passions would've been crushed by the mundane lifestyle, but that's not who you are. You have ambition, and you take action," the sorcerer praised.

"It's my turn now." Roy shrugged the compliment aside. "How did destiny set you on the path of magic, then?"𝑙𝑖𝘣𝓇𝑒𝒶𝘥.𝑐ℴ𝑚

"You're stubborn, aren't you?" Vilgefortz shook his head and caressed the staff he was holding. "Three years have gone by since I was abandoned. I was dying in a squalid ditch, starving and ravenous. Then a group of druids who hailed from the Kovir circle took me in and raised me. Druids are a bunch of misfits. Tramps and bizarre people who travel the world and worship oaks. My talent was then discovered during one of their rituals, and they taught me how to meditate, fight, and use magic. They taught me how to get along with nature and society at large.

"This itinerant life continued until I was twenty years old. I had no interest in the philosophy of druids. It makes no sense. They think understanding and getting along in peace is the way of life, but if I had followed their rules, the slums of Lan Exeter would've devoured me whole. Might makes right, that's the only truth in this world," Vilgefortz declared, his voice echoing across the chamber.

There was not an ounce of gratitude in his voice. There was only arrogance. "Despite their abandoning me, my parents left with me all their magical talents, and before long, I mastered all the spells the druids had. Tired of their incessant lecturing about nature, I refused their invitation into the brotherhood, and so I left to wander life by myself."

Aside from his skills with a staff and nature magic, Vilgefortz was far detached from druids, who wanted nothing to do with fame or power. The sorcerer was never shy about making his desire for power known.

"How did you build your organization, Roy?" Vilgefortz asked. "Witchers are lone wolves. They would never build an organization of their own."

"Times have changed. The disunity of witchers was the reason they fell into decline. Eventually, everyone came to think of them as weak." Roy shook his head. "They slander and discriminate, pushing us further into the sidelines, and now, our numbers dwindle so much, we're almost extinct. Being a part of this group means I must make some changes to get along with the times. That's why I convinced my brethren to gain allies in witchers from different schools. The process has not been easy, but it has borne fruit."

Roy's eyes roved over the mirror images. "Or at least it was going well, until your schemes ruined it."

"Don't let your emotions sway you." Vilgefortz smiled. There was praise in his eyes. "If I'd known the witchers had someone like you in their midst, I'd have never let Schirru or Rience sabotage you. We could've had a peaceful talk and struck a deal. We're alike, you and I. I'm a sorcerer; you're a witcher. We both live long lives. We both have mastery over chaos energy. We both wander the land and bring change to it. We both have ambition," said Vilgefortz. "We both seek change."

Lydia was staring at the men before her. Both were handsome and powerful. One was the strongest sorcerer she knew, while the other was the most powerful witcher on this land. No other witcher could slaughter sorcerers as easily as Roy did.

"We're different." Roy shook his head. "All I want is to give my friends and family the best life they can have. I do not harm anyone else if I can help it, but you… you destroyed a whole kingdom for your ambition. So many families are broken, all because of you."

"And you think that's a mistake? I disagree," said Vilgefortz. "It's every man for himself. As long as it sits right with me, anything goes. Do not let any trivial matter stand in the way of your ambition. Mercy and emotions are nothing but obstacles on the way to ambition and success."

Roy was silent. He couldn't convince Vilgefortz to stop his ambition, nor could Vilgefortz convince Roy to abandon his humanity.

"And now it's my turn. Why'd you join the brotherhood after your departure from the druids? Yes, they're both spellcasters, but their philosophies are fundamentally different." One tried their best to diminish their influence on nature and society, while the other worked in a different and opposite direction.

"As I've mentioned, I started wandering the land after my departure," Vilgefortz explained patiently. "At first, I was in a daze. Ambitionless, pathless. And so I tried my hand at multiple professions to see what kind of path was right for me. I was a soldier, a bandit, a spy, an assassin, a wandering merchant, and more. I saw what this world had to offer."

Reminiscence flared in Vilgefortz's eyes. He looked a little dazed, and Roy tensed up, staring around. He clenched his fists but loosened up a moment later. He couldn't destroy Vilgefortz in one go. Then I'll buy more time.

"I wasted nearly six years of my life before I came to the conclusion that none of those lives were what I wanted. In my younger years, I fell in love with a sorceress. It was the first time in my life that I poured my heart out for someone else."

Roy narrowed his eyes. Love? This scheming bastard used to love?

Lydia pursed her lips tightly.

"But the sorceress was arrogant, vicious, cold, and heartless. I was but one of her many lovers. A weakling firmly under her control. There were times where she would have fun with me in the day only to spread her legs for another man at night. Tired of her licentious behavior, I left. I mused over the meaning of love." Vilgefortz smiled at Roy. "And I came to the realization that romance is nothing but a toy to pass the lull in our lives with. I couldn't trust my own parents to care for me, let alone a woman I only fostered a relationship with when we were already adults."

The mirror images nodded and circled the witcher, as if agreeing with his own conclusion. "That was growth, I postulated. And since then, I have not been the slave to my emotions." He looked at Roy. "Witchers are blessed in this regard. Your mutations eradicate your emotions in the process, granting you greater focus on self-improvement."

"That is just one of many possibilities that might arise from our mutations," Roy explained. "I'd rather not become an emotionless cog. Let's get back to you. What happened next?"

"In my youth, I detested my parents who left me to rot. I detested the woman who slept with anyone she liked even when she had me. They were all sorcerers, and my hate drove me to curiosity. I wished to find out what sorcerers were really like."

Vilgefortz grinned. "Herbert Stammelford, one of the brotherhood's founders, took notice of my talents and extended an invitation to me. I took it and devoted myself to this organization. With my overwhelming talent, I picked up magic at a blistering pace. When I was thirty years old, I'd already mastered more magic than even the oldest fossils. And then everything I'd ever wanted opened up to me easily. Power, coin, women, status… Even the sorceress I used to love answered to my every beck and call."

Vilgefortz had a heart of steel, tempered by the hardships of his youth. And he had a soul of arrogance thanks to his talent. "What about you? How did you come to possess your abilities?"

Roy feigned ignorance. "Whatever might you mean? I am but a regular witcher."

"Honesty is the rule of this game, Roy. I told you all of my private affairs, and I expect you to be honest as well." Vilgefortz shook his head. "Lydia has told me everything about that battle. Telepathy, if you must know. You have the power of space and even…" Vilgefortz adamantly said, "This is not something granted by witcher mutation."

Vilgefortz's eyes shone brightly. "I am sure no mutation can grant the power of time and space, or the brotherhood would've been an unstoppable force. Do not try to lie, or this conversation will come to an end."

Roy mused over his options and decided to give Vilgefortz a crumb of information to buy some time. "Child of the Sun. I ingested a plant of that name before. That's how I came to possess the power of space."

"You mean the dwarven affine? The devil's tail? The one they call feainnewedd in Elder Speech?" The mirror images' eyes shone like lit candles, and they stepped closer to the witcher.

"Have you heard of it?"

"Of course. One of the most coveted herbs of all time. Divine Beauty needs it, but dwarven affine is long extinct, from what I know."

"Then I was extremely fortunate to find one in a forest. Only one was available, however."

A momentary silence fell upon the hall. Vilgefortz was taking an even bigger interest in the witcher.

Roy took a deep breath and huddled closer to Lydia. The next question he asked was a monumental one. "I'd like to know about your relationship with Emhyr var Emreis, the emperor of Nilfgaard. Every single detail of it from how you know him until your present day relationship with him."

Vilgefortz hesitated for a long time, his eyes twinkling. Once again, the witcher brings up my relationship with Emhyr. That's supposed to be a secret. Vilgefortz did not ask how Roy came to know of that secret. He had a guess at who this witcher was.

"As mentioned, I used to be a merchant. Old habits die hard, and after I became a sorcerer, I still kept some habits from my trading days with me. Investing being one of them. Regular investments only yield coin and fame, however, and I was not satisfied with just that. And so, I turned my gaze to an ousted prince. Thirty years ago, The empire of Nilfgaard witnessed a political shift. Emhyr's father, Fergus, was ousted, and the usurper cursed Emhyr, turning him into Duny. The cursed prince traveled to Marnadal, escaping with his life. Still, he was a prince. There was a chance he could reclaim his throne. The returns for that investment alone would be astronomical. Risky too, but I like risks.

"And so, I invested in Emhyr." Vilgefortz looked proud, and he didn't hide anything from Roy. "I gave him guidance. On a rainy night in 1237, he was to save Calanthe's husband, Roegner of Ebbing. And he invoked the Law of Surprise like I told him to. The law bound him to Calanthe's unborn daughter, Pavetta. She became his Unexpected Child. The Law is unbreakable. Pavetta grew up, and she found herself attracted by Duny. They had an affair when Pavetta was in her teenage years. Eventually, Duny impregnated her."

And Pavetta's child, Ciri, becomes Geralt's Unexpected Child. What a twist of fate. Difference is, Geralt only sees Ciri as his child instead of a concubine. Duny, however, married his Unexpected Child, and in a bid to lay claim to Cintra's throne, he considered marrying Pavetta's child too. Sick bastard.

"And the rest is history. The shipwreck at Sedna Abyss, Duny's escape, his return to Nilfgaard, murdering of the usurper, reclaiming of the throne, regaining of his name, and invasion of Cintra. You know that fairly well, don't you?"

Roy nodded.

"Emhyr's successful ascension to the throne gave me incredible returns, but the reward is yet to be claimed. Not until his army has taken over most of the North, that is."

Emhyr made a promise to Vilgefortz. Once the North became Nilfgaard's land, Vilgefortz would be the highest ranking official of the province. He would be second to only Emhyr in terms of power.

Roy wasn't happy with that answer. "Honesty is the name of the game, Vilgefortz. You didn't help Emhyr just to rule over the North."

"What are you trying to say?" Vilgefortz crossed his arms over his chest.

"Your saboteur in Novigrad forced us to make a desperate attempt at survival, but I know you only did it to get your hands on Ciri."

The mirror images laughed, their grins wide.

"And why are you laughing?"

"Because you just proved my conjecture. This is a miracle." The mirror images looked at the witcher with passion. They gushed, "Yes, my assistance to Emhyr's rule and sending Rience on a search for Ciri are for something else. Power and rulership are just the bonus that comes with the job. My real goal is Ciri's Elder Blood. The blood that controls time and space of countless worlds. Power and the ultimate truth. That is what us sorcerers seek. Human greed is never ending, and I am not excluded." Vilgefortz's voice echoed across the chamber, filled with ambition.

Lydia fell in love with him all over again, her eyes filled with infatuation.

"I am tired of whatever this world has to offer. I wish to gain the Elder Blood and cross the barriers of space. I wish to witness what lies in the worlds beyond our own. The Northern Kingdoms are but specks in the infinite realms. And do you know why I tell you so much, Roy? Do you know why I am so honest with you?"

Roy took a deep breath. 𝘭𝒾𝑏𝓇𝘦𝒶𝘥.𝘤𝘰𝑚

"Because you are privileged." Vilgefortz looked at Roy. Lamentation and praise flickered in his eyes. It almost felt like he was seeing the ideal version of himself. "I do not believe the story of the dwarven affine. It is just an excuse. You have shown to possess the power of space. That's how you blinked in and out of existence. You also have the power of clairvoyance. That's how you saw my secrets. And you used the power of time to heal that dying doppler, didn't you? You too, possess the power of Elder Blood, Roy!"

Chapter 557

"You possess the Elder Blood!" the mirror images declared, their voices shaking the dim chamber.

Lydia froze and stared at the deadpan witcher in awe. Her master spent ten years just to get his hands on the coveted bloodline, and the witcher had it.

"You possess the power of Elder Blood." The mirror images looked at Roy and brought up a certain past action of his. "And you're friends with Geralt and Ciri. You went against Rience to keep her safe. That means you've lent your assistance to Cintra before. Through your powers of clairvoyance, you told them of Nilfgaard's invasion. You're the reason Cintra's king launched a large-scale persecution of spies, asked Temeria for help, requested for Skellige's druids to clear the storms, and set up an ambush in Marnadal. You're the one who slaughtered Nilfgaard's sorcerers in Marnardal. You're the one who ambushed Menno in the Battle of Cintra. You're the one who almost ruined my plans."

Vilgefortz's eyes were flaring brightly.

Roy took a deep breath, the hand behind his back shaking slightly. He figured out all my actions just from the scarce info Lydia fed him. As smart as I expected. Roy shook his head and smiled. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I cannot see through your mind nor your destiny. That kind of mind concealment is a hallmark ability of the Elder Blood. You cannot deny it. This is a miracle," Vilgefortz gushed. "All the tomes and books I scoured were adamant that the Elder Blood only flows through the veins of Calanthe's bloodline.

Roy interrupted, "Then why didn't you go for Calanthe or Pavetta? Why'd you set your sights on Ciri?"

The witcher had always wanted to know the answer to that. If Calanthe, Pavetta, and Ciri all had the Elder Blood, there was no reason for Vilgefortz to go for Ciri and let Duny marry Pavetta instead.

"Simple. Calanthe and Pavetta do not have as strong a bloodline as Ciri. Ciri's blood must've gone through the atavism process, granting it more power. And she is at a ripe age now. Her firstborn will inherit the purest form of the Elder Blood, and that's what I am going after."

A chill ran down Roy's spine.

Vilgefortz continued, "But you. You're a witcher unrelated to Calanthe or her bloodline. Yet you managed to get your hands on the Elder Blood. How did you do it?" Vilgefortz had an almost manic look on his face, desiring nothing more than Roy's answer. "Tell me, and I shall give you anything your heart desires, be it status, coin, women, power…"

Roy smiled. A certain entity tried to make the same offer before, and in the end, Roy put him under a self-imposed exile for ten years. "Child of the Sun. That's what happened. That's the truth."

"Do not test my patience, witcher." Vilgefortz slowly stepped ahead, spinning his staff around deftly, preparing for battle. "If you wish to protect Ciri, then you will tell me how you gained the Elder Blood. And I shall lay my hands off her. There is an insurmountable difference between our abilities. If we do battle, you will not come out alive," said Vilgefortz arrogantly. "Lend your assistance. Work with me, and once I gain the Elder Blood, this world shall be our oyster. And not just this world. We can go on a journey to the worlds beyond together." Vilgefortz grinned brightly. "Can you feel it? The strongest witcher and the strongest sorcerer journeying together? What a sight it will be."

Roy looked at the sorcerer with wariness and contempt. "Sorry, but I refuse."

"I sense contempt in your eyes. Did you find the secret lab of this castle?"

Roy said nothing, but that was as good an answer as it was for Vilgefortz. The sorcerer circled around Roy and patiently persuaded, "Roy, people are divided into different castes since the day they were born. Those who have power not only have control over their destiny; they have control over everyone else's as well. That's the undisputed truth. The women in my lab are weak, and many of them have died, but their sacrifice told me something important, and through them, I gleaned the method to extract the Elder Blood. They died for something noble." Vilgefortz sounded so matter-of-fact.

"You have the Elder Blood flowing within you. Do not let mercy or emotions sway your will."

"You make a persuasive argument." Roy nodded and shook his head. "But you are missing one important element."

"Which is?" The mirror images cocked their eyebrows and leaned ahead, ready to listen.

"Humanity." Roy looked at the image on the left, and he clenched his fists. "You think of yourself as a god, Vilgefortz, but what makes you think you have the right to dictate the lives of innocent souls? You captured innocent women and forced them to bear children, putting them through torture just to prove your sick theory correct? You're out of your mind."

Vilgefortz wasn't angry. Instead, he smiled, though sardonically. "Am I hearing this right? A vagabond witcher talking about humanity with me? A sorcerer and a member of the brotherhood? Why, you have a noble soul, but don't you see? After that fiasco in Novigrad, you should know that those peasants care nothing about humanity. Talk sense to them all you want, and all you get in return is nothing but fear, prejudice, and curses. In that case, you should prove their fears right and destroy them. Humanity? That's an excuse for those too weak to seek power."

Vilgefortz's mirror images surrounded Roy. "Do not let humanity bind you, Roy. This life is a game of chess, and you're a player, not a pawn. Give the game your all. Do not let anything sway you." The mirror images were dangerously close. One more step and they would be crossing the line. They were extending their hands to Roy. "Join me, and we shall create an empire. Do not worry, you're no virgin, nor are you a woman. You cannot be impregnated. My theory will not work on you, and by extension, I won't hurt you."

Roy covered his face and took a deep breath. "Very tempting offer, Vilgefortz." He didn't bother hiding his hesitation. If he'd run into Vilgefortz instead of Letho when he first came to this world, the arrogant sorcerer might have taken him down a completely different path than he'd chosen, but destiny had made its choice for Roy.

"But I refuse."

"Why?"

"Because I have friends, family, and those I love. Love is the foundation of humanity, and you ask for me to relinquish it. If I do that, I may cross the point of no return," Roy said, struggling with himself.

"I see. You're still young. Still lacking in experience. You are yet blind to the truth." The mirror images stared at Roy. Imperiously, he said, "You require a mentor, and I can take that role."

The witcher and the sorcerer locked eyes. One had a soul filled with desire and ambition, the other filled with fighting spirit. A gale howled within the castle, the fire in the hearth crackling along. A blob of crimson silhouette was projected onto the wall, and it was dancing.

Then, a gigantic octopus leapt from beneath the witcher, flailing its infinite tentacles around. The mirror images around Roy remained confident and collected.

Then the tentacles wrapped them up, and something tore through the air. A crimson flash arced across the chamber and split the mirror images in two, but not a drop of blood was drawn. The images shattered and disappeared, melding into air like popped bubbles.

They're all mirror images. Roy's heart sank, and he quickly covered himself with magical barriers. The kaleidoscopic circle of Yrden shone underneath him, and the witcher held his blade tightly, scanning the chamber as hard as he could.

The walls, the hearth, the candelabra, the settee, the table, and Lydia. He checked everything, but Vilgefortz was nowhere to be found.

"As obstinate as ever, Roy." Vilgefortz mocking voice assailed Roy from all directions, as if he had countless mirror images talking to him everywhere. "Do you really think you can kill me just because you managed to kill Rience and the elven sorcerers? You are on my turf. I have the home advantage, but I'm generous. I'll make you realize the gap between us. Why don't you show me how much of your bloodline's strength you've awakened?"

The boom of thunder roared across the air, and blinding flashes of light illuminated the chamber, arcing through the air like electric snakes. The settee was sent flying to the wall like a capsized boat. Lydia was buried underneath, and she grunted before she went completely silent.

Roy's magical barriers were shattered in an instant, but before the magical attack could completely numb him, he fired off a shot.

The bolt hurtled through the air, and sparks flew as a steel staff hit it. The staff only appeared for a split second, but it managed to deflect the bolt.

At the same time, Roy disappeared from the center of the explosion and reappeared at the staircase, tendrils of smoke billowing from him. He stood like a bow that was pulled, Aerondight held to his side like an arrow poised to shoot.

The witcher held his blade against a vague silhouette at the staircase. Crimson halos swirled behind him, and like a bloody boa constrictor, the crimson light slithered up the blade.

Vilgefortz was standing a few yards away. In his right hand was his staff, and he made a simple gesture with his left hand. Flames roared forth, and mana howled. Hellfire exploded before the witcher, and the dragon made of flames engulfed him.

The explosion shook the chamber, and debris rained from the ceiling. The witcher hurtled across the air as though he was hit by a siege weapon squarely in the chest. He crashed into the wall, and cracks spread across the granite. The painting of 'First Landing' fell to the ground, clinking.

The rancid stench of smoke permeated the air, and the witcher fell to the ground, spewing blood. His limbs were trembling, his skin charred and red. White smoke hissed upon the witcher's flesh, as if he were cooked over open fire.

His HP was reduced by a staggering two-third of its original value, but at least he found Vilgefortz's real body.

He looked at the sorcerer and left a gem marking on him.

The silhouette at the staircase shook his head, holding a lightning ball in his left hand. "I told you, Roy. I know all about you, but you know nothing of my power. For more than thirty years, I have not met my equal in this land. There's a reason I'm bored of this place. I have mastered three hundred and thirty-five spells, and I can kill you in more than ten thousand ways. I can make your life a living hell. You could've just worked with me, but you had to be difficult."

Roy grunted and jerked away before the lightning ball could hit him. The ball slammed into the wall behind Roy, and an arc of electricity touched his armor. He trembled.

Activate. A wave of warmth gushed through his veins, healing Roy and returning his charred skin to its earlier state.

Vilgefortz clicked his tongue.

Roy quickly made the Sign of Clamp, and his mirror image jumped out of the magical stream, defending him.

Before the mirror image could take the crossbow, however, the air boomed, and the ground shook. Vilgefortz fired off multiple spells, and the elements spun and spun, eventually forming a chromatic torrent of magic.

The torrent swallowed Roy's mirror image and shattered it to pieces, but then a great silhouette appeared and took the torrent head on.

The black dragon tore the attack to pieces, and it lashed its tail around, destroying the pillars holding the ceiling up. The ground was upturned and shattered like it was tilled by a gigantic hoe.

As the dragon flapped its wings, furniture, decor, and even the chandelier fell. Dust and debris flew in all directions, and the dragon opened its maw.

The witcher charged ahead with his blade in hand. His hair was burned, his face covered in blisters and black veins. His eyes were firmly locked upon the sorcerer standing near the staircase, his ivory blade humming shrilly, ready for battle.

The witcher took a deep breath.

"Fus!"

Ripples spread across the air. The beams cracked, the walls trembled, the window and glass objects shattered into pieces.

The Shout hit Vilgefortz, or it seemed to be the case. His smile faded, and for a moment, he was dazed.

That split second was enough for the dragon. It was already inches away from him.

Fear. The witcher's eyes were dyed crimson, and a bloody sea raged in the air. Mountainous tentacles burst from the surface, and following those, a terrifying octopus came forth.

The air was filled with viscous blood as the octopus wrapped Vilgefortz up, compressing him bit by bit.

The dragon smashed a hole through the staircase, and Roy stabbed his blade through the tentacles and pinned Vilgefortz on the stairs behind him. He whipped out Gwyhyr and swung it. A crimson arc of light charged from its edge, illuminating the chamber in red.

The cocoon was split apart, and a great gash was left upon the stairs, but Roy was not delighted at all. His heart sank deeper and deeper. There was no indication that he killed Vilgefortz, and the marking he left on the sorcerer disappeared.

He crouched and tried to roll away, but then a great wave of mana slammed down on him, keeping him pinned.

Pale, rotten hands appeared everywhere around him. Howls from beyond the grave filled the air as the hands grasped Roy's legs.

Roy felt a gust of wind coming from behind, and he exerted every ounce of his strength to move away, yet the staff hit him nonetheless. A stab of pain seared from his right cheek, and he fell to the stairs. His nose broke, and his mind was buzzing.

The witcher slid down. Vilgefortz stood behind him, apparently appearing out of nowhere. He was swinging his metal staff with incredible dexterity, hitting Roy four times.

Sounds of bones broken echoed across the chamber. The sorcerer broke all of Roy's limbs, and he flipped his hand, turning Roy around with a wave of invisible magical power.

Roy lay limply, his face red, then purple, then green. The witcher breathed heavily, as if he were suffocating even though there was air all around him.

"Roy, my friend." Vilgefortz crossed his arms, looking down at Roy with pity. "That is all you have? Too little, I'm afraid. You're far too green in combat. You failed to discern where the real me was, though I must admit that my spells are far better than what anyone can conjure."

He spoke with concern, as if he were just trying to teach a rowdy protégé a lesson. "Have you had enough? Do you realize how foolish you've been? I do admire you, I must admit. Your vision, your bloodline, and your fighting prowess for someone your age. They are all top notch. You're as powerful as I was when I was your age. It's like seeing another me, but alas, my patience is limited. If you refuse to work with me, then you will lose your privilege as a partner. I shall take you as an experimental subject."

Roy glared at the sorcerer, and he transported a Forgotten Acorn from his inventory straight into his mouth, then he gulped furtively.

The moment the acorn slid into his belly, a wave of life force enveloped the witcher. His character sheet shone a bright green.

'You have ingested a Forgotten Acorn. Your Constitution has exceeded 25 points. You are immune to the acorn's poison. You now gain 5 points for Constitution.

Constitution: 25 → 30

HP: 100/330 → 380/380

Mana: 200/310 → 310/310 𝒍𝙞𝙗𝒓𝒆𝙖𝓭.𝙘𝒐𝒎

You are completely healed.'

Roy balled his fists and looked at Vilgefortz with murder in his eyes. And then a group of towering silhouettes came falling from the skies as they responded to Roy's summon.

Chapter 558

The castle shuddered as the silhouettes made their appearance. A great figure appeared within the wrecked chamber. Listless Leviathan stood before the witcher, defending him. Only a crater was left in the spot Vilgefortz was standing moments ago.

A shrill shriek tore through the air as a griffin the size of a buffalo hovered in the air, flapping its wings. The gale it stirred up flailed the furniture around, and the fire in the hearth threatened to go out.

Griffin looked around the battlefield. Roy stood between his mounts, quickly casting his magical barriers again. Then a mirror image of Roy and a frost atronach made their appearance, standing by Roy.

These were all the minions he could summon for now. The witcher downed a dose of Thunderbolt and Ekhidna decoction. Once again, black veins crawled over his face.

Then, a blinding flash of lightning tore through the night skies beyond the window, and thunder blasted overhead.

"An ice giant, a griffin, a mirror image, and a… an elemental? Could this be a spell you created yourself? Color me impressed, Roy. You are perhaps a genius of Alzur's level." Vilgefortz's voice echoed in the castle. "You are far beyond any witcher, but it's a pity your minions are too weak."

Countless mirror images flashed around the chamber. They swung their staves around, and magic flared within their hands. Roy could feel the mark. It was right over his head and somewhere over the ceiling.

"Allow me to demonstrate what a true summoning spell is like."

Crimson light flared from within the flames, and an invisible force pulled back the curtains of this realm, revealing a burning space behind. Waves of scorching heat poured into the chamber, raising its temperature by at least 80 degrees. Despite being under his minions' protection, Roy still felt the heat eating away at his flesh and soul.

The world behind those unveiled curtains was made of flames. Tall, looming ravines extended infinitely, and a river of steaming hot lava sped down the mountains. Atop the river was a humanoid creature more than twelve feet tall. As if responding to someone's summon, it crawled out of the fireplace.

The creature had skin red as flames, back broad as mountains, arms slender as snakes, and an ethereal lower body made of gas. A pair of curled horns jutted from the creature's forehead, and a crown of smoke and lava adorned its head. It had big eyes and a bigger nose, a pair of fangs jutting from its maw. Tendrils of flames slithered from its eyes, nose, and cracks between its teeth. A fiery mane covered its neck and chest.

'Ifrit

One of the four elementals

?'

"Let the battle of the minions begin."

The flame elemental opened its maw and fired off a stream of flames at the witcher and his minions.

Leviathan roared and picked up a broken pillar from the ground. He hurled the pillar at the fire and extinguished its flames before shoving it out of the window.

Gryphon screeched and charged ahead like the wind, while the frost atronach held its fists before itself and hurtled toward the ifrit. Roy's mirror image pulled the crossbow's trigger, while the real Roy leapt into the air and swung his blade high up into the ceiling. A crimson energy beam tore a hole through the ceiling, and the witcher went into it.

The pillar slammed into the window and tore a large hole in the wall. Sharp, biting winds sprinted into the chamber, arcs of lightning tearing through the skies outside.

And then a whip of flames darted through the hole like a tentacle attacking its prey. The whip lashed out at the flying griffin, and she let out a howl as she fell down the cliff like a broken kite, her feathers fluttering everywhere.

The whip did not stop its momentum. It kept charging ahead, turning into a hurricane of fire. Roy's mirror image was vaporized under the heat, and then the whip wrapped itself around Leviathan and the frost atronach's legs.

It yanked them backward, melting the atronach's ice and sizzling Leviathan's leg. The giant's flesh was quickly cooked, and smoke billowed from the wound.

The minions roared, but they couldn't stop the whip from pulling them out the hole in the wall.

They were pulled down the castle, and the creatures battled on top of the dried out lake. The ifrit hovered over the cracked, parched land. It held the giant's neck and armpit, its ethereal legs wrapped around the giant's lower body like a boa constrictor. It almost looked like a titanoboa was constricting a giant gorilla.

The ifrit's flames swirled and shimmered, and tendrils of flames slithered out of Leviathan's pores, igniting him. As if they were alive, the flames snaked into the creature's every single orifice, burning it from within.

Leviathan's eyes were red, drool lathering his dry, cracked lips. He roared in rage and agony as he tried to slam and pull the ifrit's body away. Leviathan jumped and rolled around the ground, cracking it further, but it couldn't break free of the ifrit's bondage.

Gryphon screeched to the high heavens and swooped in, trying to swipe away at the ifrit's back and save Leviathan.

The elemental, however, was not made of flesh. It had control over all particles of the element of fire, and it could blink in and out of reality at will. Gryphon could never land any attack on fire itself. As it plunged its claws into the ifrit's body, the ifrit's flames slithered up its limbs, burning its beautiful feathers.

Gryphon roared and jumped into the pond to douse the flames.

Only the atronach could stand against the elemental. The frost elemental surrounded itself with the power of ice, circling the ifrit. Like a boxer in training, the atronach punched away at the ifrit. Every time it did, sparks flew, and the frost atronach's ice doused them.

Still, the atronach was in dire straits. Slowly, its ice was melting. This was but the first bout of battle, and the witcher's minions were at an overwhelming disadvantage. Defeat was a matter of time.

Roy was in a maze-like corridor.

"I won't hold back this time, Roy," warned Vilgefortz.

Roy leapt away from the sorcerer's web of electricity and hid behind a pillar. He could feel his mark on the sorcerer standing vaguely beside the pillar on the other side. The sorcerer was drawing mana from the convergence points all around him. Despite the barrage of spells he had unleashed, Vilgefortz showed no sign of exhaustion. On the contrary, he was speeding up.

Roy tried to hurl a bolt of electricity at the sorcerer, but Vilgefortz's chromatic barrier deflected it easily.

The sorcerer hurled a blinding beam of light at the witcher. The flash of light blasted through the pillar Roy was hiding behind, and it grazed Roy's magical barrier.

The barrier of Heliotrope was shattered, and the wall around Roy melted away, revealing a big hole. 𝓵𝒊𝒃𝙧𝓮𝙖𝓭.𝙘𝒐𝙢

Roy hastily rolled away and fired off a bolt. He disappeared and reappeared before Vilgefortz, the witcher's eyes bloody red. Tentacles burst forth from the crimson seas and enveloped Vilgefortz, but Roy couldn't do much more than that.

A gust of dark gale moaned in the air, and countless hands of the dead appeared out of thin air. They dragged him into their midst and stopped him cold. Roy felt a wave of chill flow into his blood.

The sorcerer and the witcher, both rendered immobile. Their eyes met. Roy's were filled with flames of fury, while Vilgefortz were filled with mockery and ice-cold calm.

A few moments later, the bindings were unraveled, and Roy charged at the sorcerer, spinning his blade around.

Vilgefortz spun his staff, readily accepting the challenge.

Despite the power of the decoction and Guardian buffing him and Yrden slowing his enemy down, it took all Roy had just to keep up with the sorcerer's speed.

A gust of wind blew down the corridor, the sconces flickering. The air was filled with the moans of mana, the bursts of exploding air, and the clash of metal. A pair of silhouettes leapt and jumped across the battlefield.

Roy's blade swung against the whirling staff, their metal glinting coldly. The ground and paintings and ceiling cracked every time the witcher and sorcerer clashed. Debris fell liberally like gray snow in a deadly winter.

Another heavy hit from the staff. Roy could barely fend it off. He tried to strike back like a snake fighting off an eagle. Gwyhyr met the metal staff, and it was deflected. The staff hit the wall beside Roy, crushing the marble.

A lightning arc streaked across the heavens, the momentary light shining upon the nervous witcher. Rivulets of sweat were pouring down his chin.

A small bolt of lightning jumped forth from Vilgefortz's hand, the air crackling in its presence. Right before the lightning arc could hit Roy, the witcher leapt and hung from the ceiling like a lizard.

The sorcerer jumped and lashed his staff out at Roy, but Roy managed to evade it milliseconds before he was hit. The staff punctured a hole through the ceiling, revealing the ominous skies above.

"You're fast, kid," Vilgefortz praised.

Roy fired off a bolt, and it passed through the hole in the ceiling. The witcher blinked and reappeared on the top of the castle. He fired off another bolt high into the skies. The air was densely humid at this altitude, and the skies were dark as ink, with streaks of lightning pulsing and strobing within the clouds.

From where the bolt stood, the castle of Stygga looked rickety and rundown. Roy was as insignificant as a speck of dust.

Vilgefortz appeared at the other side of the castle, his shirt covered in chromatic lights. His force field held up the sorcerer in the air. Vilgefortz tucked his staff away and spread his arms as he moved up high into the skies, the rush of air current billowing his shirt.

He pointed in a direction, and thunder boomed. An arc of lightning slithered across the skies, then it slammed down at the witcher's position, but moments before the forked lightning hit, the witcher had blinked away with yet another bolt of his.

"That was a good show, kid. It has been too long since I had a battle of this caliber, but this is as far as you get. You will fall from the skies, dead as a doornail."

Thunder boomed in the clouds over the sorcerer's head, and a sea of lightning rained from the skies.

The witcher pulled his crossbow's trigger a few times and blinked a few hundred yards away before the lightning could hit him.

The sea of lightning thundered down upon the arid land, basking it in a sea of blinding light. When the light slowly dimmed and faded into obscurity, all that was left were tendrils of smoke billowing from the land. The air was broken down into its different elements, and the stench of ozone filled the surroundings.

Roy reappeared on the mountains, spared from the sea of lightning, and then he fired off another bolt at the sorcerer. He reappeared near the enemy and thrust his steel weapon at Vilgefortz.

The sorcerer shoved the air, and an invisible force field undulated around him. Roy thought a wyvern just slammed into him. Everything around him spun, and his sword fell out of his hands.

The witcher flew backward, and then an arc of lightning slammed into the witcher. His body tensed up, his hair straight from the electricity. A gust of gale blew, and smoke billowed from his body.

The witcher was numb, and he was falling to the arid land thousands of feet underneath, but then his eyes snapped open. With the power of Guardian, he used the Ring of Time once more. The lightning's damage was negated, and he pulled the trigger once more.

Roy slammed into Vilgefortz's force field once more with his sword in hand, and he jumped back almost immediately.

The sorcerer stood high atop the skies like a god, controlling the lightning that ran through the clouds.

The witcher hurtled across the high-altitude battlefield like a meteor, streaking in from all directions. He was moving at speeds high enough to leave afterimages even after the attack had landed.

Every time they clashed, stardust would rain down to the land.

And then, a drop of rain fell, covering the arid land beneath with water.

Then a torrential downpour followed, the curtains of water obscuring the sorcerer's sight. The witcher was inches before him. He held his blade high up and swung it down at Vilgefortz with every ounce of his strength.

A crimson crescent moon splintered off the edge of the blade and split the impenetrable force field around Vilgefortz in two.

The crimson sea raged once more, and the tentacles swallowed Vilgefortz whole. Before the sorcerer was bound, however, he summoned the sea of dead hands again, binding the witcher as well.

Roy had finally given up on killing Vilgefortz by himself. I'm taking a page out of the enemy's book. He'll be exiled. You wish for a trip to another world? You got it.

Roy summoned the power of space, and a black diamond-shaped portal appeared before the cocoon. The tentacle tossed Vilgefortz into the portal like he was a boulder on a catapult.

The witcher's heart sank, and everything around him went black. The hands that captured him tossed him into the Worldgate as well.

The void behind the door was dark, dead, and silent. Motes of light strobed and blinked around the path. The sorcerer and the witcher clashed once more, glaring at each other with fury. They spun around, their eyes still locked on to each other.

A fraction of a second later, both of them fell to a path leading to an unknown destination.

The all-encompassing darkness was replaced by a sea of gorgeous aurora lights. Roy and Vilgefortz fell, but they were held up in the air as if the place around them had no gravity at all. They were like two fish pushed ahead by a violent undercurrent under the sea, pushing them into an abyss.

They couldn't breath, the air was freezing, and frost formed on their brows and lips. Chromatic lights burst around them, particles of all shades of color and elements swirling and swimming in the sea of chaos around them.

Underneath the witcher and the sorcerer was a blue planet slowly spinning around. They saw the seas, the undulating mountains, and the lush greenery covering the lands of the planet. It was a gorgeous sight, but they were not in the mood to sightsee.

The mana within them would not obey their command. Under the disruption of the Sea of Chaos, neither fighter could use any magic.

Roy couldn't teleport away, and the ubiquitous chaos energy was eating away at the both of them like acid devouring its victim. Their armor yellowed and rotted, while their skin swelled and turned red. The sea was breaking them down, ready to nourish itself with their flesh and blood.

"So this is the Elder Blood's power of space travel. What is this place, Roy?" Vilgefortz floated before the witcher, and he was flailing his arms and legs in an attempt to get closer to Roy, though he resembled someone trying to swim poorly.

No matter how much he tried, he could not close the distance. The Sea of Chaos was a place of death. None could live or move in this strip of existence.

Vilgefortz's face fell. "I have to go back, kid. Let's talk. We can make a trade—"

The sea swallowed his voice. Roy couldn't hear a word, and the experience was remarkable for him. It was then he realized what this place was. This was the same place Freya showed him during their meeting. The strip of chaos energy surrounding the witcher world. A remnant of the Conjunction.

The Sea of Chaos. That random teleportation just pushed us to a world of death.

The lack of response from Roy infuriated Vilgefortz. He tensed up, his face pale, and a ball of fear grasped his heart. More than fifty years had passed since he left the slums of Lan Exeter, and not once did he feel as scared as he was at that moment.

"Let me go!" He clumsily fought against the stream of chaos energy. The sorcerer made some gestures and tried to cast a portal, but he coughed up blood before he could even finish chanting his incantation. His mana was a pool of uncontrolled mess.

There were convergence points everywhere, but the mana was wild and destructive. It could not be tamed. And then, all of a sudden, part of Vilgefortz's fringe was cut off as if done by an invisible pair of scissors. It floated in the air and melted away as a ball of red light engulfed it.

Roy was floating before the sorcerer, buffeted by the sea of chaos energy. Even though Vilgefortz was panicking in the face of imminent death, Roy did not glean any satisfaction from it. He just thought it was sad. No matter how powerful someone was, they were all the same in the face of death. Equally weak.

He told himself, Once we both die, there's nothing to worry about anymore.

Still, he was frustrated. He hadn't said goodbye to his friends, family, and lover. And he hadn't met his Unexpected Child. Is this where I give up? He bared his teeth, his face twitching. The chaos energy was pricking away at him like a sea of needles prickling a human.

And then Roy remembered something. Those golden eyes. Wait. I have an idea. Freya's kingdom is right outside the sea. It's around the planet just over yonder. I wonder if she can save me.

Lady Freya! Roy screamed out to the goddess in his heart, but he gained no response. The suffocation was setting in, and the burning sensation was growing stronger.

Roy was then reminded of Freya's suggestion during their last meeting. And her warning about the era of the end. The story about the ouroboros, and the coming White Frost. And how those who bear the Elder Blood could save them all.

Roy sighed. Save me, and I shall carry out that duty.

And a certain goddess responded to that call. For a moment, the raging stream of colorful energy around Roy and Vilgefortz stopped. A mountainous golden hand appeared from the void of space. It was gigantic enough to blot out the sun, and it tore through the shell of the Sea of Chaos. The hand made its way to the witcher, going against the stream.

"Help!" Vilgefortz screamed at the hand, expecting it to save him.

The hand ignored him. Instead, it gently held the witcher in its palm, then it slowly moved toward the edge of the strip, as if it were a drakkar slowly taking its passenger to safety.

The moving wave was slowly taking Vilgefortz to the outer layer of the strip. Vilgefortz turned his hopeful gaze to the witcher, who was meditating in the center of the golden palm. Moments ago, they were locked in a deadly battle, but now, Vilgefortz bowed and gave Roy a pleading look.

Please, take me with you.

I'm sorry. Roy shook his head. Roy was impressed by Vilgefortz's ambition, battle prowess, and cunning, but he had no reason to save him, not when this sorcerer would harm him and his loved ones at the first chance he had. And Freya doesn't have enough strength to—

The golden hand shook and slammed into the energy sea's reef. It stopped moving, and then the raging sea ate into it. Cracks formed on its surface before it eventually broke apart and disappeared into the air.

The hand could not leave the strip of energy. Despair welled within the witcher's heart. Not even a god could save me? If I die here, there's no chance of coming back.

Destiny was only fooling around with the witcher, however. Without warning, another golden hand barged into the sea. One that was bigger and more tangible than the first. The caster must be a being of more prominence than even Freya herself.

The second hand held the first, and both pulled the witcher out of the energy strip at the same time. Roy was met with a sea of stars and the great darkness around it. A layer of golden light covered Roy, keeping him out of the cosmic rays and unbearable cold.

Roy turned his sights to the chromatic glass dome. Within it was a great energy strip surrounding the witcher world, spinning perpetually.

Vilgefortz stood at the edge of the sea, despair filling his eyes. He was slamming away at the dome, but without his mana, his strength alone could not break the dome. The hypothermia and lack of air was turning his face purple. He was a man about to drown, and the raging chaos energy was quickly eating away at his flesh like a group of voracious bugs.

The skin on his face wilted and broke down, revealing the bloody muscles underneath. No longer was Vilgefortz the dashing sorcerer he once was. This man was nothing but a grotesque monster. His arrogance was replaced by agony and despair.

The sorcerer stared at the one who had escaped the strip, and he extended his arm as far as possible. He wished to grab onto something, but only the void was caught.

Farewell, Vilgefortz. Roy summoned his hand crossbow and fired off a bolt at Vilgefortz's forehead. The black bolt hurtled through the void and pierced the sorcerer's forehead cleanly.

Vilgefortz shivered for one last time. His eyes went wide, his muscles slackened, and his pupils dilated. The light within them dimmed, and his fists loosened up.

The sorcerer fell into the sea of chaos, his ambition fading away, much like his life. The top brass of the northern brotherhood, the legendary sorcerer, the man who assisted Emhyr during his ascension, had died. His body disintegrated, turning into particles floating in the Sea of Chaos.

Vilgefortz was no more.

'Vilgefortz killed. EXP +8000. Level 13 Witcher (12000/14500).'

Chapter 559

Exquisite aurora strips rained around the witcher, and then they rose into the air above. A sea of golden souls stood behind the waterfall of aurora, praying like devout believers.

Roy had escaped the nightmarish strip of energy and entered the realm of Freya once again. This time, however, he wasn't here in soul only. And there was more than one goddess around.

Two golden figures with obscured faces stood within the shifting aurora, near and far at the same time. They gave Roy an audience, and the witcher felt a little nervous in the presence of not one, but two goddesses.

"Roy, bearer of the Elder Blood, I have responded to your call and risked great danger to save you from the Sea of Chaos." The voices of a young lady, a pregnant woman, and a crone spoke at the same time. Roy heard them in his mind. "And you have promised to carry out the duty."

Roy stayed silent. He did say that.

"And my duty is to protect my believers. However, only the bearer of the Elder Blood can extinguish the coming crisis. When the end times draw near, and the White Frost descends, remember your duty and grant salvation to the world, or fade into nothingness with it. And tell the ice giant to get back to his post as soon as you can," said Freya. "Then your debt to me shall be settled. And do not think you can run to another world in a bid to escape this calamity." A hint of warning seeped into the goddess' voice. "The price to pay for a broken word is far heavier than you can imagine."

Roy bowed at Freya honestly. "If you had not saved me, I would have died with Vilgefortz in the energy strip." No one could escape the Sea of Chaos. Not even someone as talented as Vilgefortz. He didn't have the luxury to refuse his duty. "Witchers are people of our word. I will use everything at my disposal to solve the coming calamity."

Roy tried to exile Vilgefortz, but he was taken to a goddess' abode instead. Perhaps this was what destiny wanted for him.

"Freya alone could not have saved you. I, too, have incurred a considerable loss," another voice said, and it sounded more majestic and imperious than Freya's. Freya sounded like an affable elder sister, but this one sounded like a stern and arbitrary mother.

Her visage was obscured, and her eyes were golden. Majestic, solemn, and deep. She was taller and curvier than Freya, and she resembled a female giant. Roy remembered her eyes vividly. Two years ago, he had a glimpse of her in her temple in Ellander.

"Melitele?"

Melitele was a goddess far older than Freya, and most of the North put their faith in her.

"Yes. You are not my believer, and so, this rescue does not come without a price," she said.

Roy's lips twitched. Oh great. Now I owe two goddesses a favor? But he didn't mind. Freya's favor alone was already asking him to risk his life. What was one more? He bowed, ready to listen.

Melitele softened a little. "As you have taken on the role of a savior, then this payment I require will not be as expensive. Until the arrival of the end days, you are required to protect the temple in Ellander and my believers. Shield them from the ravages of war."

"As you wish, milady."

The goddesses gazed at the witcher one last time.

"Never forget your promise, child. We cannot speak to you for long. Every moment you spend in our kingdom is a great toll on the reserves of our faith energy. Leave."

The golden goddesses waved at Roy, and the witcher quickly teleported away. The beautiful aurora disappeared as Roy found himself transported back to solid earth.

The skies over Stygga were still ominous, and thunder roared overhead as lightning danced between the clouds. The torrential downpour drenched the parched land underneath, muddying the soil. In the center of the land, far from the shipwreck of the drakkar, four towering beasts lay unmoving.

Leviathan looked like he was cooked like a steak. His icy-blue hair was burned to a crisp, and his skin was fiery red, covered in twisted burn marks and patches of blisters. The rain was pelting it, the air filled with a bizarre stench that was the fusion of cooked meat and body odor.

Roy touched the ice giant's arm and was scalded by the sheer heat on the creature's skin. He tried to talk telepathically, but Leviathan did not respond. The severe burns had robbed him of his consciousness. But he's still alive. I can save him.

Roy's mana was burning at a blistering rate, converted to the power of healing. Quickly, his mounts' wounds were disappearing. Gryphon's wounds were a lot less severe, though its thick, lustrous feathers were mostly burned off. It looked more like a vulture than a griffin now.

Roy grinned and carefully patted Gryphon's bald head. The beast humphed and opened its eyes. It saw its master, and that was the sign it could finally vent. Tears fell down its cheeks, and it grabbed the witcher's legs as it nuzzled up to his chest.

"I'm sorry, girl. Don't cry. If I hadn't been too weak, none of this would've happened."

Ifrits were the most destructive of all elementals. Even their young had considerable strength. Not even Roy could confidently come out triumphant from a battle with an ifrit, let alone his mounts.

Fortunately, the moment Vilgefortz was taken to the Sea of Chaos, the ifrit broke free of his control and returned to the plane of fire. The mounts were still alive through pure luck.

Roy whipped his hand crossbow out and fired off a couple of bolts. He blinked and returned to the wrecked chamber. He then summoned his mounts so they could heal up away from the elements. The witcher popped a dose of healing potion into his mouth. He was about to meditate and replenish his mana, but the couch Vilgefortz toppled at the start of the battle moved.

Someone groaned in pain. Roy pulled the couch away and was met with Lydia, Vilgefortz's most trusted lieutenant. She fortunately came out of the ordeal alive, though only just. Her dress was caked in blood, and she had a high fever due to her exhaustion and blood loss.

Roy stared at the woman's shifting mask in silence. What should I do with you? Vilgefortz is dead. Should I kill her too? But she's defenseless.

The crowd at Novigrad had dispersed, and the corpses of the guards who died in the battle were cleaned up. The downpour came without any warning, drenching the plaza in muddy crimson. Moments later, the blood was whisked away into the gutters and seas of Novigrad, erasing most of the mark of the bloody battle that took place here.

The bodies of Scoia'tael members, however, were hung on the plaza as a warning and announcement that they were the masterminds behind this confrontation.

The witchers, after the bloody battle, congregated in a brightly-lit lab under the Temple Island. They took off their broken and blood-caked armor, switching them out for loose robes. Most of them had bandages wrapped around at least one body part. It almost looked comical if not for the fact they almost died in the battle earlier.

The witchers sat in a circle around a bonfire.

"So Jiji… I mean, Cyrus, blamed everything on Scoia'tael?" Felix adjusted his glasses, surprise flaring in his eyes. He thought the battle in the alder woods was hard enough, but his companions went through something even more life-threatening.𝓁𝘪𝑏𝑟ℯ𝒶𝑑.𝑐ℴ𝘮

"The church didn't come after you, even when you killed hundreds of their guards?"

"We wish." Vesemir shook his head. "Even with the Hierarch's orders, the guards would kill us if given the chance."

Serrit dipped a finger into the dwarven spirit in the mug beside him, and the witcher lathered it across the wound on his face. He winced. "Most of the guards who died are locals. They have friends and families in this city. About a thousand or two are related to them."

"The reason doesn't matter. Fact is, we fought, we killed, we made enemies." Lambert smirked at Geralt, who had a bandage around his left forearm. "Everyone saw it, and I am not exaggerating. By tomorrow, everyone's going to call us 'Butchers of Novigrad.' Try as they might, the bards won't be able to salvage our reputation."

Geralt scratched his nose. He was reminded of his other title. The Butcher of Blaviken. He only slaughtered the bandits to protect the townspeople, but he was charged with a crime in return. The butchering in Novigrad was even more egregious than what Geralt did. They would be cursed for this action.

"Tension is at an all-time high. Jiji did everything he could to lessen the impact of the confrontation on our reputation. Blamed everything on the elves and defended our running of the orphanage. With the King of Beggars, Cleaver, the Collector, and the knights helping us, the people's hatred is mostly diminished. Save for the families of the guards we killed, of course. Can't change the fact that they're scared of us." 𝓁𝘪𝘣𝘳ℯ𝒶𝘥.𝘤𝑜𝓂

Felix said, "Oh, Geralt, we have a couple of knights at the orphanage waiting for you. Grimm and Cahir, they called themselves. They'd like to see you, and they seem genuine. You should check it out once we're done with the aftermath here. They put in a lot of effort to clear our name as well."

Geralt nodded.

Letho rubbed the salve on the top of his head. Unfortunately, for him, part of his scalp was shaved off during the battle, and now his head looked like an egg that wasn't peeled perfectly.

"It'll take years to turn our reputation around again. We won't be popular among the people, so we'd better lay low." Coen rubbed his chin. One of the attacks shaved off the pockmark around his beard. It was a pleasant accident.

Eskel took a sip of his liquor, his eyes glinting. There was a hint of melancholy on his face. "So we can't stay at the House of Gawain anymore? We must leave?"

"The new Hierarch did not mandate an expulsion." Lambert looked at his friend enviously, to the point Eskel felt unnerved.

Even Carl and the young witchers were staring at Eskel. With his perfect skin and the removal of his scar, Eskel was no longer the rugged witcher he once was. Instead, he was a dashing, sculpted, and muscular hunk.

"But if we stay, we're bound to be harassed. Incessantly. That's going to hamper the children's training and studies. I've had enough killing for a long while. With our infamy spreading far and wide, you know it will, no one is going to get any ideas. For a while, at least." Geralt held his hands over the open fire. He smiled bitterly. "I'd rather not fight again for a bit."

Serrit scanned his brethren. Adamantly, he said, "We need to move. If we want any peace and quiet, that is."

A deafening silence fell upon the room. The only sounds that remained were the crackling of the flames, and the young witchers' heartbeats.

Auckes snickered and dusted his bandaged arm off. He broke his arm in battle. "You're joking. You're telling us to move just because of the regular man's distaste for us? We've been running this place for years. We have a smithy, a lab, a greenhouse, and the crops are almost ready for harvest. You're telling us to abandon the whole operation and run away? We're the victors here. We can't run. I'd rather fight those bastards again than run away like a coward."

"We're not running away, Auckes," Vesemir said gently. "This is just a temporary relocation. It's a good chance to let the kids explore a different place and learn something different. We'll move back in a couple of years. I've talked to Evelyn, and she's volunteered to stay and keep an eye on the greenhouse and orphanage."

"I'm staying too." Kiyan clasped his hands together. He looked at his brethren apologetically. "Sorry, guys. I'd like to stay with Evelyn and help Kantilla out with the potion shop."

Auckes and Lambert stared at Kiyan. "I see," they drawled.

"Treasure her," Geralt encouraged.

Eskel thought he could stay as well, and he quickly said, "I—"

Vesemir shot him a withering look. "You're coming as well."

Eskel shut up.

"Yeah." Lambert smacked his shoulder. "And you can bring your succubus along too."

"Huh? I mean, won't it reflect badly on our reputation?" A succubus getting along with a bunch of witchers and children? That's an odd image. He was staring at Lambert, especially, cautious and doubtful of his real intentions.

"What's with that look? You think I'd sleep with her?" Lambert was red and indignant.

"Alright, shut it!" Letho raised his hand. He muttered, "But it's not wrong to keep an eye out on Lambert. Now let's get back on track. Kiyan and Evelyn are staying back, while the kids are moving with us. Dandelion and Kantilla are staying too. They have to run the ballroom and potion shop. Coral and Kalkstein can go anywhere they want, given they have portals. But first, we need to settle on a location. So where are we moving to?"

And then tension flew in the air. Aside from the nomadic Cats, everyone else shot glares at each other, daring the other witchers to make a suggestion.

Coen spoke first. "How does Kaer Seren sound? Kovir and Poviss are right beside it. It's a kingdom as bustling as Novigrad, and there's no non-human discrimination. The fortress stands under a snowy mountain, so no one's going to come knocking either. And the seas are bountiful. Food won't be a problem."

"Yeah, no." Serrit shook his head. "If another avalanche happens, we're done for."

"Aw." Coen's face scrunched up. He was disappointed.

"Gorthur Gwaed, then." Auckes backed his brother up. "It's deep in the woods, so we'll have our peace and quiet. And it's near a cliff, so even if there are attacks, we can easily defend it."

"No. Gorthur Gvaed is in the South, and Nilfgaard will launch a war again, I'm sure." Vesemir stroked his beard and shook his head. "And you're the ones who told us Emhyr has his eyes on the fortress."

Geralt and Lambert exchanged a look. They spoke at the same time. "That leaves us with one place. The fortress in Kaedwen and home of the Wolves—Kaer Morhen."

Their voices were trembling with excitement. Excitement of going home. And this time, they were bringing along a group of students with them. Their predecessors would be overjoyed if they knew.

"Kaer Morhen is thousands of miles away from Yaruga. Nilfgaard's troops won't be attacking anytime soon."

"And it's a beautiful place. Quiet too. And bountiful. And it has something crucial for the Trial—the Circle of Elements."

Auckes cocked his eyebrow and complained, "Now you're just abusing your power to get what you want."

"Someone's jealous," Lambert mocked.

"Si— Brothers," Carl interrupted carefully. This was the apprentices' first time joining a witcher meeting as an equal. After the battle, the veterans showed them more trust. "Roy's not back yet. I think we should wait for him before we make a decision."

The other apprentices nodded quickly. And then everyone looked worried.

The concern in Letho's eyes flickered for a moment. "I wonder if he's fine." He then shook his head and smiled. "He probably is. Maybe he's having fun somewhere out there."

"I don't know. Gawain said he went after that sorceress. He summoned Gryphon and that ice giant away too." Auckes massaged his temples. "He might have a tough customer on his hands."

And then a gale screamed through the lab. A black portal tore through the air, and a slender figure leapt into the crowd, haggard and exhausted. Behind him was a vulture with all its feathers plucked.

Gryphon hid behind its master, burying its face in his shoulders.

Roy looked around, and a smile curled his lips.

"Roy!"

"Kid!"

"You left the plaza out of nowhere. Where'd you go?"

Roy heaved a sigh of relief. "I had to deal with a certain guy. Would've been a thorn in our side if left unchecked. Good to see everyone's fine. Had a bit of trouble, but he's done for now. Rience and his master won't be a problem anymore."

"Wait, what's that supposed to mean?" Serrit asked nervously, and the other witchers turned their eyes to Roy.

"Long story."

"Then take a seat." Letho tossed a bottle of dwarven liquor to Roy and beckoned him. "And give us all the details."

"It's a shocking tale, so let's save it for last. Where are Coral and Kalkstein?" Roy sat in the center and held his hands over the open fire. His purlicue had cracked from overexertion. The witcher had a smile of relief on his face, glad to find that all his brethren were in one piece. "Rience's masters left a mountain of valuables, and I need an experienced sorcerer to deal with it. And there's a little errand they have to run."

Updated from 𝓵𝙞𝙗𝙧𝙚𝒂𝙙.𝓬𝒐𝒎

Chapter 560

In a quiet cave in Dol Blathanna, home of flowers and elves, Filavandrel and Francesca congregated.

"The spies have news, Daisy. All the children we sent to Novigrad to assist Vilgefortz have died." Filavandrel was in white, and he stood before Daisy. There was a sorrowful smile on his face. "Not even the sorcerers made it."

Francesca stared at the xenovox. She'd been waiting for a response, but so far, it was dark. Tears glistened in her beautiful blue eyes.

"Cyrus, the Hierarchy of the Eternal Fire, ordered for their bodies to be hung in the plaza as a warning and remembrance for those who died in the battle," said Filavandrel, his voice choking. "But the truth is, most of the guards were killed by the witchers, and yet the Hierarch pinned the blame on the children. It's like he's gone mad. Not an ounce of blame was pinned on the witchers."

"The Northern Realms now know of this confrontation, and the kings have taken notice of Scoia'tael, the extremely anti-human organization." Filavandrel stared at Francesca, his gaze questioning. "This is vastly different from what Vilgefortz promised." He clenched his gloves tightly, his knuckles white. "Is this all a joke to him? Is our future nothing but his plaything?"

Francesca's shoulder shivered. She caressed the xenovox's crystal and stared at the screen in the air. It disappeared the moment it formed, and again and again and again the elf watched. Eventually, she said, "I can't establish contact with Vilgefortz anymore." A tear fell down her cheek. It was shed for her fallen brethren.

"He tosses us aside after we outlive our usefulness? What does he think the children are? Pawns?" Filavandrel's eyes were filled with the flames of fury, his voice scraping and hard. "Did he betray us?"

Francesca shook her head. "He has no reason to. We're Nilfgaard's allies. There must be something else."

"Something more important than the children?"

"I will demand an explanation. But not now. And I'll be asking someone else for help down the line."

"He put the children in the line of danger, caring not for their safety. Are we still going to antagonize the Northern Realms for him even after this?" The ex elven king stared into Francesca's profile, hoping she would say no.

"What we're doing next is not for him; it's for the future. For our children to have a place they can call home. For them to never have to hide in the mountains and starve." Francesca extended her right hand. An Apollo butterfly fluttered into the cave and landed on her sleeve, its wings flapping.

"We have reached an agreement with Emhyr. The war shall begin soon. As the Eternal Fire has chosen to antagonize us and side with the witchers who have slaughtered our children, we will burn them down with the fire of vengeance." Calmly, she ordered, "Tell Isengrim Faoiltiarna to lead a brigade to Brokilon. They shall work with the nymphs and attack humans as they see fit. Should they run into any danger, Eithne will provide them protection. Eveline, Toluvair, and Kenzafa will lead a brigade to the borders of Blue Mountains and gather allies among the discriminated non-humans. There, they will be engaging in skirmishes."

"Is this worth it?" Filavandrel asked. "Most of them are going to end up dead. Perhaps staying at the Blue Mountains could give them a better chance at survival?"

"Keeping to ourselves will only lead to extinction. We must strike out and at least reclaim Dol Blathanna. We must battle against the humans and stop them should they start preparing for war. This is the agreement we made with Emhyr, and we can't break our word. I am sorry, Filavandrel."

Filavandrel bowed. "I forgive you, Enid, but I do not know if the children who sacrificed themselves will."

A gale hurtled into the window of Stygga, rustling the countless times on the bookshelves. Lytta looked at the flash of magical light from the xenovox beside the vat, and she frowned. This marks the tenth time. She was more than surprised. They've been trying to contact Vilgefortz for a while now. Probably doesn't know he's dead.

Liotta's eyes twinkled. Even now, she still couldn't believe that Roy killed Vilgefortz and reduced him to atoms. And he did it quietly too. Just like that, the top sorcerer and the Continent's most desired man was gone.

If Roy hadn't taken her to Stygga and shown him Vilgefortz's most trusted lieutenant being an inch away from death, she'd have thought he was joking about Vilgefortz's death. Before this visit, she had no idea the dashing, talented, respected, and beloved Vilgefortz was a maniac who loved to torture the innocent.

She saw his lab. It was filled with torture devices, syringes, a custom-made electric chair, and dozens of skeletons belonging to his test subjects. And to make things worse, he was already in cahoots with the South and betrayed the brotherhood. The man was nothing but scum.

"He's not in the top brass for nothing. His collection of books is almost complete. And they're all valuable. Let's see… My estimation puts the number of books here at about one-fifth of what Ban Ard's library has. It's like a small magical academy here."

The mousey, balding Kalkstein was holding a thick tome. He had a mischievous grin on his face, his robes swaying as he walked. "And this is an out-of-print edition of The Mysteries of Natural Magic.' Once I'm done with this, I'm sure I can be a better alchemist. Pity that his most valuable items are destroyed. He wouldn't keep it anywhere but his personal inventory space."

Kalkstein thought that was a shame. He had no idea that Roy had told Coral to tuck away the files of Vilgefortz's greatest and most terrible project of all: the extraction of the Elder Blood. That file was on the list of forbidden books.

"This isn't a bad castle, however. It's right beside Ebbing's stone lake. A remote place, a no man's land, a spacious spot, and it comes with a fully decked out lab. We have enough gemstones and magical materials to last us for decades. Why don't we move our lab here, Lytta?"

"We don't have to." Lytta shook her head. "From now on, Stygga, the underground chamber of Temple Island, and the lab under the Valley of the Nine's lake will be the brotherhood's shelters."

"Good idea." Kalkstein flipped the time open and skimmed through the pages. Nonchalantly, he asked, "So how are you going to deal with Lydia?"

Coral was in silence for moments. She did not expect Roy to keep Lydia around. She could be a problem. "Lydia's not even fifty years old. She's just a girl who fell for that conspirator's brainwashing. I'll lead her back to the straight and narrow."

The evening sun drenched the skies in a warm shade of red. Gusts of breeze sauntered across the courtyard, dancing with the branches of the weeping willows like they were in a slow waltz.

After the battle, the orphanage once again saw the children moving around its grounds. Vicki was within the lab, holding bags of potions. She stared at the vials and vessels on the workstation, reluctant to leave them behind. "I-I don't have enough space for my babies."

"Stop crying, Vicki." Renee grinned, though she barely had any teeth. She quickly tucked a bunch of dried celandines and buckthorns into her blouse's pockets, filling them up until they were about to burst. She almost looked like a squirrel hoarding nuts for winter. "Letho said Kaedwen has everything. We'll get whatever we want once we're there. And it's time we get new stuff, right, Conrad?"

The boy beside the furnace nodded. He looked outside the window, melancholy flickering on his face.

Everyone was busy outside. Acamuthorm was standing behind Felix. He had changed into a new set of armor, and the boy looked lively. He was holding a crate half the height of an adult as he slowly ambled toward the portal before the conference room.

Carl grinned and kicked the butt of his companion. The dozen or so apprentices were huddled around the young witchers, their eyes shining with worship. They wanted to know everything about the battle that took place in Novigrad.

Oreo, Terry, and Bhim were saddled with a few sacks of seeds, and in their hands were farming tools and archery gear. They were following Serrit around.

Quintus, Fyodor, and the Tordarroch blacksmiths donned their favorite apron, holding their hammers tightly. They were a little nervous about their new home.

The bald Gryphon had a pile of luggage on its back, and it covered up its bald spots perfectly, or Gryphon would die from the embarrassment alone. Ebony was happily barking at it, all the while licking its beak.

Eskel's, Geralt's, Roy's, and Lambert's horses were huddled in a circle within the crowd, whinnying and braying amongst themselves.

The other students were in their bedrooms, excitedly tucking away their bedrolls, clothes, and notebooks. All were engaged in conversations regarding their upcoming travels. They were red with excitement, but they were also nervous and slightly reluctant to leave.

Conrad muttered, "It's only been two years. I can't believe we're moving already."

"Ah, chin up. You're a boy. Besides, Vesemir said we can always come back." Renee harrumphed, but she too puckered her lips, and the rims of her eyes were red. This beautiful little compound had given them so many memories to treasure their whole lives.

Vicki pursed her lips, determination flaring in her eyes. "That's why we have to grow stronger. Strong enough to keep our home safe. We're not going to just hide and pray for them next time."

"Yeah."

The witchers were gathered outside the fence, saying goodbye to their friends and acquaintances in Novigrad.

"Kaer Morhen is a long trip from Novigrad. Please, take care of yourselves." Dandelion looked at the witchers sadly. For once, he switched out his pretentious outfit for a more solemn gray jacket. "Don't worry about us. My friends will be working with Cyrus to turn your reputation around as fast as they can. And with the coins Roy borrowed from the usurer, our next step will be opening up a branch in Redania. I promise that in a year at most, everyone will hail you as heroes again. That's what bards do. Novigrad is home to more than thirty thousand people. A couple of thousand dissenters is nothing."

"You and your bad habit of bragging." Geralt shook his head. "You don't have to worry about us. Worry about yourself. If you run around and sleep with any random woman you meet, someday someone is going to cut off your junk."

He looked at the beautiful Priscilla. She was in a blue tight-fitting shirt with orange sleeves. "Stay loyal to your lover."

"Don't insult me, Geralt. And I can say the same to you. Do not desert Yennefer again. And stop sleeping around."

"There are no other women in Kaer Morhen. It's in the middle of nowhere. One more stupid reply and I'll shut you up with Yrden."

"Hey, Dandelion." Coen gave Jaskier a pleading look. "Take care of the Iguana while I'm gone." He then turned to the woman beside him. She was dressed in the latest fashion. Igsena held his arm and stared into his eyes with love.

"I'll come back once a month or so."

Out of love for poetry and stage plays, Igsena stayed behind. Coen was a member of the brotherhood, and given his upbringing as a knight, he could not leave the kids or his brethren alone. And so, he chose to leave with them.

"Don't you worry." Dandelion patted Coen's shoulder and gave him a wink. "Priscilla and I are going to make her into a star. She'll be the branch's showrunner."

Another couple was also present, though they were not exactly in the crowd. The handsome Eskel was engaged in a quiet conversation with a ravishing exotic woman. She had horns on her head, and her skin had a healthy tan. Her eyes twinkled with hope, and she was talking about building a home with Eskel in Kaer Morhen. 𝓁𝘪𝑏𝑟ℯ𝒶𝑑.𝑐ℴ𝘮

Roy pulled back his hand from the cloth that swaddled Mino, and he found his palm drenched. His lips twisted downward.

Mino blinked at his brother and gurgled, then he grabbed Roy's finger and sucked on it. Moore and Susie were in the courtyard, saddled with cooking utensils. They smiled at their sons.

Shortly after their arrival at the House of Gawain, they took up the menial jobs around the orphanage, including farming, cooking, and cleaning. They were indispensable stewards for the orphanage, and they too would be going to Kaer Morhen with the group.

Roy's goal was further beyond this, of course. The witchers shouldn't limit their base of operations to the South and the North, though he would need the help of two other Elder Blood bearers to realize that ambition, and one of them was yet unborn.

Calanthe's delivery is expected to be two months after we move to Kaer Morhen. I should be preparing for the third Trial too.

Rustling footsteps came from the woods' entrance. Aiden stepped into the courtyard, followed by a pair of burly, armored, and motivated knights.

"Grimm? Cahir?"

"Hello, witcher. Geralt." Grimm smiled at everyone. He was excited to be met with more than a dozen witchers. "Finally, we met. But before we talk, we have a humble request. Will you hear us out?"

"I don't see why not." Geralt stepped forth and nodded at the knights. He was more than willing to give them a chance, given how they defended the witchers and put in a good word for them. Still, he was wary about Cahir, given that he was a Nilfgaardian and Ciri's former captor.

"I would like to go on this journey with you. As a guest. And I would like to spar with everyone." Grimm leaned on his greatsword, his eyes shining as brightly as the sun.

"I…" Cahir bowed. He was tense, and he stiffly requested, "I would like to see Ciri once more, Geralt. If that is possible with you."

Chapter 561

Kaer Morhen. A towering fortress sleeping within the snow-capped Blue Mountains. It was almost deserted and in disrepair for decades, but now new life was breathed into it. The leaves and weeds piling up in the courtyard were cleaned away, and the training grounds saw new stakes, pendulums, and dummies installed in it. The rundown benches, observation deck, and walls were refurbished and repainted. The towers were gleaming under the sunlight.

In a stark room, a pair of sorceresses lived. They leaned on the windowsill, staring at the snowy expanse beyond the fortress.

"It's been a month since you came here, Lydia. How do you feel now?" Coral looked at the woman on her left.

She was slender, and her chestnut colored hair was tied in a bun behind her head. Lydia had taken off the mask she'd worn for twenty years, revealing her true face. The top half radiated intelligence and elegance. Her brows were light as ink dipped in water, her eyes bright and quiet as a still pond in a forest. Her nose was petite, and her lips were lusciously pink.

However, from the chin down to her neck, Lydia's appearance was a nightmare. Burn marks, scabs, and cysts were everywhere, and one of her arms was prosthetic.

"I'm really sorry, Coral." Lydia's voice was hoarse and scraping. Her vocal cords were severely damaged. "I've served him for twenty years. He was my master, my everything, and my reason to live." Lydia's eyes were glistening with tears. "I-I can't forget about him."

"I know. Vilgefortz was an incredible man. Dashing, capable, and magically gifted," said Coral. "But he would never have fallen in love with anyone. He only loved himself. You heard his answer to Roy's question. He never saw you as more than a tool. You committed evil despite what your conscience told you, all because of him. You have blood on your hands, but unlike Vilgefortz and his cohorts, you still have a conscience. That's why Roy spared you."

The mention of that witcher left conflicting feelings in Lydia's heart. She looked at her almost lifelike prosthetic, and her heart swelled with hatred and gratitude. Roy brought an end to her life of servitude, but now she did not know where the future lay.

Coral gazed at her fellow sorceress and persuaded, "He's been dead for months now. No longer can he exploit you or your feelings for him. It is time to let go, Lydia. Live for yourself."

Lydia looked at Coral, a little dazed. The older sorceress wrapped her arm around Lydia's shoulder. "Kaer Morhen is a beautiful place. We can look into the legacy Vilgefortz left behind. And with the children around, there'll never be a dull moment. Now I need you to prepare some mutagens and herbs. He'll need it when he comes back," said Coral.

"Okay."

Eskel stood atop the wooden scaffolding overseeing the broken parapet. He slapped bricks into the missing parts. Most of the walls had been filled in. The succubus was by his side, donned in thick cotton clothes. She handed him a canteen.

Eskel took a sip and smiled at the succubus.

The apprentice witchers stared at the couple, and righteous anger flared in their eyes.

"Stop staring, Monti. Focus on the job, and pick up the pace. You're slow as a snail. Didn't sleep last night?"

"Last night? I haven't slept well for two months. Carl hugs me every night like I'm Vicki. Almost suffocated me, the guy."

Someone coughed.

"I thought Kaer Morhen had everything." Monti had dark circles under his eyes. He grumbled, "There's nothing but empty stone houses here, and we had to sleep on the same bed."

"And we had to make it ourselves too," Charname grumbled.

"Hey, this isn't fair. Why do we have to work on the buildings?" Acamuthorm swung his wooden trowel in agitation. "We wanna go on a trip like everybody else."

"Yeah. We're not carpenters. We should be training. Casting Signs. Not cutting wood," Charname complained while he and Lloyd were pulling the saw back and forth in sync, cutting off the wood of the scaffolding.

Serrit and Auckes were making a wooden bed about six feet six inches long. They had the base down, and the witchers were immersed in the job, as if they were professional carpenters.

"We almost refurbished the whole place in two months. Don't you think this is the kind of achievement we should be proud of?"

The apprentices were particularly annoyed about that. They'd been working on repairs and refurbishments for two months, and without any pay too. All the expectations they had prior to this trip were dashed.

"And you've seen everything around this place. Heard all the stories too. And you've visited your predecessors' graves."

Eskel shook his head, carefully sliding a triangular brick into a triangular hole. "The cyclop's dead. Only his skeleton remains. Bears are in hibernation too, given the season. The harpies aren't showing up either, and Carl's dealt with the foglet. You can go sightseeing, but that's just boring. Woodworking and masonry's more fun to learn."

Serrit tucked his knife away and took out a file from the toolkit beside him. "And you can at least have a job when you retire from being a witcher." The witcher cut the wood, creating a piece of art from the simple material he had.

"But Roy said there's a family of trolls on that mountain. He said you could talk to them if they get a bit of vodka. We didn't get to talk to them last time." Carl looked at the confusing blueprints. He couldn't make any sense of it for a long time. When he finally managed to at least glean a bit of knowledge, he made a simple circle on a log.

"You want to talk to the trolls?" Auckes glanced at the apprentices. "Yeah, no. They're going to turn you into stew. Trolls are far stronger than the guards you fought. They have fists bigger than your heads, and their skin's nearly impenetrable. Oh, and their favorite food is human children."

The apprentices winced just from hearing that. The newbie witchers sneered, their eyes flaring with fighting spirit.

"You barely have enough experience in battle as is. Better memorize my thesis before you even think about meeting a troll," said Serrit proudly.

Eskel wiped the sweat off his forehead. "If you're tired of all this work, Grimm's always happy to spar with you kids."

The apprentices shook their heads vigorously, obviously not taking the idea well.

"Why's Grimm still around anyway?"

The children were more than annoyed at this point. Grimm wouldn't stop sparring with them for months. To make things worse, he'd try to inculcate the virtues of knighthood into them, despite their clear reluctance.

They thought knights were supposed to be paragons of virtue, but Grimm took morality to another level and wouldn't stop talking about it with them.

Behind Kaer Morhen was a mountain. There was a cliff with a narrow path surrounded by a rickety wooden fence. The fence oversaw a snow-covered prairie, the swaying pine woods, and a fog-covered hill just over yonder.

A wide river gushed through the ravine between mountains, the stream gurgling.

Grimm sneezed and rubbed his nose. "By the honor of a knight, I swear someone is talking behind my back." He stared at the witcher ahead. "Coen, are you certain the Lady of the Lake is in this river? We have spent two months dueling before this river, and yet she has never shown herself to us."

Coen nimbly climbed up the small slope beside the cliff. In the woods beyond the river, a group of children were happily whiling away their time. Some were foraging for herbs, some were drawing, some were doing poetry, some were fishing, and some were in a hide-and-seek session. The air was filled with the children's laughter.

"Roy claims that you possess all the virtues of a knight." Coen pulled his clothes tighter, surreptitiously pouting. "But you lack a certain element."

"Which is?"

"You're a guest. First lesson you have to learn is to control your impulses. Don't keep asking the children for duels, and stop lecturing them." Coen turned around and solemnly said, "They're witchers, not knights. They're not that easily brainwashed."

Grimm held the hilt of his sword as he quickly sidled to Coen. "By my honor, this is just a bad habit of mine, and it dies hard. Despite my continued defeats, I can feel my skill growing."

If Grimm didn't use his weapon, he would have a more difficult time with the apprentices.

"I need someone to measure my growth. Cahir will be a good sparring partner. Speaking of which, how is he doing? It has been months since he went to Skellige. Is there any news?"

"For all we know, Bran might've lopped his head off." Coen smiled at Grimm. "Just joking. Perhaps Cahir found a new goal on Skellige and doesn't want to return anymore."

Cahir was in the stable of Bran's castle. The knight had a black apron tied around him, and his hands were covered with gloves. He brushed the last horse in the stables clean and patted the steed's mane. A bitter smile curled his lips.

His request to meet Ciri was denied by Geralt. The White Wolf could not find it in himself to forgive Ciri's captor. When Cahir thought all was lost, another witcher gave him hope. That witcher was a peculiar one. His gaze was sharp, but there was trust in it. It almost felt like the witcher had known him for a long time.

With Roy's backing, Cahir made it to An Skellig, but before he could meet the princess, Bran sentenced him to the dungeons with the pretext of 'punishing a Nilfgaardian spy.' For some reason, however, he was released and made a servant of the castle.

Cahir became a stableman, and a mighty busy one at that. His days consisted of nothing but work and sleep. Work was nothing but feeding and grooming the steeds of Skellige's lords, but his abode was almost undesirable. It was but a small hut beside the stables. The air reeked of the steeds' stench.

As an elite knight of Nilfgaard, Cahir had experience grooming horses, and he took to the job easily enough. However, he still couldn't see the princess. Nay, he couldn't even see the steward, much less anyone more important than him. The knight had a feeling someone was watching him, but he accepted his fate. Shortly after he began his journey with Grimm, he was no longer a Nilfgaardian spy. He was but a humble sinner, seeking redemption.

It was a special day. Dawn had just broken through the horizon, but the air itself felt tense. The cooks and servants around the castle were nervous and anticipatory at the same time. It was as though a storm was coming, but at the same time, the promise of warm sunshine followed.

The black horse licked the stableman's neck. Cahir patted the steed's neck and stared at the upper levels of the castle. "Something's happening in that room. Perhaps someone important is inside."

*** 𝓵𝓲𝙗𝓻𝓮𝓪𝙙.𝒄𝓸𝒎

Calanthe's room was firmly locked. Standing in the corridor were a group of people, nervous. King Bran was present, of course, with a bear hide cape draped on his shoulders. And Birna stood by him, her face caked in beautiful, gleaming makeup. Their son, Svanrige, was there as well.

Crach and Craite and his children were there too, as well as Geralt and Roy. Ciri, of course, would not miss this event for anything. She was dressed in a light blue dress, looking as groomed as a princess could be. The young princess muttered under her breath, balling her hands and loosening them up quickly. She paced around the corridor, her eyes filled with concern for her family.

"Can ya stop it, Ciri? Yer makin' my head spin, an' I hate that!" Crotch grabbed his niece's braid.

Hjalmar rubbed the scar on his face, teasing, "It's not yet given' birth, Ciri. Ain't gonna do anything' worrying' so much."

Ciri harrumphed and cracked her fingers. Hjalmar brought his left hand to his mouth, covering it.

"Alright, we know yer a good sorceress, but don't use yer magic on yer cousin," Cerys pleaded.

"Grandmother's not young anymore. Did you hear how much she was screaming? And it's not like I get a new family member every day. I want them both to be safe." Ciri approached Geralt and held his hand.

Hjalmar heaved a sigh of relief, but he hung his head low. Ciri's magical education was bearing fruit. She could easily take him down now. How am I supposed to convince her to marry me?

"They're not wrong, Ciri." Geralt stared at the shut door, patting Ciri. "This isn't Calanthe's first child, and your grandmother's always been on the stronger side. And Yen is taking care of things inside."

Geralt smiled. Never did he expect Yennefer of Vengerberg to be a midwife, and for a queen, no less. Still, given her age, it was not surprising that the sorceress knew about female medical care.

Ciri pursed her lips, but she nodded.

"Ciri's calm enough, but I can't say the same for him." Svanrige looked at the bench on the left of the door, where a black-haired witcher sat.

Roy would glance at the door ever so frequently, listening to the screams and shouts within, all the while having a tense look on his face. He would bury his face in his hands and take a deep breath before he got up for a worried walk. The air around him reeked of concern. It almost felt like he was the father of the infant.

The Skellige royalty were looking at Roy with conflicted gazes. Calanthe had told them about the witcher's bond with her unborn child through the Law of Surprise. If it weren't for the islander's faith in Freya and destiny, they'd have cut down the insolent witcher by now.

And then a loud cry rang across the air. Everyone quickly huddled around the door. Ciri was in the front row, her eyes big as saucepans. She held her breath.

Hurried footsteps approached them, then the door swung open. Yennefer stood before the bed. She was in clean, comfortable white clothes. There was shock on her face, her hair swaying behind. The sorceress stared at the infant Calanthe was holding in her arms, her eyes twinkling with surprise.

The former queen of Cintra's eyes shone with the love of a mother. Love for the beautiful baby she was holding in her arms. The umbilical cord was cut. The baby had purplish skin covered in a white layer of fat.

Bran stared at the infant, a big, fat grin stretching his lips. "Good job, Calanthe. Eist finally has a descendant!" He nervously wiped his hands on his shirt. "By Freya, she's heavy. About 9 pounds, I reckon? A child of the sea, indeed. So, Cerys, do you mind her taking your title of Sparrowhawk?"

Cerys was grinning as well. She nodded, captivated by the baby.

Calanthe scanned everyone and nodded gratefully. She was too weak to even speak.

"Ah, she's marvelous." Brina chuckled. Her eyes were twinkling as well. "She'll grow up gorgeous."

"Of course she will. My aunt is…" Ciri frowned, surprised and a little troubled, muttering, "actually quite ugly. Her skin's purple. And there's white stuff everywhere."

"Shut it, duckling!" Yennefer skewered Ciri with a sharp look. "Even gods start out as nothing but regular babies. You were a lot more grotesque when you were born."

"T-That's just a joke, isn't it?"

"Outta the way, Ciri. Lemme kiss the baby."

"Don't even try, Crash. Your hands are dirty as the dumpster. And your beard's filled with alcohol. Ugh, I smell fish, and are those leftovers I see? Don't kiss her. You're going to make her sick."

"Ah, she's a Skellige girl. She ain't that weak."

And the baby cried.

"See? You made her cry, you big oaf.

Geralt frowned. He stared at Yennefer and Crach, thinking that they were a bit too friendly with each other.

"Oh, let me do it. I just had a big serving of liquor. Perfectly healthy." Bran rubbed his gigantic hands together.

And the baby cried. Again.

"Sorry, Your Majesty. She doesn't like you very much either. And stop glaring, Geralt. You're scaring her. Don't poke her, Ciri! And stay away. I don't want any more chain reactions happening."

Yennefer was screaming and warning everyone. The air was livelier all of a sudden.

"Roy." Calanthe turned around and looked at Roy. The witcher was standing far away, nervous but a little anticipatory.

Yennefer sternly said, "Don't just stand there, Roy. She's calling you."

"I…" The witcher came ahead and stared at the bald, wrinkly baby. Something magnificent welled within his heart. There was joy and a bond forming between him and the baby. A close bond.

He wasn't even an adult yet, and yet he could feel a close connection to the baby as if she were his own child. The Elder Blood cheered in delight, resonating softly with the blood within the child. It made Roy tipsy, as though he'd drunk a bottle of liquor.

Calanthe raised her head, her face glistening. She looked at Roy, her eyes twinkling with a smile. "Why don't you christen her, Roy?"

"What?" The news shocked everyone. None could believe that a queen would allow a witcher to name her baby. They wondered if Calanthe had gone mad.

"Why does Roy get to name her? Why can't I do it?" Ciri pouted.

"Consider this carefully, Calanthe. Yes, he did lend a great deal of assistance to you, but…" Bran gently dissuaded.

The queen and Crash and Crach's family shook their heads as well.

Calanthe told them softly, "This is what destiny has led us to. Destiny not even Freya herself will disobey." She was adamant about having the witcher name the baby, and she held her up to him.

Strangely enough, the baby stopped crying the moment she got closer to Roy. She blinked at him and gurgled happily, then she extended her hands at him, her eyes twinkling with yearning.

This was their first meeting, and yet the baby seemed to have known the witcher for a long time. She had nothing but trust in him. Roy extended an arm over the baby's back, holding her head and part of her shoulder. He cradled her hips and waist with his right arm, holding her up carefully.

Flames flickered. For a moment, the infant took on another image. It was the girl Roy had seen in his vision. A thin veil covered her vague visage. She had hair black as ebony and eyes green as a forest. The girl was petite.

Roy's boiling Elder Blood was slowly coming down. Thanks to the baby's trust, Roy's Elder Blood and hers merged easily. The witcher knew he had permission to use her blood to strengthen his. Especially the bloodline's space-time powers.

"She shall be named Eileni." A word that meant beauty and luck in the Elder Speech.

And then a chain connected their hearts. Roy trembled for a moment as the bond between him and Eileni grew deeper. He closed his eyes. Aside from Eileni's location, he could feel her breathing, heartbeat, and even physical condition.

Calanthe quickly took her daughter back and gently touched her chest with a finger. "Do you like that name?"

Eileni gurgled.

"Very well, then, my dear. Henceforth, you shall be known as Eileni Fiona Tuirseach Riannon."

Eileni's happy gurgles echoed throughout the room. Everyone smiled.

"I'm counting on you, Roy." Calanthe smiled at the witcher. "You've given Eileen her name. Do please take good care of her. Keep her safe."

The bond in Roy's heart felt warm and fuzzy. He smiled. "Eileni, my Unexpected Child. I swear I shall forevermore grant you my protection. On my name as a witcher."

Chapter 562

It was early spring of 1265. The skies had taken on the shade of maple leaves as evening descended upon the land. The air was cool and comfortably humid. Dewdrops hung from the greenery beside the path. A carriage was traveling down this path. More than fifty lads and young ladies were within the group. They were all sporting clean, simple clothes and fur jackets. Every one of them had a blue rucksack, their eyes twinkling with excitement, curiosity, and exhaustion from their travels.

The carriage towed blankets and utensils. All necessities for the travelers. The wheels creaked as it plowed through the freshly drenched soil. Some of the children were resting on the cart.

More than a dozen witchers—burly with eyes of beasts and draped in cloaks—flanked the group. A golden-haired knight trailed behind the group, leading a horse ahead.

The red-haired sorceress riding Wilt would cast spells from time to time, directing her magic hawk to look around for any possible hazards.

Everyone came on this trip. Only Moore, Susie, Mino, Pashia, and Gryphon stayed at the fortress. Roy was seated on a slow-moving carriage, thinking about the events that had taken place over the last year or so.

After the christening of Eileen, the witcher made his return to Kaer Morhen and, with Coral's assistance, began his third Trial. This time, he went with the Wolf School's recipe. The Trial took longer than he'd expected. Despite his absurdly high Constitution, the clash between three witcher schools' Trials almost killed him. The witcher fought for dear life in Kaer Morhen's lab for fourteen months before the torment came to an end.

The witcher turned his attention to the character sheet.

'Roy

Age: 18 years old

Status: Viper School Witcher, Manticore School Witcher, Wolf School Witcher, Knight of Lake Vizima, Member of Witcher Brotherhood

HP: 380 → 400

Mana: 310 → 340 (+80 from Trial)

Strength: 16 → 20

Dexterity: 16 → 20

Constitution: 30 → 32

Perception: 12 → 17

Will: 32 → 34

Charisma: 9 → 10

Spirit: 23 → 26

…

Class:

Level 13 Witcher

Rank: Intermediate Witcher𝙡𝒊𝓫𝓻𝓮𝙖𝙙.𝓬𝒐𝙢

Requirement(s) for rank advancement:

1. Consume the remaining Trials.

2. Slay magical creatures with at least one stat at Rank 2 or above (10/10). You have slain: Gruffydd, Lady of the Woods, Draugr Overlord, Mirmulnir, (2) Ice Trolls… and Vilgefortz.

3. Acquire greater mutagens (7/10).

You have (1) stat point remaining.

The third Trial didn't yield as many stat increments as the second Trial did, but Roy saw an increase of 21 stat points in total. His combat stats had finally gone up to Rank 2, save for Perception. His Will, Spirit, and Constitution were higher than most of the brotherhood's members, and that was before his second mutation. No longer was he dead last. Power coursed through his veins.

With the Elder Blood flowing in his veins, his elven heritage made sure he was perfectly lean. The witcher was about six feet tall, and his muscles were taut. No longer did he look like a child. He looked more like a lad in his twenties now. His golden and silver eyes had turned into a pair of perfectly silver eyes, lending him an air of regality.

Roy had a feeling this would be his eyes' final color change.

Roy was not the only one who underwent great change. Carl was at the head of the group, cloaked in black. He had the air of a reliable man after his training in Kaer Morhen. Standing behind him were the first apprentice witchers and the newbies who went through their Trials, thanks to everyone's help.

The Trial they took was the watered down version developed by Kalkstein, Coral, Triss, and Lydia, who had joined them, but not officially just yet. They didn't gain as much strength as the witchers of old, but they didn't suffer any complications either.

The witchers' colorful eyes gleamed under the evening light. With the addition of these new witchers, the group now had a staggering twenty-four monster hunters in their ranks. They stayed in Kaer Morhen for more than one year, coming up with a meticulous plan before they made their way to Ellander.

The temple, however, was not the destination Roy had in mind.

"Are we there yet, Roy?" Acamuthorm took a seat beside Roy and swayed his legs back and forth, his fringe brushing across his freckles.

"It's been more than two weeks since we left Kaer Morhen. We passed Gwenllech, a few villages in Upper Buena, and Ard Carraigh. We'll be entering Ellander in a month at most."

"Is Nenneke as kind as you say she is?" Carl leaned in closer from atop his horse. "And are there really more than a hundred girls in the temple?"

"I see you've grown. Finally at that age, huh?" Felix smirked at his protege. "Does Vicki know you're interested in other girls, though?"

Auckes teased, "You just had to be a casanova like Lambert."

Carl glanced at Vicki, who was chatting quietly with the other girls. He smiled sheepishly and moved back a little.

"Ah, shut it." Lambert sidled up to Auckes and smacked his horse's rear. He grumbled, "So what about casanovas? At least I never hurt anyone's heart. It's always carnal."

"You're no different from a beast." Aiden scoffed.

Letho smacked his fists. Once everyone's attention turned to him, he shot them an icy look and sternly said, "Alright, shut it. Kids, the temple is a sacred place. Don't do anything stupid there. Follow their rules and do not disturb the priestesses."

"But we're full-fledged witchers now, Letho," Charname grumbled, "so can you stop treating us like we're kids?"

"Quiet!" Lytta tugged on her steed's reins. Everyone looked in the direction she was staring at. There was an old stone bridge near the exit of the woods. It was a path they had to take on their way to the south. There was a bridgehead standing near the bridge. Kaedwen's design. It was shimmering red under the setting sun.

Regular bridgeheads usually had three soldiers, a toll keeper, a coach, and a dozen travelers around, but this one was packed with people. Roy's eyes roved over it, and he saw at least thirty soldiers clad in Kaedwen attire patrolling the place. There were also fifty peltasts around the fence. Most were resting around campfires, ready to deal with any emergencies.

The gates were open. Flocks of people thronged around there. There was also a big group of soldiers resting within the fortress. Oxcarts and carriages were parked within the courtyard. Within the leaning watchtowers were two crossbowmen on high alert. When they saw the witcher's group coming out of the woods, they gasped.

"By the gods, where are you going, witchers?" The sergeant ran up to them, staring at the witchers. Their eyes alone struck fear into his heart, and he took on a more reverent attitude without even noticing it. "You have children with you. Are they your protégés?"

The witchers exchanged a knowing look, and the young witchers looked proud. On their way here, they met a lot of people, and everyone afforded them respect. The battle of Novigrad had spread far and wide over the previous year. Eventually, the stories took on a more mystical version. Some said they took down a thousand guards with just a troop of ten. Either way, the witchers found themselves to be feared and respected. No one dared curse or mock them anymore. It was a good sign, and the witchers were more than happy to take the gift.

"We're going to Ellander." Roy stepped forth, his eyes roving over the ground around the fortress. There were not only footprints there; Roy saw signs of battle, albeit they were covered up. He also tasted a faint scent of blood hanging in the air. Not even the downpour the night before could clear the air up.

The sergeant heaved a sigh of relief. He too had noticed the look on Roy's face, and he managed to guess what Roy wanted to ask. "You've noticed it as well, haven't you? Someone ambushed the fortress last night. If my troops had arrived one moment later, this place would've been razed to the ground," answered the sergeant.

He'd rather not cross these witchers. There were only about two hundred soldiers in this fortress. Strong they might be, the Eternal Fire guards were stronger, and yet they were decimated. The sergeant would rather let the witchers pass peacefully.

"Who would dare attack a Kaedwen stronghold?" Grimm stepped forth. Staying in Kaer Morhen had robbed him of the latest news. "I thought Nilfgaard signed a peace treaty."

"And it wasn't Nilfgaard that attacked us. It's the blasted bandits, and the South's supporting them." The sergeant spat. He was also perplexed as to why a knight was with the witchers. "Scoia'tael!" he hissed venomously, though that was not the correct pronunciation.

The Kaedwen soldiers behind him were riled up as well at the mention of that name.

Roy exchanged a look with his companions. "The Squirrels, you mean?"

"Yes. That's what they call themselves. Some say it's because they have squirrel tails tied to their hats or belts. Some say it's because they take the woods as their abode and only sustain themselves on a diet of nuts. 'Course, elves aren't their only members; they have half-elves, part-elves, halflings, dwarves, and every living being that despises humanity. Rumors had it that you slaughtered these extremists in Novigrad."

The sergeant was impressed. "Job well done. Only thing is you should've killed more."

Serrit crossed his arms. "Sounds like they're up to something again."

"Yes. The terrorists have expanded their area of operations to Kaedwen. No, the whole Northern Realms, to be exact. Attacks have been sighted in Brugge, Kerack, Verden's vicinity, the edges of Brokilon, Aedirn, Kaedwen, Temeria, and Redania. Those madmen would lay their hands on any passing traveler as long as they're humans. Merchants, soldiers, and even tramps. It's even worse in Kaedwen. They spread around like wildfire. Everywhere they go, everything dies. Guerilla warfare's their strategy, and they're more bloodthirsty than the bandits. They're not out for coin; they're out for blood. Human blood. Says gibberish like 'Human rule is over! Time for the old order to return. We're kicking you back to the sea!' See this bridgehead? They destroyed it."

The witchers were grim as well. The scoia'tael were nothing but weaklings before, yet now even the Northern Realms had to be wary of them. This was less-than-good news. Scoia'tael and witchers were now nemeses, all thanks to the battle at Novigrad.

"So you're trying to say that it'll be a dangerous journey to Kaedwen?" Vesemir looked at the covered corpses in the courtyard. They were starting to reek.

"Shouldn't be much of a problem for you guys. Scoia'tael members are nothing to witchers," said the sergeant unctuously. He then looked at the children. "But you have to be careful, especially when you have kids with you."

He moved away and gave his men a look. The soldiers quickly cleared the path for the witchers. The youngest of them were raring to go, despite the dangers of Scoia'tael. They had had enough of the endless training and sparring in Kaer Morhen. True battle was what they desired, and Scoia'tael was the perfect target.

"Oh, another caravan just went by as well. To the south too. You should run into them eventually. It's getting dark soon." The sergeant bade the guests goodbye. "They would be stopping to rest for the night. You should rendezvous with them. It'll be safer."

There's a fortress ransacked by the Squirrels on the way to Ellander. A certain memory surfaced in Roy's mind, and he got a little excited. "We shouldn't be wasting time, then."

Roy waved at the caravan behind him, and they quickly left the bridge. Only after the witcher caravan was out of sight did the soldiers and travelers heave a collective sigh of relief. "Chin up, men. Double the patrol efforts tonight."

They respected the witchers for their culling of Scoia'tael and their remarkable fighting prowess, but they'd rather not share a room with the mutants. They were dangerous. There were only a little more than ten of them a year ago, but their numbers had almost doubled. They didn't want to risk the witchers slaughtering this whole place.

With the bards' efforts at overturning the stigma on witchers and Cyrus' new book that was Witchers: Misunderstood Community, the Northern Realms had a new policy toward witchers: leave them alone, and show them respect.

Dusk fell upon the land once more. In the wilderness a short distance away from the south of the bridge, a group of carriages formed a circle beside the stone path. In its center was a bonfire, its fire illuminating the white canvas on the carriage.

A group of people were gathered around the bonfire, engaged in a conversation.

And then the braying of a horse broke the idyllic silence of the night. The people around the bonfire jumped, swinging their battle axes and warhammers away. Crossbowmen took aim and hid behind the carriages, taking cover.

The crowd exploded, ready to battle, though some were smart enough to find out who the newcomers were before they went hostile.

"Who goes there?" a dwarf bellowed, standing behind a carriage.

"Calm down, dwarf. We're friends." A witcher appeared from the darkness, leading a horse. He had hair white as snow and face pale as a ghost.

"Ya look like a ghost to me, mate. Have you ever looked into a mirror?" The dwarf put his ax away, muttering under his breath. He flung his absurdly long beard over his shoulder. "Unless my eyes are deceiving me, yer Geralt of Rivia. Ain't no one else looking more like a ghost than you."

"Evening, Yarpen Zigrin." Geralt tossed a bottle of spirit at the dwarf, and he smiled. "Must've been ten years since I left Kestrel Mountains."

Yarpen hastily uncorked the bottle of spirit. The air was filled with the aroma of alcohol, and the swarf took a big swig. He grinned, his teeth yellow, and his beard swayed. "That's some true Mahakaman spirit. Alright, people, false alarm. It's a friend."

The dwarves heaved a collective sigh of relief. A few dozen armed dwarves appeared from behind the carriages, and then the bonfire roared higher. With the light now brighter, they could see even more horses standing behind Geralt. The dozen or so pairs of beastly eyes did not escape them either. Nor did the big group of children.

"By Maha- Mahakam, a-are my eyes de- deceivin' me?" A stuttering dwarf put his hammer down. He looked at a certain black-haired, gray-eyed witcher in the group, and his eyes went wide. He roared, "Oy, Reagan, I ai-ain't seeing things, am I? H-He looks like h-him, b-but…"

"No, yer right." The crossbowman strapped his weapon to his back. He stepped forth and approached Roy, then he clasped his hand and gave him a hug. The dwarf could only reach Roy's chest, however. It almost seemed like a child was hugging his father. "Roy, my friend. It's good to see you here. What happened? Yer grown so much! And that badly must be Letho!"

Letho put on a smile and waved his hand.

"Hello, Reagan. Hello, Barney." Roy looked at the familiar faces. He couldn't hold back his excitement. It almost felt like he was back in Mahakam, adventuring through treacherous caves. "It's been four years. How are you doing?"

Chapter 563

"Sorceress, witchers, and children, welcome."

The caravan's size expanded a few times over, and one of the leaders, Yarpen, was seated in the center. "From left to right: Yannick Brass, Xavier, Moran, Paulie Dahlberg, his brother Reagan Dahlberg, and finally, Barney. He stutters a little. That witcher over there seems to know him."

The dwarves were short and stocky, with beards thick as bushes. They were covered in thick cotton shirts, and all looked like they were made from the same mold. They had crossbows on their backs and were equipped with black battle axes or warhammers. Anyone could confuse them with one another if they didn't look closely.

As per usual, Roy cast Observe on them. They had far better stats than regular humans, especially in terms of combat attributes like Strength and Constitution. Their stats were only slightly lagging behind the new witchers, but they had vastly superior skills with weapons and more combat experience.

There were about thirty human soldiers in the group, though they were seated on the other side of the bonfire, refusing to come close.

Roy nodded, a smile curling his lips. "About four years ago, Reagan, Barney, and I fought a leshen in Mahakam and came out triumphant. We drank and bathed together. Reagan even taught me how to use a crossbow better."

Roy took a small, gray notebook from his pocket. The cover read 'A gift to Roy. From Reagan Dahlberg.'

Reagan took the notebook and caressed it. He was happy to see the notebook he came up with taken care of well. "Ya changed a lot, Roy. I was about your chin's height back then, but now I can barely reach your waist. Barney and I have wonderin' why you and Letho left without saying goodbye."

Letho and Roy exchanged a look. "We're not used to big, merry occasions." They had no idea about Brovar's trap, so they kept it a secret. "Went into Smack and left."

"I see." Barney sounded lamenting. "The elder c-credited us f-for the leshen's d-death. Me, Reagan, Drew, a-and Dave. W-Women love us. C-Crazy for us. Think we're heroes."

Reagan proudly explained, "We ain't gonna raise a family and settle down at this age, so we left the mountain and met up with Paulie."

Paulie looked just like Reagan, except he had a bushier beard and skin black as tar. "Worked for Yarpen since then. Been a good life. If yer find yourself outta a job, ya can come for us. We have enough booze to go around." Reagan smacked Roy's shoulder.

Coral chuckled, drying her wet hands over the open fire. The children were staring at the dwarves curiously. This was their first contact with an ancient race.

Grimm caressed his greatsword, eyeing new sparring partners.

"B-Been a while, R-Roy. W-We're gonna d-drink till w-we drop!" Barney rubbed his hands, his cheeks red.

"Ain't got that much booze, mate." Paulie humphed. "It's for the vanguard."

Barney turned to the side angrily, facing Paulie with his rear.

"Hm, there's six of you here." Geralt scanned the dwarves, musing. "And there were six during the hunt for the dragon. The team's here."

"Not the whole team. Barney replaced Lucas." Yarpen took a swig of the spirit and gave Barney the bottle. Barney held it happily, his annoyance gone. "Lucas got hitched and returned to Mahakam. Barney's not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he works hard."

"Dragon hunting?" Their curiosity piqued, the apprentice witchers stared at Geralt expectantly. Even the girls were curious. Dragons were legendary creatures, after all.

Yarpen smacked his pot belly, guffawing. He winked at Carl before he regaled, "We failed the hunt, Geralt, but ain't humiliation' losing' to a golden dragon. Don't have to keep it a secret. It goes like this. Many years ago, we were in Caingorn, huntin' for a green dragon. Female. We had with us the Crinfrid Reavers, Yennefer of Vengerberg, Dorregaray the sorcerer, and Dandelion the bard. The shoemaker's trap of a dead sheep stuffed with poison plants worked. The dragon couldn't even lift a claw to fight. But just when we were about to capture her, one of Geralt's companions attacked. He turned. Grew into the size of a small mountain. Turned into a creature with scales hard as steel. Fangs and claws are sharp as the strongest weapons. Aye, 'twas a golden dragon. Crushed our team easily and took its wife and child away."

The hunt happened more than a decade ago, yet the dwarves still shuddered every time it was mentioned. Still, they might have failed the hunt and escaped with their tails between their legs, but they befriended Geralt.

Aiden muttered, "A dragon turning into a human? I remember an old folk song that talks about this. Golden dragons can turn into…"

"Anything." Geralt nodded. "Humans included. Villentretenmerth, or Borch Three Jackdaws, taught us a painful lesson."

Roy shot Geralt a knowing look. The White Wolf shuddered.

Roy knew very well that Borch Three Jackdaws and Geralt had a long discussion in The Pensive Dragon. In the heat of their discussion, Borch Three Jackdaws invited Geralt to bathe with his Zerrikanian bodyguards.

Zerrikanian women were not just great warriors on the battlefield. They were great warriors in… something else as well. That night, Geralt and the bodyguards shared a big bucket. Cramped as it was, the White Wolf still had an incredibly enjoyable night.

And then he had sex with Yennefer the very next morning, still full of vigor.

The apprentices' eyes twinkled. They were trying to imagine the battle that took place so many years ago.𝓵𝒊𝒃𝙧𝙚𝒂𝓭.𝓬𝙤𝙢

The witchers, however, looked at Roy. Roy defeated a dragon in another world. One that went by the name of Mirmulnir, and it had a terrifying ability called Dragon Shout.

Yarpen noticed the apprentices' anticipation to fight a dragon. "Children, golden dragons are the absolute kings of dragonkind. It can kill us all fairly easily if it wants to. You still have much to learn in this line of work. Start by hunting some drowners, eh?" The dwarf roared with laughter.

The apprentices' motivation was doused, their faces falling. Once again, they were harkened back to the unsightly days of drowner hunting. The air reeked of fish, and their minds were haunted by the growls and howls of the monsters.

"Here. It'll jump start your head." Yarpen tossed a bottle of liquor to Carl. Some of the alcohol spilled into the fire, spreading the scent of liquor into the air.

Carl took a little sip, but he balked at the spirit's scorching taste. He handed the bottle to his friends. The witchers had no problem with their protégés drinking alcohol. They had gone through the Trial after all, and no alcohol was deadlier than that. As long as they kept it within reason, it was fine.

"So, Geralt, how is your relationship with the lady?" Reagan wiggled his eyebrow at Geralt. "Better?"

Geralt's face stiffened up. He was getting worried about Yennefer, who stayed back at Skellige with Ciri and Eileni. His concern was about Crush, who might get ideas about seeing Yennefer again. Still, he nodded. "Yes. Quite a lot so."

"Congratulations. Get us some drinks when the happy occasion comes." Yarpen laughed animatedly.

"That's all for adventure stories. Who's that man over there?" Geralt turned his gaze to the man standing beside the carriage. That man didn't come over with the dwarves.

"Steward of our caravan and a bailiff, Vilfrid Wenck," the dwarf raised his voice. "In service of King Henselt, the wise king who resides in Ard Carraigh."

Vilfrid was an even more towering man than Letho. He was about twice the dwarves' height, and he was in simple emissary attire. The group was staring at him with interest, and he nodded stiffly. He disliked these guests, but he was vastly outnumbered to say anything about it.

Roy cocked his eyebrow, but not because of Vilfrid. He disagreed with the dwarf's opinion on Henselt. That man was irascible and hostile toward nonhumans. During the second war, Henselt struck a deal with Nilfgaard and overtook part of northern Aedirn. He was a man of no shame or vision whatsoever. Roy also knew that this expedition led by loyal Yarpen was another trap laid out by Henselt.

"So you're escorting this cargo by orders of the king?" Lambert looked at the carriage.

"Yes. Regular cargo, however. Things like dried fish, feed, tools, horse items, and miscellaneous military needs." Yarpen heaved a sigh. "Ya know how things are with the Squirrels. All the soldiers need food and clothing. They desperately need these replenishments. As part of the kingdom of Kaedwen, we have to contribute."

The dwarves are serving Kaedwen to topple The Squirrels, an organization led by nonhumans? That's kind of a race traitor.

The witchers fell into silence, though they were looking around.

"Don't give me that look, friends. Yes, I know there are dwarves among the Squirrels. They hide between bushes and kill off humans all in the name of freedom. And freedom from discrimination." Yarpen had a look of disapproval on his face. He shook his head. "But not every dwarf is the same. We spent more than a hundred years trying to gain an understanding with humans, and many of my clansmen have set up smithies, and breweries all around the world. Even the great Cianfanelli and Vivaldi were founded by dwarves. It's proof that we can get together, humans and nonhumans. We came to Kaedwen and swore our fealty to Kaedwen to strengthen this bond."

Roy was reminded of another dwarf who served Hereward. One who went by the name of Dennis Cranmer. He now had a clear relationship structure of dwarves and humankind. Brovar of Mahakam was neutral, Yarpen's team and Dennis were allies of humanity, while the Scoia'tael dwarves were on the opposite end of the spectrum. They despised humanity.

"But the bastards are trying to rile up hatred between humans and nonhumans. They kill indiscriminately, even those who've never treated them badly." Yarpen shook his head and took a swig of his spirit. He loudly declared, "Their violence is going to tear down all the goodwill we've built. I will not allow that to happen. Never again will humans and nonhumans become enemies. That's why we took a stand. To prove that there are still peaceful non-humans around."

Vilfrid had a look of approval on his face, and he nodded.

Roy sighed silently. With the Scoia'tael going around killing humans, the Northern Realms will only become more and more hostile toward nonhumans.

Silence fell upon the crowd. The only sounds left were the crackling of the flames, the belches and farts of the dwarves, and the breeze.

"Right, that's all from me. So where are you going this time, witchers?" Yarpen asked. "The Northern Realms are shaken by your actions over the last couple of years. The Squirrels hate your guts, but humans have changed their opinion about you guys. Heard some stories too. Fifteen witchers, swinging their blades. Gleaming crescent moons of death, charging across the battlefield. Said you spat fire like dragons too."

The dwarves looked at the witcher team and found more than twenty witchers among them. "Almost twice the number of you guys now. Not even elves or dwarves reproduce that quickly."

Vesemir coughed. "Bit of an exaggeration, Yarpen. Non Humans outnumber us at least a thousand to one. The expansion of our ranks will change nothing."

"But yer excellent fighters," praised Reagan. "Where are ya really going, though? There's a big buncha ya."

"We're going south. To Ellander, where these brats can sharpen their skills and meet more people along the way." Roy tossed a piece of charcoal into the bonfire. "It's a ten-day journey to Pixels, and our paths won't fork until then. Wanna travel together? Scoia'tael is on the prowl, and it's going to be a dangerous journey. We should have each other's backs."

If Roy's memories served him right, Yarpen's team would run into terrible danger on this journey. A few dwarves would die. One was Geralt's old friend, and a few others would be Barney and Reagan. Roy couldn't sit this one out. He liked these rugged, miserly, alcoholic, but loyal dwarves.

Roy had a warm, reliable air about him. And he seemed to be trustable. Yarpen was about to nod, but then he looked at Vilfrid. "Sorry, but I can't make the shot here. If we can't get to our destination on time, the bailiff's gonna be in trouble."

"See these kids? We've trained them. Nothing happened during our trip. I promise they can keep up with any adults. They won't slow you down." Serrit took over. He could guess what Roy wanted to do. He whispered, "And everyone knows we and the Squirrels are nemeses. We won't backstab you."

Geralt scanned the dwarves slowly. "And if you have time, you can teach the kids a bit about adventuring."

Vicki, Renee, Oreo, Conrad, and the kids held their hands together, staring at the dwarves with anticipation. The dwarves, ever loving to teach, got a little tipsy, and they held their heads high, a smile curling their lips.

Yarpen stroked his beard and took a deep breath, then he exchanged a look with his companions. "By Mahakam, we can never leave women and children to the machinations of fate, can we? I'll talk to the bailiff. And it's late. You should get some rest. And dontcha glare at me, Barney. Ya can't chat with Roy now. Get some sleep. Any chatting' can't wait until morning'."

Roy looked at the night sky, where the constellation of Draco hung brightly. The galaxy flowed across the skies like a silver, glimmering ribbon.

The night was getting darker. The carriages and oxcarts stood in a circle around the bonfire, a piece of cloth splitting the space in two. The sorceress and the girls took up tents on the left side, while the boys took up the space on the right.

The witchers spread a circle of beast-repelling feces around the campsite and slept outside the carriages, on the trees, hay, branches, and even boulders. The monster hunters only had microsleep, glancing at the caravan in the center.

Geralt was lying on a branch, his cloak blanketing him. His head pillowed on his hands. "Why'd you insist on traveling with them?"

Roy stared at the stars in the skies and glanced at Barney, who was patrolling the perimeter with a human soldier. He asked, "Would you help your friend if you knew they were about to run into danger?"

Geralt tensed up. "So you're saying…"

"That this journey is more treacherous than you thought. Be careful. And get some sleep." Roy sat with his legs crossed and entered the realm of mediation. Once again, he tried to cast the spell he gleaned from the ifrit Vilgefortz summoned.

Chapter 564

Colorful elemental particles rained across the skies like chromatic comets. The burning particles of flames were like ribbons shining with crimson light, and they surrounded the witcher, cocooning him

The silent heart once again started to beat, reviving itself all the while playing a mystical tune. The element of fire burst forth from the dark space, along with the plane of fire hanging high up in the skies. The flames from both sides charged across the space between them, nourishing the crimson cocoon standing in between.

And then, the cocoon was torn. A pair of shining talons clawed their way out from within, then a male creature made of gaseous flames emerged. Its shoulders were broad, its back wide as mountains. Its nose resembled a lion's, and its mouth was like a maw. Its eyes were made of the most exquisite rubies in existence, and they burned with flames. Horns jutted from its forehead, ancient runes engraved upon their surface. Its red hair tumbled down its shoulder and wrapped itself around its neck and chest, forming a mane. Glimpses of fire flared in its throat every time it opened its maw.

Roy the ifrit stared at his fiery form, and a small smile cracked his lips. Compared to Mirmulnir's form, the ifrit had a lower affinity toward the four elements, but it was the king of flames. The fire element, proud and arrogant, was now huddled close to Roy, talking to him, worshiping him. Roy held his left hand in a fist, and a whip of fire appeared, without need for spells or incantations.

He cracked the whip, filling the air with flames and light.

***𝑙𝑖𝑏𝓇𝘦𝑎𝒹.𝑐𝑜𝓂

Roy had been ameliorating his soul for more than a month since he woke from his third Trial. With his powerful soul and incredible meditating skills, Roy could finally keep this form stable, and now it was time for the next step.

He conjured a thought, and the particles of flames quickly formed gigantic hands, taking him away from the elemental planes. Slowly, Roy descended into the ground. The earth that prohibited his entry was gone. The element of fire was part of the world's foundation, and iffits were part of this world's system. The planet would not reject its entry.

Just like how Roy could easily sink into the earth back in Skyrim with his dragon form, Roy the ifrit easily sank into the depths of the witcher world. The light was slowly getting dimmer and dimmer, while the air was getting thinner and thinner. Temperatures were declining, and the only thing that was constant was the all-encompassing darkness.

Roy rode his flames, penetrating the crust, then the upper mantle, then lower mantle. Slowly, he made his way to the center of the planet.

A long, long time later, a sliver of crimson light tore through the darkness, then the silver became a beam. What was a flickering light a moment ago had turned into a great ball of flames like the sun hanging high above the skies.

The temperature skyrocketed. A moment ago, it was a hundred degrees under zero, but now it was a thousand degrees. The rustling of elements had disappeared, replaced by a sound far louder and stronger. The air hissed like steam, the water roared like a raging river. Roy had finally arrived at the outer core of the planet's center, where liquid flames flowed.

There were no Bones of the Earth here, unlike Nirn. There was a shell of an egg made of flames and magma. An egg a billion times larger than its regular counterpart. On the top of the shell were a ceiling of red stalactites. They were falling into the fiery ocean underneath, but the stalactites were vaporized before they could hit the sea, filling the air with the stench of sulfur.

Underneath the shell was a river of flames made of fire and magma. It roared, galloped, and charged downstream, spitting flames and magma in every direction. The outer core was a few thousand degrees hot, its air filled with enough particles of flames to rival that of the fire elemental plane's surroundings.

To Roy the ifrit, however, this was like home to him. He floated upon the river of magma, spreading his arms like he was embracing his mother, his conical lower body swimming around the river. He could feel a hitherto unfelt density of fire energy swimming into his body. The energy condensed into a ball and welled from his heart. They were stuck in his throat, yearning for release.

The skill of Wing Flap, one that Roy gleaned from the book of the Griffins, merged with that ball of energy within him. And then something roared. The voice riled up the river of flames, and the sea of fire roiled. Bubbles popped endlessly upon the surface of the red river. Magma burst open, and liquid flames fluttered in the air over the river.

A magma pillar more than thirty feet tall hurtled forth from the sea. It slithered in the air like a snake, leaving a path of flames in its wake. Steadily, the snake became a dragon that destroyed everything in its path. The pillar of flames kept flying upward, burning the mantle. It wished to break free of the core and leap into the surface.

Roy gave it an order. The dragon broke into countless shards of flames that rained down upon the seas.

The seven Signs flashed in his mind. First, the Signs of Axii and Clamp, with the element of water being their source of power. Then the Signs of Gwen and Heliotrope, with the element of earth supplying them with their protective strength. Then the Signs of Aard and Yrden, their source of power drawn from the air.

And then, there was Igni. Sole Sign of the flames. It needed a partner, and Roy would grant it. Henceforth, the element of fire would have another Sign, and Roy dubbed it using his own name—Roy Magma.

A golden message popped up on the character sheet.

'You have created the eighth Sign and dubbed it after your name—Roy Magma.

Roy Magma: A Sign founded upon the force of a powerful soul and masterful meditation. With the soul turned into an ifrit and coupled with the mysterious powers of Wing Flap, you may resonate with the core of the world you are in and summon the roiling magma within.'

Just like his dragon form summoning and Symphony of the Sword, Roy Magma had a cooldown of 17 minutes and 50 seconds.

Roy heaved a sigh of relief. He opened his eyes. The night was getting cold, and silence was its only companion. Roy was on his branch, staring around. The skies were filled with a galaxy of stars, while Geralt was sound asleep under his cloak.

Roy felt proud of himself. Moments ago, he created his own spell. The eighth Sign. One that didn't need any gestures. Akin to Dragon Shouts, it demanded the user bring forth the power of the earth with their soul and the power of sound.

For now, he was the only one who could use this Sign. No other witchers managed to max out their Meditation level just yet, and their souls were not as powerful as his. Roy Magma was out of their reach. For now.

Roy would tweak it until everyone could use it eventually.

The witcher nimbly leapt off the branch. He ran off into the dark wilderness.

A sliver of white broke through the skies as dawn tolled. A layer of cold, humid fog hung in the air, dewdrops gleaming on the leaves of the greenery around the campsite.

Roy had returned after a session of night training, leaving scorched earth in the wilderness miles away from the campsite, out of everyone's sight. Or knowledge.

The campsite was hearing its first noise of the day. The children were folding their blankets and tents, then they packed up their belongings.

It was great to be young. After surviving the wilds for two weeks, the children could even sleep in the wilderness and wake up all refreshed.

The dwarves were getting prepared for the journey as well. Their side of the camp rustled, and their steeds stomped and whinnied. The wheels turned and creaked, and the dwarves cursed.

Yarpen's voice rumbled the air, and he approached the witchers, leading Vilfrid.

"I do not object to our traveling together, witchers," Vilfrid said. "I trust Vilfrid, and he trusts you." Vilfrid didn't think the witchers would hurt them. If they wanted to, they would've taken out everyone the night before.

The dwarf grinned at the witchers.

"But there is one issue." Vilfrid scanned the children who were packing up. "I must arrive at my destination safely and on time, or it's off with my head. It doesn't escape my notice that you have a lot of children with you."

"They're as healthy as any dwarven lad," Yarpen guaranteed. "I don't think they'll drag us down. And we're passing through the woods leading to Pixels. It's home to a lotta evil monsters, that's what I heard."

"You make a compelling argument." Vilfrid nodded. He looked the witchers in the eyes. "It is entirely possible to run into evil monsters in Kaedwenian woods. Monsters riled by something more sinister. They would attack any passing caravan, including yours. His Majesty has predicted this, and he has vested upon me the power to hire any passing warriors to join us. What do you make of that offer?"

Roy and the witchers exchanged a look. Obviously, these monsters were the Squirrels. If this was before the slaughter at Novigrad, the neutral Wolves would've refused Vilfrid's offer. They disliked the Squirrels, though they would not hunt them down. However, things had changed.

"We'll make sure our traveling partners don't get killed." Vesemir nodded.

"That is excellent news." A small smile cracked Vilfrid's quiet face. "And I shall be in charge of your personal well-being until we reach Lixela. Happy partnership."

Everyone went back to their caravans and shouted orders to leave. The coaches hopped onto the carriages and pulled on the reins. The horses cantered down the path, while the team of witchers closely followed them.

The horses took two to three children each on their backs. Some were in the carriages, while the apprentices walked on foot. It was good training. Sometimes they would also sit down in the carriages and dangle their legs around.

"Roy, when I was patrolling l-last night, I-I heard some s-strange noises." Barney tugged on his reins and brought his carriage around a tree before him. He then took the bottle of Mahakaman spirit from Roy and hid it in his bushy beard. "'Twas from l-late at night till dawn. S-Sometimes it was a whisper, b-b-but sometimes i-it was a roar. L-Like a d-demon, I-I thought. R-Reminded me o-of the l-leshen. I-I tried to find it, but there was nothing. Y-You're the monster e-expert here. A-Any ideas?"

Roy was surprised. What kind of hearing is that? I was miles away testing my Sign! "You heard it right," Roy lied. "I found a ghoul last night a couple miles away, but it's sleeping now. Forever."

Barney's eyes went wide with astonishment. "Y-You've grown. T-Taller, and s-stronger too," he stammered, his voice filled with pride. "B-But 'tis a shame you don't have a beard. O-Or chest hair." He scanned Roy's smooth chin and chest. Barney commented, "Y-Yer pretty. E-Even if you want to m-marry a dwarf, n-no one's gonna marry you."

Roy massaged his temples and shook his head, smiling. "I've said this once, I'll say it twice. I am not going to marry any dwarven women. They're not my style. And I have someone already."

"Y-You mean t-the sorceress?" The dwarf looked at Coral, who was walking with the children. Her skin was smooth and supple, her dress frilly, and her curves beautiful as a mountain's. Even on this journey, the sorceress made sure she had light makeup on. Her crimson hair billowed in the wind, covering part of her face. Noticing Roy and Barney looking at her, she smiled.

She was gorgeous, but alas, unlike dwarven women, she lacked a beautiful beard. A-At least i-it's better than n-none. Barney raised a thumbs up.

Roy leaned on the back of the carriage and stared at the dwarf ahead. Paulie was wearing a red scarf around his neck, driving a carriage. Grimm was fiddling with his hand crossbow and hammer. There was an urge to battle flaring in his eyes.

By Freya and Melitele, can he stop his obsession already? "What about you, Barney? How's life in Kaedwen?"

Barney ruminates over that question. "Kaedwen h-has not many d-dwarves, b-but the people are n-nice. I like t-them. Straightf-f-forward. A-Ain't gonna b-be t-two faced a-and…"

Reminded of a certain someone, Roy smiled. "Backstab you?"

"Yes!" Barney was spewing foam everywhere. It was like talking to a kin. "A-And when the w-weather gets cold, t-they love t-to get meat a-and drink a-and cuss a-and have a r-round of G-Gwent."

The dwarf thought about his next words long and hard. "I-I think someone s-said this. H-Humans are all s-savages, but K-Kaedwen i-is the worst of the l-lots. It's l-like someone dressed p-pigs up a-and taught them h-how to walk o-on their hind legs. S-Snorts all the time. S-Smells like a p-pig too."

Barney tried his best to praise the people of Kaedwen. "T-They're like us. L-Loves c-crude humor. C-Cusses like a d-dwarf too."

"Been a rough year for you guys too, Yarpen?"

Roy listened closely. That was a question asked by Geralt. He and Yarpen were engaged in a solemn political conversation.

Yarpen was angrily laying out the relationship between ancient races and humans and betrayal in general, then he sprinkled his opinion in too. He told Geralt that humans killed his mother's mother, and yet he set that grudge aside and lent a human kingdom his services. All he wanted was peace. Still, his fury failed to fully cover for the worried tone in his voice.

Vilfrid was further in the front of the caravan, and he too was listening in.

"Ain't got a good feeling-about this." Barney hung his head low, staring at the soil and gravel on the ground. He muttered, "H-Henselt a-ain't trusting us a-as much any-anymore. I-I can feel it. H-He's distancing-himself from us. L-Like how B-Brovar distanced himself f-from Yarpen and Z-Zoltan. H-Henselt probably sent us on t-this journey t-to kick us out o-of the city. W-Wanted us to deal with the Scoia'tael p-problem. I-It saddens me."

Roy clicked his tongue. He changed his opinion about Barney a little. The dwarf might look naive, but he could be smart if he wanted to. The witcher said, "More and more nonhumans are joining the Squirrels. Some look like they're on the humans' side, but the truth is they're helping the rebels get away from the soldiers. Of course humans are going to think their nonhuman friends will someday backstab them."

Roy said cryptically, "And it's going to get worse. Sooner or later, the line between nonhumans and Scoia'tael members are just going to be blurred. At least that's how it will look to humans."

Barney fell into silence, his face green. The conflict between the ancient races and Nordlings had existed since time immemorial. It was nigh impossible to calm it down, especially after Nilfgaard's promises to the nonhumans and riling up of their fury. The nonhumans had pledged their services to the South, becoming their vanguard.

This conflict would never end until all the ancient races were annihilated, or if they had a land they could call their own.

Roy heaved a sigh. And then he felt a chill run down his spine. He turned around and saw Vicki smiling sheepishly at him from the oxcart, her hair billowing in the breeze that crossed the woods. Renee and Lilia were waving at him happily.

Under Coral's guidance, the girls were making a painting of the caravan to pass the time. Roy, being the most attractive man in the team, was the center of the portrait.

"Barney, to be honest, what would you do if we ran into the Squirrels?" Roy looked at his friend.

Barney fell into silence. Uneasily, he patted his horse's tail.

"Do you expect them to show you mercy? Just because you're a nonhuman?" Roy changed his tactic.

Barney whipped out the bottle of liquor in his beard and took a big swig. He said, "I understand. I-I'm a drinker, a-a gambler, and a c-crass guy, b-but I'm l-loyal. W-We're on a mission for King Henselt. T-This is my duty. I-If anyone tries to t-take the supplies o-or trash the carriage, I-I'll fight them."

He patted the head of his warhammer. "T-They'll have to f-fight me. A-Ain't gonna take anything' u-unless they g-get over my d-dead body." 𝘭𝘪𝘣𝑟𝘦𝘢𝒹.𝘤𝑜𝓂

The caravan traveled through the path in the forest, the air filled with the voices of witchers, humans, and dwarves.

Chapter 565

A week of peace and quiet went by. The caravan had passed through the shifting wilds, clear, gurgling streams, short hills, and juniper woods, but no Squirrel showed up. The witcher's protégés were getting along with the dwarves well. Every night, they would gather around the bonfire, listening to the dwarves talking about their days of adventure, with Yarpen often in the lead.

The children were regaled with tales of deadly battles with basilisks almost as towering as dragons, duels with ogroids that devoured at least two humans every meal, relentless drinking that lasted for days during a drinking contest in Ard Carraigh, and how they came out victorious against the sailors from Skellige. And how they gained the prize of free refills for life.

Vilfrid would chip in as well and talk about his thoughts of Kaedwen's situation as well as his opinions on Scoia'tael, but most of the time, he would listen quietly, much like the witchers.

All dwarves could tell great stories. They would stroke their beard and speak of their adventures between mugs of liquor, their voices as lively and spirited as warriors going into battle. Even the stuttering Barney managed to regale the children with a few tales of his adventure.

Compared to the more practical witchers and their straightforward way of telling tales, the children preferred the dwarves who used superlatives and a lot of comparisons in their stories.

On a few nights, the apprentices would sleep on the rugs beside the dwarves' bonfire, even though the dwarves snored like thunder and passed gas a lot. It brought them closer together. Roy, however, would glance at the crates in the caravan and the wheel tracks on the ground. Then he would fall into his own thoughts.

It was an overcast day. The air itself felt heavy and gloomy. Through a deserted forest the caravan went, then the dwarves and witchers pulled on their reins at the same time, slowing down. They came to a clearing. There were no trees. Only some sort of ruins was in its place. Smooth granite and cracked marble were strewn across the ground, the engravings on their surface almost erased by the constant exposure to the elements. The freezing winters had cracked the stones, and roots slithered in, further breaking them apart.

Deeper in the ruins, underneath the thick layer of greenery were broken pillars and white arches. On their surfaces, ivy and moss thrived.

"What is this place?" Vicki asked Lytta curiously.

"Shaerrawedd."

"Is it a castle?" Carl rubbed his chin, looking at Yarpen.

"No, brat. Elves don't build castles. This was a palace." The dwarf looked at the ruins solemnly. He was cautious but at the same time respectful.

"Can we check it out, then?" Carl turned to the witchers. The protégés and the children were looking forward to some sightseeing.

It'd been nothing but barren land for a while. They were sick of plants and muddy paths. This palace was one of the famous places here, making it a good chance to delve deeper into this land's history.

Roy looked to Vilfrid for his opinion.

"It's a sacrosanct location for the elves and Squirrels." Vilfrid was refusing gently. "It's a dangerous place, so we should leave right away."

"Ah, just a look won't kill anyone. Ain't wastin' too much time either," said Yarpen.

Vilfrid took a deep breath, a hint of resignation filling his eyes. "We'll set off in half an hour. Horses can't travel through rubble, so we'll do this on foot."

The children whooped and cheered. Roy, Coral, Geralt, Yarpen, Vesemir, and Felix followed them, while everyone else stayed back to protect the caravan.

"Slow down, children. You don't want to break anything here."

Leaves squelched under their feet. They walked toward the ruins for about five minutes and ascended a flight of marble stairs. What greeted them afterward was a moss-covered stone path and ruins that looked distinctly elven.

The children walked around, curious about everything. The witcher stood around them, keeping them safe.

"This is a beautiful place." Renee caressed the patterns of leaves and ivy engraved on the fallen pillars. Loudly, she asked, "Why was it destroyed?"

"The elves themselves destroyed this place. Before they left, though." Vesemir brushed his hand across the leaf pattern on the ground. Patiently, he explained, "More than two hundred years ago, after the abject defeat of the elves in their war against humanity, they tore down their magnificent structures and palaces before they retreated into the mountains. It was done in a bid to prevent humanity from stealing their civilization's gems. Gems like Valley of the Nine and Est Tayiar. All were destroyed."

"Not all. Many of their civilization's structures still stand." Yarpen had a conflicted look on his face. "And humans built their cities upon these elven structures. Vizima, the capital of Temeria, for example. Oxenfurt, the North's beacon of academia. Aedd Gynvael, the home of a tribe on the edge of the world. Maribor, Cintra, and the most famous city of all, Novigrad. All were built upon the land of the elves."

Yarpen was envious, and a little sardonic. "You humans are gifted in the reproduction part. Not much else, I'm afraid. You breed like rabbits. No, more prolifically than that, I daresay. You took over the world with sheer numbers and killed most nonhumans. Chased elves into the barren Blue Mountains and holed most dwarves and gnomes in Mahakam and Tir Tochair. Kicked halflings into the remote wilds too. And in every city, humans have set up gathering spots for nonhumans. Like the discrimination isn't blatant enough."

Roy shot Yarpen a glare. "You should be watching your tongue. Talking about reproduction when children, witchers, and a sorceress are present? Talk about insensitivity."

"Sorry." Yarpen shrugged, but he didn't seem sorry at all. "Forgot you're worse than dwarves when it comes to offsprings." 𝑙𝒾𝒷𝘳𝑒𝑎𝒹.𝑐𝑜𝓂

The witchers skewered Yarpen with glares, while Lytta gave Roy a look. She knew he had an Unexpected Child. After his third Trial, he ran off to Skellige just to see her. But I can't ever have a child with him.

"Lotsa folk are suggesting' that under Nilfgaard's rilin', the elves who got holed up in the mountains have made a comeback. They want revenge." Yarpen waved his arm ahead, motioning at everyone to follow him.

They stepped past the rough ground and entered the center of the palace. A bizarre fountain and deformed stone slabs were separated by alder and birch trees. The place almost resembled a gigantic flower made of trees and stones.

Small shallow ditches flowed behind this patch of greenery. Some formed little streams on the ground, while some fell down the stairs, forming little waterfalls that washed away the leaves and debris on the structures.

Behind the ditches was an arch made of marble and clay, half buried in the ground. It still shone beautifully, as if it were newly built instead of buried for two centuries.

The group formed a line and entered the archway. Greeting them was the most magnificent part of the palace. A relief stood in the chamber, and flowerbeds sat around it. Between beautiful chunks of clay was a patch of roses. White roses. Dewdrops glimmered on its ivory petals like transparent pearls.

The roses' branches clung to a marble relief that depicted a regally gorgeous female elf. The gold and gemstones were all stolen, of course, but the elf still looked breathtaking.

"Aelirenn. Or better known to us as Elirena." Yarpen pointed at the elf. He explained to the curious children, "She was the rebel leader in the war two hundred years ago."

Even though it was just a relief, the depiction of Aelirenn still commanded respect, as if it were magic.

"After the elves' defeat, their king, Filavandrel aen Fidhail led his people into the Blue Mountains, but Aelirenn refused to listen to him. She led the younger elves into a rebellion. They took up arms and challenged the human army. 'For Shaerrawedd!' they would shout, and into the human army they charged. Despite being outnumbered one thousand to one, the elves valiantly brought the fight to humanity in a bid to reclaim their lost home."

There was excitement in Yarpen's eyes. For a moment, he took on the pride of a nonhuman. Despite being humanity's allies, he still had respect for the predecessors who laid down their lives to defend their homeland.

"Of course, they were defeated and culled. The same fate will befall the Squirrels if they stubbornly go ahead with their operations."

The crowd stared at the beautiful Aelirenn in silence, wondering why she had so much courage within her. Their opinion on the Squirrels changed slightly. Everyone wondered if they were only terrorists who killed the innocents or liberation fighters who wanted to reclaim their lost home.

"Aelirenn sacrificed herself for the freedom of nonhumans. She and the fallen palace of Shaerrawedd is now a symbol of resistance for nonhumans. Do you see these flowers? Know why they bloom throughout the year despite living in ruins?"

Before anyone could answer, Yarpen continued, "Because all the nonhumans who pass this place pay tribute to this place, taking care of the roses."

"So you're saying Squirrels will come as well?" Carl asked.

"That's right, kids. What'd Wenck say? Right, this place is dangerous." Yarpen looked around, warning, "That's half an hour. Storytime Is over. Let's go." The dwarf spun his ax and strode back the way they came.

"Hey, you guys." Monti stiffly followed him, but he turned back to Roy and the other witchers. "Are Squirrels really terrorists who kill indiscriminately?"

The other children had the same question as well. The story of Aelirenn and Shaerrawedd was a tragically heroic one. And now the Squirrels seem to have a reason to rain down vengeance on humanity. To the people who took away their homes. There was justification for even their attacks in Novigrad.

The witchers and Lytta were silent.

"This is why we have a code of neutrality. It gives us the liberty to take no sides in this war." Vesemir looked at the perplexed children and shook his head. He exchanged a look with Geralt. "Their hatred runs deep and ancient. It's a complex issue with no exact answer."

"But…" Felix's eyes flickered coldly. He patted Carl's head, staring at the caravan in the woods. With resolve, he said, "Scoia'tael, humans, I don't care. Try attacking us or our family, and they're dead."

"Don't think too much about it." Coral patted the girls' heads. She said, "Nothing's more important than your own survival. Do not show any mercy when none will be afforded to you."

They left Shaerrawedd, following Yarpen. Roy stared up at the looming skies, then he turned his gaze to the caravan in the clearing. Solemnly, he said, "People, I have an ominous feeling. Something's giving me the chills. Be on high alert tonight."

In a shrub far away from Shaerrawedd, a glistening black sparrowhawk flew down onto a petite elven woman. It perched upon her shoulder and chirped clearly.

The elf was dressed like a bard, but she had a beautiful strip of cloth around her waist. The colorful cloth extended down to her knees. She tilted her head, listening to the sparrowhawk, and her face fell. "Eveline, Kenzafa, Varselie, listen. Caru just told me a group of people just went inside the ruins of Shaerrawedd." The elf's braids swayed around her shoulders. "What are they up to? Are they going to destroy the ruins?"

"How many of them are there?" The elf in the bush tensed up. She had mahogany hair, beautiful curves, and a pair of long, beautiful legs. The elf was equipped with yellow leather armor and long boots.

"A caravan. About a hundred monkeys. Humans, dwarves, children, and…"

"And what?" The male elf who'd been munching on his turnip greedily turned impatient. He rasped, "Did you get a cold, Toluvair? Stop stammering."

"And witchers. More than twenty of them."

"What? Are you sure about that?"

The elves stopped breathing for a moment. Fear creeped onto their faces, and then hatred took over. How could they forget the humiliation these mutants rained down upon their brethren who valiantly died in Novigrad?

The elf with mahogany hair pursed her lips. Her eyes flickered with remembrance.

"What now, Eveline?" Toluvair glanced at her comrades nervously. "There's only two hundred or so of us here. I don't think we can win this."

"So you'll let them leave?" Kenzafa shook his head tersely. "They desecrated the relief of Aelirenn right in front of us. If we don't do anything about it, we'll be nothing but cowards. They have a heap of cargo with them. If their supplies reach the soldiers of Kaedwen, who knows how many of our brethren will fall? We cannot let them go!"

"We just fought the soldiers at the bridgehead a week ago. We need rest." Eveline shook her head, hesitant. "And it's odd that there's a bunch of children with the caravan."

"So? Do you think humans will spare our children?" Kenzafa's face flared with violence. "So many of them died in Novigrad, and they didn't even get a proper burial. No, their bodies were hung for everyone to see! You cannot keep showing them mercy, Eveline!"

"Kenzafa's right." Varselie, a middle-aged female elf with pallid skin and long eyelashes shook her head. Dubiously, she said, "The bards claim that the witchers are powerful fighters. So did the Eternal Fire guards, but we've never seen how they fight."

Layers of leather belts were wrapped around her neck, and a golden birch piece was skewered through the belts. A wooden staff with complex flower engravings on it sat beside her, blinking with magic.

"Because everyone who fought them died," Toluvair muttered under her breath.

Varselie ignored Toluvair. Adamantly, she said, "Humans and a part of our dwarven brethren love to exaggerate everything. Perhaps the truth is different. Perhaps they made up that story to hide their own weakness. We have ten times the number of the witchers and twice the number of this ragtag caravan. All our soldiers are elites, and we're in the dark here. If we use the element of surprise, they'll be dead before they know what is happening."

The bushes behind these four leaders rustled, and hate-filled eyes poked from underneath. Two hundred Scoia'tael members had blended in with their surroundings. They were draped in cloaks made of tree bark and grass, their faces covered in green paint and patterns of sticks, preventing any light from reflecting off their skin.

There were also bearded dwarves and petite, babyfaced halflings among the platoon.

"Give the order, Eveline. Follow that caravan. One night comes and they fall asleep, we'll strike. For Aelirenn. For our brethren. For Shaerrawedd!"

"For Shaerrawedd!" A quiet, collective cheer came from the bushes.

Kenzafa chomped on his carrot, his eyes flickering coldly. Toluvair held her wooden bow tightly, falling into her thoughts. Eveline was silent, concern flaring in her eyes. There's a bunch of witchers there. Could he be there too? No. There's no way he can be. And I cannot betray my brethren. She took a deep breath to calm herself, and she nodded.

Chapter 566

It was a silent night. Within a campsite made of carriages and a bonfire, soldiers, dwarves, and children slept, snoring and swaddled in rugs. Beyond the campsite, witchers slept with one eye open upon boulders, moss, and tree branches, listening to the night.

A silver moon rose high into the skies, its light bathing upon the rustling lands. Insects scuttled across the ground, and nocturnal beasts prowled, hunting for food. Trees swayed, briars bristled, and icy dewdrops fell to the ground.

Verdant silhouettes flitted through the wilds under the moons, leaving whispers of icy breezes in their wake.

And then they struck metal. A bear trap hidden within the bushes snapped shut as something hit it. A grunt and stifled gasps of pain echoed in the air. The flitting silhouette stopped and fell ahead like a tree snapped in two by a howling gale.

The moonlight shone upon an elf, his face contorted in pain, his forehead drenched in sweat. He was flinching, foam frothing at his mouth. The great gash on his right leg, left by the bear trap, was gushing blood. His pants were drenched red, a stark contrast to his ivory bones.

His companions' hearts sank. At the same time, the air was filled with ghostly pairs of eyes. The witchers had woken.

"Enemy attack!"

An earth-shattering roar made the silent night tremble, waking all sleeping members. They shivered and stared around, dazed.

"Look alive, lads! We got company! Scoia'tael bastards!" Yarpen leapt from the ground and pulled an ax from the tree. The edge glinted menacingly under the moonlight.

Reagan and Paulie snapped up their hand crossbows, while Xavier, Yannick, and Barney took up their hammers. All gathered around their leader.

Wenck's men were prepared for this. They were in their armor even in their sleep. The moment the commotion broke out, they took their hand crossbow and loaded it. Some unsheathed their swords and held their shields high, then they jerked behind the carriages, searching the perimeter with the help of the moon's and torches' illumination.𝙡𝙞𝓫𝙧𝒆𝙖𝓭.𝙘𝙤𝙢

In the other camp, the children calmly huddled around Lytta, covering themselves with blankets. Coral remained seated in the blankets, making a complex gesture with her hands. She had no time to deal with her messy makeup.

The simple magical circle around the carriage was activated. Chaos energy burst forth, its light shining upon her face. An invisible barrier spread from Coral, covering the caravan. Eventually, it turned into a great blue dome that looked like an egg.

A crimson bolt arced through the air and fell upon the carriages, but the magical barrier deflected it, and the arrowhead was crushed into pieces.

Fiery bolts burst forward from the bushes like a burning raven. They flew toward the carriages, but the shield Coral erected deflected them all. They fell to the ground, and sparks of flame lit the hay around.

Some of the bolts struck the carriages outside the barrier. They scorched the canvas and buried themselves within the wooden boards, and fires broke out. Smoke and flames littered the battlefield.

"For Aelirenn!"

"For Shaerrawedd!"

Shouts came from the darkness. The Scoia'tael members split into dozens of squads, charging the caravan from every direction.

The witchers uncorked their decoctions and gulped them all down. They leapt from their hiding places, faces filled with black veins. Their blades glinted dangerously, and they darted ahead like dark lightning.

Yarpen held his ax in one hand and his hand crossbow in another. He and his five dwarven companions followed the witcher in their assault. The remaining members stayed back to guard the caravan and put out the fires.

The fighters clashed, and metal hummed. Blood spurted, and limbs flew. It was but a moment, and more than ten enemies fell to the witchers' weapons.

Roy tilted his head. A fiery arrow whizzed past his ear. He fired a shot, and the bolt hit the halfling crossbowman hiding behind a tree. He fell, a bloody hole boring through his chest.

Roy switched his crossbow out for Gwyhyr. He dodged the incoming steed and swung his blade down. The cloak of the elven knight was tinted with red, then his spine was broken in two. The elf fell from his steed, and the horse stomped on him. The black horse stampeded into the fighting crowd and separated it.

An elf leapt and held the horse by its head, but it did nothing to stop the steed's advancement. The momentum from its charge dragged the elf underneath the horse's hooves, and then sounds of cracking bones filled the air.

Roy charged at the Squirrels coming at him, dust billowing around him. His expression was as cold as ice, and he swung his blade across the attacking squad. A crimson energy beam hurtled across the air, hissing like a rattlesnake.

A sinewy elf held his blade up in an attempt to block it. And the beam sliced through him, metal and all. The elf was cut in two, but the beam did not stop. It charged ahead, the blood of its last victim spurting behind it.

The remaining Squirrels held up their blades, their sunken faces contorted. They snarled like beasts, but before they could even swing their swords, the energy beam cut through their torso. A crimson line appeared upon their skin, and then blood and guts spilled forth, drenching the soil.

The blooming rose of blood almost gleamed, and Roy's visage was tinted in red.

Enraged elves came hurtling toward the witcher, but he easily leapt away and into the center of the Squirrels. His eyes went red.

Fear.

Bloody tentacles drowned the elves like they were trapped in a bottomless lake. The witcher put his weight into his left leg and pirouetted with his blade in hand. He was like a swan dancing within a pool of red, with white wings turning and gleaming under the moonlight.

Except the wings were his sword, and like a bolt of lightning, it lashed out at the enemy. Seven roses of blood bloomed as Gwyhyr sliced the throats and chests of its enemies open.

The tentacles disappeared. The elves fell into the ground head first. Their legs jerked for a moment, and then they went still.

'(10) elves killed. 200 EXP gained. Level 13 Witcher (15700/14500).'

Roy wiped the blood off his blade and looked around. The campsite was plunged into battle, torn apart by flames and fighting. The burning fires were spreading through the bushes, woods, and grass. Eventually, the dark smoke blotted out the light of the moon.

The only sounds remained were the shouts of battle, the clash of metal, and the flurry of bolts hurtling through the air.

With Roy reminding them of this possible attack, everyone was prepared. The dwarves had switched the regular canvases out for special ones. It kept the fires from spreading, and the dwarves put them out easily.

Only a few carriages were unfortunate enough to fall to fire.

The young witchers stood around the caravan, casting Axii to calm the spooked horses that tried to break free of their reins. Even with Coral's shield, there were a few stray bolts that zipped ahead unchecked, but the young witchers fended them off and kept everyone safe.

The other group of witchers were slaughtering the Squirrels like nothing, stopping their advancement dead in their tracks.

A trio of elves swung their blades at Letho, but the bald witcher held up both of his weapons and spun like a top. The elves' attacks were nullified, and they were sliced up and turned into bags of blood.

Grimm leapt into the air and swung his blade down at a dwarven Squirrel. He cut the enemy in half, then he swung his flesh-covered greatsword around. The gust of gale it stirred up smacked a pair of incoming dwarves away.

Felix thrust his blade around him three times like a snake lashing out at its enemies with deadly precision. The elves that tried to charge him stopped in their tracks. They held their vitals, gurgling for a moment before their minds faded to black.

"Who else?" Felix licked the blood on his blade. His eyes flared with fury, and he roared, "Come and get it, Scoia'tael bastards!"

"Look out, Geralt!"

An arrow flew across the air, and Geralt's magical barrier broke. His hair band was cut in two, and his white hair billowed in the wind. The White Wolf held his sword and bent down a little. Despite being under siege, the witcher started a deadly dance of blades. His sword spun again and again as its master took forward steps. His blade gleamed in delight as it drew the enemy's blood, cutting their flesh.

The elves that tried to attack him fell, broken into pieces.

The veteran witchers were like a bloody boa slithering through the battlefield. The roars of their Signs and the flames of battle kept the night up.

One of Wenck's soldiers swung his blade away at a dwarven Squirrel's forehead. The dwarf gasped in pain, but he soldiered ahead and toppled the soldier. He sliced the soldier's armor open, and his dagger buried itself deeply into the soldier's belly. Guts and blood spilled onto the ground.

The dwarf and the soldier rolled around, holding each other, and they lost their lives at the same time, hateful eyes locked with each other.

An arrow found itself buried in a human soldier's shoulder. The arrowhead fell off and broke into four hooked needles that buried itself in his flesh. The soldier grunted, his head covered in a film of sweat.

He wobbled. A petite halfling leapt across him. The soldier held his slashed artery, gurgling as he fell to his death.

The soldiers and Squirrels were in a stalemate. However, the dwarves who followed the witchers into battle were immersed in the fight.

Yarpen cursed as he crouched and evaded an elf's incoming attack. He then swung his ax at the elf's belly. The elf roared in pain, and Yarpen kicked him down to the ground.

Xavier and Yannick were doing their best to pull a horse spooked by the flames.

A dwarf with a battle ax was charging straight at Barney, a hat with a bushy squirrel tail adorning his head. His beard was braided, and his eyes flared with hatred.

Barney hesitated, but the enemy dwarf did not. He held his weapon tight and swung it down at Barney's shoulder.

Death was coming for him, and Barney held his breath.

A bolt zipped through the air. As if he were slammed by a siege weapon, the enemy dwarf flew into the air. His skull was blown apart, and his brains rained into the battlefield. The dwarf's headless body fell a distance away. His fingers twitched for a moment, and he went still.

"Whatcha doin', you idiot?" Yarpen stormed forth and slapped Barney. Barney's cheeks swelled. Still, that wasn't enough to teach him a lesson. Yarpen grabbed Barney's collar and swung him. He roared, "Ya hesitate next time and I'll lop yer head off!"

Barney snapped out of it and held his weapon with resolve.

The ground was drenched in blood. Barely five minutes had gone by since the battle had begun, and already there were a hundred bodies strewn across the battlefield. Most of them were Scoia'tael members. The shouts and roars were getting weaker too.

And then smoke billowed in the bushes. A bunch of Scoia'tael members went around the combatants and made their way to the carriage where the children were hiding. The elven knight in the lead was towing a burning carriage filled with hay, wood, and oil. He was charging into a suicide mission.

Roy's eyes glinted coldly. Time to bring this to an end. Roy stared at the burning carriage and took a deep breath. A rune shaped like a fire popped in his mind, and he took a deep breath.

A war cry charged through the broken battlefield like a hurricane ravaging a city. The chaotic battlefield fell silent for a moment, the pressure hanging in the air turning everyone to lead for a moment.

The temperature went a hundred degrees higher. Everyone felt their skin getting scorched. Even their breath felt like flames. The air was getting drier as the humidity within it evaporated.

Sparks of flames burst from the ground beneath. Everything from the ground, the bushes, the air, even the weapons, were radiating impossible levels of heat.

And then, a split second later, the ground shook. The mantle rumbled, and cracks spread across the earth. Lights of fires shot through the gashes and roared into the night skies. Everyone stared.

A gush of crimson magma shot out at the charging carriage. It was scorching and burning like melted metal. The magma drowned those standing on top of it. The elven knight, its carriage, and steed were burned into a crisp before they could even let out a scream. And then they were vaporized.

Half of the horse's head escaped the fate of being burned to cinders. It flew out of the magma and fell to the ground, charred and billowing with smoke.

A dragon made of liquid flames drowned the carriage, burning and illuminating the air around it. It almost felt like it would rain destruction onto this land. The dragon hurtled ahead, scorching the earth, leaving cracks and smoke in its wake.

The elves that failed to move away in time were swallowed by the dragon. There was but a moment of screaming, and then they were lit on fire, turned into elven torches. A moment later, they melted into the magma, with not a shred of them remaining.

It was only a moment, and more than twenty Scoia'tael members were killed off. Having had its fill, the dragon of fire stopped and fell into slumber within the woods' crater, forming a lake made of pure fire.

Like a machine malfunctioning, the battlefield grinded to a halt. The dwarves, elves, humans, and even witchers stopped at the same time.

No! The Scoia'tael members around the battlefield could only watch as their brethren were swallowed up by that dragon. Some were on the verge of shedding blood tears. What a cruel way to die. The witchers are demons!

The Squirrels roared like madmen, their raspy cries echoing across the battlefield. Throwing their lives away, they launched their last, valiant attack.

The Squirrels were nothing but prey for the witchers. Their blades danced and fluttered faster than the Squirrels could see.

Flurries of bolts flew through the air, and magical barriers broke.

On the edge of the battlefield stood an elven sorceress in a bush. Varselie held her staff up, then she pushed her hand forward. Wind billowed her robes. A swordsman was pushed away by the force field, but even though he was in the air, the silhouette still managed to fire a bolt easily. 𝘭𝑖𝘣𝑟𝘦𝒶𝘥.𝘤𝑜𝘮

The sorceress held her pierced calf and fell screaming. A burly elf leapt out of the bush and swung his blade down at the witcher's back, but he flew back faster than when he leapt, a gash of blood opening itself on his chest.

Roy deflected a bolt with his blade and hurled a bolt of lightning at the attacker. The petite elf with braids who just jumped out of her hiding spot found herself charred, and her weapon had fallen out of her hands. She fell to the ground, spasming like she was having an episode of fits.

Roy swung his weapon. He was about to kill these elves off, but then he heard footsteps coming from the bush behind him.

An elf with mahogany hair, a pair of slender legs covered with boots, and a curvaceous body donned in light armor closed in on Roy, holding her blade.

The witcher whirled and saw a familiar face. He froze.

Chapter 567

The battlefield was like an ever-running death machine, claiming life after life. The roars of fighters, the blood of warriors, and the blazing flames of war were its fuel. As fires screamed and swords glinted, many fighters fell into pools of their own blood.

At the edge of the battlefield, however, time seemed to come to a stop where a particular dark patch of the woods stood. Three Scoia'tael members were fallen and out of commission.

Roy held his blade up and turned his head enough to look behind him. The elven warrior held her blade up stiffly, pointing at his cloak.𝘭𝑖𝘣𝑟𝘦𝒶𝘥.𝘤𝑜𝘮

Her hair billowed in the night, her face covered in blood. Her eyes gleamed coldly as she stared at the beautiful profile of Roy. She knew that face. And those eyes. And those ears. Her heart skipped a beat. A familiar feeling welled within her heart. It was the same emotion she felt three years ago during that separation.

Roy put his sword down. He had a conflicted look in his eyes, his magical barriers still swirling around him. The shouts disappeared into the background, and memories welled in his mind.

Memories of his adventures in La Valette's land. Of that goodbye with Eveline. Of that gentle kiss she gave him. Of how her hair felt as it fluttered against his cheeks. Of how sweet her scent was. Of how reluctant she was to leave.

Three years had gone by, and yet Eveline did not age even a day. However, her tender soul had been replaced by resolve and cold-blooded murder, all thanks to her days on the battlefield. He knew this woman, and yet, he did not know her at all.

Roy looked at Varselie, who was almost knocked out from the pain. Toluvair, whose hair was raised, and smoke billowed from her skin. And at Kenzafa, whose chest was bleeding. These were the elves who took Eveline back to the edge of the world, where Dol Blathanna was. He had a feeling Eveline would join Scoia'tael, but he never thought they would meet on the battlefield as enemies.

There was no joy to be spoken of in this reunion. Nor any drinking or reminiscing. There was only sorrow and depression.

"R-Roy? Is that you?" Eveline held her weapon by her side, scanning her fallen comrades nervously. Her voice was clear and sweet, but there was disbelief, and she was trembling.

That gaunt lad she met a few years ago had grown into a powerful, deadly witcher. He was even more dashing than she remembered. His ears had grown pointier, and his features looked more like a part-elf's than a human's. Still, the blood that trickled from the edge of the blood he held belonged to many elves. Blood of his own kin.

The truth was cruel. Once upon a time, Eveline saw Roy as family. As someone she liked. Yet now he murdered countless of his kin without even batting an eye. Something squeezed her heart. Her kin had died, and her erstwhile friend was their slayer. This was a preposterous thing to think about, and yet it was reality.

She felt tears trickling down her cheeks, and she couldn't hold them back.

"Yes, Eveline," Roy rasped.

"Y-You're with them? S-So you were behind the slaughtering in Novigrad too?" Eveline asked tremulously. She approached him, her sword trembling.

Roy's mind was a mush. All the delight and excitement he felt during the battle was gone, replaced by something bitter. Out of reflex, he blocked out the cracks between the woods with his back, just in case his companions noticed this meeting. "No more questions, Eveline. Leave. And take them with you."

The battle was coming to an end. Fewer than fifty Scoia'tael members were left on the battlefield, and their numbers were thinning out fast.

"What'd you say?" Toluvair held up her spiky hair. She thought she heard it wrongly. The elf got back up on her feet, though with some difficulty. She leaned on the burl of the tree behind her, her chest heaving. She stared at Roy, and realization struck her. "That's the monkey who saved you back in La Valette's land, isn't it?"

Eveline smiled sadly and nodded at her compatriot.

"No time to explain. You have to leave before they find you," Roy said sternly, his eyes glinting coldly. He sighed in silence. Back in the early days of his adventuring, Eveline had taken great care of him. He couldn't kill her, not even if he had an iron will. He had to let her go.

Kenzafa was leaning on a tree as well. He looked at the gash on his chest and tried to staunch the blood with his hands. "Drop the act, witcher." He mocked weakly, "You've killed so many of us. Both in Novigrad and this battle. You showed no mercy to them, so why start now? You sicken me. What's your play? No, save it, I don't care. Just kill me off." 𝓵𝙞𝒃𝓻𝓮𝙖𝓭.𝙘𝓸𝓶

Kenzafa turned his bloodshot eyes to Eveline. "Do it, Eveline! He has killed so many of our brethren! And so many with that accursed fire of his! Do not forget, noamekend…"

It meant "those who are not of my kin are my enemies".

Eveline held her sword tightly. She crouched, poised to attack, but there was hesitation on her face.

Roy swung his hand, and a flash of light hurtled forth from Gwyhyr. The witcher knocked Kenzafa out of commission, and the elf fell into the ground head first. He then knocked out the howling Vaseline as well. The witcher made a gesture, and Toluvair froze, her pupils dilating. She stood frozen like a puppet.

The witcher quickly took the elven ladies on his shoulders and motioned at Eveline. "Come with me!"

A gust of wind assailed Eveline's face. She gritted her teeth and screamed at the top of her lungs as she swung her blade at Roy. The attack was sloppy. Flimsy. Even a child could swing better than her.

Quen deflected it easily. Roy shook his head, sighing. He then dragged Eveline away. A moment later, the witcher zipped away from the battlefield like a gust of wind.

Ten minutes later, the raging battle came to an end, the bodies of Scoia'tael members strewn across the ground. There were barely any who escaped, mostly thanks to the witchers' efficient culling.

"What are you looking at, mate?" Lambert patted Auckes' shoulder, staring around.

Between the cooled magma and smoke-covered carriages were Kaedwen soldiers patrolling the perimeter, clearing up the battlefield. The witchers' caravan was still intact.

"Roy took a few elven ladies away." Auckes frowned.

"He did not. He was just off to chase the stragglers."

In a dank cave far away from the battlefield, the two asleep elven women were left lying by the wall under a torch. Eveline was in a corner, hugging her legs, her chin on her knees. Her face was half hidden in the shadows, and there was an exhausting sadness in her eyes.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Eveline. I killed a lot of Squirrels. It was either them or me. I was only defending myself. Both in Novigrad and in the battle just now." The witcher stood in the shadows. He said solemnly, "But I don't think any explanation is going to cut it."

Roy stared at the elven lady. Eveline was spacing out at the ground, avoiding his stare. "Speaking as a friend, I'd tell you to stay in the Blue Mountains. Don't get into this war. Scoia'tael uncontrolled attacks have done nothing but place you and fellow nonhumans in a more precarious situation. Keep this up, and one day you and your friends will die."

Eveline didn't listen to him. Her face was as frigid as winter air. She gritted her teeth.

The witcher crouched and stuffed a xenovox into her hand, then he stared into her widened eyes. "The Eveline I know is a kind and sympathetic woman. She would never stand by and watch as her brethren died for a useless attack on humans. She would never let any innocent die for a lost cause."

Roy's eyes twinkled warmly. "I can see you've been tormented by the battles thus far."

Eveline shivered, and she almost teared up. None of her brethren saw through that part of her, but Roy did.

"But it's not like we can't turn things around." And then he said something that shocked Eveline more than when she met him on the battlefield. "I know who your leader is. A member of the Northern Realm's sorcerer brotherhood, Francesca Findabair."

Eveline closed her eyes, her painted face blanched and turned the shade of snow. How did he find out?

The look on Eveline's face told Roy he was right on the money. He mused over his options for a long while, a frown furrowing his brows. Eventually, he came to a decision. "Listen to me. Take your friends and get back to the Blue Mountains. Tell Findabair I have all the answers to her questions, including her missing partner, Vilgefortz. And I have a plan for her. One that will free her and her brethren from indenturing themselves to Emhyr. No longer will they have to sacrifice themselves in this war. And I can grant the elves their wish to have a piece of land to themselves."

Eveline looked at Roy. He was genuine, motivated, and his eyes shone. For a moment, he almost felt like a Squirrel fighting for the future of nonhumans instead of their butcher. Eveline spaced out a little, but she was tempted by the suggestion.

"You must be tired of the barren land at the edge of the world. You don't need Dol Blathanna. There's someplace better. Someplace that suits you more, but first, I must get to Francesca. You have to make her contact me. Use that crystal I just gave you."

Roy pursed his lips and looked at Eveline one last time. He wanted to etch her face into his memories.

Eveline almost told him to stay. She wanted to talk to him and clear up any misunderstanding they had. She wanted to catch up with him, but she couldn't. If she did, she'd be betraying her kin.

Roy stayed silent. He held Eveline's soft, callused hand for a moment, and then he left like the wind, his cloak billowing. Then the witcher disappeared into the night.

When Roy returned to the campsite, Auckes and Lambert gave him a knowing look, but they asked no questions.

More than a hundred Kaedwen soldiers had appeared in the campsite. They came not long after the battle had ended. Roy didn't find it weird. It was exactly the same as he remembered. He knew there were people following them when he was practicing Magma, but he didn't say anything about it.

The dead were laid out in rows within the center of the campsite. Dwarves, elves, humans, and everything else were laid out together. There were more than two hundred of them. More than a hundred and eighty were Scoia'tael members. The rest were all Wenck's soldiers. Some died in a tussle with Scoia'tael members, while some had their vitals pierced by arrows.

The witchers and dwarves were all intact. Even though they were covered in blood and their gear heavily damaged, they suffered nothing but superficial injuries. Roy heaved a sigh of relief. His interference had changed the fates of the dwarves, at least.

Still, the air felt weird. They came out victorious, but there was depression hanging in the air. Not a hint of joy or delight was seen. The ground was a mess around the carriages and carts. The buckets were overturned, and some were crushed to pieces. The contents were spilled everywhere, and what the Kaedwen bailiff claimed to be resources for the soldiers were nothing but stones. Even a dried fish was worth more than this.

"Yer call this resource for the soldiers of Aedirn?" Yarpen hissed. He leapt onto a carriage and swung his ax down on a wooden crate. The gash revealed nothing but rough edges inside. There were nothing but rocks within.

The dwarf glared around. "This is the resource Henselt claimed to be of great importance?"

Yarpen's team was in disbelief as well, and they hissed.

The witchers finally got the answer to their earlier question. They had realized that the carriages' wheels left too deep of a track for regular wartime supplies. The cargo they carried was extremely heavy. Boulders and rocks. That explains everything.

The children were silent as well, though they were curious. They wondered why the dwarves were protecting crates of worthless rocks.

The lanky quartermaster in black-and-gold shirt came out. Not even a scratch was seen on his shirt. He had an icy look, but there was apology in his eyes. "I am sorry for keeping this a secret. To be honest, Yarpen, this escort duty was a trap."

Wenck bowed at the dwarves. "We had planned to lure the Squirrels out of hiding, and we switched the resources out for rocks in case they were to destroy it."

"This whole thing was a trap?" Paulie grabbed his crossbow tightly. He flung his beard onto his shoulder. "We could've died! If the witchers hadn't helped us, that is." He looked at the witchers gratefully. "There were only fifty of us. The Squirrels would've wiped us out easily."

"W-What did you do?" Barney was furious and embarrassed. He couldn't believe he risked his own life for a pile of rocks. "D-Do you think we're fools?"

"Calm down, everyone. There are 150 of us, to be exact." A knight in shining armor stepped out. He calmly explained, "I am Friedgard. By orders of King Henselt, I and an army of elite soldiers have been tailing you, keeping you safe." There was nothing but cold formality in his voice.

Yannick laughed mirthlessly. He roared at the knight, "And you came just in time too. Right after the battle was over. Did nothing but clear the place up. Big help that was, Friedgard." He made an exaggerated bow at the Kaedwen soldiers. "Thank you."

"No, this is no trap for the Squirrels." Roy stepped out and skewered all the Kaedwen scum with an icy look.

"W-What's that supposed to mean, R-Roy."

"It means I have a conjecture, Barney." The witcher tore apart the lie Wenck had been trying to maintain. "This secret mission of rock escorting is nothing but a test Henselt put you up to. To see if you're traitors. The wise king of Kaedwen wishes to know if you've been in cahoots with the Squirrels."

Dead silence fell upon the battlefield. The witchers looked at the dwarves with pity. The dwarves, who'd valiantly hunted a dragon before, who were part of the nonhuman community, turned their backs on their kin and lent their services to a human king. For him, they fought their own brethren. In the end, their reward was doubt and a deadly trial.

"Tell me the truth, Wenck!" Yarpen looked at the quartermaster, hoping that this was a lie.

"I'm sorry, Yarpen. I'm sorry, dwarves. Please, forgive us." Wenck held his head low, his face a mask of pain. "But it's all over now. The crisis and doubts are no more. I shall tell His Majesty that you are no spies." He looked at the dwarves with genuine remorse. "In my honor, I shall see to it that His Majesty understands your loyalty."

The dwarves stayed silent. Slowly, they scanned the battlefield. They looked at the soldiers, their fallen comrades, and the bodies of the Squirrels. A moment of silence later, Yarpen spoke.

"Save it." There was exhaustion and disappointment in his voice. He ignored Wenck's pleading look and turned to the witchers. "Sorry to be a bother, witchers, but we'd like to come with ya."

"You're always welcome." Roy nodded.

Chapter 568

A long, long while later, the air was filled with a loud moan as Toluvair broke free of Axii's spell. She opened her eyes groggily, and to her surprise, she found herself within a dank cave. Varselie was lying inches away from her, the wound on her leg bandaged. Eveline was crouched beneath a flickering torch, staring at a crystal in her hand. There was sadness, gratitude, and hatred in her eyes.

"Where are we, Eveline?" Toluvair pushed herself up, though she was sore all over. She approached Varselie and patted her cheek. The sorceress groaned and woke from her sleep.

"He spared us," said Eveline, almost stiffly.

"The witcher did? But wh—" Varselie gasped in pain. She then cast a healing spell on her wound, her finger glowing green. "That butcher slayed so many of our kin, and yet he spared us?"

"Why?" Toluvair patted her charred chest, heaving a sigh of relief. She gratefully said, "Because of Eveline, of course. Seriously, it's way better to be alive. Just don't ask questions."

"This is mortifying." Varselie clutched her chest, her heart screaming out in pain. "Over two hundred of our kin, dead. And we're the only ones left? How are we supposed to face Filavandrel? Or Francesca?"

"I don't want to say I told you so, but I told you so. Everyone who crossed the witchers died. I said, hey, we should retreat, but no. You just had to charge straight into death. If you're that mad about it, you can slit your throat and say sorry to our kin in the afterlife." Toluvair dusted her clothes and hands off. She stood up and approached Eveline. "Eveline and I are still of some use, so we'll keep on fighting. Once I confirm that the witchers are gone, I'll go back and tell them that everyone's dead. They'll give you a proper burial."

Varselie curled up in the corner of the cave, her face red. If she and Kenzafa hadn't been adamant about the assault, no one would've died. The witchers were like an unstoppable army.

"No, we're not going back to them." Eveline shook her head and took a deep breath. She was reminded of Roy's final message to her. He was the same person she knew years ago, and yet everything had changed. Still, he made a gamble and spared her, and he made a good point. These assaults were pointless. They were killing innocents. Eveline couldn't be happy about it, not when her kin were getting thinned out as well. It was agony. Very well, Roy. I'll listen to you once.

"Open the portal, Vaseline. I'm going back to the Blue Mountains."

"Why?"

"I need to see Francesca. The witcher has a message for her."

Dawn had broken through the horizon, the witcher's caravan slowly coming away from the charred battlefield. Roy was seated in the carriage, staring at Wenck as he and his soldiers slowly disappeared from sight, along with their carriages filled with stones. "So what next for you? Going back to Mahakam, or are you coming along with us to the temple of Melitele?"

Barney and Reagan looked miffed. They came to Kaedwen and served its king all to gain glory so they could return with pride, yet now they ran away with their tail between their legs, their ambition yet unfulfilled.

"W-We ain't going back to Mahakam t-that soon. I-Ain't wanna make a-a family a-and guard t-the barren m-mountains," Barney said.

Yarpen shook his head and fiddled with his ax. His eyes were on the trees that they slowly passed by. "I told Brovar I ain't ever going back."

Lambert was on another carriage. "So you're going to find another king to work for?" he joked, scanning the dwarves. "I heard Foltest of Temeria is great to his soldiers. He's wise, generous, and industrious."

No witchers argued with that. Working for Foltest was a damn sight better than serving Henselt. Unlike the other kings in the Northern Realms, Foltest had no hate for nonhumans. He could speak fluent Elder Speech and was a decent appraiser of elven poetry and dwarven beer. He would cull any Squirrel on sight, of course, but he trusted nonhumans in general.

"And the kid's friends with Adda, his princess," Letho boomed, his voice covering the creaks of the wheels and thronging of the horses. Everyone in the caravan heard him.

"And he shares a close bond with the Lady of the Lake in Vizima," Auckes added, a smile curling his lips.

Grimm, who was trying his best to make Oreo sit upright like a knight, froze. He then looked at Roy, his eyes blazing with passion. He knows the Lady of the Lake? Why hasn't he told me before?

Lytta, who was straightening out Renee's teeth, froze as well. She skewered the dumbfounded Roy with a quizzical look.

Barney, Yannick, and the Dahlberg brothers pulled on their reins and slowed their steeds. They were tempted by the suggestion.

"We're nothing but allies." Roy cleared his throat.

"Thanks for the suggestion, but 'it's alright." Yarpen stepped on the stirrup, greasing his hand crossbow at the same time. "This mission opened my eyes. If the king I've served for years would subject me to this kind of insult, the other kings will only be worse. They're the same, kings. Ain't gonna really trust dwarves. No reason to simper for them."

Yarpen heaved a sigh, a weight dropped off his shoulders. A hint of a smile returned to his face. His companions nodded as well. The ever-optimistic dwarves once again threw their worries away. We'll find a place eventually. "Since you're going to Ellander anyway, we should be visiting' our old friend Cranmer. We'll talk about the future later."

"I have another idea. If you're still keen on proving that nonhumans and humans can get along in peace, you can give this a shot."

Yarpen was intrigued. "Well, spit it out. I ain't wanna give up on our mission."

A genuine smile curled Roy's lips. "There is only one place that can alleviate the tension between humans and nonhumans."

"Where?" Barney looked at him curiously.

"Kovir and Poviss?" Reagan smacked his head, his beard swaying. "You want us to piss off Poviss?"

The dwarves' eyes shone.

"Kovir and Poviss is located in the Continent's northernmost corner, neighboring the Dragon Mountains. It's a long distance from Yaruga. As a neutral kingdom, it is not threatened by Nilfgaard. It has a bustling sea trade and ore mining business. It's an open kingdom near the sea and is accepting of many races. Pioneering humans, nonhumans and sorcerers have found their homes there. It'd be a good choice to live your life in peace."

Roy then added, "However, it's a remote place. It frankly cannot do much to change the Continent's view toward nonhumans or influence any kingdom's policies. The only place that can exert that influence is Novigrad. It's located in a strategic place, houses many ports, and is home to all races."

"Ya want us to make a breakout in the free city?" Yarpen cracked a whip at the horse. "Whatcha want us to do? Join a gang?" He cocked his eyebrow in disdain. "I've heard of Cleaver. Guy's the one handlin' all the Novigrad dwarves, isn't he? Sure, he's capable, but his mind's narrower than a ditch and shallower than it too. He cares nothing aside from coins."

Yarpen commented on the ganglords in Novigrad. "They ain't gonna make it big, much less change the nonhumans' situation."

"I'm not talking about Cleaver." Roy turned around and looked at the dwarves in the carriage behind him. Slowly, he said, "I'm talking about Cyrus. The Hierarchy of the Eternal Fire."

Rattled, the dwarves stopped their horses. The steeds raised their front legs and neighed.

"What?" Yarpen's jaw dropped. He looked like he had seen a ghost. "Ya want us to work for the Eternal Fire? Are you for real?"

"M-My faith is in M-Mahakam." Barney shook his head. "I-I don't believe i-in E-Eternal Fire."

"Roy, and you witchers as well." Reagan was in disbelief. He asked, "But I thought you slaughtered hundreds of Eternal Fire guards. You should be at loggerheads with them at least, shouldn't you?"

At loggerheads is putting it mildly. You guys are nemeses. The Hierarch isn't coming down on them, but this idea sounds more like a suicide mission.

"The truth is sometimes vastly different from what the rumors say." Roy said earnestly, "Yarpen, Barney, Reagan, and everyone else, if you have your suspicions, you can always go to the ballroom in Novigrad and tell Dandelion what I told you."

Roy stared ahead. The caravan was moving into the vast wilderness. The expansive prairie dotted by verdant bushes, beautifully yellow soil, and gurgling streams cleared his head. "Dandelion will arrange a meeting with Cyrus. You'll see who he really is once you get to meet him."

Roy was reminded of how determined Jiji was at the stake. He was ready to die if it meant peace. He, more than anyone else, wished to eradicate prejudice and discrimination against nonhumans. And now, he was the Hierarchy of the Eternal Fire.

There were more than a hundred temples and altars dedicated to the Eternal Fire in the Northern Realms. The cult's influence was only second to the religion of Melitele. If any organization had the chance to get rid of the gap between humans and nonhumans, the Eternal Fire would be one of those organizations.

Yarpen and his companions had the same dream as Jiji. They would be the perfect partner for the job.

"Dandelion? He's just a second-rate poet." Yarpen fiddled with his ax. Confused, he said, "Why'd you think he can get the Hierarch to meet us? We're buncha no-names."

"No names?" Auckes counted his fingers. "You hunted dragons, basilisks, and ogres." He smacked his steed. "You're heroes. You have the right to have an audience with Cyrus."

The dwarves were hesitant.

"Even if you can't meet him, Novigrad is still a good place to run around." Serrit had no idea what Roy was up to, but he would help. "Dandelion's going to provide all the booze you could ask for."

The dwarves tossed all their worries out the window.

"Well, what a-are we waiting for? L-Let's see Dandelion!" Barney couldn't wait to go. He was looking to vent, and a tear hung from the corner of his eye.

"Yeah. Sometimes you gotta play a little." Reagan nodded. "To Novigrad we go."

Yarpen mused over it. He had no idea why Roy wanted him to go to Novigrad, but he knew the witcher wouldn't harm him. If the witchers hadn't intervened, his team would have suffered casualties. Yarpen owed him a lot. He would risk his life if Roy asked him to, let alone make a trip to Novigrad.

Roy continued. "If you'd like to leave now, Coral can open up a portal to Novigrad right away."

"'Tis alright." Yarpen exchanged a look with his companions. "We'll keep going until we get to Kaedwen's borders."

The remaining journey was a slightly quieter one. With the dwarves worrying over their uncertain future in Novigrad, they lost their interest in regaling anyone with their stories. The only dwarf who still was in the mood to fool around was Barney. He'd chat up the children and crack some jokes.

The children and young witchers were weighed down by something else, however. They weren't smiling that much anymore.

"I know we won, Felix, but something doesn't feel right." Five days later, Carl couldn't take it anymore. They'd killed many Squirrels in the battle of Novigrad, but it was an exciting battle. This time, however, something haunted his heart. He felt dragged down by some sort of sin.

"Every time I close my eyes, I see the Squirrels glaring at me." Monti winced a little. "They kept charging straight at me, shouting 'For Aelirenn' and 'For Shaerrawedd.' Every one of them died. And I see blood everywhere."

The children in the carriages were looking around as well. Under the protection of Coral and the witchers, they were perfectly unharmed, but they saw and heard everything. The cries and howls of battle, the splattering blood, the blazing flames, and the magma that vaporized everything it touched. It left an indelible mark on their hearts.

Wars were far more terrifying than any street fight they'd been in.

Felix didn't chastise his protégé for raising that question. He patted the boy's head. The witchers looked at them, and the dwarves were observing in silence as well.

"I've been waiting for that question since the battle in Novigrad. It'd be odd if you hadn't asked. I'd wondered if the new and improved Trials had killed off some of your humanity." He scanned the young witchers, a small smile tugging on his lips. "But I'm glad that you're all still normal."

Infected by his smile, the young witchers cracked slivers of smiles as well, and their hearts calmed a little.

"The worst things you've killed before the battle in Novigrad were drowners. And then you made the jump to humans. Humans are different. In appearance, personalities, and how you fight them. But most importantly, they, like us, are sentient creatures. We feel no burden of murder during the battle in Novigrad, since we were doing it for survival. The previous battle, however, was a massacre. The Squirrels were at an overwhelming disadvantage. And before the battle, Yarpen told you of their raison d'être. You acknowledge their reason to fight, so you regret killing them. It is a normal reaction."

Felix acknowledged their feelings, but then he added, "Though you do not have to let it weigh on your minds. Think about it. Why do you kill? For fun? Or for some other nefarious goals?"

Everyone shook their heads.

"Yes. You kill for survival. Had you hesitated even once, you'd be joining the Squirrels in the afterlife. No one can judge you for the killings. Not even gods. And you'll get used to the nightmares."

The young witchers felt more at ease after hearing that.

"Still, remember this well," Vesemir said, staring at the endless wilderness, heaving a sigh, "There are no victors in war. There are only losers."

"The best way to win a war is through a nonviolent method. If one exists, anyway." Geralt once again brought up his philosophy about neutrality.

The young witchers didn't take that to heart, however.

"I didn't take you as a peacekeeper, Geralt. Asking your apprentice to employ the way of diplomacy is akin to cutting off their wings." Paulie noticed the look of dilemma on the young witchers' faces. He said, "I say you don't have to think so much about it. You have to do what you have to do sometimes."

The young witchers nodded.

"If y-you lost, then that's all M-Mahakam's plan." Barney took a bottle of spirit out of his bushy beard and took a swig.

"We do not put our faith in anything but destiny," said Letho calmly.

"And destiny always points you in the right direction," Roy said, his eyes roving over the young witchers. Realization had dawned upon them. "If you have to kill, do not hesitate. Do not regret it. That is what destiny wanted you to do."

The men bellowed in laughter, while Lytta shook her head.

"To blast destiny!" Yarpen laughed and tossed Carl a bottle of liquor.

"To destiny." Carl took a swig and handed the bottle to his friend.

There are no victors in battle. Go for a nonviolent method to resolve wars if possible. The regular kids in the carriage carved that message into their minds. Little did they know, their futures were about to change.

Two weeks later, the witchers and the dwarves' journey together came to an end. At the borders of Ellander, they base their goodbyes. They exchanged hugs, and the witchers saw the dwarves off as they went for Novigrad.

Three days went by, and the witchers came to the temple of Melitele standing on the outskirts of Ellander.

Chapter 569

It was the sixth of April. The year was 1265. Warm sunshine rained down upon the northern outskirts of Ellander. An exhausted caravan was traipsing through the thoroughfare leading to the temple. A dozen structures stood between the steep rocks and boulders, gleaming under the sunlight. It was almost vague.

Within the lively courtyards, priestesses in gray were going through their morning routines of watering the fields, harvesting the crops, feeding the chickens, and just general cleaning. The priestesses were young. Most of them were in their teenage years, while some were barely ten years old. A few of the livelier girls turned around and stared at the mighty caravan coming through.

The temple of Melitele saw many believers coming to pray every day, but seldom were there so many people showing up at once. Even when they noticed the group of witchers within the caravan, the priestesses didn't look at them with contempt or discrimination. Their eyes were clear, their gazes kind. It felt warm in their presence.

The young men within the caravan felt a little embarrassed. Living their years in the outskirts meant they seldom had the chance to be stared at by so many ladies their age. Vicki and the other girls smiled at the priestesses, nodding at them. 𝓁𝑖𝘣𝑟𝘦𝘢𝒹.𝑐ℴ𝘮

Letho teased, "The temple of Melitele has an abundance of adorable priestesses. Every year, girls from all over the Northern Realms come to the temples, and priestesses graduate at the same time, taking up positions of seers, midwives, and healers of women and children in other temples."

The children looked at the girls with acknowledgement. Like them, these girls left their homes at a young age.

Roy looked melancholic. When he came to this temple for the first time, Letho told him the same thing as well. It was in this very temple that Roy passed his first Trial and became a witcher of the Viper School. In a sense, this was where everything started. The temple was serene and peaceful.

For now.

Eventually, the flames of war would raze it down to the ground. And I will change its fate. This is a promise I made to Melitele.

"Letho? Geralt?" A curvaceous young priestess with an oval, freckled face came out of an antechamber. She stared at the cloaked witchers at the head of the caravan. First, her gaze was upon the bald witcher, but then she turned her attention to the White Wolf. Tears glistened in her eyes, and an embarrassing memory welled in her mind.

So many years ago, she was still an innocent priestess holding up her vow of celibacy for Melitele.

"Good morning, Iola. It has been a while, yet you are still as captivating as ever." Geralt bowed. He was trying his best to stay calm, but his trembling cheeks betrayed his true emotions.

The children, smelling gossip, looked at Geralt and Iola with interest.

Roy looked at the curious children and broke the silence. "We shouldn't tarry, priestess. I believe Mother Nenneke should have received the news?"

"You and your bad memory, Roy. I have told you not to call me Mother." A gray-haired, plump woman in maroon robes spoke loudly as she emerged from the antechamber.

She looked about sixty years old, her wrinkles soft and gentle. The woman looked much like a mother who'd toiled for her family. Her chocolate eyes shone brightly, like candles lighting up the lives of those who needed guidance. "It's horrifying to think that I could bear a child at my age, don't you know that?"

She humphed, but there was a smile on her lips. Her steps were firm, and her robes billowed in the breeze.

"Very well, Grandmother Nenneke. My humblest regards to you."

"That's more like it. Welcome, child."

Roy suffocated. Nenneke hugged him tightly for a moment before letting go. She looked at him lovingly like a mother, then Nenneke pinched his muscly shoulders. "The Trial's gone well. It hasn't been that long since you left, but look at you now. Strong and handsome."

"All thanks to you." Roy bowed. "You gave me a place to stay and taught me how to get through the Trial."

Nenneke cocked her eyebrow. "Still, why did Melitele take interest in you? She gave me a message, telling me to welcome your… army of witchers."

Geralt coughed.

"Ah, Geralt. Is that a cold I hear? Or an inflamed throat?" Nenneke whirled and glared at the White Wolf, but she was smiling.

Geralt looked at her with gratitude and anticipation. The White Wolf had a near death experience once, and Nenneke took him in and nursed him back to health. He had nothing but gratitude for the same since then.

"By Melitele, you're still the same Wolf as ever. Smell like one too. How long has it been since you took a bath? I honestly do not understand why those girls can't forget about you," Nenneke complained, but she hugged Geralt anyway, and she looked at the people around the caravan. "Now, I need an explanation. What's with the army of witchers? Are you going to pledge your allegiance to Melitele? And what's with the children?"

"Let's take this inside, Nenneke." Lytta stepped up and held Nenneke's arm. Despite their actual age, Nenneke looked just like Lytta's grandmother. One was loving, the other was gorgeous.

"Ah, so you finally came. What took you so long? Did your witcher lover hold you up?"

"More or less."

Iola hurriedly led the witchers to the backyard where they could settle their steeds and carriages down. Nenneke led everyone else into the antechamber's corridor. The children looked around curiously. Within the open doors were quiet rooms lit by white candles. Believers were praying before the statues of Melitele. There were the poor, who were donned in cheap clothing, and then there were the wealthy, who were donned in exquisite clothing.

Faith didn't care which part of society's hierarchy the believers were in. Some of them were even dressed in tatters. They were gaunt, skeletal, and almost cadaverous. There was worry and anguish upon their faces.

"Are those Cintra's and Verden's refugees?" Roy asked.

"The temple took in a few hundred of them right after the war broke out," Nenneke explained. She noticed where everyone was staring. "The war has calmed down for now, and most of the refugees have gone to Vizima. The lands that were granted to Foltest are mostly stricken by war, and they require much rebuilding. Temeria needs labor, and they're taking in refugees en masse." Nenneke paused for a moment. "And Vizima's new church is putting in the legwork as well, providing work and accommodation for the poor."

"You mean the Church of Virtue?" Roy was reminded of Adda and Vivienne.

"Rumors claim that a Lady of the Lake is the patron of this church. In the past two years, it has become an even more prominent religion in Vizima than even the Eternal Fire. It's almost catching up to the faith of Melitele." Nenneke looked surprised. "Still, they have never expanded their influence beyond the borders of Lake Vizima."

Roy stopped in his tracks as they went past a particular room. The candlelight shone upon the three figures within the room. One was in a scholarly robe. He was young, and he was squinting at an encyclopedia to read better. The man was reading an entry about swallows aloud.

A boy with short black hair and a girl with pigtails were seated behind the desks in front of the young man, listening intently. They would nod from time to time, as if they were puppies following their master's instructions. They were dressed in gray, as per the temple's rules. Both were beautiful and fair, almost like dolls. They resembled each other too, obviously meaning they were siblings.

The children reminded him of a certain werewolf. A cursed troupe master. A father named Alan. He could still see the werewolf in his mind, crying in the final moments of his life.

"Jarre!"

"Who's there? I'm in a class right now. We can talk later." Jarre the librarian stared at the handsome and dashing witcher. He wondered who this man was.

"It's Roy. Have you forgotten about me?"

Jarre froze. He then looked up at the witcher, and his jaw dropped. "What happened to you? You grew so big. Any tips?"

"Well, you're not exactly young anymore, but if you'd like to take the risk, I can probably get you through the Trial of the Grasses. You'd get some muscles and white hair. Maybe Iola's going to fall for you, then." Roy smiled.

Jarre shuddered. His glasses almost fell down his nose, and he shook his head violently.

"Alright, just joking. This must be Art and Lily." Roy crouched before the children and held their hands.

Art and Lily were surprised by the stranger's overly friendly attitude, but they didn't squawk or flap their wings like birds anymore.

"Who are you?" they asked at the same time, their voices clear and beautiful as a songbird's. They stared at the witcher. "You know us?"

Roy smiled and patted their heads. These children had been tormented by a curse for years. Now that they'd finally had their lives in order, he didn't want them to relive the harrowing memories once again.

"I should go now. Teach them well, Jarre. Impart on them some skills. And you should be on the lookout, especially about Iola." Roy huddled closer to Jarre and whispered something into his ear. The librarian got nervous.

Once Roy was done chatting with his acquaintance, Nenneke led everyone to the deepest courtyard in the temple. Underneath its beautiful roof were more than thirty empty rooms. Every room had two wooden beds and a yellow rug on the ground. They were also decked out with old but sturdy desks and chairs, oil lamps, and floral curtains that covered the wooden windows. Through the windows, the rooms' inhabitants could see the priestesses working around the courtyard.

"Witchers, children, this shall be your abode from today onward." Nenneke let go of her friend's arm and looked around. "You may stay for as long as you wish, but I have two requests. One, follow the temple's rules and follow the activities listed on the schedule. Two, don't disturb the believers. Understood?"

"Yes!" the children answered.

Nenneke nodded in approval and looked at the witchers. "You decide who gets which room."

"Alright. Vicki, you get to pick first." Letho nodded at Vicki.

Vicki shook her head sheepishly and looked at her friends, but everyone gave her looks of encouragement. She'd been working herself a lot on the way here, keeping everything in check. Still, Vicki only picked a room at random.

"Renee."𝒍𝒊𝙗𝓻𝒆𝓪𝙙.𝙘𝙤𝙢

"Finally! I wanna share a room with Vicki! And I'm sleeping with her for a day at least! No, three days at least!" Renee held her friend's hand, shouting in delight. She hopped happily like a bunny and ran into the centermost room, her pigtails swaying.

"The cheeky girl. Conrad, you're next."

Conrad made his choice.

"Oreo, you're up."

The children happily went into their rooms. For nearly two months, they'd been sleeping in the wilderness, and their bodies were sore. Sleeping in tents was not a great experience.

The witchers stood in different corners of the courtyard. They smiled at the children. If possible, they would like to see happy occasions like this forever.

"Carl, Monti, Acamuthorm, you guys have the last pick."

"What? Why?" Acamuthorm leapt into the air like a bristling cat. He was shivering in anger. "This is discrimination!"

"And this is a badge of honor." Serrit grabbed the medallion hanging before Acamuthorm's chest. "You're the oldest kids here. Let the younger ones choose first."

The young witchers exchanged a look, their anger turning into delight.

"You make a good point." Carl and his friends spoke. "We have a duty to protect the younger ones. Fine. They can have priority picks."

"Good. Then you'll be leading by example." Felix knocked Carl's head. He wrapped his arm around Carl's shoulders and walked him to the end of the corridor. The witcher picked the room right beside the toilet for his protégé, and the kids who followed them laughed quietly.

"Alright, shut it. You've made your picks, haven't you? Now get to the courtyard." Felix had a stern look on his face, and everyone's hearts sank.

"You seem to share a close bond with the Church of Virtue." Grimm came to Roy, who was standing under the overhang. His eyes were blazing with curiosity. "Is there really a Lady in Lake Vizima?"

Roy whipped out Aerondight and extended his right arm. The blade shot into the air like a spear and joined Roy's arm. He then curled his arm, and the blade was poised perpendicularly to his bicep. The dragon bone gleamed golden in the morning sun, shining upon Roy's face. "Vivienne, that's the Lady, gave me this sword as reward for passing her trial. Grimm, this might be goodbye. I can write a letter of recommendation for you. Take it to Adda, the high priestess in Vizima."

Roy flicked his blade and sheathed it. "And perhaps you'll have an audience with a Lady of the Lake. Probably not Vivienne, though. Undertake their Trial. Become a Lady's knight. It's a great honor aside from your existing one. So, what do you say?"

Grimm mused over it. "Are you kicking me out of the team?"

Roy shook his head, smiling. "No. We have some private business to settle, but you can stay at the temple and keep an eye on the children."

"I can see these children are as close as a family can be." Nenneke was standing in the shade of the roof with Coral. Curiously, she asked, "But as I recall, witchers believe in the rule of the jungle. They are grotesquely cruel with their protégés, their training involving near-death encounters."

"That is a practice of the past, old friend. It is no longer in use. The witchers have written new rules." Coral smiled, twirling a few strands of her hair. Proudly, she said, "There's a reason we`ve had a dozen apprentices in the past few years. It's hard to believe, but we have not had a single failed Trial up until this moment in time. Nor have the children developed any faults in their personalities. Still, they are sterile."

Nenneke fell silent, and her frown disappeared. The gods are fair. They granted witchers power, but they took away their ability to sire children. If they could have children who could inherit their superhuman strength, this world would be doomed.

"So how long will you stay this time?" Nenneke massaged her temples.

"We're leaving right away."

"We?"

"Yes. All the witchers and I have to go. Besides the children, of course." Coral scanned the courtyard. The older witchers had gathered all the children who'd picked their rooms, sternly lecturing them. The lecture did not seem to be interesting, and the joy in the air was fading fast. Carl and the feistier young witchers were having heated arguments with them, but they were shut down easily.

"Why are you leaving the children in my care? Will you be returning to Melitele's kingdom?"

"Not just yet, no."

Nenneke looked at her friend with concern. "You are hiding a secret. Why? I can help if you just tell me."

"That's amusing, Nenneke. You're younger than me—" Coral looked at Roy carefully. He wasn't listening. The sorceress patted her chest and heaved a sigh of relief. "I am not asking you to take care of them like they're orphaned. See those young witchers? Don't shrug them off. For a considerable period of time, they'll be staying in the temple and keeping you and your priestesses safe. It's a promise we made to someone. If you have time, please teach them how to navigate life more easily."

"So you're suggesting that danger is coming to the temple? Who would be so bold as to attack Melitele's place of faith?" Nenneke mused. Is this why the goddess told me to give them a warm welcome? Because the young ones will be our guards?

"You will find out soon enough. As for us, we have a score to settle in Maribor." Coral's eyes glinted coldly. "A bloody score."

Chapter 570

Roy the witcher stood before the trinity of Melitele statues. The statues glowed with sacred light, and a majestic voice boomed in his head.

"I am pleased, child of the Elder Blood. As promised, you have brought a group of lively guardians to the temple. Your trip to Maribor will be filled with dangers. In order to prevent you from dying before this world's crisis is averted, Freya and I have decided to bend the rules and lend you as much assistance as we can."

An aqua blue crystal cut in the shape of a rose shot out of the statue of Melitele. It was the size of a fist and shone as brightly as the summer sky. Roy held it in his hand and tightened his grip.

'Blessed Brisingamen

Components: Zircon, divine energy

Affixes:

Second Wind: This gemstone, blessed by Freya and Melitele, can block a fatal attack once. You may also activate it and cast Divine Healing, returning your body and soul to their best state.'

"We shall lend this to you. Pray that you do not have to use it ever."

"So, how did it go? Fine?" Letho was leaning on a pavilion's pillar in the garden's corner, looking at Roy.

"Yes. Grimm went to Vizima, and the goddess gave her blessing. And the children?" Roy looked at his comrades. Four Wolves, Four Vipers, and three Cats. Kiyan came all the way from Novigrad to stand with his comrades. Coen, the sole member of the Griffin School, then the sorcerers, Kalkstein and Coral. Fourteen of them in total.

"They wouldn't let up. I almost used Axii on them." Felix shook his head, then he clenched his fists in resignation and approval. "But we calmed them down and convinced them to stay."𝒍𝓲𝓫𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅.𝙘𝙤𝒎

"With Nenneke keeping an eye on them, there's nothing to worry," said Letho, rubbing his head.

"Time to set off, people."

Coral went up and held Roy's arm lovingly. "Don't let Triss wait for too long."

A square portal cracked open the garden's space, and the group of fourteen went into it.

A sorcerer's tower stood beside the palace of Maribor's prince. Its walls were white, and its roof was red. In the topmost chamber of the tower stood a desk and a row of bookshelves, and a gale howled across the room, flipping the pages of the times open.

Triss' hair brushed against her cheeks.

"Hello, my lovely lady." Lambert was the first to come through. He approached Triss with a smile and went down on one knee, requesting for a hand-kiss.

Triss smiled and lifted her dress a little, then she curtsied at everyone.

Aiden smacked the back of Lambert's head. "Stop flirting with every woman you meet. If you're in heat, find a mate in the pigsty."

"Thank you for your hard work, Triss." Coral stepped ahead and put an arm around Triss' waist, then she held Triss' chin with her left hand as she stared into her face. "You got thinner. How I envy your body."

"I haven't gotten thinner, but you've gotten prettier." Triss shook her head, her hair swaying. She then looked at the witchers and glanced furtively at the one with grayish-silver eyes. There was delight in her eyes. "You came just in time. I have a new discovery regarding the grandmasters."

"Tell us more."

"Come here." She approached the desk and curled her finger. The steaming teapot, teacups, and bottled tea leaves danced and swirled around in the air, but they moved with precision. Moments later, everyone in the room had themselves a cup of fresh, steaming jasmine tea. Triss gave them a smile and motioned at them to drink. At the same time, a map of Maribor unfurled itself on the table.

The city had hybrid buildings, clear, spacious thoroughfares, a hundred narrow alleyways, city gates in the south and north, and many more. All of them were shrunk to a miniature scale and presented on the map, including the gigantic crack caused by that monster. The crack was in the abandoned old city wing.

Triss twirled her finger around the outer rims of the map. "For the past year, I've been checking all spell vibrations across the city."

Roy was touched and a little guilty. All he did was ask for her favor during the Trial, and Triss set all her work aside. She came to the old sorcerer's tower in Maribor and risked her life finding the grandmasters' trail.

Coral frowned. She admonished, "You're risking yourself."

"Don't worry. Everything I'm doing, I do it through this tower. Its special structure and the invisibility spell Tissaia taught me made sure I never reveal too much magic power. No one could've noticed me." 𝙡𝙞𝒃𝓻𝒆𝓪𝒅.𝓬𝒐𝒎

Triss had a wary look on her face. Hatefully, she said, "And I've never left this tower for the whole year. Never showed up on the city's surface. The bastards brainwashed me once. They would have recognized me." She was still bothered by the fact she lost some of her memories.

The witchers gave her a look of gratitude. Triss stayed in this boring tower for a year just for one promise.

"Don't give me that sentimental look. I was just repaying a favor." Triss took a deep breath and nodded. "Yep. I was just repaying Roy for saving me."

"Are you sure we can count on this scouting method of yours?" asked Vesemir.

"Give or take one percent margin of error." Triss twirled her fingers, and a lake as smooth as a mirror jumped into the air. "The whole city's chaotic energy was like this lake, calm and undisturbed. Regular people are like weeds in the depths of this lake, unable to stir any trouble. But if any sorcerer, magical apprentice, or witcher who has mastered Signs come into this space, the balance will be broken. All they have to do is cast one magical action. Any weak spell or simple Sign." Triss added nervously, "I do not mean to disparage you, witchers. Your Signs have room for innovation as well, and they're on par with spells."

"We're not that sensitive. Continue." Roy smiled at her warmly.

"Once the chaos energy in our bodies touches the energy in our surroundings, it will create a ripple, and my tower can capture that ripple. She twirled her middle finger, and a gale galloped by. The lake rippled like a frilly silk dress dancing about.

"For about a year, the whole of Maribor has stayed calm. Calmer than anything. This is a city ruled by regular people, the monarchy, the church, and commerce. I thought I was the only spellcaster. Everyone else must've been scared off by the taxes the prince announced. Until a month ago, that was. Powerful magical ripples appeared in these places."

She pointed twice on the map.

"Blue Whale, and the crack in the old city wing?" The witchers held their breaths.

"For safety's sake, I didn't leave the tower." Triss made a beckoning gesture with her left hand, and a swarm of pitch-black magical light flew in through the window, then it fell onto the back of Triss' hand. That light was a magical crow. It tilted its head and cleaned the grime on its feathers with its beak, then it cawed, staring at everyone in the room like it understood them.

"But my familiar has heard everything." A pause later, Triss' eyes flared brightly. "Four individuals suspected to be witchers appeared in broad daylight. One was tall, burly, looked icy, and had a bear head medallion around his neck."

The witchers were losing a bit of calm every time Triss spoke.

"One was gaunt, had a long face, and his eyes were like a viper's. He had a viper medallion around his neck. One had black hair, brown eyes, and looked and was built like a regular man. He had the medallion of a wolf's head. The last was the most conspicuous of them all. He had the tattoo of an eagle on the side of his face, and the medallion of a griffin hung around his neck. The four of them drank the whole day away in Blue Whale. Their conspicuous appearances and forward attitude garnered a lot of attention. The bartenders, regulars, waitresses, and even the people who passed by the tavern could attest to that."

"That's impossible!" Coen shrieked, his pupils contracting.

Everyone nodded. This was different from what they knew.

"That's odd." Roy took a sip of his tea. "Arnaghad, Erlands, and Elgar have been in hiding for a hundred years. They wouldn't break their long standing rule after that stretch of disappearance just to show up and have fun without a care in the world."

The witchers exchanged looks.

Kalkstein, who'd been listening quietly, said, "Put yourselves in their shoes. According to Roy, they abandoned their brethren and joined Alzur's organization, staying in hiding for a hundred years, cooped up in the underground like rats. They risked their lives interfering with multiple wars. Their goal must be monumental. If you were in their shoes, would you let yourself go right when success is in your grasp? What if you ruin everything?"

Auckes touched his hair band. "You're saying that they're getting really close to their goal. They know they'll succeed so…"

"So they went for some drinks to celebrate?" Serrit guessed.

"Then we have trouble." Roy frowned. He was reminded of that red light that could purge sins back in Mayena. Did the grandmasters and Alzur find a stable way to shape this world to their liking? That thought sent chills down his spine.

"The second ripple happened near the crack in the old city wind," Triss said. "There's a sewer underneath that crack. It was made in the elven era and had dozens of entrances. I suspect that the grandmasters, Idarran, and Alzur have been hiding in this place all this time." She flipped open another map that showed passages spreading out like a cobweb, then she pointed at entrance number thirteen. "So I've collected the blueprint for the old city wing's sewers.

"We can't waste any more time. We have to go." Roy took a deep breath and sat up. He straightened out the straps of his weapons and looked at everyone. Solemnly, he said, "Be prepared, everyone. This is not our regular operation. This could be the most dangerous battle we've run into since the brotherhood's inception, and our enemies are the founders of witcher schools. The people our brethren worship and look up to. Are you sure you can bring yourself to fight them?"

Silence fell upon the group. Coen looked conflicted and nervous. Erland, the role model Coen's mentor had followed his whole life. Jerome paid the ultimate price just to see him. If they were to be enemies, how should he deal with him?

Letho's face stiffened up like a rock.

Ivar Evil-Eye. The founder of the Viper School. The one who set their creed, and the pioneer in the fight against the Wild Hunt. His humor and wit still rang in Letho's mind, and he could see the man's eyes. They were like flames melting down silver. Ivar was the man who taught him.

The light of reminiscence twinkled in Vesemir's eyes. Elgar, grandmaster of the Wolf School. When he was still an apprentice, that man was already the strongest man of the first-generation Wolves. He was top-notch in swordplay, Signs, and combat. The school's blueprints were all his work.

There were no Bears among the witchers. Everyone's only impression about Arnaghad came from someone else. That man almost killed Roy. That debt must be repaid in blood. The Cats were interested in this man. The Cat School's Trial amplified human emotions and created madmen, while the Bear School's Trial erased emotions and humanity, creating cold-blooded monsters. They wondered what kind of man he was.

"You think you can lecture us, kid? You're just a fledgling." Lambert grinned, breaking the silence. He got up and put an arm around Roy's shoulder. "So what if they're the grandmasters? So what if it's Alzur the creator? They're just old news. Antiques. Dying. They should've been buried in the annals of history. If they try to fight us, we fight them, then." Lambert hissed, "We'll chop them up and feed them to sewer rats."

"We are prepared." Letho touched the dragon scale on his chest. The witchers had changed into lightweight, resilient armor. Over the year or so in Kaer Morhen, the Tordarroch blacksmiths and Vesemir managed to embed dragon scales in all their armor and boost their defense as much as possible. Regular weapons couldn't leave any marks on it.

The weapons they carried were modified slightly by dragon bones, and they could cut through iron like it was butter. The group was equipped with Cloaks of Silence, and on their belts were potions that glimmered mysteriously. All of them had five mana and health potions each. The regular decoctions like Swallow, Thunderbolt, and Petri's Philter were all there, of course, but they were also modified by adding Skyrim's herbs into them. Those herbs enhanced the potions' efficacy by 20%. Besides that, all witchers also had a black, inconspicuous bottle of decoction, and the liquid inside glimmered red, like blood.

This was a new higher vampire decoction developed by Kalkstein and Letho after they researched deeply into the body of Gruffydd. The toxicity was threatening, but the effects were powerful. The witchers who used that decoction could, temporarily, have healing abilities on par with a higher vampire.

Aside from decoctions, everyone had ten dimeritium bombs, Dragon's Dream, and other regular bombs.

The brotherhood also spent big money asking Kalkstein to make everyone one secret bomb that could severely injure higher vampires. They also had teleportation crystals that would act as a last resort should they need to escape. They also had one Forgotten Acorn that could save anyone from the brink of death (they'd had three, but Eskel and Roy used one each, leaving one lone acorn in their stash), and Blessed Brisingamen, which Roy acquired not too long ago.

Compared to the fully-armed witchers, Coral was in a much more normal attire. She was in a frilly black dress like she was going to attend a ball. She was also wearing an exquisite lady's hat. The zircon pendant and magical rings on her fingers were glinting with magic. She was like a human-sized magical weapon.

Triss wasn't too bad either. She was also equipped with a lot of magical items. Kalkstein was standing with them. He was still in his grimy robes, his stubble was messy, and he looked mousy and groggy, like he just awoke. The morning breeze brushing across the garden made him shiver, and he kept rubbing his hands like a human-sized mouse trying to warm himself up, but he'd chuckle, and his eyes would glint mischievously.

"Alzur is one of the most famous sorcerers in human history. More powerful and legendary than Vilgefortz, who's already turned to dust in space. Well, I say famous, but it's actually infamy. That man represents an endless well of esoteric magical knowledge. We take him and I Darran down, and the brotherhood will claim a hundred years worth of magical supplies."

"That's right." Auckes grinned toothily and came over to hold Roy's other arm. There was a conflicted look in his eyes. "We'll make Arnaghad grovel and beg for your forgiveness, but we're also going to find out what they've been doing for the past one hundred years."

"I'll ask Ivar why he abandoned us." Letho's eyes shone.

"I have the same question for Erland as well," said Coen quietly, the look on his face changing.

"I'd like to know what Elgar thinks of Kaer Morhen, and if he still holds onto his principles." Vesemir and the Wolves exchanged a look.

"My wish is simple. To see the Bear School swordsmanship performed by the cruel, heartless Arnaghad." Felix, Aiden, and Kiyan were rubbing their steel weapons, raring to fight.

"Everyone's in high spirits, but do not underestimate our enemies. Survival first," Serrit emphasized.

"They have in their hands the light of purification. That thing is dangerous," Roy added. "No matter what, if that light shines on you, leave and teleport on the spot."

Most, if not all, witchers carried sins on their backs. "I don't want anything to happen to any of you. We're not losing anyone in this fight."

Chapter 571

The twilight shadow loomed over the land, a crescent moon hanging high in the sky. The city underneath it, Maribor, was split into two halves. One sat within the towering walls, where beautiful buildings stood. They were brightly lit, and merry noises came from the taverns. Soldiers patrolled the streets. The other half slumbered beyond the city walls. The houses were in ruins, and the ground was cracked. Weed slithered across the earth. Refuse and rancid beds left by beggars and tramps were strewn across the place. Horrifying craters haphazardly covered the land. These were left by meteor strikes.

Howls of wolves and rabid dogs came from the dark corners of this abandoned land, while bugs chirped among the bushes and scarce trees. A ravine measuring more than a hundred yards long crushed the old city wing. Not even the moon could shine on any of its crevices. It was like a titanic python quietly hiding in the darkness.

Dark silhouettes hopped along the ravine, dropping silently like gazelles leaping through a valley. Their cloaks absorbed all the silvery moonlight, keeping them shrouded in darkness. Like phantoms, the silhouettes disappeared in a moment.

A patch of crimson roses stood in the southwest of the crack. There, the silhouettes found a dark entrance.

"Sewer number thirteen in the old city wing." Roy and his comrades exchanged a glance. They quickly cast their Signs, covering themselves in magical barriers of gold and black. The monster hunters downed their supply of Cats, and their pupils expanded. They saw through the night easily, as if they were traveling in broad daylight.

Roy walked down the rickety wooden stairs, and the steps creaked as he went. A couple of moments later, the young witcher landed safely. His silver eyes glowed in the dark, shining on a dark and ancient passage. There were craters on the walls flanking them. Weed and ivy slithered over their surface, while wet moss was draped over them.

The old city wing was abandoned for many years, but the sewers were connected to Maribor. The city's refuse and sewage flowed into these tunnels every day. The dark and humid tunnels kept everything cooped up, and now even the air was filled with a foul odor.

The tunnel was split into different paths, all leading into the unknown darkness. Smell of rotting, festering refuse filled the air. A black, gooey river flowed in the ditch sitting in the center of the tunnel. Garbage, rotting leftovers, excrements, and a myriad of items flowed through it. The witchers saw boots, tattered clothes, and bones of small animals floating around.

A reluctant Kiyan was assigned to guard duty by Triss. He stood by the sewer's entryway, just in case anything unpredictable were to happen. Eleven witchers along with Coral and Kalkstein, traveled both sides of the passage, their footsteps careful and soft. They tried their best to stay silent.

Like a cat on the hunt, Roy crouched, and he turned on his witcher senses. Entwined, bright ribbons appeared in the air. These ribbons represented the trails of mice, lizards, vipers, roaches, and more critters, but none of them would lead them to any witcher or sorcerer, but Roy didn't give up. The grandmasters were experts in stealth. They could easily erase their traces.

The group made their way to the biggest area in the sewers. According to the map, it was in the center of the connected tunnels. For fifteen minutes they traveled, and junctions would appear from time to time, but the witchers did not split up. That would be a deathwish in uncharted territory.

The journey was quiet. Too quiet. There were no drowners or ghouls, who were regular residents of sewers. There weren't many mice around either. Plants that thrived in darkness were abundant, however.

Auckes was in the vanguard on the left. He stopped in his tracks and held his buzzing medallion, then he raised a hand, motioning for everyone to stop. He then crouched and held his hand over the ground. Quickly, he made an Aard Sign. The wind blew away the dust and soil, revealing a magical circle. It was as small as a plate.

A few Elder Speech runes were carved on it, and they were structured in the shape of a stream of flames. Just looking at it made them feel the heat.

Kalkstein took a look and said quietly, "Fire runes. Simplest magical trap in the book."

"So that means we got the right place." Roy held back the excitement in his voice, but the look in his eyes couldn't lie.

"Regular people, and a lot of witchers included, do not have the skill to set up this kind of trap. This must've been Idarran or Alzur." Serrit looked at his brethren solemnly. "We'll have to be a lot more careful from now on. If things go wrong, teleport away immediately."

There were untold dangers hiding in the darkness ahead. In just ten minutes, the group had found more than thirty traps. Fire, explosion, ice, and illusory magical traps aside, there were also regular traps like bear traps. Fortunately, with trap experts like Auckes and Serrit in the team and sorcerers like Coral and Kalkstein, the group managed to stay away from traps while making sure the traps stayed intact. Quietly but swiftly, they pushed ahead.

The deeper they went, the more excrements there were floating along the gooey river. There were also half-digested mice, snakes, and carcasses of bigger livestock like cows and goats. Sewers shouldn't have this kind of stuff floating around. The question was, who brought these things in?

The group was advancing even more carefully, then the vanguard stopped in their tracks and held the buzzing medallions hanging around their necks. They held their breaths, and everyone stayed silent. Everyone looked ahead and saw something.

The shadow of a standing humanoid creature danced on the walls around the corner. They could see the outline of its back, legs, and arms. The silhouette was burly. Too burly. It was almost twelve feet tall, its head almost hitting the tunnel's ceiling. Its back was hunched, but it was big, and its waist was smaller. The silhouette had taut, mountainous muscles. It had no neck, and its pointy head was attached to its back. It was bent forward, giving the shadow a conical shape.

The group imagined an oversized mouse standing around the corner, and the changes in the shadow proved that. Every time it opened or closed its snout, the whiskers around its mouth would shiver like shaking iron needles. The shadow was holding something in its hand, munching on it.

There was a quiet crunching sound whispering in the air. If the group hadn't been listening closely, they'd have missed it. The witchers had weird looks on their faces. From the shadow alone, they couldn't imagine what kind of monster this could be. It was obviously not a ghoul, drowner, or fleder.

This time, they couldn't skirt around this.

The group crouched a little and walked along the wall quietly. The Cloaks of Silence and double magical barriers covered up their scent and footsteps. They eventually saw the humanoid creature. It was a man-mouse. The burly man was wearing nothing, and his body was covered in a coat of thick, black fur. Its snake-like tail was twirled around his left leg, wrapping and loosening up. The creature's claws were like glinting daggers, and blood trickled from them. On the other end of its claws was a dead, rotting, blackening goat.

The creature held the carcass in its arms, its crimson eyes glinting with greed and cunning. It opened its mouth and ripped a shred of meat off with its sawlike teeth. As it munched on its food, the creature licked the blood off its fur with a barbed tongue.

Roy looked at the people behind him and grabbed a hand crossbow out of thin air, then he pulled the trigger without even aiming. A bolt hurtled through the rancid air of the sewers, drawing a straight silver line ahead.

The moment the bolt touched the man-mouse, its fur stood on end, turning it into a little hedgehog. It lashed out with its tail, and the tail left afterimages in its wake. Just like that, the creature slammed Roy's bolt away, but half of its tail fell to the ground. Before it could do anything more, a crimson light burst forth from the point of contact between the tail and the bolt, then it turned the towering creature into a red cocoon.

The silhouette of a swordsman danced on the walls. Roy's blade pierced the air and buried itself in the man-mouse, but the witcher stabbed the creature multiple times to be safe. The red of blood, the silver of metal, and the glinting runes shone in the air. When the witcher was done, pieces of flesh fell to the ground, steaming. The man-mouse was cut up into pieces.

Before it could even showcase its strength and speed, Roy had cut it down. The man-mouse's hideous head rolled over to Roy's feet, the ghost of its snarl etched on its face.

'Modified Man-mouse killed. EXP +300. Level 13 Witcher (17000/14500).'

Roy let out a rush of air and flicked the blood off his blade. He bent down and put a pair of leather gloves over his hands, then he rummaged through the insides of the mangled body. A moment later, he found himself holding an oval greater red mutagen. And a metal tag.

The tag was embedded in the man-mouse's back. On its surface, a line of indecipherable characters and numbers were engraved. It read, 'ULExIX0008.'

"Number eight…" Letho took another similar metal tag from his storage ring. "The insect we fought in Amell was number 22. Same letters."

"These modified creatures belong to the same series, then." Geralt nodded. "If I'm right, either Alzur or Idarran did this. Both are experts of mutation and genetic modification."

"This is a grandmasters' product, but it's not just regular stitching of different parts together. The reaction that happened in its body is similar to witcher mutations. It was probably a cute little mouse before it was put through the experiment." Kalkstein held up the creature's head and observed its yellow, sawlike teeth. He grabbed a pair of tweezers and test tubes out of thin air and took some samples of its body fluid, whiskers, and body tissues.

Coen was staring at the darkness behind the man-mouse. The tunnel still showed no end. It was dark and rancid. There was something eerily mysterious about it, almost as if it were an abyss. He tensed up.

"I have a feeling this is the beginning, fellas. There'll be a lot of these disgusting experimental failures," said Eskel.

Coral pulled her hair back, her eyes filled with concern. "We've killed their pet. Alzur probably knows of our presence now. He must have set up traps for us."

"He might not be the one meeting us, though." Lambert smirked.

Like Eskel predicted, when the group was traveling down a multi-tunnel junction, a wave of mutated creatures jumped out from the darkness.

The silver glint of metal leapt across the air, clashing into a thick appendage. The tail was covered in green scales, and winds howled as it swung down on the steel sword. They clashed, and blood splattered across the air. The sword cut the tail open, but the impact from the clash pushed back the weapon.

A humanoid creature stood up. It was over six-foot-six and had an elongated head. The creature let out a thunderous roar as it pounced in the direction of the sword. The creature's tail swung around, stirring the gooey river into a pile of mess. The creature swiped its black claws, and it met metal. The blade and claws skidded off each other, sending blood and sweat flying everywhere.

The sparks from the clash illuminated the dark sewers, revealing the face of a bald man. There was an icy look on his face, then he quickly made a blue Sign with his hand. Letho pushed the Sign onto the ground, and a wave of magical energy surged from the Sign. Aard's power shoved the man-crocodile staggering backward, and a deluge spilled everywhere.

Letho stepped ahead, holding his blade up with both hands, then he swung it down on the creature's chest. The blade opened up a gash on the creature's stomach, and blood spilled everywhere, but it didn't seem to feel any pain. The creature wobbled for a while, then it opened its eyes wide. Like any cold-blooded predator, its eyes were amber. Once again, the creature swung its claws and almost metallic tail at the witcher.

A gust of gale howled across the corridor as the enemies clashed, spun, and clashed again. Sparks flew, sonic booms exploded. The creature's sturdy body blocked the sword's attack three times.

On the fourth swing, Letho grounded himself before he leapt high into the air, dodging the tail that was sweeping across the ground. He landed softly and thrust his sword ahead. The first strike hit the creature's nose, where its defense was the weakest. The second strike pierced its left eye and stabbed its pathetic brain.

Two towering silhouettes stood facing each other. A moment of silence later, the man-crocodile fell to the ground with a thud, stirring up a little storm of dust and shit. By reflex, the tail twitched for a while, then it fell still.

A bright light flared around the corner. Coen was making rapid gestures with his hands, and a crimson inverted triangle floated between his palms. Scorching flames charged ahead, turning the immediate area before him into a conical area of fire.

An irregularly shaped creature was wrigging before Coen. It was like a pile of mud with two sesame seeds shoved on its surface. The creature was burning in the flames. A foul scent of excrement came from it. The creature quickly shrunk and melted into a pool of black, corrosive goo.

On the other side of the passage, two Cats were surrounding a skinned creature with sharp bones protruding from its back. The creature resembled a graveir, but it had a pair of legs that were bent backwards like a fleder's, and it could jump high into the air. The creature let out screeches that could puncture anyone's eardrums as it leapt around the claustrophobic passage, but the Cats surrounded it in a web of deadly sword attacks, slowly drenching it in its own blood.

The Wolves were surrounding a mutated rock troll. The troll had fangs, claws, and something akin to a tortoise shell on its back. The Wolves danced around, casting Signs and attacking with their blades in perfect sync.

The troll's roars eventually turned into whimpers of despair.𝙡𝙞𝒃𝓻𝒆𝓪𝒅.𝓬𝒐𝒎

The witchers kept Coral and Kalkstein safe, keeping them in the center of the formation. They were on support and dealing with anything the witchers missed. The light of magic shone and swirled around them. The sorcerers cast their spells, harassing and stunning the creatures the witchers were fighting.

Roy walked through a mountain of bloody corpses. Lying under his feet was a ground of corpses made up of chimeras and mutants. Some died from headshots, some were killed by having their vitals pierced after Roy's crimson tentacles wrapped them up. Some were cut in half by his energy slash. Some were crushed by his dragon's charge attack. None of these mutants could last a second against him.

The icy witcher held a hand crossbow in his left hand and dragged his sword with his right. He strode ahead, blood trickling down the edge of his blade. The crimson light surrounding him was merging into flames, burning the air quietly. He crossed the dark, squalid, and evil passage without stopping. Eventually, he came to a dead end. A wall covered in moss and vines. The witcher cast Clamp and dispelled the illusion before him.

Then a white bolt of electricity came hurtling through the air.

Chapter 572

A white bolt of electricity hurtled from beyond the walls, crashing down on the witcher. Goo and deluge flew into the air from the attack. Roy quickly cast Heliotrope with his left hand and held the Sign up high, covering himself with an elliptical black barrier. The lightning bolt slammed into the barrier and disappeared into thin air.

However, the witcher had no respite. The look on his face changed as hundreds of bolts came charging from the darkness like a deadly web. The bolts electrified him, and his hair stood on end. Right before the attack could land, Roy teleported backward along with his bolt. The web of lightning bolts that took up the space from floor to ceiling swarmed Roy's earlier position, engulfing the corpses on the ground.

The corpses spasmed as if they were alive, their eyelids twitching. From afar, it looked like they were rolling their eyes, and sneers curled their lips. The scene looked like it came out of a horror movie. At the same time, the pool of blood on the ground boiled like scalding water, and the scent of burned flesh wafted across the air.

The web of electricity only died out a few moments later. Roy stared at the charred, smoking pieces of corpses on the ground, and he shuddered. His companions had killed off the creatures that attacked them and gathered around him. The mutants were only as dangerous as garkains. They had numbers on their side. The witchers' equipment and consumables were abundant. Aside from some stamina and mana, they lost nothing.

"You were lucky, kid." Kalkstein gazed at the dark tunnel ahead. For once, he looked serious. "Lightning storms are a lot more powerful than the useless traps we've seen so far. If I were caught by surprise, I'd die too, but the more dangerous the traps are, the closer we are to our goal. Since they know about our operation, we should just knock on the door and announce our arrival." Kalkstein grinned with excitement, his eyes glinting. He then grabbed something out of thin air.

A beautiful alchemical product appeared in his palm. It was like a wolf spider enlarged by a few dozen times, but it had no fleshy texture. Instead, it glinted like metal. It had three rows of green eyes on its head. The metal spider's eight eyes rolled around coldly. There wasn't any emotion in them. Its jaws were moving, and it radiated faint chaos energy. It had eight slender legs covered in metal fur. The spider leapt and fell to the ground softly. It scuttled off and disappeared into the darkness right away.

The witchers collected their loot in the meantime, but a while later, commotion blasted in the dark tunnel ahead. Sounds of explosions, roaring flames, sloshing water, falling stones, and crashing walls roared through the air. Crimson lights, purple bolts of electricity, dust, and smoke filled the air. The sewers were shivering from the impact of the traps, but despite the violent attacks, the elven architecture stood strong, even after the erosion of time.

Fifteen minutes later, the commotion came to an end, and the metal spider came out of the smokescreen before the group. Its front legs were broken from the midsection, and small craters riddled its metallic shell. The critter looked hideous, its green eyes losing their luster.

"Poor thing. You did good." Kalkstein held the spider in his hand and patted its back. The alchemist rubbed his goatee against the spider's head like it was his pet, then he tucked the spider into his inventory space, cringing a little. "Alright, witchers. The traps are all activated. It's safe inside now."

Everyone gave him approving nods. One of their most brilliant ideas for this journey was to bring Kalkstein along. They had promised him a lot of things, but it was worth it. The witchers recast their magical barriers and went into the dark tunnel.

"Your spider is a work of art. Can I…" Lambert raised a thumbs up for Kalkstein and looked at him curiously, wondering where he tucked the spider into.

"Of course. I'm a fair businessman. Give me the coins, and I'll make one for you." Kalkstein stroked his goatee, a smile curling his lips. There was cunning in his eyes, as if he saw a customer he could make a lot of money from.

"How much are you charging?"

"See its broken legs? Take requests all day every day and save up for a year, and you'll make enough to buy its legs. And it's discounted too, because you're a part of the brotherhood."

Lambert rolled his eyes. "Forget I said anything."

The tunnel's air was filled with dust and smoke. Like the ruins of war, the ground was covered in debris and dust. The walls and floor were scorched, electrocuted, and frozen in some places. Besides the multitude of upgraded magical traps, there were also a lot of regular traps. The tunnel was only a hundred yards long, but there were more than twenty traps lying around. The group was almost worried as they passed through the passage.

"Moser structure. This is our school's secret." Serrit went down and observed a bear trap that was already snapped shut. He muttered, "Did Ivar make this trap?"

The Vipers had conflicted feelings about it, and reminiscence filled their eyes.

Moments later, their medallions started buzzing and struggling like sparrows trying to fly off into the air. At the end of the tunnel was a purple door. A cloaked figure appeared out of nowhere. It had a face white as a cadaver, its features dark and gloomy. The figure's gaze pierced the mist and met the group of intruders. There was shock, mockery, and murder in that gaze.

Roy jolted. A bad memory filled his mind. This was Idarran, Alzur's student and master of genetic modification. You don't have to catch me yourself this time. I'll send you to the afterlife.

A bolt hurtled through the air, but it crashed into an invisible wall halfway through. The bolt fell to the ground, and the gemstone marking shattered, but Roy had teleported ahead.

Idarran crossed his hands before his chest and made a dual crimson cross. The surge of mana coming from the cross cut space itself open, and the cross expanded into a square-shaped gash, though Idarran didn't do this to destroy anything.

It was to summon something.

A pack of horned bears leapt out of the gash, roaring and swiping away at their enemy. Roy was in the air, and he sent an energy slash towards his enemies. The attack sliced the towering monsters open, and Roy walked the path created by the two halves of the monsters' broken bodies. Quen deflected all the flesh and blood that was raining down on the witcher.

Idarran quickly split into a few clones and leapt into the door behind him. Roy teleported along with him, and everyone else followed.

Everything changed. The smoky, misty ruins before the door was gone, replaced by bright neon lights behind the door. Roy felt like he just came out of the squalid sewers and entered a beautiful greenhouse. The place was nearly thirty-three wide and sixteen-and-a-half-feet tall. No longer was Roy surrounded by refuse, sewage, excrement, and stone slabs. Colorful, fluorescent plants littered the place.

Roy saw morning glories, gourds, and plants that looked like corals, sea stars, and seahorses. There were trees the shape of pineapples. This place was home to bizarre plants, but they shone like fluorescent lamps, inviting the witcher to eat them.

The air was filled with strong scents. There was the sweetness of fruits, the bitterness of herbs, and a pungent durian smell. Geralt sneezed and held his breath right away.

He then looked up. Vines of different colors came slithering down from the ceiling. There was no wind around, yet they rustled anyway. The walls and ground were covered in a thick layer of bouncy membrane. It felt sticky and squelchy to the touch, and it had the temperature of a regular human.

The walls were swaying ever so gently, as if they were alive. It reminded them of the belly of some titanic monster, and those bizarre plants were fungi that took root in the monster's body.

Roy hesitantly took a few steps ahead. Under pressure, the fluorescent plants underneath Roy shot out a cloud of spores, and they fluttered in the air like fireflies. They shone red on his face and turned the space around into an almost dreamlike place.

"Don't take one step further, people. Something's off." Roy frowned. His Elder Blood was starting to scorch and boil all of a sudden. Inexplicably, a vague scene appeared before his eyes. He saw four towering silhouettes standing with their backs turned to him. They were standing on the edge of a cliff. One step ahead, and they'd fall into an endless abyss. Over them was a staircase leading straight to the cloudy heavens above. At the end of the staircase, Roy could make out a colorful galaxy and a crimson, squirming octopus. What does this hallucination mean?

Something clenched Roy's heart. It wasn't just danger. This bizarre world had something extreme, complicated, and indescribable hidden in its depths. The young witcher didn't dare step into that domain. Behind them, the door that connected this space to the ruins outside had closed up. Aiden and Coen were unleashing Signs and weapons at it, but aside from leaving scorch marks and slashes, there was little effect.

Fortunately, everyone's mana could still run well. They could teleport away if needed.

"Calm down, people. You don't have to hold your breaths. These plants are harmless. Not poisonous." Kalkstein tucked away a silver jellyfish that was hanging in the air. He quickly put on a pair of white leather gloves and pulled out a fluorescent mistletoe. The branches and fruits were luminescent, their colors ever-changing. Sometimes they were red, sometimes they were black. Sometimes they were like fiery clouds of the dawn.

"I'm sure this isn't any plant that exists in our world. Its effects are unknown, but if we can research it, we will be able to develop a lot of new potions. A hundred types at least. It's a lot better than the herbs Roy brought from Skyrim."

"So you're saying Idarran and the grandmasters have gone to different worlds before?" Serrit looked solemn.

"Without a doubt."

"You have a good eye." A dark, venomous voice spoke. The voice felt close, as if it were coming from around the group, but it also felt far, as if it spoke from the heavens above. "If you'd arrived a few months later, I'd have welcomed you with open arms and talked about research of plants from different worlds, but alas, you came at the wrong time."

The voice had shock and complaint in it. "Ivar's a fool. He insisted on exiling him. We should've killed him, and now look at what happened."

A pause later, the voice praised, "You aren't the controller of the shard for nothing, Roy. You passed through the world's barrier and came back safely. I do not know how you managed it, but you made one major mistake. You should've gone into hiding after you escaped alive, but you had to come into my turf."𝙡𝙞𝒃𝓻𝒆𝓪𝒅.𝓬𝒐𝒎

The voice spoke with condescension. "You know, there are countless choices available to men. Half of them bring luck, but you just had to make the worst possible choice at the wrong place and the wrong time. You have buried all possibilities for a better future. And now your fate is doomed to fall into darkness and destruction. What fools. Allow me to teach you a lesson."

The Vipers ignored the voice's insults. The mention of Ivar excited them, and they couldn't hold back.

Auckes roared at the darkness ahead, "Where's Ivar Evil-Eye? Why is a grandmaster like him hiding in the shadows? Summon him! We want to talk!"

"You've trespassed into the place I spent countless hours working on and ruined more than a few dozen of my experimental subjects. They might be half-finished, but my heart bleeds nonetheless. You think you deserve a fair negotiation? No." The voice paused for a moment. "And they cannot make it anyway."

"What do you mean?" Letho roared, the look on his face changing.

The voice ignored them. A few thoughts were running through Roy's head. He was reminded of the clues Triss found. The grandmasters celebrated at Blue Whale for the imminent success of their goal, and now only Idarran was here to welcome them. Could it be that the grandmasters and Alzur can't do anything else because they're at a critical point? And they have another shard, probably. That's why Idarran isn't using the red light on us.

"You must've had enough of killing monsters. Have something else for a change," Idarran mocked.

Roy pulled a trigger, and a bolt flew ahead, but it didn't hit anything. It melted away after leaving a little ripple behind, and then gusts of icy winds blew across the battlefield.

A great sense of danger hit Roy. He crouched and held his left hand up, covering himself and his comrades in Heliotrope. Coral and Kalkstein crossed their arms, casting their spells. A magical storm howled around them. The witchers held up their swords, ready to battle.

However, there were no mutants at all. Silence fell upon them. Only a fluorescent plant was swaying, as if it were shaking its head and sighing at the group.

What's that supposed to mean?

And then, all of a sudden, the eldest Wolf grunted. He clutched his neck and fell back to the ground, his weapon falling away. Vesemir curled up like a cooked shrimp. His face was red, his head was drenched in sweat, and his wrinkles curled up like wriggling worms. The Wolf let out gurgles.

"Vesemir!" Geralt held Vesemir up and quickly checked him. "What's the matter?"

Bloody rivulets of sweat started covering Vesemir's face. His face was contorted in agony, and his eyes bulged.

"You can't die, mate. What are we supposed to tell Mignole if something happens to you?" Eskel quickly cast Axii at Vesemir to alleviate his pain, but it was of little use.

"Say something, people! What's wrong with him?"

Vesemir's condition was worsening at a blistering rate. Ten seconds later, his limbs were starting to spasm. He held Geralt's arm tightly, his nails biting into the White Wolf's flesh. Coral touched his forehead. It was scalding, then she pulled back his bloated eyelids.

"It's not just fever and convulsions. There's internal bleeding."

Lambert whipped out a health potion and shoved it down Vesemir's throat, but the old Wolf clamped his mouth shut. Most of the health potion trickled down to the ground. It didn't do anything to heal him.

Vesemir was getting worse by the second. Rivulets of blood were oozing out of his skin. There was not an ounce of his usual humor or wit left on his face. There was only pain and seizures.

Geralt took out the higher vampire decoction that was supposed to be reserved for emergencies only. Letho was holding an acorn in his hand.

"It's useless, you two." Kalkstein shook his head. "That'll only give him five more minutes. We have to get to the root."

"Idarran, you cowardly bastard! You corpse-desecrating pervert! Come down here and fight!" the impulsive Lambert roared into the darkness.

"Oh, you lost your temper just like that? But you were always patient with the people's requests," said the voice merrily.

Roy cast Observe on Vesemir.

'Vesemir

Age: 307 years old

HP: 180/250 (Possessed, bleeding, asphyxiated, feverish…)'

Hm? He's possessed? "I know a way out. Let him go. Let me do this." Roy went down and held Vesemir's shoulder. Fear. His eyes went red, and then a familiar scene played out once more.

Countless crimson tentacles came darting out of the voice, flailing and lashing out at Vesemir's back.

Vesemir froze, his pain and soul freezing up. At the same time, a vague human silhouette surrounded by black smoke was forced out of Vesemir's body. It was gaunt, its cheeks sunken, and it was in nothing but tatters.

The soul was like an evil spirit. The moment it showed up, the tentacles wrapped it up and took it away. Into a bloody cocoon the spirit was turned. The tentacles held it up in the air, far away from Vesemir. The only thing revealed was the soul's face. It had short, golden hair, a gaunt, contorted face, and eyes that had a gaze as icy as the winter wind. There was pain in those eyes.

Roy's heart skipped a beat. A familiar feeling filled his heart. He had seen this spirit before.

Chapter 573

Within the bizarre, fluorescent garden, a translucent, screaming, evil spirit was held in the air by a sea of tentacles. The tentacles unleashed crimson beams, scorching the spirit like acid, and black smoke billowed.

The spirit's face was contorted in pain, blinking like malfunctioning lamps. Sometimes it would morph into an even more bizarre visage. The face had no mouth or nose, and its eyes were filled with cunning and evil, much like a demon.

The witchers tried to attack it with their blades and weapons. Their attacks engulfed it, and yet they passed through it, hitting nothing but air. This thing was untouchable, much like a phantom. Roy's tentacles flailed and tore away at the spirit, but it couldn't destroy it.

'Spirit of repentance

Age: ?

Status: The fusion of datt and the grandmaster of genetic modification, Ortolan.'

Roy paused for a moment. Ortolan the sorcerer. The man who married someone in Hindarsfjall. He, in a bid to save his wife and child, turned his body into a cage and imprisoned an evil spirit called datt. From the crystal's footage, Roy saw that he came seeking sanctuary from Idarran. He sought true destruction of his body, mind, and soul. So how did he end up like this?

The effects of Fear came to an end. The tentacles slithered away like water going back into the sea. The evil spirit screeched and disappeared into the air, hiding somewhere.

"How do you feel, Vesemir?"

The tormented witcher took a deep breath, and his chest ballooned, then it fell back. "Damn it all. I never knew I made so many unforgivable mistakes." He looked at everyone and laughed at himself, his wrinkles loosening up, but he was still drenched in sweat and shuddering from the experience. "My insides felt so guilty, they started destroying themselves."

With a trembling hand, he wiped the blood off and grabbed the hand that was about to hold his teleportation crystal. "Things aren't that desperate yet, Geralt. This is a minor injury. I can still hold on."

Geralt sighed, and Lambert shook his head. "You're acting tough, old man. Your legs are shaking like you just came out of messing with a woman for three days."

"Then it's all fine. I can last five days at least." Vesemir popped open a bottle of Swallow and gulped it down. Color returned to his face. He then pushed everyone's hands away and stood up, wobbling a little. The veteran witcher worked his limbs, and his joints cracked.

Everyone heaved a collective sigh of relief. Letho and Kiyan quickly circled their comrades. They gestured and chanted, then a circle made of specter dust and infused dust appeared on the ground, shining like a sacred shield, keeping the group safe.

"Brilliant performance, but it's not enough. The spirit is still around you, seeking its next target," the voice spoke.

"You're not bad yourself, controlling an evil spirit. Those are the deadliest and most mysterious beings. It felt a lot stronger than any hymn," Kalkstein praised, stroking his beard, and he looked around.

"And you exceeded my expectations." There was surprise and wariness in the voice. "A mere witcher, injuring a formless spirit. It's one of my most prized creations."

A pause later, the voice lamented, "That flash of light must've been the ability given to you by the shard, Roy. It's just like a double-edged sword."

Roy scanned the air beyond the circle, trying to catch the spirit's trails, but it was formless and couldn't be tracked. "Did your experiments kill off your humanity, Idarran? I thought you'd free Ortolan of his misery and blast him off with your red light, but you captured your best friend and turned him into a monster. You kept him caged in this blasted form and bound him to his personal hell."

"Hm?" From within the darkness that disgusted Roy, the voice said, "You know a lot, kid."

Roy mocked, "The grandmasters and your mentor cleansed Mayena of its sins with the flames of the red light. They should've cleansed you too, you disgusting, perverted freak. Oh wait, don't tell me the justice they seek is nothing but a mask?"

"Silence! Do not insult my teacher! You know nothing!" The voice turned furious and adamant. "The highest honor for a grandmaster of genetic modification is to be as one with their creation. All I did was grant Ortolan his wish. And it's two birds with one stone. His wish was granted, and his family is no longer disturbed. They can live their lives out as normal humans."

"Bullshit," Auckes retorted sardonically.

"Suit yourself. Now enjoy the show, fools. You shall pay for your choice."

"Shut it, you pervert!" Coral roared in fury and pointed at the darkness in the depths of the garden. As she chanted her spell, the air started vibrating, and the scent of ozone rose.

A burst of blinding lightning charged ahead into the darkness, then the witchers cast their Signs, colorful triangles shining in the air.

Then the elements followed. Kalkstein extended his right arm, and a spherical bomb flew out of his sleeve.

A short earthquake later, the vines fell and withered. Fruits, bushes, and grass burst into smithereens. The walls were broken and cracked, oozing green blood. The roaring explosions, screaming winds, and blinding light crushed a part of the fluorescent, swaying plants, burning them into cinders.

Like an attacked animal, the garden sucked the plants on its skin into its cavity, hiding them. Replacing the plants were the walls' inner skin, crimson and filled with fibrous wrinkles. Just like that, the dreamlike garden was turned into a bloody, fleshy hell. The witchers were like food trapped within a towering monster's belly.

A howl of agony echoed in the air, but not even an attack of this magnitude could affect Idarran. He harrumphed, and a surge of black light came forth. The circle around the group burned brightly. A humanoid cloud of smoke appeared out of thin air. The spirit of repentance dragged its obsidian tail and crashed into the protective circle. A patch of red light shone as it came into contact with the barrier.

The barrier was crushed. The creature hurtled past the blades and flames, screaming as it pounced at Coral.

Coral was horrified. She could feel doom closing in on her, and she quickly gestured with both hands. A wave of magical blue light burst forth from underneath her dress. It surrounded her, forming a blue shield.

Someone acted faster, however. Roy stood before her. He took a deep breath and let out a shout.

Fus!

A violent air current rampaged ahead, an invisible ring of sound waves crushing the air. The gale billowed everyone's hair and clothes.

A screeching sonic boom coursed through the battlefield, and the spirit froze. A blast of energy pierced it, keeping it still. The Shout tore the spirit in half and hurled it at the walls, but the two halves quickly merged back, and the spirit hissed in fear before it hid itself again. It was already like a small sliver of smoke before it left. One little gust of wind, and it might be gone. No longer was it as odious as before.

The voice clicked its tongue. "I've underestimated you, Roy. That attack can destroy souls. Voice magic? That's not something the shard could've given you. You gained a new power in your exile?"

A bolt flew through the air, but vines shot up from the ground and drowned it.

"Alright, that's enough. At this rate, you'll destroy a lot of my creations. I've run out of patience, so let's end this."

Something popped. Idarran seemed to have opened a bottle. The cork fell to the ground. At the edge of everyone's vision, a red cloud of smoke started to beat like a heart. In the end, the smoke coalesced into something resembling a sphere, floating in the air.

Roy felt his temples throbbing, and a suffocating sense of danger filled his heart. What happened in Cintra's castle was going to repeat itself.

"Look out!" He crushed the teleportation crystal and triggered its magic. Winds howled, and a portal appeared before him.

"Silint (Silent)!" Idarran uttered a word. A simple Elder Speech phrase, but it was filled with incredible magic, as if the gods themselves were ordering the world to carry out their orders.

All the elements in this battlefield were changed into the element of air. The witchers who bore their weapons, the sorcerers who controlled chaos energy, and even Roy were caught by the great surge of air. They stopped moving, but the looks on their faces were solemn. They couldn't lift a finger, blink, or even breathe. The magical energy within them could not even flow.

The portal disappeared. It was as if a gigantic hand had put a pause on the time in this garden. All the group could do was watch as the beating sphere finally showed its true form. It had a tilted head about six-feet big. The creature had no nose, but it had big eyes and a beak. Arcs of lightning danced within its ethereal, cloudy body.

This was a djinn in its full form. The air elemental of the elemental planes, and it was open for wishes.

The djinn floated in midair, twirling its blue-black claws, spinning a web of air as it closed in on the group. Something was controlling it. There was fury and dismay in its eyes. There was a storm within its eyes, but it had to follow Idarran's orders, so the djinn vented its fury on the humans before it.

"Exblo, hed (Explode head)," Idaraan said cruelly.

The djinn extended its claws at the group like a reaper taking away its victim.

Everyone's heart thumped. They turned red, and moans escaped their throats. Their cheeks bloated and ballooned. Blood seeped out of their pores, and their faces contorted.

Then, three witchers' heads exploded, blood, bones, and brains flying everywhere. They fell, their limbs twitching.

Roy roared in rage, blood spilling out of his eyes, and a stream of crimson flames surged around him. A crimson tentacle tore the space behind him open and came wriggling out, flailing in the air. Countless tentacles danced on the walls, and something shattered. Roy broke free of his bondage. His face was red, his veins contorted and bulging. Behind the crimson tentacle, a river filled with light appeared. It was the stars that shone brightly above. A river of stars. Every star represented a point in time.

Roy's Elder Blood raced within his veins, and the silver river flowed backward. Starlight shone upon the dead witchers. Like puppets pulled by strings, the bodies of the witchers, astoundingly, stood back up, but their arms were limp. The blood, flesh, bones flew back to the bodies, forming their skulls. In what felt like an eternity, the witchers' heads were reformed. Three souls that gleamed with mysterious lights were chased back from the corners and returned to their rightful bodies.

The witchers opened their eyes, but there was confusion in them. This change, although complicated, happened in less than a fraction of a second.

Idarran couldn't make his third wish in time.

Fear. Crimson light danced around Roy. The dancing tentacles appeared in the air, wrapping up the spirit before it could attack. They pulled on the spirit and tore it. Then they did it again. After the third tear, the spirit couldn't stay corporeal anymore. It was torn into little pieces and scattered across the air. The tentacles' suckers wolfed down the spirit's shards, gobbling them up.

A man in his forties in a gray, scholarly robe appeared in the air behind them. He had short, gold hair, and his eyes twinkled with wisdom. A well-kept mustache surrounded the man's lips. He looked like a gentlemanly professor from afar. The man bowed deeply at Roy. There was relief in his eyes.

And Ortolan's soul was no more.

'Spirit of repentance engulfed. +1000 EXP. Level 13 Witcher (19000/14500).'

The hidden Idarran couldn't bask in the awe of Roy reviving the dead and killing the evil spirit all at once. He quickly shot his third word at the bound witchers.

"Ver (Shapeshift)!"

As soon as he finished uttering the word, the djinn swiped its claws at the group once more, and magic boiled in the air.

A bolt hurtled across the battlefield. Roy teleported toward the djinn. It felt like he'd entered a field filled with storms. The young witcher brought Aerondight down and sent a crimson energy beam ahead.

The witcher's interference stopped the djinn's casting, and it quickly defended itself. A web of lightning bolts burst forth from its ethereal form and cut down the energy beam, then it covered the witcher.

Electricity sizzled. Heliotrop absorbed some of the lightning, but most charged into Roy's body, and his hair stood on end. His face was charred from the attack, but there was still determination in his eyes.

Activate.

A wave of magical energy healed his charred body back to its best form. Roy's Elder Blood raged once more, and a gash tore the air open. A diamond-shaped Worldgate appeared behind the djinn.

Roy swung his blade. A black dragon appeared behind the witcher, glaring at the djinn. As Roy swung his blade, the dragon swiped its claw away at the djinn and smacked it.

Winds howled. The air was screaming from the force of the attack. Even the djinn, which was immune to most physical attacks, floated backward and entered the Worldgate.

The ghost of its last lightning bolt flickered in the air and faded along with it.

The witchers and sorcerers trembled, then they heaved a collective sigh of relief. They'd regained their freedom.

"Where's my third wish? What'd you do to the djinn, kid?" Idarran demanded furiously, shivering in rage. "Why can't I sense it anymore? You're all going to die!"

The flesh-like chamber rumbled. The creature had awoken.

Chapter 574

A hole opened up on the ground beneath them, and a bloody vine covered in leaves and hooks pounced at Roy. The witcher swung his blade and sliced the vine in two. Green blood splattered everywhere. The limb wriggled like a tentacle, the mouth on its end biting and gnawing away at the air. Blood trickled out of the vine's mouth and burned through the ground.

The witchers swung their blades, while the sorcerers sent flames and crimson mist flying in every direction. The vines that were coming toward them howled in agony, then they fell with a sickening thud.

Just when the group thought they would have respite, the rumbling ground started shimmying like the waves of a bloody sea. Pockets the size of a baby's mouth opened up on the flesh, and scores of vines slithered out of the holes. They wriggled in the air and merged into a bloody cloud. The vines were eventually large enough to crush the group, and they plummeted like bloody meteorites. There was not a single empty space between the vines.

The group had no escape, and they were engulfed, but then, two elliptical beating hearts appeared within the chamber, and for a moment, only the sound of beating hearts echoed in the air.

Moments later, a crack opened in the heart, and a blinding flash of light poured forth. The gash became bigger and bigger. The uneven, fleshy heart started cracking like a porcelain object, then a dragon of flames came roaring out of the hole.

A stream of flames leapt forth from Coen's palms, escaping its prison. The charred, shattered vines lay dead beneath his feet like remnants of a carcass.

The witchers held up their blades, shielding themselves with Quen. The sorcerers cast their protective spells, conjuring an impenetrable barrier, and they escaped their prison.

Into the depths of the chamber they went, and a bolt flew through the air. A small hole pierced through the other heart, then the bolt flew to the other side of this bloody prison. Countless thorny vines lashed out at the air, flailing away like tentacles.

Roy appeared out of nowhere, holding a longsword in his hand. The black cloak behind him billowed like the wings of a bird, and he charged ahead. His sword danced around him, slicing and dicing the vines up into little pieces. Underneath the young witcher, a river made of green blood formed.

Roy traveled across the ground of carcasses and broke through all obstacles. He came to the other side, and there was something in his way. Something gigantic and connected to the ground.

The thing resembled an alder tree that had been split many times. Its rough bark had turned into something fleshy, just like this chamber. Luminescent lights flowed through the tree's trunk, and its umbrella-like branches were not unlike wriggling veins connected to the ground and ceiling.

On the end of the tree's branches were fluorescent mushrooms that expanded and contracted. There were also leaves that were shaped like and were as sharp as daggers. Roy sighted crimson fruits as well. A contorted face belonging to a human protruded between the leaves and trunk. The face was made out of branches and leaves. Roy could see its features. A colorful beard shot out of its chin, and its eyes were made out of fluorescent mushrooms. The slit between two groups of branches formed a sneer.

Roy could vaguely make this out to be an enlarged version of Arran. He was staring at Roy with his luminescent eyes, and his gaze was filled with cunning and murder.

'Mutated treant

Status: A fusion between Idarran and fluorescent plants.'

"You're mad. You turned yourself into a monster."

A black bolt charged toward the monstrous face, but a wall of vines shot up from the ground and stopped it. The bolt pierced the first layer, but then a second wall stopped it, then a third, then it disappeared.

The mutated treant laughed from behind the walls of plants, and the ground underneath shook as it laughed. The monster lashed one of its branches at the witcher, and its leaves spun. They flew off the branch and charged at Roy like howling winds.

Roy shoved a blue Sign before him, and it shone brightly. Aard destroyed half of the leaves, but the other half hit the witcher and cut through Quen easily. They left marks on the dragonscale armor. Roy held up his arms to protect his head, and the leaves left marks on his vambraces too. One of the leaves sliced through the back of Roy's hand and carved a bit of flesh off him.

Roy couldn't find any openings to fight back.

"What a monster." The witchers charged through the attacking vines and came to Roy's side, then they too launched the offensive. Blasts of magic and glints of silver cut through the air. They were quick, deadly, and accurate, but Idarran was up to his old tricks again.

The sea of vines shot up from the ground, slithered down from the ceiling, and came at them from every direction. They were at a stalemate. Auckes let out a roar of fury as he cut away the vines trying to tie his legs. Kalkstein shouted in excitement as he shot energy arrow after energy arrow at the vines. One was caught by a purple arrow, and it was turned into a fireball. The vine shrank back into the bloody sea, and its companions wriggled, dousing the flames.

Coral's dress fluttered, her hair billowing, and she sent off blue blasts in a ring around her like a winter goddess. The frozen vines were crushed by their own swarm, shattered into pieces of ice, then more vines took their place.

Roy swung Aerondight in a horizontal line, and the winds howled. A crimson energy beam sliced many vines in two, but more took their place. They seemed to be endless. Every time they cut down one, two took its place.

The witcher's blade could cut through steel easily. His bolts could pierce through steel boards and dragon hide without a problem, and yet he was confined to a small circle by these vines, unable to make progress. These vines were unafraid of pain and death, and fire did not sway them. Instead, it only served to enrage Idarran further. He set more vines on the group.

"We're on his turf! Don't try to get into a war of attrition!" Coral hurled a blast of blue light and crushed the frozen vines around her, then she sidled up to Roy.

"Focus all your strength on one spot. Show him what you got." Vesemir pirouetted, spinning his blade around. He cut off a circle of vines and crushed them with his left foot. Green blood splattered everywhere. "Send him crying to his mama."

The group worked like a well-oiled machine. Letho, Coen, and Geralt kept their barriers up, securing their perimeter as they cut away at the vines. Everyone else was hurling everything they had at the center of the wriggling wall of vines. Chaos energy surged violently in the air.

Burning Igni, surging Aard, purple electric bolts, and blue frost roared across the air. Green blood drenched the air, broken limbs flew, and leaves jumped. A big, smoking hole was bored through the green wall. Through the hole, the group could see half of Idarran's monstrous face. Its brows were furrowed, its face wincing in pain.

Fungi strings grew from the edges of the hole, quickly wriggling closer to each other as they tried to patch the hole up.

A bolt flew through the air, a sorceress cast her spell, and someone tossed specially-made bombs into the hole. A burst of flame followed quickly and ignited the dangerous metallic contraption.

Everything stopped for a moment, then a great river of flames roared. The sea of plants and bushes exploded and splattered the group with their blood, but the barriers deflected the attack.

The group's attack worked. Severely hit, the treant felt great pain, and green tears spilled from its eyes. It let out a shrill roar, and for a moment, it was as if a million souls were howling in agony and sadness at the same time. Their howls could puncture anyone's eardrums.

The group put their hands to their ears, but their faces were still contorting in pain. The ground felt like a raging sea in a storm, crashing and roaring as if it wished to kill.

Then, the ground collapsed. A gaping maw opened up, and a ground of green liquid glinted underneath.

A bolt flew through the air, and Roy blinked away from the ground. He held his blade, its edge pointed at Idarran, but then a sea of green walls stopped him once more. Coral and Kalkstein stepped off the air and hovered.

They barely escaped the maw, but the other witchers fell into the green abyss, and the maw closed up. Sizzling sounds rang through the air.

Roy held Aerondight tightly with both hands and somersaulted. With the momentum, the young witcher sent an energy beam flying at the ground. A bloody gash opened up, but it healed up right away.

The sorcerers were quickly handling the incoming sea of vines, all the while bombarding the ground with fire, trying to save the engulfed witchers, but it was for naught. Every time they made a hole in the ground, it would heal up right away. It almost seemed like the ground could heal infinitely.

The mutated treant shook its branches again, and hundreds of fruits fell. The fruits quickly leapt back up the moment they touched the ground, morphing into red, agile, and deadpan soldiers. These soldiers were armed with leaves, and they melted into the ground underneath. A bulge appeared on the ground and pounced at the remaining fighters. Along with it was a sea of vines lashing out at Roy and the sorcerers like a boa constrictor.

Roy had a solemn look on his face. He held his sword in one hand and cast a golden rune in the other, then the light of Quen covered him. The witcher took a deep breath.

And then the core of the world trembled.

The temperature went up by a hundred degrees. An unstoppable surge of strength tore through the wriggling ground. A gash opened up, and the light of flames danced as scorching lava poured forth from the gash.

The endlessly healing ground and plants fell into ruins from the destruction of the heat. They were charred and vaporized, filling the air with their rancid stench. Everything around them started to wilt and melt.

Flames soared, and sharp sulfur flowed. Smoke rose into the air.

The chamber looked like a small volcano waking up from its slumber and erupting for the first time. Roy made a gesture, and a dragon made of lava rolled through the ground, burning everything in its way. It had eyes for the mutated threat only.

Screams rose into the air as the fruit soldiers quickly leapt out of the scorching ground, then they melted away in the lava. The chamber was destroyed without mercy from the sudden onslaught of the world's core's magma.

Even Idarran, who'd changed into a tree, was heavily injured by the attack. Its luminescent trunk was starting to crack like it was glass. The creature felt an impending sense of doom coming for it. It screamed and pulled itself out of the ground. A pair of legs covered in fluorescent burls were pulled out of the ground, and the monster fled backward.

The monster had cut itself off from the ground beneath it and everything around it. Without the lynchpin around, the fleshy walls turned around once more, revealing a sea of fluorescent bushes.

The vines' attack was slowing down considerably, and the ground lost its source of healing.

Roy kept teleporting, swinging his blade away at the green walls and slicing down the fruit soldiers trying to tear down his armor and gnaw on his flesh. He went after Idarran like an unstoppable force of nature.

After their relentless bombardment, Coral and Kalkstein finally destroyed the ground beneath them, revealing a sixteen-foot wide gash. They could see a few silhouettes floating on the corrosive lake in the abyss. Light flickered on their tattered sleeves, and dozens of ropes rained into the gash. The sorcerers made a gesture and pulled the ropes up with magic.

The witchers came back to the ground, but they were breathing heavily, lying down to catch their breath, and they looked like hell.

It'd only been less than a minute since they fell into the lake, but most of their clothes were gone, and their leather armor was nothing but a thin layer of fabric. The metal and alloy they had were gleaming like they'd been polished. Only the dragonscales that protected their vitals remained intact.

Pieces of rotten flesh hung from their bones. Holes and craters bore themselves through the witchers' bodies. Their muscles and veins were visible, and in some parts, the bones could be seen. All their hair was gone, including their beards and eyebrows, but under the influence of a powerful decoction, the wounds and rotten flesh were healing up at a blistering speed, leaving not even a single scar behind.

Ten seconds after leaving the lake, the witchers' wounds were all healed up.

"So, how do you feel?" Kalkstein was a little nervous, but he was concerned and curious.

"This higher vampire decoction is marvelous. Felt like I got sliced up and mashed up again." Lambert turned around and looked at Geralt. The White Wolf had no beard, and his stress lines were crossed with the black vines on his face. "And you look like a pervert, Geralt." Geralt's scar was gone too. "And you're hideous."

Geralt looked at the hairless Lambert's head and rubbed his hairless head as well. He mocked, "And you don't have to worry about your hairline anymore, Lambert. You don't even have any hair." The White Wolf's lips twitched. He could still feel the pain from being eaten up by acid. It was something he didn't want to go through again.

"I feel great. Never been better." Kiyan looked at his nearly scarless hand, then he touched his smooth, supple cheeks. The witcher was so excited, he could cry. His whole body was eaten by the acid, but the decoction healed him back up. This ordeal was a blessing in disguise. The pain and horror and scars left by the inhumane experiments in his darkest days were gone. He had a regular face once more.

Eskel observed the equally bald Vesemir and lamented, "You got younger, Vesemir. Less wrinkles. You look like you're in your forties. Does the decoction turn back your age too?" He grinned, and a pair of vampiric fangs were revealed.

The witchers were surprised by their companions' largely different looks. Everyone lost their hair, but they'd also lost their iconic scars. Their wrinkles lightened up too, and they looked ten years younger.

It was a pity the decoction had extreme restrictions. They could only use it once a year, and only three times their whole lives. If they went past the limit, they would incur irrevocable complications.

"Now is not the time for jokes, lads. Get up. We have a score to settle with that tree." Vesemir looked at his perfect and woundless hand. He quickly made a sign and toppled a fruit soldier that was attacking him. The old witcher stared into the distance, where a teleporting Roy was chasing after an oddly amusing running tree. "I will cut him up to pieces and turn him into charcoal."

Idarran came to a stop before a black stone door with complex engravings on it. He leaned his back on the door at the end of the corridor and breathed heavily, but his eyes were set on the lone figure charging straight at him.

Roy sliced the incoming fruits in halves. The soldiers spat out green blood and jamlike innards.

The young witcher teleported once more and was five yards away from Idarran. He sliced the air and cut down all the vines. Idarran shook his branches again, and a storm of leaves came charging at the witcher.

Roy did not dodge this time.

Fus!

The Bones of the Earth tore apart the storm of leaves, stopping its path of destruction. Idarran froze, as if he were thunderstruck. Crimson light bathed Roy, and the tentacles held Idarran up, wrapping him tightly. Only the trunk and his furious but downtrodden face were revealed.

Roy looked at the creature, his gaze conflicted. If they hadn't prepared this much, almost all of the group would've been taken out, save for him and a couple of others. Idarran wasn't a powerful sorcerer, but he was a cunning and tricky enemy.

"Why aren't you running anymore, Idarran?" A dimeritium chain wrapped itself around the treant. Roy pointed his sword at Darren's eyes, less than an inch away. "Tell me. Why aren't the grandmasters showing themselves?"

Roy looked at the shut door behind Idarran, his eyes glinting. "What secrets lie behind you?"

Chapter 575

A mysterious ouroboros was engraved on the black door. A group of furious witchers surrounded a treant before it. The treant was tied up in circles of dimeritium chains, and its leaves, mushrooms, fruits, and garlands had lost their vitality, hanging low.

There was a sneer on the face of the treant. Idarran ignored Roy's question. It was as if it were the victor here, despite being tied up.

"Why aren't you running anymore, you piece of rotten wood?" Lambert rubbed his bald forehead and swung his blade around, then he cut off the treant's arms. The branches fell with a thud, and green blood flew everywhere. The branches wriggled and writhed like vipers in their death throes, and then they fell silent.

Darran let out a gasp of pain, his eyes getting bloodshot, and he looked at the group manically.

"What makes you think you can give us that look?" Auckes cast Igni and burned Idarran. The treant's crown burned, and it writhed and howled like a crying baby. "When I was drowning in that acid pool, I swore you'd pay for it. That you'd suffer ten times my pain."

Idarran's face contorted in pain, but there was still a sardonic smirk hanging from his lips.

"Revenge can wait, people. Let's sort things out first." Letho rubbed his head, his eyes glinting coldly. "You're going to die, Idarran, but work with us, and you will have an easier death." Letho paused. "Or I'll put you through something even more exciting than the Trial we had to go through."

Idarran's eyes rolled around, his green stubble quavering. "I have underestimated you. You have strength that rivals the grandmasters if you work together, but you have nothing in your heads." He looked coolly at the furious witchers. "A brawny fool will never change. You're nothing but narrow-minded, shallow insects, forevermore caged in a boring, two-dimensional world. You can never feel the vibrance of a higher dimension."

Kalkstein put his hands on his hips and cocked his eyebrow. "You seem to be very interested in body modification, and you spew a lot of shit. How about this? Turning yourself into a tree is boring. Why don't I merge your head to a harpy's butt? Then you'll really be spewing shit all day like you want. It'll be an improvement to your mouth too."

Coral held a lock of hair between her fingers, her eyes burning with blue flames, as if she wanted to scorch Idarran's trunk. "We'll be nice. You are a good experimental subject. We have at least two thousand interesting experiments waiting for you. Acid isn't even the entrée. You'll be living a long life."

Finally, fury and humiliation filled Idarran's face. He gritted his teeth and averted his gaze, turning instead to his broken garden. The bushes and vines looked dead and beaten down. There was love and heartbreak in Idarran's eyes.

Roy had an idea. "Tell us the truth, or your precious garden gets turned into a sea of fire." He made a gesture, and a spark of fire danced between his fingers. The temperature rose a little. "We can find the answer after we get rid of you anyway." 𝓁𝒾𝘣𝑟𝑒𝘢𝘥.𝘤𝘰𝑚

Idarran's eyes went wide, and an animated look of fear flickered on its face, then he heaved a sigh of hatred.

"Don't test our patience." Eskel smacked Idarran's crown with his blade. "One more useless word from you, and I'll cut off your arm."

"What are the grandmasters and Alzur planning inside?" Roy asked. "To cleanse this world of its sins with the red light they developed through the shard of the Most High?"

Everyone looked at the shut door behind Idarran.

Idarran took a deep breath. "Promise me you won't destroy the greenhouse, then I'll tell you everything I know." He looked at Roy. There was madness, rage, and fury in his eyes, but there was also a hint of plea.

Everyone exchanged a look.

"You're not included in that part of the deal," Roy said. "And what we do depends on how much you answer."

"I gave up on escaping from the moment I was captured. Death is the end of life, but it is also another beginning. Make the oath, Roy. Promise you will not destroy this place." Idarran looked at Roy calmly, without fear. "In the name of your precious honor of witchers. In the name of the shard residing within you."

Roy mused over it and made the oath. Idarran closed his eyes and stayed silent. He gave up resistance and let go of his violent tendencies. The look on his face was serene, and his screeching voice turned into something more calm.

"I must correct you on one point. The red light you said is called Cleansing Flame. It's an extension of the shard. Unlike the soul-devouring tentacles you came up with, Roy, the flame only cleanses those who have sin upon their shoulders."

"What is the shard of the Most High?" Kalkstein interrupted.

"The Most High presides over all dimensions. It controls the infinite branches and leaves of the world tree. That is what Alzur, the original owner of the shard said. I cannot explain further than that. I am unable to."

"And why did you hide in the dark, dirty sewers for more than a century? Just to collect souls from different battlefields? Why?" Roy asked.

"Simple. Souls are nutrients for the shard. It helps the shard grow. It makes the shard complete so it can awaken its true power. It is exactly the same process that happened to you. You should know that more than anyone." Idarran sighed, dismay appearing on his face. "If you hadn't stolen one of the shards, our torment would've been over a few years ago, but we're close to the end now."

"Close to the end? The grandmasters and your mentor are in the final step?" Serrit guessed. "They're going to use the complete shard and summon the Cleansing Flame like they did in Mayena? But this time, it'll be one that can cleanse the whole world of its sins?"

Everyone's hearts skipped a beat, and they looked at Idarran. His answer, however, surprised everyone.

"That is a pointless action. It's simple. Even if we kill all the sinners in this world, it won't change this world into a utopia. My mentor and the grandmasters have lived for more than a few hundred years. They are not that naive."

Roy nodded. He didn't think it was plausible that they would cleanse the world. Alzur wasn't that naive.

"Even if we kill all the sinners, that does not turn back any tragedy that has happened," Idarran continued. There was melancholy in its voice, but its eyes were shining. "It is nigh impossible to rectify a wrong decision.

"Get to the point, Darran. Stop taking us in circles."

The witchers were getting more uneasy by the minute.

"Did the decoction fail to cure your stupidity, Lambert? It's simple. They don't want to cleanse the world," said Aiden.

"Everything we've worked for, we did it to complete the shard and recreate the power of the Most High. To recreate a miracle. My mentor did not tell me the details, for I did not take part in the final process. I stayed behind as their protector."

"Because you aren't worthy enough?" Lambert mocked, rubbing his head.

"I am satisfied with this world and myself. I do not need to make any changes to anything. I wouldn't have taken part in this century-long operation if not for Alzur. If you wish to know the answer, if you wish to know the truth of the Most High, if you wish to know what the grandmasters and Alzur are going after, then go inside," Idarran said temptingly. His wriggling crown was brushing against the stone door behind him. "The answers are right in there, but be prepared. Observe and make your choice. Follow your heart."

"Aren't you worried I might ruin Alzur's plan?" Roy interrupted.

"You are too late. His shard is complete, while yours is still not. The difference between you and him is staggering. You cannot change anything," said Idarran confidently.

Three branches broke, and Serrit crushed a few crimson fruits underneath his feet. Idarran howled in pain.

"I get it now. You're saying all this just to trick us into entering that door. There's Cleansing Flame behind that door, isn't there? You're trying to burn us to the cinders."

Idarran tensed up, his eyes roving over the people before him slowly. "I understand that most people in this world, everyone here included, are not innocent, but there's not a sliver of the flame within. In the name of the land underneath me, in the name of this beautiful greenhouse, and in the name of my sacred body, I swear. You have defeated me. Do you really want to give up at this point?"

Geralt crossed his arms. He blurted, "If Darran does have the Cleansing Flame, he wouldn't use it on us."

Idarran continued, "I see you as my enemy, but the Griffin, Viper, Wolf, and Alzur do not think so. They have never seen you as their enemy. They were adamant about not staying in touch or disturbing any of you. They would never set any traps for you."

Everyone fell silent. They had conflicting feelings about the grandmasters.

"Spare this place, and I shall open this door for you. You shall have your horizons expanded. Alzur has, on more than one occasion, emphasized that there is great danger beyond this door. Once you step inside, you cannot leave unless you reach the end. However, the risk comes with its reward. You will have to seek that out yourselves, I'm afraid."

Idarran's crown that was leaning on the door was wobbling. Weakly, he extended a few branches and pressed down on the rings of the door. The ouroboros on the door sprang to life, spinning and turning slowly.

The door shrank up and down, splitting in the center. Behind it was a gray, murky space draped in a thick layer of mist. The mist obscured everything, and anything beyond two yards was not visible to them."

Roy's temples throbbed. In this murky land, he once again saw the vision he had. Four men with their backs turned to him, pacing around the edge of a cliff. Beneath them was an abyss, while the skies were covered in a crimson shade, the sun hanging high above.

"You can't be thinking about going in, Roy." Aiden rubbed his chin and patted Roy's shoulder.

Coral looked at Roy and shook her head.

Roy took a deep breath and looked at everyone. "Something tells me that the answer is inside. We lose this chance, and we'll never find the truth."

Coen took a step ahead and stopped beside the tree. "Erland is inside. I must see him. For Keldar, for Jerome, and for myself."

"What if something happens to you? What will happen to Igsena?" Eskel held his arm.

"Take care of her in my stead, brother."

Eskel was speechless.

Letho took a step ahead. Adamantly, he said, "We shouldn't let Ivar wait."

"I'd like to spar with Arnaghad." Felix held his blade and approached the door. He extended his hand and touched the swirling mist.

"Elgar will need someone to talk to." A hint of reminiscence flickered on Vesemir's face.

"Count me in, then." Lambert sighed and walked up to Vesemir.

"Get back, Lambert." Serrit pulled Lambert back. "One representative from each school. Everyone else stays here."

"Hey, not fair. Letho and Roy are both Vipers."

"Are you dumb? Roy's obviously an exception."

"Alright, shut it. We'll do it this way. I, Letho, Vesemir, Felix, and Coen will be going in. Everyone else, stay back and deal with Idarran," said Roy. He then turned around and held Coral's icy hand, then he patted her head with his right hand and touched her forehead with his. He stared into her eyes. "I promise I'll come back in one piece."

"I know." Coral grinned toothily. The light of trust twinkled in her eyes. Roy had never let her down before.

"What are you doing? This isn't farewell." Auckes clapped his hands and got everyone's attention. He grinned. "We had our heads blasted and our flesh eaten, but we still came back. It'll be the same this time."

He grabbed Roy's shoulder and shook it. "We leave them in your hands, captain. Bring all of them back, or else."

The five witchers eventually disappeared into the mist, and the branch pulled back from the ouroboros. The door rumbled and was sealed shut, the rings in the middle interlocking with each other, and then it was done.

Auckes, Lambert, and Coral glared at Idarran, raring to go.

"Told you I'd cut you up and make you into charcoal."

There was no fear on Idarran's face; only the fanaticism and determination of a martyr. "Dying in a body I changed. My soul shall be forever with my proudest creation. Come. Release me, but do not forget your promise."

The witchers unsheathed their blades.

"We can kill it off once they come back, people." Kalkstein smiled at Idarran with passion. "Idarran, for the last time, I shall address you as grandmaster. Now, let us talk about your research. I am very much interested in the sea of knowledge you possess as well as the tomes you have collected. It would be a shame if you were to die just like this, so why not be generous for once before you die and contribute to the world of magical academia?"

The mist brushed against Roy's skin. It felt like a stream of icy water. The door behind him crashed, and moments later, he was separated from his comrades, even though they held hands when they came in. One lapse in concentration, and there was only endless white mist around him. Even with his great eyesight, he could only see two to three yards around him. His witcher senses couldn't pick up any ribbons, as though it had malfunctioned.

"Letho! Vesemir!" Roy shouted, but his voice didn't travel far before the wandering mist swallowed it up. For some reason, he couldn't hear any echoes.

Roy lost his direction in the roiling mist. He wandered around as his instinct told him to. Perhaps an eternity later, an inexplicable sense of disorientation filled Roy's heart. Five balls of light shone in the mist ahead, with only a bit of distance between each of them.

They were like lighthouses in a misty sea. The balls of light had different intensities. Roy shouted a few times, but he gained no answer. Following his instinct, he made his way toward the biggest and brightest lighthouse.

At the same time, Letho, Vesemir, Felix, and Coen picked their own lighthouse to approach.

The moment Roy made his choice, the mist around him pulled back for some reason. The young witcher found himself within a garden of blooming flowers. The sun shone in the sky, its golden light warming the land underneath.

What is this place? I was in the mist beyond the door in the sewers. How'd I get back outdoors? Is this an illusion? Roy tried to circulate his mana through his body, and it ran well. He took a deep breath and caught the scent of flowers. A gust of breeze kissed his lips, and the sun gave him a healthy red tint.

If this was an illusion, then the creator must be a god. Then he heard roars coming from a rose patch.

"You son of a whore!" a childlike yet fierce voice shouted.

Roy turned his attention to the direction of the voice. Three children no older than twelve surrounded the flower patch. Some were in beautiful suits made of silk, and their hair was primly cut. There was also a girl wearing a frilly dress and hair clip. She looked like a princess, but all of them were pointing at a deadpan boy, cursing at him.

"You lowborn!"

"You lowly, hideous creature."

Roy slowly approached the children.

Chapter 576

In the sunlit garden, three noble children were pushing a young boy around. The boy was gaunt, and had curly, bushy hair. His eyes were brown, and his nose was aquiline. He was handsome and dressed in equally beautiful clothes. Perhaps he was related to his tormentors.

The boy's face was covered in red marks. He sat on the ground, dejected and downcast as he let his tormentors have their way with him. The boy would look up at times only to endure the humiliation further. 𝓁𝑖𝒷𝑟𝘦𝒶𝑑.𝒸𝘰𝘮

A freckled, pudgy boy with a nose pointing high up into the sky grabbed his victim's chin until it turned red. "Look at you. Not even your mother could stand your hideous face. She tossed you away like common trash."

"You're not a part of the House of Burns." An arrogant boy with a chin as sharp as the point of an awl kicked his victim's back, leaving a black shoe print on his white suit. "Your mother's a slut who'd sleep with anyone. You're just a little bastard she had with a ghoul. Your father's not in our house. You have no right to leech off us. Do not try to gain our aunties' sympathy again."

"You uncouth, uneducated, beastly lowborn." The girl in a frilly princess dress jabbed her nails into her victim's chest, as if trying to stab his heart. "I shall exile you eventually. You should've stayed in the slums and begged for money."

Then the girl felt someone pulling on her ponytail. She puffed her cheeks and whirled around, but the first thing she saw were dancing fingers pulling a string of purple electric bolts. The boys then fell for the same spell as well. Their eyes reflected the Sign of Axii, and their faces went limp.

Something eerie yet oddly hilarious happened after that. Like puppets, the little tormentors stood in a circle, slapping each other as they counted numbers aloud.

"W-Who are you?" The boy, released from his nightmare, found a cloaked silhouette looming over him. The silhouette was slender and had twin swords strapped to its back. Its eyes were silvery-gray like stars in the skies. He was lost in those eyes.

"I'm just a traveler who's lost my way. You may call me Roy." The witcher went down and pulled the boy up, then he dusted the soil off the boy's back. "What is your name, boy?"

"K-Kassilas Burns." The boy curled up like a scared hedgehog. He was nervous, fidgeting, and he had no idea where to put his hands. He slowly observed the mysterious guest. The sun shone from behind the boy, illuminating Roy's face. The witcher's face shone like the sun itself. Kasillas was captivated by the ivory swords strapped behind Roy's back.

"Pardon me, Kasillas, but what is this place, and what's the date now?"

"Huh?" The boy ruffled his hair and quickly answered, "We're in Maribor. It's the Birke of 913 now."

Roy froze for a moment. So this is more than 350 years ago? The mist took me to Maribor as it was, or is this just an illusion?

"What happened to Orik and his friends?" Kasillas looked at the kids who were still slapping one another, and he was worried.

Roy shook his head. "Those who oppress the weak should be punished, but don't worry. They're going to end up with nothing but swollen faces for a few days. Speaking of which, don't you hate them?"

"They are ignorant. Just a few spoiled children. I bear no ill will toward them. Besides, I should be going through some trials anyway."

"What kind of trials?"

Kasillas' eyes went wide, and with anticipation, he asked, "Are you a knight, Roy? Here to save me and punish the wicked?"

"You may think so." Roy didn't lie. He was a legitimate knight of Lake Vizima. The Lady of the Lake appointed him so.

"But why do you carry two swords? That's not how the stories go."

"One punishes the wicked who have sinned. One punishes the monsters who have ravaged this world."

Kasillas' eyes sparkled. He looked at the witcher in reverence.

"You seem to worship knights a lot."

"I don't have any interests or friends. I like reading stories about knights, and I vow to be one someday." The boy was a fanatic of knights. He put his dirty hand into his shirt's pocket and took out a gray, leather journal. The journal's cover had something written in northern common speech. It read, 'Virtue's Guide, by Sir Matteo.' The boy showed it to Roy like it was his most prized possession.

Roy's lips twitched. He was reminded of Grimm, who would talk about the knight's creed all day, every day. The witcher took the book and flipped a few pages. This book must've been read many times. The spine of the book and the pages' corners were all battered. Every page had a lot of notes written on it, but the book was well-kept.

Kasillas grinned, revealing some empty spaces. Even though he'd just been tormented moments ago, the boy had a genuine smile. Excited and happy, he said, "The book says that knights wander through cities and the outskirts, destroying evil and helping the weak wherever they go. They pass through trials to prove their valor to the people. Are you going through the same trials, Roy?"

"In a way, this does feel like a trial," Roy said knowingly.

"C-Can you give me some g-guidance, then?" Kasillas held his book with both hands. He looked at Roy earnestly. "I want to be a true knight."

"Even after the insults they hurled at you and the abuse they dished out, you're still going to be a knight who'd help the people?" Roy asked curiously. He couldn't understand this. The boy was abandoned by his mother, neglected by his possible fathers, and abused by his cousins, and yet he had a dream that shone brightly.

"Because once I become a knight, everyone will acknowledge me," said Kasillas with determination. There was longing in his eyes. "No matter where knights go, they're welcomed, loved, and respected." He looked at the tormentors who were still slapping one another. He then spoke, but his voice broke. "If I become a knight, they'll never look at me like I'm scum again. Nor will they torment me."

He wants to be a knight to prove his worth, huh?

And then, the rims of Kasillas' eyes went red. He clenched his fists. "And I… I can protect those who are like me. Those who need to be protected. Those who are insulted because of misunderstandings."

"Impressive." Roy gazed at Casillas, and the boy met his eyes.

"Reading alone won't make you a knight. You have to train your body." Roy pinched the boy's arm. It wasn't much bigger than a twig. "You'd be blown off your feet by a gust of wind. How do you suppose you can take on any evil if you don't grow stronger? And you must fight back whenever someone tries to torment you. You're not supposed to take the abuse quietly."

"Can you train me, then? I promise I'll train every day." Determination flared in Kasillas' eyes. "Until the day my trial comes."

"Are you sure? Wait, you actually have a better choi—"

And the world around Roy changed. The mist came surging back, flooding this beautiful garden and the determined boy before him. Once again, the world was plunged into gray.

Roy sighed, but his mind was running fast. If that was all an illusion, then it was almost too lifelike. What kind of illusion allows the invader to speak with its inhabitants?

Idarran's message still rang in his head. The answer lies at the end. Roy moved deeper into the mist. As he thought, the lighthouse appeared once more, its light penetrating the darkness. The light guided Roy, but this time, there was only one lighthouse. He had no other choice.𝓵𝒊𝒃𝙧𝙚𝒂𝓭.𝓬𝙤𝙢

The sky was overcast. Chilly winds hurtled down a narrow alleyway beyond the bustling city. A well-built lad with short, curly hair wearing a knightly shirt stood in the way of three portly, pudgy thuds.

"Give back all the protection coins you took." The lad was holding a wooden bat. There was righteousness in his eyes, and it twinkled with sanctity. There was unyielding determination in his voice, and he said, "The people have paid their trade tax. You have no right or reason to mandate any extra payment."

The bald guy in the center clenched his fists impatiently. "The Burns bastard again. Haven't you had enough of playing house? We only spared you because of your family. Do you really think we're easy prey?" He flexed his biceps which were twice as big as the lad's, then he grinned toothily. "Casillas Burns. You're seeking death once more, and I'll grant you your wish."

A hook-nosed man with a green bandana beside the bald guy asked, "So he's the greenhorn?" He was new here.

"Yes. Self-proclaimed apprentice knight. The oaf that's been raising hell in the city area." A dark-skinned man mocked, "It's only been two years, and I've already seen him unconscious in the streets and ditches more than ten times. Every single time, he was covered in blood. All because he wouldn't mind his own business." The dark-skinned man clicked his tongue. "Beaten up more than a few dozen times, but he was never deterred. Got more excited too."

"Are you born an idiot, or are you just a masochist?" The bald thug whipped out a wooden bat as long as a table's leg from behind, then he tapped his palm with it as he approached Casillas. "Use your head and look around. No one needs you to uphold a joke like justice here. You can help them, but they'll never thank you. Everyone is laughing at you. Your cousins, your uncles, your aunts… Everyone's laughing at you behind your back, and do you know why? Because every time you do something stupid, everyone in the inn gets new gossip to talk about. You embarrass them. Do you know what the bards say about you? 'The oaf of the Burns, neglected by his father, but taken in like a stray dog just in case he's their pup',' ' the bald thug mocked. "You could've just lived your life in peace with the family, but you just had to become a respected knight.

The dark-skinned man persuaded, "Even if you want to be a knight, you should be spending your time training how to fight with a sword and ride on a horse, not running around town poking your nose in businesses that aren't yours."

The hook-nosed man asked curiously, "Is it worth sacrificing yourself like a fool for people who won't care what you have done for them?"

Kasillas refuses to budge. He took a deep breath and retorted, "A knight isn't determined by their swordsmanship or skills on horseback. It is their valor. They do not acknowledge me because I have not done enough. I have not done nearly good enough. It doesn't matter who someone is. They can be a knight as long as they have enough faith."

Kasillas' face was glowing. As if encouraging himself, he raised his voice, "Pain is but destiny's trial. The people I helped went on to live better lives, and one acknowledged me. That is why I do what a knight does."

A beautiful face appeared in his mind. There was a look of gratitude in her eyes, and her black hair billowed behind her. "You are just regular people working hard for survival, but you've taken the wrong path. Crime will never bring true happiness." A genuine and earnest look shone in Kasillas' eyes. A clear voice of justice echoed in the alleyway. "Return the riches you have pilfered, and I shall do my best to bring you back to the right path. In the name of a knight apprentice, I, Kasillas Burns, swear."

"I've had enough of this! Damn your valor! Kill him!"

The thugs charged ahead, swinging their bats. Silhouettes crossed and clashed. Dull thuds and grunts rang out in the air, and sweat rained on the squalid ground. In their first contact, Kasillas managed to break the hook-nosed man's leg, thanks to his experience in battle and relentless training in swordplay, and he managed to dodge the thugs' attacks.

Alas, the lad hadn't fully grown up, nor had he received any formal training. He couldn't last when he was outnumbered. They clashed again, but this time, the lad's right arm was hit, and then someone kicked him in the belly.

The pain made him stop, then the tanned, tattooed man slammed his bat into Kasillas' face.

Blood trickled down Kasillas' forehead and turned his world red. He fell headfirst into the ground like a falling kite. But then, an invisible chain broke, and a surge of scorching heat charged along his veins.

The bald thug flexed his muscles, holding his bat tightly. He swung his weapon down on Kasillas' head.

Something buzzed. A flash of white light arced through the air. Like a stream of wind, a bolt bored a hole through the bald thug's arm, and the impact blasted his forearm away. Chunks of bones and flesh rained.

Before Roy could teleport closer, a roaring stream of flames appeared on the walls of the alleyway. The fire licked the walls, ground, and it eventually surrounded the thugs. Burned by flames, the thugs rolled on the ground, howling in agony. Alas, it did nothing to soothe their pain. The magical fire stuck to them like goo.

Like a sun, the fallen Kasillas spread a sea of light and heat. The fire filled up the alleyway, and the light surged higher than the walls, piercing a hole through the overcast sky.

Moments later, the flames shrank into Casillas, whose clothes were already burned. The young man lay in the alleyway, naked. Not far before him, a row of three charred objects could be seen. They vaguely resemble humans.

"Kasillas wants to be a knight, but he's a powerful and untrained Source." Roy stared at the bastard of the House of Burns. He had grown into a lad. Roy's eyes went vacant. For some reason, he was caught in a stupor.

Footsteps came from the alleyway's entrance. A beautiful girl with a ponytail and a herb basket came running into the alleyway. She looked at the fallen Casillas, and she blanched. The girl shouted for help while she held him in her arms, nervously checking on him. She almost looked like a girl in love checking on her lover.

The mist came back once more. It cut off all light, but this time, it only lasted for moments. An ancient, stern voice spoke through the disappearing mist.

"Do you know why your aunts and uncles hired me, Kasillas?"

"Because I have chaos energy within me. They're worried I can't control this evil power and might hurt someone."

"Correction. Chaos energy does not have any distinction between good and evil. What it does, whether good or evil, depends entirely on the ones who control it."

The mist had fully disappeared. Roy found himself standing within a quiet garden. An old man in a blue sorcerer's robe was standing in the pavilion in the garden's center, talking to a summery young man.

"I want to be a knight. A knight that the people acknowledge. I've trained for seven years myself, and I do not want to give up halfway through."

The old man had a wide forehead and eyes that twinkled with wisdom. He stroked his snow-white beard and smiled with approval. "You have a great talent for magic. Top talent, I'd wager, and you have a pure heart. Do not worry. The arcane arts do not clash with your ideals. During the First Landing, our ancestors sailed the seas and came to this continent. It was then they first discovered and utilized magic. The first thing they did with it was make water come out of a nearby boulder and they saved countless dehydrated sailors. Magic was found to save and educate the people."

"You mean I can be a magical knight who can save the world if I learn from you?"

"If you master the arcane arts, not only can you uphold justice and punish crimes like a knight, but you can also come up with a solution to the greatest threat to humanity: the monsters born from the Conjunction of the Spheres."

"What's the Conjunction of the Spheres?"

"You will know in time."

"Can I bring someone along?" The lad was thinking about the girl with the herb basket. The one who had long, flowing hair, and a beautiful face. She was the only one who acknowledged him.

"Of course, but to make things very clear, fewer than one in ten thousand possess the talent to control chaos energy. Do not feel disappointed if she cannot learn the arcane arts."

"Then I am willing to learn from you." Kasillas took a few steps back and bowed to the old man.

"Kasillas Burns, once you begin your education in the arcane arts, you must cut off your past."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You must have a new name. One the world of magical academia knows you as." The old man paused for a moment, and he stared into Kasillas' face. "How does Alzur sound?"

Kasillas clenched his fists. With a determined look on his face, he said clearly, "Very well, Cosimo. From today onward, my name shall be Alzur."

Roy emerged from the mist. What he saw earlier disoriented him strongly. The scene did not disappear this time, so the young witcher quickly made his way to the creators of witchers in this imprint of history.

Chapter 577

Roy looked at the creators, who'd just reached an agreement.

'Casillas Burns/Alzur

Age: 14 years old.'

'Cosimo Malaspina

Age: 180 years old

Status: Grandmaster alchemist, sorcerer.'

The legendary creators were right in front of him. He could touch them. Their hair, their breathing, their slight odor, their billowing hair, and even the chaos energy coming from them all felt so real. It was as if this were the real world. Is this really an illusion?

The robed sorcerer in the pavilion turned around, staring at the uninvited guest. "And who might you be?"

The young Alzur was shocked. He did not realize that someone was standing with him.

"I apologize. I didn't mean to interrupt." Roy bowed a little and looked at Alzur. "I only wished to say hello. We have met before, in the garden of the House of Burns." Roy brought up the case of Alzur's torment back in the garden.

Cosimo looked at his new student curiously. Alzur opened his mouth, his hands rubbing the rough stone pillar. The young Alzur stared at Roy for more than a few moments, and he shook his head. "You must've gotten the wrong person, Roy. I do not remember seeing you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Cosimo. I've had a perfect memory since I was a child. I remember anyone I've ever seen, even if I have only taken a glance before, but I have no recollection of this man." He muttered, "But he had one thing right. I do like reading Virtue's Guide."

Why doesn't he remember me? These scenes in the mist are too real to be illusions. I thought I had gone back in time. First I talked to Alzur when he was a child, then I talked to him when he was a teen, but why doesn't he remember me? There's no butterfly effect at all. Roy was perplexed, but he had a feeling the answer to that question would reveal the core of this misty world. "I apologize. I might have gotten the wrong person, then," Roy said, thinking that this was a shame.

"Why don't you have a seat and talk to us? There aren't a lot of people who can control chaos energy in this world. Destiny must've brought us together." Cosimo invited Roy, smiling.

Roy nodded and took a seat on the stone bench across from the witcher creators.

"Pardon me, but do you come from the land east of the Blue Mountains?" Cosimo's eyes roved over Roy's attire, body, and the veil of chaos energy around the witcher. "I have seen a lot in my life, but I do not remember anyone in the North or South who has your attire. Custom-made magical leather armor and twin swords, silver beast medallion, and you have a lot of potions equipped. Your eyes are silver and beastlike."

Roy thought this was bizarre. The creator of witchers asked who he was, but then he thought it was right. At this point in history, witchers hadn't been created just yet. He had an interesting idea. "I live in the North, but I've wandered the lands like a tramp for a long time. It is a big world, Cosimo. It's natural you've never seen me."

"Were you born with those eyes? A controller of chaos energy since birth?"

"Just like me?" Alzur thought better of this intruding stranger all of a sudden.

"On the contrary, I gained this after I went through some modifications. Mutations, so to speak." Roy grinned. He said honestly, "I changed from a regular human into someone with a slight talent for magic. I armed myself with these weapons and learned a few spells, then I started traveling these lands, dealing with the monsters that would attack humans. Drowners, ghouls, higher vampires, and the such. You know how chaotic the world is. Dangers lurk around the corner. Great evil that threatens the little men are always around."

"You were modified? Went through mutations?" Cosimo caught something important, and interest flared in his eyes. "That's a bit like the project my colleagues in Risberg are doing."

"You kill monsters and carry out justice?" Alzur was getting red with excitement. He felt like he just found a partner who shared his ideals. "That's the valor of a knight."

"Cosimo, you mentioned your colleagues are doing a project in Rissberg?" Roy asked curiously, stopping Alzur's and Cosimo's trains of thought.

"Very well, since you've given me honesty, then I shall respond in kind." Cosimo stroked his beard. "A group of sorcerers, with the funding of the Northern Realms' brotherhood, has started conducting experiments on regular humans. Modification and mutation experiments in a bid to give regular humans some talent in magic to deal with the monsters roaming our lands. If possible, they can even be powerful fighters. Alas, we've made no progress at all. The subjects… it does not end well."

"They died?" Alzur interrupted.

"Yes. All of them." Cosimo looked at Roy. "The fact that you claimed to be a product of body modification and mutation is nothing less than a miracle. If it's possible, why don't we make a deal? Tell me the secrets to your success."

Roy smiled. He mused over this option for a while and told Cosimo about the thing Letho told him. The truth of the creation of witchers.

"Time takes its toll. The older the clay, the harder it gets. You cannot modify adults. That will only destroy them. Only young lives have options."

Options? Cosimo was shaken. He rested his chin in his hands and fell into a trance, entertaining his thoughts.

Roy looked at Alzur. "So, are you still getting beaten up? Still poking your nose into everyone's business to gain their acknowledgement?" 𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒓𝙚𝙖𝙙.𝓬𝙤𝙢

"How do you know that? Have we met? Did I forget about you?" Alzur frowned. He looked like he'd seen a ghost.

"Answer me."

Mist came rolling into the pavilion, obscuring the old sorcerer who was deep in his thoughts.

"I will spend my life upholding the valor of a knight…" Alzur's voice was starting to get cut off.

"Have you gotten anyone's acknowledgement?"

"Lylianna." Alzur's voice was a little sheepish. "She's the first to acknowledge me. She saved my life and still supports my actions. She has a dream even bigger and more noble than mine."

And then the mist covered everything. Roy remained seated in this world of mist, sighing. No matter if the illusion was true or false, one thing was for sure: this was related to Alzur. Roy had another goal. He would witness history itself in this world of mist, and he would find out how Alzur's life changed. He would witness how Alzur gained the shard.

The mist soared higher, and then another scene showed up.

A handsome man with short, curly hair was seated beside a clear stream. Beside him was a beautiful woman in makeup, and there was a herb basket beside her. They were soaking their feet in the stream. The girl stirred up some ripples with her feet. Her hair was shining under the sun, and she had a sweet smile on her lips. The man hung his head low, a gloomy look painting his face.

"It's not every day we see each other, Alzur. Cheer up." The girl patted Alzur's cheek with her wet hand. "I like your smile. Tell me, what bothers you?"

"Lylianna, Cosimo just told me that sorcerers can live extremely long lives because of the energy that modifies us."

Lylianna tilted her head and leaned on Alzur's shoulder. Cheekily, she blew into his ear. "How long?"

"A few times longer than a regular person's lifespan. Perhaps ten times longer." Alzur blanched. With a shivering hand, he held Lylianna's shoulder tightly, as if he wanted to meld her into his flesh. Lylianna suffocated a little. "I worry. Do you understand that?"

Lylianna pursed her lips and leaned in his embrace. She stared up at him. "It's my fault. I'm not smart or talented enough to learn magic with you, but they say it doesn't matter how long you live. As long as you have dreams, your life is never wasted."

"It's not enough." Alzur held her shoulder. A look of dilemma crawled onto his face. He was in a rut because of love. He muttered, "I can't imagine life without you."

"You're thinking too far ahead. I'm still alive, aren't I? As long as I'm here, I'll never forget about you. I'll always pray for you. Don't worry about it. Come on, smile. Tell me something happy. How is your magical education going?"

"Cosimo claims I'm a genius that only appears once in a century." Alzur quickly waved his left fingers around as if he were playing the piano. A big vortex formed in the gurgling stream, then water splattered everywhere.

A ball of clear water the size of a punching bag emerged from the vortex and swirled before them. As Alzur moved his fingers, the ball quickly changed form. From dog to goat to cow to snake. It was like he was performing magic tricks. "Chaos energy is incredibly powerful, Lylianna. I have only been learning this art for ten years. I can destroy the scumbags who abused me with a single finger. I never realized that upholding justice and punishing the wicked could be so simple."

The lad's face was gleaming. There was a kind of confidence he never had shining through his eyes, but the persistence and passion he had even when he was beaten up by the common thugs years ago were slowly dying like embers.

"That's a good thing." Lylianna jokes, "You'll never be beaten blue and black and waiting for me to save you from a ditch again."

"No, Lylianna. I'll always need you." Alzur quickly stared into Lylianna's eyes. He held her hand and put it on his chest. "To me, you're like my soul's home, just like how the stories go. Without your companionship and encouragement, I'd have given up long ago and lived a decadent life like my cousins."

Lylianna smiled again, and she rested her head on Alzur's chest. "Tell me more about the brotherhood."

"No one looks down on me anymore, nor do they insult me for how I came to be. They respect me. To be precise, they respect my talent and effort. I no longer have to work myself to the bone just to gain anyone's acknowledgement. Yet the more I know about the arcane, the more insignificant I feel. There's too much evil and injustice in this world. I can never solve them all by myself. The top brass knows what I wish to do. They have been adamantly inviting me and Cosimo to congregate in Risberg to assist them in a project of human modification to deal with the monster problem."

"Huh?" Lylianna tugged on Alzur's sleeve nervously. "And you agreed?"

"No. I still remember what you told me. If the price to pay for the happiness of someone is the torture and sacrifice of another group of people, then that action is fundamentally wrong. I do not wish to torment the innocent test subjects, and Cosimo respects that. He too thinks that the result of this experiment might be stolen and used in wars."

Lylianna heaved a sigh of relief and gave Alzur a smile of gratitude.

"How is work going for you? Smoothly, I hope?" Alzur affectionately patted the girl's head.

"The Eternal War is still ongoing. Every day, the temple's hospital receives countless injured soldiers. And the monsters keep piling up. Nekker and ghoul attacks are getting more frequent." Lylianna's eyes glistened with tears. Worried, she said, "The hospital is at full capacity every single day. We ran out of beds, so some of the injured had to sleep on the ground. It's cold, hard, and ventilation is bad. I can hear howls coming from everywhere in the hospital. Every day, there are patients who step past the line of no return, and they are thrown into the morgue."

"I'm just a regular healer. I cannot change anything." Agitated, a hint of guilt appeared in Lylianna's eyes. She grabbed Alzur's hand and said, "Do you remember our dream?"

"Of course. I have made it into my creed. We shall create a safer world and rid our brethren of the monsters hiding in the dark."

"Good. Always remember, Alzur, that you are my hope."

"I have something for you." Alzur took out an emblem the size of a fingernail from the pocket inside his shirt. A lifelike lily blossomed on the emblem, and chaos energy swirled on its silver surface. "Wear it and never take it off. It shall protect you."

"Okay."

Not far from the stream was a bush. A witcher hid within it, and then the scene before him blurred. The roiling mist took him somewhere else once more.

The sky was overcast again, a silver curtain of rain covering the land beneath. A cemetery stood on the outskirts covered in weeds. Within the rain stood Alzur. He had matured, and a short beard grew from his chin. Sadness swirled around him. Cosimo, still looking wise as ever, stood with him before a headstone. A dying lily sat on the ground, drenched by the rain.

"How did this happen?"

"She went to the outskirts to forage for herbs, and she saved a man from a ghoul. The man survived, but she… did not," Alzur said vacantly.

"Where's her protective charm?"

Alzur paused for a moment. He went down and gently touched the headstone. The sorcerer opened up his other hand, revealing a chipped lily emblem within. "The fool gave her emblem to the man and saved him from the ghoul, but it's laughable. The man has never visited her grave once."

"I do not understand." Alzur smiled at the headstone, but tears spilled from his eyes. Inexplicable agony, grief, and fury boiled his blood and seeped into his bones. "She said it's wrong to grant someone happiness by tormenting another soul, so why did she hurt herself and me just to save an ungrateful stranger?"

Alzur roared at the headstone, "Was it worth it?" His face was red and burning with rage. All the love he had was gone. Burned to cinders. He hung his head low, his rage morphing into guilt and dejection. "Why? Why wasn't I there with her? Why didn't I think that she would run into any danger? I'm an incompetent fool!"

Alzur punched the ground. His skin cracked, and blood trickled down his knuckles.

"We can't bring back the dead, Alzur. My condolences. That's what it means to be a sorcerer. You'll face the death of loved ones more than once."

"But she wasn't even thirty! She should've lived!" Alzur roared in dismay.

"I understand what you're feeling, but do not channel your hatred to the wrong target. Neither that man nor you are the culprit." Cosimo patted Alzur's shoulder. He gently said, "The monsters are, however. If that ghoul hadn't been there, this would not have happened."

A world without ghouls? Alzur clenched his teeth. He took a deep breath and wiped his face dry. It was drenched in rain and tears. He looked at the lily emblem in his hand and saw Lylianna's innocent, beautiful face appearing from within. Her childish yet determined dream rang in his mind.

Alzur, I wish to create a safer world and rid our brethren from the monsters hiding in the dark. "It's impossible. I can't do it fighting alone." Alzur sobbed. He roared, "It was a little distraction. I was just learning a bit more magic, and… and you're already gone."

"What are you talking about, lad?"

"I wish to travel to Rissberg, Cosimo. I want to join the experiment. She has proved that sacrifices must be made sometimes."

"Have you made up your mind? The experiment has shown no progress thus far, and can you get over your morality?"

"I will continue her unfinished work, but obviously, wandering this world alone and killing monsters with all my might will not rid this world of its monster infestation. Not even if you tag along. I need assistance."

Alzur clenched the emblem. The edges cut through his flesh, and blood trickled down his palm. "If there is none, then I shall create some."

A medium-sized castle appeared on a cliff behind the roiling mist. The castles were painted in bright colors. Four towers and some exquisite turrets adorned it.

Chapter 578

A witcher went through the mist, and Letho of the Viper School found himself in a small room within a dark castle. Empty crates, rugs, pots, pans, wooden buckets, and miscellaneous items were strewn about haphazardly. In the corner of the room was a gaunt boy in a cheap gray jacket. He stood on a bucket, his back turned to Letho. The boy was on his tiptoes, his hands tightly grabbing the steel bars of the window. He looked through the bars, staring at the bright sky outside greedily.

"What are you doing, boy?" Letho rasped.

Shocked, the boy almost fell from his bucket. He tensed up like a wooden bat and put his hands tightly against his lap. He stared at his feet, but he quickly looked at the intruder, and his eyes flickered with mischief.

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to hide in this place. I'm sorry, please, forgive me."

"Sir? What do you mean?" said Letho slowly. He forced a smile, but it was a little horrifying on his eternally deadpan face. He opened his hands up, telling the boy he meant no harm. The witcher looked like a big grizzly bear that meant no harm.

The boy clutched his chest and heaved a long sigh of relief, then he looked at Letho precociously. "You thief. You bald, bizarre man. Where did you come in from? The door was locked tight. Did you sneak in through the window?"

"What's your name?" Letho asked.

"Ivar." The boy harrumphed.

Letho looked shocked. His cheeks tensed up, and his eyes were as wide as lanterns. A sharp glint glimmered within them, then he grabbed the boy's gaunt little face. Looks familiar. Letho could vaguely see the outline of Ivar's face, but he didn't have the iconic evil eyes. Instead, he had regular, brown, monolid eyes.

Shocked, the boy leapt into a corner and crossed his arms defensively. He stared at Letho. "Your turn. What's your name?"

"Letho. What is this place?"

The boy had a weird look on his face. "Rissberg."

"How is that possible?" Letho muttered, falling into his thoughts. Did I go back to Rissberg as it was hundreds of years ago and see Ivar as he was when he was a bratty kid? Am I dreaming?

"Why aren't you talking?"

"How did you get here, Ivar?"

"You ask so many questions. Like a dame." The boy pursed his lips and hesitated for a moment, then he said, "Cosimo brought me here." The boy had a conflicted look on his face. There was gratitude and fear.

"And before that?" Letho looked at the boy gently.

"How'd you even grow so big when you're as stupid as a swine? Can't you see? I'm a war orphan. I wandered around for a long time. Human traffickers got me and almost tortured me to death. Good thing Cosimo saved me in time." The mention of human traffickers made Ivar clench his teeth. His eyes flared with hatred, as if he were a wolf ready for revenge.

"Have you gotten used to this place?"

"I have food and water, but the teachers keep making me drink colorful stuff all day long. Made of herbs, but tastes worse than manure. I try to vomit every time I have them, but I can't." Ivar's face scrunched up. "And then there's the injections, checkups, and physical training. We get punished if we don't do as we're told. Cosimo and Alzur keep bringing up talks about possibilities." Ivar cleared his throat and held an arm before his belly. Clumsily and amusingly, he mimicked, "Time takes its toll. The older the clay, the harder it gets. You cannot modify adults. That will only destroy them. Only young lives have possibilities."

Ivar added, "I'd have run away if it weren't for the food we get at every meal."

Rissberg, possibilities, Ivar. Letho was sure that this place he was in was the legendary Risberg Castle. He was witnessing the process of the first witchers' birth. "Are there any other children here?"

A warm smile flickered on Ivar's face. "Thirty-seven of us. Madox, Jagda, Erland, Mishi, Elgar, Flair, Arnaghad, and more. Some are orphans, some were sold by their parents. Now it's my turn for questions, right?"

The mist came rolling back in like waves, stopping the conversation.

In another dark chamber, Vesemir found himself within a scene as bizarre as what Letho was experiencing. "You say your name is Elgar?" He looked at the boy on the wooden bed. He was pale, his nose and eyes were small, and he was feverish. Vesemir was in disbelief, but this boy did resemble the legendary Wolf.

"So you mean you know someone else named Elgar?" The boy stared at the bizarre man before him in shock. He was ancient, yet he had no hair, beard, or brows, but he looked eerily wise.

Vesemir fell into a stupor. He didn't find Elgar in this misty world, but he saw Elgar when he was a child. Vesemir patted the boy's head, just like how Elgar patted him so many years ago. "Where are your parents, Elgar?"

"I-I'm an orphan. Wandered around Cidaris, and then Alzur brought me here."

"Do you like it here?"

Elgar nodded, excitement flickering on his face. "I have a lot of brothers and sisters here, and we can eat all we want. No one has to fight for a meal. Everyone has a few new sets of clothes. Once we take our medications, go through our checkups and training, we can play. We hide and seek, and draw and… It's a lot more fun than wandering around a city."

Genuine delight filled Elgar's face, but the left hand that was hanging outside the blanket was covered in syringe marks and bruises. Vesemir shook his head. Poor boy. You're satisfied with just this? You'd die from happiness if you came to the House of Gawain. "Won't it hurt drinking the medicine?" Vesemir looked at the wounds on Elgar and sighed. "Can you endure it?"

"It does hurt, but I'm happy. It's never boring, since we share a big room. It's just a little sacrifice. I am fine with it. I'm grateful for Cosimo and everyone. I want to stay in Risberg forever if I can. I want to be with everyone forever."

"You're Arnaghad? Fucking hell." Felix adjusted his glasses and looked at the ten-year-old boy before him.

He was absurdly burly for his age, and his shoulders were wide as a bear's. He had a buzzcut, and his eyes were almost perfectly circular. When he opened his eyes wide, the whole room would be lit up by the genuine happiness within them. He had bushy eyebrows, a round nose, not-too-thick lips, and slightly chubby cheeks. Even if he wasn't smiling, he radiated happiness. When he grinned, the genuine happiness in it almost made Felix smile. This was an adorable boy.

"Did I offend you somehow?" Arnaghad was lifting a dumbbell in his left hand, but he was still smiling, staring at this bizarre man in surprise. He appeared in the training room out of nowhere, and he called himself Felix.

"Not yet. Never thought the heartless grandmaster of the Bear School looked like this when he was a kid." Felix's pupils contracted. He sighed. "Didn't account for this. How am I supposed to spar when you're just a kid? It'd be unfair."

"Heartless? Are you talking about me?" Arnaghad paled, a hint of guilt filling his eyes. It could make anyone sympathetic.

"No. I got the wrong person." Felix shook his head.

"Perhaps you're right. I left my father, mother, brother, and sister. They loved me. I'm a heartless boy."

"What do you mean you left your family?" asked Felix.

"The harvest this year was horrible. We made nothing from the fields, and the family would starve. The weather's been unbelievably chilly lately. At that rate, my siblings wouldn't have made it." Arnaghad barely had anyone to talk to. He buried his face in his hands and spoke of everything that weighed down on him. "I had no choice. Someone had to make the sacrifice. I'm the eldest of the children, so I sold myself to Cosimo and left some coins for my family. It should be enough to tide them over a few winters and bad years."

"You sold yourself? Aren't you smart?"

"It's not that bad here." A big smile curled young Arnaghad's lips. "At least it's better than getting sold to Skellige. Maybe I can go back and visit my family after they're done with their experiments. Won't take a few years."

"You have no idea of the fate that's in store for you, do you, boy?" Felix shook his head. He went ahead and grabbed Arnaghad by his throat. The witcher lifted the boy off the ground, and Arnaghad flailed his legs like a fish trying to gasp for water. Darkness flickered in Felix's eyes, and murder welled within them. If I take his life now, will he appear in the future? He had a heart before the mutation, but he took the Trial that robbed him of his emotions. Killing him might be a release in some form.

A magical lamp shone on a desk in the room's claustrophobic corner. A ten-year-old boy was holding a small leather book, confronting the man before him. The man was burly, cloaked in black, and was hiding in the shadows. He had an eye revealed, and his iris was three colors.

"This is Rissberg? So you're Erland?" Coen stared at the lifelike eagle tattoo on the side of the boy's face. Goosebumps covered his body.

"Are you our new teacher? I've never seen you." Erland held Virtue's Guide before his chest, staring at Coen cautiously.

I'm your student's student in the future, Coen thought. He then held back the excitement of seeing his idol in his younger years, and he put on a big smile. "I'm Coen. So, tell me, Erland. How did you get here?"

Erland spat on the ground and shook his head in determination and disdain. "You ain't getting anything from me, fucker. Why should I answer your questions?"

"Calm down. I just want to talk. Answer my question, and I'll lend you a hand with something big. I'm an adult, you see."

Coen's earnest energy convinced the young Erland. "That's a promise, or I'm going to ambush you every night even if it means I get no sleep." Erland muttered. Reminded of a bad memory, a hint of hesitation flickered in his exotic eyes. "How else did I get here? My mom's a Skellige pirate. She's ruder, angrier, and stronger than most men. Raised me on a ship until I was ten. Then I got my short temper from her, and she got tired of me. Thought I was a deadweight who leeched off her. Alzur passed by and gave her a good price like she asked."

Erland looked at Coen, who was in disbelief. A hint of harsh gratification flickered in his eyes. "Yes. My mother sold me off. That hypocrite took me to this castle and tossed this stupid book to me. Told me to keep reading it. Said it's good for nurturing my soul. Smiles at me every day. Fake smile, I know it. Says I'm just like him, but I know he's up to no good. He's trying to kill me with poison!"

This is Erland? The ally of justice and the knight of valor who establishes the Griffin School in the future? Coen's lips twitched. Are you sure this isn't just a rampaging boy in his rebellious years? Only thing remarkable about him is the chaotic energy around him. He's a Source. "How are you getting along with the other kids, Erland?"

"Besides Jagda of Aedirn, everyone's a brat who's sucking on their mother's teats. Moronic idiots who know nothing. These people feed them poison every day and use them as test subjects, but they're grateful for them. You want to know how I'm getting along with them? Take it this way. This castle's a rundown chicken coop, and they're the fowls who chirp to no end. They drive me mad."

Coen was silent. Erland might have a sailor's mouth, but he had a point. The Trial was akin to poison, especially when these kids were the first batch of test subjects. The Trial was incomplete, and the children were taking on the biggest risk of death. "Who's Jagda?"

Erland tensed up and matter-of-factly declared, "A girl who's like me. Best person in the world. Nicer to me than my piece of shit, heartless mother. When I leave this prison, I'll marry her."

"She's a girl, and she's joining the experiment? Taking medicines and going through checkups every day?" Coen remembered that there were no girls in the first batch of witchers. No female witchers until the Cats showed up.

Erland took a deep breath and bit his nail. Worry filled his eyes. "Yeah. Twelve girls, in fact, and they suffer a lot more than the boys. There are twenty-six of us. The poison hurts them a lot more than they hurt us. It's even more painful than giving birth."

Erland paused, then he looked at Coen. "Time for you to uphold your promise. You have to give Jagda some time to rest no matter what. Don't let the sorcerers feed her any more poison. I beg you."

"I will do my best."

The mist drowned out Coen's answer. The mist showed scenes in an erratic manner and would take the witchers through different points in history. This promise would never come true.

A drizzle was covering the fortress standing between the cliffs. The magical crystal lamps hanging from the ceiling were shining brightly, illuminating the laboratory on the top story of the castle.

Alzur and Cosimo stood side by side before the windowsill, their eyes set on the graveyard underneath the mountain. Another grave was added to the sea of headstones. A hunched man was burying a petite, lifeless body. Her eyes were wide, her face was contorted, the ghost of her last scream still lingering on her face. She was put through hell before her death. Alzur took a deep breath and brushed his nail across the parchment journal in his hand. The name of Jagda was sliced in half. Ten broken names sat beside that page.

"Do you regret this, Alzur?" Cosimo looked at his student wisely.

"There is no regret to speak of. If I wish to rid this world of monsters and save my brethren, I must pay the price and sacrifice a few lives. This is their trial as well. They led dark, pitiful lives. Unimportant and insignificant. Ignored by the people as if they were ants, but should they pass the trial, they shall emerge with superhuman powers and stand a better chance at survival in this world."

He tucked the journal away, and an old lily emblem floated in his palm. He slowly brushed his fingers across it. "I have a feeling someone will come out as a success in this experiment," he said adamantly.

Then screams filled the air.

More than twenty adepts lay on two dozen operating tables. All of them were children younger than ten. Leather straps tied their limbs down. They were coughing, breathing heavily, shaking, and crying.

Figures in surgical aprons and plague masks paced around the operating tables, pouring bottles of decoctions into the mouths of adepts. Colorful lights of magic flowed through the bodies of the adepts, and the sorcerers took note of the changes.

Roy stood at the entrance of the laboratory, his silhouette hidden in the mist. He'd seen the cruel experiments conducted by the sorcerers in this castle. Compared to the Trial in the House of Gawain, the Trials here were ten times bloodier and crueler. Horrifying, risky concoctions were poured into the adepts' bodies. Sadly, he had no way to intervene.

No matter how much he tried, he confirmed that whatever actions he took in a scene would not affect how the next scene would unfold. He had become an observer who was hiding in the darkness. He looked at the test subjects with sympathy and empathy. The young children were howling, struggling, screaming, spasming, frothing from their mouths, or crying silently.

Aside from Alzur and Cosimo, Roy saw another familiar figure among the sorcerers. Ortolan.

"Cosimo! Alzur! It hurts! I'm dying! Save me! Save me!" Ivar howled, and then he roared, "I have not yet rid this world of human traffickers! I have not yet brought an end to wars! I don't want to die!"

"My Jagda! Give her back to me, you monsters! You fiends!" Erland's snot and tears drenched his tattoo. He glared at the ones experimenting on them, fury flaring in his eyes.

Elgar was wriggling and jumping around like a fish out of water. He cried, looking around at his tormented friends. "Hang in there, brothers!" Even though he was in agony, he still weakly provided encouragement. "Live! We're all making it through!"

Arnaghad tensed up, his eyelids twitching, his temples throbbing. The pain was making him lose control of his face. Sweat drenched his forehead, and he felt as if his flesh were being sliced off inch by inch. He then saw the scene where he bade his family goodbye. "Father, Mother, Flax, Cadur… wait for me. Wait for me!"

Roy heaved a sigh and turned his attention to the silhouette standing on the other side of the door beside him. He had a feeling someone was inside, but he couldn't see who it was.

At the same time, Letho, Vesemir, Coen, and Felix, who was hidden within the same mist, looked in the direction of their comrades. They were standing in front of the same laboratory, yet they couldn't see even a single strand of their companions' hair. It was as if a secret veil had separated them. As if they were not in the same world.

The scenes in the mist kept morphing and changing. Time went by, and the first Trial in history was moving by quickly, the lights in the laboratory still shining. Every time the witchers blinked, a few days would've gone by in the experiment. The sorcerers in plague masks kept feeding the test subjects medicine, checking on them, and moving the corpses away.

More and more graves were erected in the graveyard under the castle. Fewer and fewer children were left on the operating tables. On the thirtieth day, all the girls had died, leaving twenty boys on the tables. They'd scratch away at their clothes, scream, or even stay eerily silent sometimes.

Five more test subjects died on the fiftieth day. All the remaining boys had fallen into a deep coma and rarely woke up. Even when they woke, they would only vomit until they had nothing more to cough up.

Ten were left on the seventieth day. They had cases of seizures, bleeding from their faces, and vacant looks in their eyes. Over the next two weeks, five more names were crossed off from Alzur's list, but the remaining subjects were settling down. Their breathing was stable, and their faces were red.

Ninety days later, the remaining five out of thirty-eight children woke up from the nightmarish Trial, drenched in sweat. They opened their eyes, revealing colorful irises within. Their pupils were vertical and as sharp as beasts.

The five first generation witchers were born before their descendants hiding in the mist. They were: Madoc, Erland, Elgar, Ivar, and Arnaghad.

Chapter 579

The representative of the northern Brotherhood of Sorcerers was a man named Gildorf. He was gaunt, short, and had a Van Dyke beard. The sorcerer wore a long blue robe, and his eyes were roving across the children on the training field.

The children were in leather armor, standing under the sun. They swung and thrust their blades at the wooden dummies in sacks. Their movements were unbelievably fast, leaving afterimages wherever they attacked.

"Their strength, constitution, and agility have increased remarkably. They have surpassed human limitations." The representative then shook his head regretfully. "And yet they have not awakened any magical talents. They cannot control magic. These mutants are second-rate products."

"I disagree. Erland is an exception." Alzur looked at the boy with a tattoo on his face. "He can control magic if we give him guidance, and he possesses physical strength most sorcerers do not. He has resistance against diseases and lethal poison. It's a unique ability that came from his mutation."

"He was born a Source. He should've gone to Ban Ard, and yet you put him through an experiment with a one-in-ten survival rate just to gain a bit more physical prowess that's useless for sorcerers? Do you wish for him to abandon his magical talent and swing a sword like a warrior instead?" Gildorf then looked at the most intimidating young man in the training field. He had broad shoulders, and his look was icy. "And the experiment brought with it severe complications. That Arnaghad boy has lost his emotions. He used to be lively, but now he's colder than a block of ice."

"We have found four recipes for the mutation. They're a lot better in terms of quality." Cosimo frowned. "If we keep on doing this, we'll lessen the complications soon enough. It will be possible to awaken the potential for magic within the test subjects."

"For ten years, the brotherhood has invested a mountain of coins in this endeavor. We put all our faith in you two, and yet the results are disappointing. The top brass thinks any further experimentation will yield too little returns." Gildorf shook his head. Imperiously, he said, "They have decided to pull all funding and end the experiment. From now on, Rissberg will no longer house any projects regarding mutants. As for the mutants…" Coolly, Gildorf declared, "They shall be recycled."

"Preposterous. They endured hell and barely passed the Trial. You cannot rob them of their lives." Alzur's eyes went wide with fury, and he stared at Gildorf. "Cosimo and I are their creators. We will be in charge of them."

"These mutants are hazardous. They are walking, living bombs. Do you understand me?"

"Enough, Gildorf." Cosimo shook his head, then he looked at the young men swinging their swords in the field. "Alzur and I shall take them away."

"Where are we, sir?" Elgar had a blue knapsack saddled on his back. He was on a mountainside, standing before a castle swirling in mist. The walls were covered in verdant vines, and the turrets were ancient and obsidian. This was a fortress.

The four witchers beside him had conflicted looks in their eyes. They'd only followed Alzur for more than a year, and yet it felt like a lifetime. The countless torture they went through shed them of their naiveté and lively attitude. The young witchers were cautious and alert.

"Kestrel Mountains. It is on the borders between Kaedwen and Kovir. This is Castle Morgraig." Cosimo stroked his robe, reminiscence flaring in his eyes. "It was my home, and now it is yours."

"We shall begin a new venture here." Alzur stared at the magnificent castle before him. He didn't sound dejected despite being kicked out of Rissberg. Instead, he was filled with motivation. Only without the brotherhood's interference could he do what he wanted. "We shall work for the same dream. To rid the world of the monsters hiding in the dark and make it safer."

"You and what army?" Erland looked at Alzur, not bothering to hide his hatred and disdain. "I almost died just to pass the Trial, and I trained my ass off for a whole year. That's more than enough to cover for the coins you gave my mother. I want to leave."

"I will not stop you. You may leave whenever you want, but be warned." Alzur said nonchalantly, "Your speed, strength, personality, and even looks are different from any human. If you leave the mountains without any preparation, all the people will think of you is that you are a monster. They will fear you. They will stay away from you. And you lack experience. If you leave in a haste, you might run into the mountain's cyclops or snake monsters. They will devour you."

The witchers exchanged a look. For quite a long time, they never left Rissberg. They spent their days in the lab, the training field, and the dorm. They knew little more about life beyond those places, and even now, they were only eleven-year-olds. They would have no idea what to do if they were plunged back into society all of a sudden.

"I have a suggestion," Alzur continued. "I can provide systematic training for you. You will learn how to efficiently use your strength and dispense justice. That is how you gain acknowledgement and return to society."

"You were born from countless deaths, turned into powerful warriors from pitiful orphans. Your role as the survivors is to strike down monsters with the weapon in your hands and save humanity from their crisis," Cosimo added. "You are the perfect base to make a great weapon out of, but you need experience to temper your skills. Best if you remain in the castle and train for a few years. Then you may leave and hunt down those monsters. End the suffering they have rained upon this world. Then you may make a choice to either stay or leave."

"From now on, you are to be called… witchers," said Alzur.

"Fuck whatever you just said," Erland retorted arrogantly. "You hypocrites put all the poor children through that experiment and killed them. You killed my Jagda, and you're pinning their deaths on us? How low can you even go?"

Alzur scanned the young witchers, and he earnestly said, "That was a Trial. Through the Trial, you have gained enough strength to control your fate. Let me reiterate. Should you wish to leave, I will not stop you."

The boys clenched their fists, power flowing through their veins. "I didn't ask for any power. I just want Jagda."

"And there are a lot of Jagdas out there suffering under the tyranny of monsters. They are waiting for you to save them."

Erland had no comeback for that. He set aside his plan to leave. I'll stay for a while, then.

Arnaghad fiddled with his sword. Calmly and almost monotonously, he said, "I don't care about saving the people. As long as I don't need to starve and have a roof over my head, I'm fine with anything." His face was sculpted, but his lines were cold as an icy blade.

"Of course." Cosimo nodded. A hint of guilt flickered in his eyes. Out of the five witchers, Arnaghad's Trial left him with the worst complication. "You may return to your family for visits anytime."

"There's no need for that." Arnaghad shook his head. The passion for his family was gone from his eyes. The family he used to think the world of had lost meaning to him.

"You want us to hunt monsters? I'm not interested." Ivar's eyes were green, and they kept morphing like little kaleidoscopes. It was terrifying. Ever since he passed his Trial, he kept seeing weird hallucinations. He saw phantom knights on skeletal horses flying through the skies, sowing chaos all over the world, and their actions gave birth to hordes of orphans like him. "I will kill all those who trade in human trafficking."

"Then you must be fast enough. Strong enough. You are far from that." Alzur looked at Ivar sharply.

"Then I shall stay and train."

Elgar looked at his brethren, then he turned to his mentors, and he sighed. "There were 38 of us, but only 5 are left. We must band together. Not split up."

"Our numbers will grow. Soon there will be teachers from all fields coming to this castle just to tutor you," Cosimo promised.

Madoc was in the back of the line. He said nothing, and his face was hidden in his hood. Only his eyes were revealed. They glinted green like a beast's in the night.

Mist rolled over the walls of Morgraig, obscuring the vision of the invisible observers.

Time was sped up once more, and the scenes before Roy flew past. With the arrival of the first witchers and their creators, the deserted castle found a breath of fresh air injected into its walls. As promised, the sorcerers spent a handsome amount of coins to hire experts from all fields. Healers, hunters, blacksmith, traveling knights, and more. All just to teach the first witchers. The young witchers were like sponges, sucking up all the knowledge taught to them, and they grew.

Ivar, Arnaghad, and Elgar showed great talent in swordplay. At the same time, Cosimo spent a lot of his time creating something a lot simpler than spells for the witchers. This simpler system of magic was called Signs. Erland, the only Source among the witchers, expressed great interest. He would often practice the Signs until late at night. When he had time, he would talk to the wandering knight called Llywelyn, or as everyone else called him, Griffin.

Alzur would talk to him as well, teaching him about Virtue's Guide without tire. Erland was in his teenage years. After losing his first love and getting lectured all the time by a knight and someone who used to aspire to be one, Erland found himself falling for the valor of knights.

Elgar learned the art of blacksmithing from a master blacksmith. He showed great talent for the art of smithing, and eventually, he was in charge of making all the weapons and armor for his brethren.

The witchers' training went on without pause every day. Alzur would leave the castle from time to time to travel around the world. He took in orphans and kids from families too poor to raise them, and he led them back to the castle, where he went on with the experiment of the Trial.

With the birth of a successful first batch, the survival rate for the succeeding batches was rising quickly. With the sorcerers' teamwork, batches of witchers found themselves born within this castle, and more people showed up in the training field.

When the number of witchers hit twenty, Alzur dubbed the team as the Order of Witchers. Their creed was to save humanity and rid the world of all monsters hiding in the darkness. Everyone in the order lived together, trained together, and built a deep bond over time.

In the fifth year of their moving to Morgraig, fifty witchers were born. Fifty passed the Trial. Thinking that the children had gone through enough training, Alzur and Cosimo allowed the five from the first batch of test subjects to leave the mountains and carry out the order's creed. They were to slay monsters, protect the Continent's people, and gain their acknowledgement.

The witchers from the future were hiding beyond the walls, watching their predecessors' early lives, and a magical feeling welled in their hearts. They were reminded of their first time leaving the mountains. They'd been filled with trepidation back then.

The mist rolled in once more, and time flew by. On a winter day, ten years later, a bonfire roared in the great hall of the castle's first floor. A hundred members of the order were huddled around the bonfire.

Vesemir, who was still in the mist, saw his younger self among the crowd. He looked so young, and yet so handsome.

"So, how's the world like outside, Elgar?"

The witchers' beastly eyes lit up the night. They turned their eyes to the most popular witcher among them all, though his looks weren't outstanding.

More than twenty young witchers were seated behind him.

"It took me a lot of time, but Alzur was right. He did not exaggerate at all," Elgar told the young witchers. "Anyone who goes into the mountains only has a one-in-four chance of getting out alive. Everyone else would be killed off by leshens and basilisks. If they try to sail across the seas, echidnas will make sure they never return. No one would dare enter the woods or approach the coasts. Even so, wraiths, ghouls, spriggans, and kikimores will still attack any hamlets that stand near their lair, turning them into abandoned sites. These are dark times."

"And the time for us witchers to prove ourselves!" a deep voice boomed through the night. The witchers looked at the man. He had an icy look and dark, dark eyes. Ten witchers stood behind Arnaghad. Those were witchers who went through the same Trial he did, and their emotions were stunted. Ivar, however, stood among the group as well. "They need someone to save them from the monster problem, but they do not have enough coins to hire sorcerers. They're expensive. Mercenaries are not professional enough either, so we're their best choice. We just have to go to a village, and they'll know we're witchers once they see our eyes. They're going to beg for us to help them deal with the monsters. They'll offer us anything. Handsome payment too. Coins are nothing compared to survival."

The people behind nodded. A young man with amber eyes asked, "What if they can't fork out the coins?"

"Then we take a different request."

"Have you forgotten Alzur and Sir Llewelyn's lessons?" Erland took a swig of liquor and shot Arnaghad a look of displeasure. He hated how Arnaghad kept talking about coins and profits and saw human lives as nothing but worthless toys. "We do not slay monsters and take requests from the people just for coins. Even if they do not have enough coins to pay us, we should lend our hand as well." Erland stood up and looked around him. He told the young witchers, "Witchers live for one reason: to help the Continent's people fight the evil that's beyond them and gain their recognition."

"Shut it. Do not take the moral high ground." Arnaghad shook his head in scorn. "How are we supposed to survive if we don't have money? Even if we're obligated to help them with their monster problems, they would never show us any gratitude. Madoc left us because of your attitude. You won't stop talking about virtue and valor."

A long silence followed. Everyone was reminded of the witcher who left without a word of goodbye after he took three requests. His departure left a deep scar on the order. Alzur and Cosimo would bring him up a lot of times.

"Arnaghad has a point." Ivar massaged his temples. "Since our return to society ten years ago, everything about witchers has been negative. All kings think we're untrustworthy assassins. And aside from Alzur, Cosimo, and the experts in genetic modification, all the sorcerers despise us. We're nothing but second-rate products in their eyes, but we took over their job and dealt with the monster problem. No longer can they enjoy the reverence from the people."

Ivar's eyes glinted coldly. "And the churches are worse. The priests think we're unnatural creatures born from mutations. We are not any god's creation, so they think we're heretics. Melitele, Freya, and Lebioda, the gods they claim to be loving and accepting, treat us like we're less than refuse. Their believers despise us because of them. I say if humans treat us harshly, then we do business like professionals." Ivar raised his voice. "They give us the coins; we give them our services. I say that's our first creed."

"Ivar, Arnaghad, enough." Erland's eyes twinkled coldly. "Stop teaching the order the wrong ideas."

"You're the one giving them false ideas, Erland. We're witchers, not knights. Don't talk to us about self-sacrifice."

"Enough!" Elgar looked at the arguing witchers and shook his head in resignation. He stood between them. "I don't care what you choose, just don't influence anyone. Let them make their own choice."

This argument was just a little episode among the order. Countless arguments of the same kind broke out in the decades following that. The witchers still thrived despite everything, and they followed an unwritten rule. Every spring, they would travel across the world and accept requests to slay monsters and gain the people's recognition. Every winter, the witchers would bring their haul, liquor, and monster components back to Morgraig. They would share liquor and tell stories of their adventures. If there were witchers who perished, they would mourn for them.

The sorcerers would use the components the witchers brought back to further their research. The talented Alzur managed to create a new spell from the remains of these monsters. It was a powerful summoning spell dubbed Alzur's Double Cross. He would go on to take in a student named Idarran and gather a group of sorcerers interested in mutations and genetic modifications. Then they would conduct experiments in hidden castles across the world.

To garner more loyalty from the witchers, Cosimo taught them about the Law of Surprise. Throughout their adventures, the witchers took in new blood with the Law and put them through the Trial. The number of witchers grew all over the world. At the same time, the differences in opinion between Erland, Arnaghad, and their supporters were getting bigger.

Before the conflict's escalation, however, the noblemen of Ellander and Maribor's war for Vizima's throne ended. Alzur, one of the order's leaders, returned to Maribor.

Roy entered another misty space.

Chapter 580

The snaking walls of Maribor could be vaguely seen across the lush prairie. The clouds hanging high up in the sky blocked the sunset. Under the skies, an exhausted, worn out Alzur came to the slums in the eastern part of the city. He stood before an old, wooden house. An old woman dressed in tatters was lying on a rattan chair in the courtyard, almost dying. It was a winter evening. The lanterns hanging under the overhang flickered.

The woman was gaunt, almost cadaverous. Her sunken cheeks were pale as a tombstone. She looked like a woman who was about to die. Alzur crouched before her, staring at this woman he saw every day when he was a child. Memories flooded his head. She was young, gorgeous, and kind. Out of all his aunts, she took care of him the most. She would joke about his hotheaded behavior and foolish knightley actions, but this woman resembled his mother the most.

It had been twenty something years since he last saw her, and life had tormented her. Her hair, once black and lustrous, was white as snow. "Aunt Odelle?" he called out to the dying dame on the chair.

The dame woke up from her sleep, shivering. She stared at the handsome man who appeared in the dark. "W-Who are you?"

"Have you forgotten? I am the oaf of the House of Burns."

"Casillas? Impossible. That brat never came back since he left with Cosimo. It's been more than twenty years. How is this possible?"

"I am back, and I have another name now. Alzur." Alzur felt a little guilty. For a long time, his focus was on the order, and he'd neglected his family.

Odelle froze in disbelief, then she carefully looked at Alzur. "You're the sorcerer who summoned that centipede in the War of Daggers last year?"

"Yes." The past year was when the order grew quickly. He came back from a visit to Lylianna's grave and passed by the city he'd left for decades. It was then he noticed that the War of Daggers started by the dukes of Ellander and Maribor to take the throne of Vizima was still ongoing, and it was getting worse.

People from both kingdoms were forced to throw themselves into the war, and many died. The people were suffering. Alzur, who brought it on himself to save the people, could not accept this. For the first time, he cast Alzur's Double Cross before the world and threw a terrifying monster into the battlefield. It was thanks to him that the bloody war came to an end.

"So you helped the duke of Maribor gain Vizima's throne." The dame looked at Alzur, her gaze conflicted. She never thought a foolish boy like Alzur could become someone so important. He was supposed to be in his forties, and yet Alzur looked no older than thirty.

"Yes." Alzur nodded, a little exhausted. He was born in Maribor, so out of instinct, he helped the duke defeat Ellander. "How did the family fall into… this, Aunt Odelle? I paid the residence a visit, but there were only ruins waiting for me. Where's everyone else? Where's Orik and the others?"

Odella sat up and rested her chin in her spindly hand. In an agonized voice, she said, "The House of Burns fell years ago. Orik and Tashk were drafted into the army because they were young. They died in battle before victory came."

Alzur looked solemn. He was reminded of the cheeky boys. They would torment him, but he had no hate for them. There was only lamentation. So they died.

"On the day Ellander's duke announced his surrender, the city celebrated. That night, bandits robbed us of everything we had and burned the residence down to the ground. Two of us died in the fire. I and five others survived, but barely. We lost all our wealth, so we moved into this rickety shack."

Odelle's voice cracked. "Three of them were too used to living large. They didn't last long in poverty, and they died a few months later. Succumbed to their illnesses. Only Zenina and I are left."

"Did the commissioner of security not arrest the criminals?" Alzur was pale. Even though his family thought lowly of him, they still raised him.

"It was a celebration. A monumental one. Two hundred years of war came to an end. The whole city was enjoying themselves. No one could be bothered with security. A few other families faced the same fate that night. We lodged reports, but there's been no response. And then…" 𝘭𝑖𝘣𝓇ℯ𝘢𝒹.𝘤ℴ𝘮

Maribor won the war. Why did this happen? Why? Alzur's heart was squeezed. Sadness filled the air around him.

"To make ends meet, Zenina found herself a job in the outer ring of Melitele's temple. She works in the infirmary as a volunteer and helps the injured in exchange for food. She comes back once a week." Odelle leaned on the icy wall behind her, crying.

Alzur looked dazed. He was reminded of the haughty girl with braids billowing in the wind. It had been years since he saw her. The spoiled princess working in the squalid infirmary and saving the injured? Destiny is a magical mistress.

Temple healer. Lylianna used to be one.

Odelle took a deep breath and held Alzur's hand. Her hands were skin and bones, and her skin was icy as the winter air. "Alzur, no, Casillas. You're an important man now. The army, the duke, and even the priestess have to bow to you, don't they? Please, go to the infirmary and see if Zenina's fine. Help her. Make her job easier. Don't let her suffer anymore. Help me, Kasillas," implored Odelle, tears streaming down her sunken cheeks. "I cared for you."

"Of course, Aunt Odelle." Alzur held Odelle's hand in his hands and nodded. "Wait for me."

The temple's infirmary was in western Maribor. Because of the war that had gone on for centuries and the attacks of monsters, the infirmary would receive countless patients every day. It was the biggest building in this city, and the doors were brightly lit.

Alzur met no resistance on his way here. Beyond the glorious temple, a forest of tents formed the outer ring. Believers, patients, and patients walked around. They saw Alzur. They saw his eyes and all the expensive rings and charms he had on him, and they were shocked.

Quickly, they bowed. They were grateful, but also terrified. The War of Daggers had come to an end, but the people of Maribor would never forget how their nemesis, the army of Ellander, was destroyed by the creature this man summoned. He was the great benefactor of Maribor.

"Might you be Alzur?" A wrinkled priestess in a white robe came out, simpering. "What brings you here? I shall get someone to inform the duke right away."

"Calm down. I'm just looking around." Alzur looked at him and continued his walk down the tent area. "Where's the healing chamber?"

"Are you injured? Let me take you into the temple. My sisters can heal better."

"I wish to see someone. Zenina. She's in the outer ring's healing chamber."

The priestess paused for a moment. She turned away and took a deep breath. "Come with me, please."

A wooden house stood in the center of the tents. Alzur saw ten topless bandaged soldiers, children, and the elderly gathered around a table, happily playing Gwent, but they shut up when they saw the priestess and Alzur.

"Where does Zenina live?" Alzur looked around, but an ominous feeling filled his heart.

The priestess standing behind him did not have a good look on her face.

"You mean Zenina Burns, the erstwhile lady of the House of Burns?" A man with scars on his face due to a nekker attack looked at the priestess.

"What are you staring at? He wasn't asking you," barked the priestess.

"Zenina hasn't shown up for two days." A soldier with a mole on the left side of his face quickly turned his back on Alzur and gave a look to the other soldiers, telling them to play along.

"We thought it was odd too. Though she quit her job."

Alzur narrowed his eyes, his gaze chilly. "Do you think I am a fool?" He turned to the priestess, but she stammered and was tongue-tied. She had no idea how to explain this. "Tell me the truth. Where did she go?"

His voice carried across the whole room, and like magic, it delved deep into everyone's hearts. One of the soldiers had his left arm held in a cast. His expression was vacant, and his face stiffened up until it looked like a marionette's. Monotonously, he said, "Zenina is dead."

And the air turned icy. Everyone stopped breathing for a moment, but then they returned to normal.

Alzur laughed, but everyone felt a chill run down their spines. "A noble, righteous lady who helped the injured, dead when the Temple of Melitele was in the vicinity?" He turned his attention to the priestess behind him, the look in his eyes sharp as daggers. "Explain this."

The priestess held her hands before her belly nervously. She was as pale as a corpse, and she was in a stupor.

"Zenina… was violated by some patients." An old man with a ring of bandage around his head struggled. He looked at the shut door on the left side of the house. Stammering a little, he said, "To make it easier for her to care for the injured, she sleeps in the room beside this healing chamber. Three days ago, a couple of men were captivated by her beauty. Since she wasn't a priestess, the temple's protection did not extend to her, and they fell into lust. Late at night, they pried the door open, violated Zenina, and snuck away. Enraged and humiliated, she hung herself the very next day."

A dire silence fell upon the healing chamber. "Where is her body?" Alzur said, a little too calmly. Too eerily calm.

"In the morgue." The priestess stammered, "Y-You know casualties happen on the regular every day. The war's over, but the monsters are still alive. Most of them died because of monster killings."

"Someone harmed a healer right around the temple. It was a serious case, but why didn't anyone speak of it?"

"I…" Alzur shot the priestess a look, and the priestess spilled the truth. "The priestesses didn't want to spread the news in case it hurt the temple's reputation, so… but the commissioner of security is still investigating, though there are no results."

"He's still investigating? Your healer died, and yet you stay in this chamber, idly having fun?" Alzur sneered, searing all the patients around with his gaze. They hung their heads low. "There were so many of you in this room. So many of you could've seen it, and yet none noticed the criminals' actions? None stopped them?"

A patient with purple salve rubbed all over his chest muttered, "The two of them were as powerful as those blasted mutants. They served Maribor's military, and they threatened me. Swung their knives around and warned me. I was scared. I couldn't say anything."

Alzur threw his head back and closed his eyes. The soldiers I helped killed a healer.

"Alzur, I… I had no choice." A young man with his left leg held between two pieces of wood carefully looked at the furious sorcerer. "I didn't want them to break my other leg."

"Say no more. Bring Zenina's body back."

"Sir, but it's too late. Why don't we do it tomorrow?" asked the priestess.

"Do it right now."

Half an hour later, Alzur saw Zenina's corpse as he wanted. She was no longer young, but having spent her younger years in luxury gave her looks that were a lot better than the people in the slums, but her beautiful face had blackened, the ghost of her terror etched forever on her visage. There were bruises all over her body, and her muscles must've convulsed. Obviously, she was put through inhumane torture.

"Has she ever healed you?" Alzur asked slowly.

Everyone stayed silent, but that was as good as an answer. They fidgeted like cats on hot bricks.

"And this is how you repay her? By shrinking away like cowards when your savior was violated? Do you even have an ounce of humanity left in you?"

No one answered.

"Do you know that the permitting of crimes is an unforgivable sin in and of itself?"

The men gulped with difficulty, and silence fell upon the room.

Alzur gazed at the priestess. "This is the creed of Melitele?"

"I am sorry, Alzur, but I couldn't do anything. I am but a single priestess." The priestess blanched. She had a mortified look on her face. "But you're different. If you tell the duke, the investigations will yield results immediately. He will hand over the criminals to you. I heard he still wishes for your help in his crusade. He will need you."

Alzur stared at Zenina, and he fell into a daze. He saw another person in his mind. She was a temple healer as well, and she too died a horrible death. The people they risked their lives saving abandoned them as well. How similar they are.

For a moment, Zenina's bruised visage overlapped with the face of a certain person who'd passed decades ago.

The patients in the chamber exchanged looks of shock. The great wizard knelt before the corpse and gently held its ice-cold hand, then he held the back of that hand against his forehead. "Is it worth it, Lylianna? To save these people? To create a safer world free of monsters for them? Is it worth it?" Alzur stared at the woman in his mind lovingly. He shook his head. This time, he was adamant about the answer. "No. They do not deserve salvation."

A stream of slow, chronic, and agonizing pain filled his soul. He grabbed the air and produced a chipped, yellowing lily emblem in his hand. "I tire of this. Let it come to an end." He muttered something under his breath manically.

The patients were deathly silent, and then they felt chills running all over their skin. Magical energy swirled around the sorcerer before them, conjuring eerie hallucinations.

The caws of jackdaws began as a whisper, then murmurs, then a screech. The screeching was woven into a cacophony, threatening to devour everything before it.

"It has been decades, but I finally understand. Humans die to their brethren far more than they die to monsters."

"Sir." The priestess cringed. Carefully, she asked, "What are you talking about?"

"The endless wars, bottomless greed, hideous crimes, and human selfishness… Those are the biggest cankers in this world."

Everyone's eyes went wide. The candlelight flickered and went out, plunging the house into deadly darkness. A pair of eyes shone in the darkness. Flames crackled in the fireplace, illuminating the house.

Brilliant lighting roared through the skies outside, shining the heavens with purplish-silver bolts. They shone on Alzur's tear-streaked face.

People in the healing chamber, the temple, and Maribor came out of their abode, staring at the phenomenon rolling in the deep, dark skies. The clouds leapt through the air. Heavier and heavier they became, until they were dark as night. The city under the looming clouds was thrown into a pit of gloom.

And then a bolt of forked lightning blasted through the clouds.

"By the gods!" An elderly man with graying hair was stammering. "Is this the end of days?"

A torrential downpour drenched the city. Dark clouds kept rolling overhead, and a tornado tore a hole in the skies. Bolts of lightning crackled and screamed, illuminating the sky.

"Alzur, is that…" The priestess stared at the sky. Through chattering teeth, she asked, "Is that your portal? The one you used in the war a year ago?"

The people in the healing chamber were shaken, and they blanched. The man with an arm in a cast begged for mercy as he charged at the door. Filled by terror, countless people came running out of their houses and darted around like headless chickens.

A cloud of mist burst outside the healing chamber, and a cloaked figure leapt out of nowhere. He swung his blade around, and the man who tried to escape the room held his slit throat, falling to the ground head first.

Blood spewed everywhere, and Roy was met with a familiar message.

'Acarin was killed. EXP +20. Level 13 Witcher (2000/14500).'

These aren't illusions. This is an actual world. Roy looked at the sky. A terrifying, titanic creature covered the skies. The creature resembled a snake with a million legs, and it was slithering out of the tornado's depths. It writhed in the heavens before falling into the city of Maribor. Falling onto the Temple of Melitele.

The majestic, solemn temple was crushed under the weight of the monster. Dust and debris fell like rain, and the temple was crushed into ruins. The ground started to rumble, and countless humans were crushed into mincemeat.

Even more were killed by the falling walls before they could even scream. The cross closed, and the blinding light disappeared, leaving nothing but the dark clouds, the dark city, and the many-legged creature behind. The occasional bolt would illuminate it, but only its outline was visible.

The creature destroyed the temple and left a terrifying ravine in the western part of the city, cleaving Maribor in two. With unstoppable force, the monster charged toward the military base in Maribor and the duke's palace in the northwest.

Every time lightning struck, Roy could see the great centipede rampaging through the city. It opened its double jaw and contracted its body as it flattened all the glorious buildings underneath its feet. Green poison rained down on the city, eating away at everything standing in its way. Only smoke and mud was left in the poison's wake.

The bustling western part of the city was turned into a living hell. Alzur took down his protective barrier and walked the broken thoroughfare of Maribor. Chaos energy swirled around him, lightning struck from the sky, and the monster he summoned devoured everything in its way.

Screams, terror, and destruction wailed all around him, as if heralding his arrival as the emissary of the end of days. Alzur was crying, yet he was walking into the hell left behind by the monster. He was walking toward destruction.

"Come back, Alzur."

A sagely figure appeared. His sleeves billowed in the air, and an invisible wave of magic smacked away the boulder flying toward his student. Cosimo landed behind Alzur and grabbed his shoulder.

Alzur wheeled around, the lightning revealing his face that was contorted in pain. "Cosimo, everything I have done over the years meant nothing! The witchers can destroy monsters, but they cannot destroy the darkness hiding in the hearts of man! The selfishness, the greed, the cruelty, the apathy men are born with… they're more dangerous than any monsters out there."

Thunder roared, and so did Alzur.

"They do not deserve salvation! I tire of this, Cosimo. I wish to see her."

"If you tire of this, then let it go. Let go of your shackles and come with me, Alzur. The legacy left by my teacher, Geoffrey Monck, might have something that will reunite you with Lylianna." Cosimo extended his hand. His eyes were murky, and his face was wrinkled. It was just like how he extended his invitation to Alzur so many years ago.

Alzur stopped in his walk toward death.

Chapter 581

The winds of winter assailed Kaedwen's countryside. Snow covered the branches of the woods around, draping it in a silver blanket. A monster the size of a hill was charging across the woods. It then crashed into a pine tree, breaking its trunk in two. The trunk fell with a thud, and the leaves stirred up a snowy storm.

The snow flew into two men's faces. They were in oversized cloaks and armed with silver swords. They stood on both ends of the broken trunk and exchanged a look. One was icy, while the other was simpering. They crouched, holding their sword in a plough stance. Cautiously, they looked at the chort before them. It had antlers all over its head and fangs sharp as daggers. Pungent, viscous drool dripped down its maw. Its labored breathing was forming a sliver of white mist in the air.

"Do you have any idea of what you're doing, Riss?" Arnaghad's blade shone on his icy face and eyes. "The order's rules. First come first served. No one can steal another witcher's request. I got the request to kill this beast from Blackwater. Why are you interfering? Leave if you know what's good for you."

"Oh, calm down, Arnaghad. Calm down. We're all brothers here. We can fight together, can't we? Chords are hard to handle. Fighting it alone is risky. You're going to get hurt. You won't be coming back to the castle for a warm winter if that's the case." Riss smiled. "If we work together, we can kill this monster easily. I'll take thirty percent of the reward, while you can have the rest. Then we can get back to Morgraig and feast."

Riss stared at the monster, raring to go. The chort was infuriated by Riss' scornful attitude. It roared in rage and left circular hoof marks in the snow as it charged at Arnaghad. The air was filled with its stench. The chort's antlers were pointing at Arnaghad, as if the chort wanted to pierce the witcher and hold it high up in the air like he was a trophy.

Arnaghad, however, moved with an agility his build shouldn't have allowed. He leapt into the air and landed on the antler for a moment, then he somersaulted ahead, holding his blade close to his chest. The witcher spun along with the momentum, and a silver ring formed around him.

A bloody gash opened up on the chort's dark, sturdy back. Blood splattered everywhere, drenching the white snow red. The monster howled as it lost control and crashed into a hundred-year-old pine tree. It fell, its head buried in the snow.

Riss curled and darted ahead like an arrow, slashing the left side of the monster's back. He pulled his blade out, and blood trickled into the ground. The witcher stepped on the monster's thigh and quickly leapt onto its back. Riss quickly thrust his blade and pierced the chort's nape.

But then metal clashed, and someone flicked Riss' sword away. That was an opening for the chort. It shook its body violently and made the witchers get off its back, then it charged toward a pine tree in the distance to catch its breath, staring at the witchers with caution. The cunning creature knew it crossed someone it shouldn't.

"Are you deaf, or did you drink too much?" Arnaghad pointed his sword at his erstwhile comrade standing across the patch of blood, then he spat on the ground. "Last warning. The request is mine. I will not share the reward with anyone. Use your head. Because of your stupid valor and morality, the payment you demand isn't even half of what I quoted. Whose standard are we going to follow when we take the money? And you want to split the earnings with me? Scram!"

Riss was red and green with fury. "Arnaghad, I'm your brother, not your enemy! Is your heartless creed all you care about?"

"Witchers who break the rules don't get to call themselves my brother," said Arnaghad loudly, staring at Riss.

"You bastard! You think you're the leader just because Alzur and Cosimo left?"

"Don't talk to me about the old gits who abandoned us!"

Riss ranted, "You're a fool who only cares about your short-term profit! You're nothing but a heartless executioner. You don't care about valor or morals! You'd attack your own brother! Your mind is too narrow! Erland is ten times the man you are!"

Arnaghad stopped hunting the chort. He darted over to Riss instead, then the air around exploded. Sparks flew from the clashes of the blades. Faster and faster the witchers swung their weapons, until the swords became silver bolts. The witchers clashed, spun, and leapt across the battlefield.

Aard rumbled, blasting a hole in the snowy ground. Crimson Igni lit up the pine trees. The light of magic strobed, but it didn't last too long.

Someone made a successful attack, and blood splattered through the air. Riss grunted and fell to the left. A gash spanned from his shoulder to waist. In fear, he rushed toward the chort.

Still uninjured, icy Arnaghad held his bloodstained blade. He leapt through the battlefield, intending to kill Riss, but then the chort screamed. The roar alone made the bushes in the woods bow. It ran past Riss and made its way toward Arnaghad.

The witcher saw a looming shadow coming toward him. He stopped in his tracks, his gaze icy. The witcher swung his weapon once more, and blood filled the ground.

Injured, Riss had escaped, disappearing in the snowy expanse.

Pale snow covered Castle Morgraig. Dummies and wooden stakes stood in the courtyard, and more than two hundred witchers were gathered around, though they were split into three factions led by Erland, Elgar, and Arnaghad and Ivar. For safety's sake, a row of dummies stood between them.

This time, there was no chatting or feasting or sharing of stories like the witchers used to do, nor were things merry. Everyone had fury in their eyes, and tension filled the air.

"Arnaghad!" Erland clenched his fists tightly, glaring at deadpan Arnaghad. Standing beside him was Riss, his chest bandaged. He too was glaring at Arnaghad. "I know Riss shouldn't have tried to take your request, but we're members of the order. You could've talked things out. Why did you attack him? And you gave up killing a dangerous monster just to attack your own brother? Just to kill him? Did you forget that the order's rules clearly state that we are not to kill each other?"

"Arnaghad's a madman." A young witcher behind Erland glared at the icy brethren of his. "They used the wrong Trial and lost their empathy. Their faces are stupid, and they don't even know tact. It's like they think the world owes them."

"Yeah. They aren't loyal to the order, responsibility, or the brothers. They only care about themselves."

"Shut it! Arnaghad warned Riss, but he didn't listen. He broke the rules first." Another icy witcher came out from behind Arnaghad. "The prices we set would've been enough to feed everyone, but you lower your prices again and again because of your stupid valor and sometimes even work for free. Do you want everyone to starve? If Arnaghad had relented, should we be doing things your way and work without asking for anything in return? If we don't make enough coins by winter, who's going to keep the order running?"

"Have you forgotten why this order was made?" Erland retorted righteously, "We exist to clean this world of monsters. To make it a safer place for the people."

"We have to see this goal through," someone among the crowd said. "We have to see this creed through if we want to stay true to ourselves."

"Creed? Ideals? Bah." A burly witcher sneered. "That's what Alzur and Cosimo shoved down our throats. It's their ideals, but now…" He looked around and saw a lot of witchers looking dejected and furious because they were abandoned. "These selfless sorcerers abandoned us again because of their stupid ideals. They summoned a monster, destroyed half of Maribor, ruined our reputation, and they ran to hell themselves."

"Alzur and Cosimo are no more!" More witchers spoke up. They exchanged looks. "Why should we follow the rules? They're outdated, stupid, and make no sense!"

"It is time for the order to make some changes." Ivar stepped up and looked around. Clearly, he said, "We shall no longer live for anyone else. No longer will we be bound to laughable creed and valor. We will live freely. There will be adventures and comrades waiting for us. There will be better days."

A lot of witchers were tempted by that ideal.

"No. Cosimo and Alzur are still alive. No one has seen their bodies," Elgar interrupted. He'd been neutral this whole time. "They are our teachers. Our leaders. They gave us strength to protect ourselves and bodies that will never fall to disease. They saved us from the fate of dying in the wilds like the other orphans. We should be grateful to them, not complain about it."

"They're already dead, and still you're sucking up to them." Arnaghad shook his head in disdain. "We gained this power by risking our lives. So many of us have paid the ultimate price, and so many are left with complications."

"How long has it been? Ten years, and not even a single piece of news," Ivar said.

"Stop changing the subject. Back to the meat of it. Arnaghad must apologize to Riss and gain his forgiveness before our brethren." Erland's eyes shone, and a terrifying amount of chaos energy swirled around him. He was the only Source among the witchers. The Signs were nothing but circus tricks to him. "Swear to everyone you will never attack your brethren again, and we'll let this slide."

Elgar agreed, "Don't let this be a precedent to start something bad. If we keep fighting over requests, someday we're going to die at our own brethren's hands."

Everyone looked at the burly Arnaghad. He was at the center of this fight. Erland and his supporters were giving him warning glares, while Elgar and his supporters were gently asking him to apologize. Arnaghad's men held their breaths. Icy winds blew through the corridor, and Arnaghad's cloak billowed in the air.

"There will be no apology," he refused adamantly. If he bowed to these people, he would lose his supporters' trust.

"I'm not accepting it anyway." Riss narrowed his eyes. Venom dripped from his gaze. "I want an eye for an eye."

The clash happened just like that. Riss attacked Arnaghad's knees with Aard, trying to make him kneel, but Ivar used his Evil-Eye and predicted that, so he held Arnaghad up.

Arnaghad did not kneel, but his pride made him draw his blade, and he swung it at his brethren. The bad blood and grudge they had exploded into hatred, and the fights of the past bled into the present.

The battle began just like that. In the beginning, it was just the knightly witchers led by Erland and the revolutionists led by Arnaghad and Ivar. Elgar and the neutral witchers took up half the numbers, and they kept trying to stop the fight, but the violence was blind to everything. They were dragged into the mess by the people involved in the civil war.

The battle flared even further. The light of swinging swords, the illumination of magic, the sounds of battles, and screams of the fighters filled the courtyard. Four witchers, hidden in the mist and invisible to one another, stood on the walls, sighing as they watched the civil war unfold. The mist was unpredictable. They were but observers, and they couldn't change anything.

The civil war lasted for a day and a night. When dawn came, blood had drenched the icy ground. More than half the witchers in the order would not wake up again. Erland's group and Elgar's team won in the end.

Arnaghad led twenty supporters and two sorcerers and fled the castle, bringing with them two sets of Trial recipes. They went all the way south, arriving at the steep and dangerous Amell. To be precise, they came to a sculpted and almost obelisk-like mountain called Gorgon.

A Z-shaped wall stood in this place. Four towers and a few beautiful turrets were installed on the walls. Snow covered the fortress' walls.

"Haern Caduch." Arnaghad turned around to face his supporters, whose eyes were glinting brightly. Adamantly, he said, "From today onward, this is our home. We might have left the order, but we have to thrive as well. We will take requests and accept new blood, and we need a name to call ourselves. We are straightforward. We only take requests to survive. We will not be bound to any moral code. We are the most powerful warriors in the land of the snow. Our iron will is our most powerful armor. Nothing can harm or shake us. Henceforth, we shall be called the School of the Bear!"

The witchers raised their hands and roared. Only Ivar was looking around, hesitant. He once again saw the phantom knights on skeletal horses spreading war everywhere they went. Will the Bears fight those guys for us?

Felix was in the mist, and he cocked his eyebrow. Letho couldn't believe this. He had no idea the Viper School originated from the Bear School. Then they will split eventually. Ivar and Arnaghad do not share the same ideals.

The witchers in Morgraig, while victorious, were left with only a few members. Half died in the civil war, and Arnaghad took a batch away. Their faith in saving the people was hit hard. Erland shrewdly noticed that even though the ones who stayed behind said nothing, they still blamed him for fighting Arnaghad.

Things in Morgraig took a turn for the worse, and glory among the witchers soon faded. Erland knew that the land of dreams could never go back to its former state. Because of Alzur's destruction of Maribor and the slander and libel spread by the temples and sorcerers, the whole world despised witchers, making their lives harder than ever.

And then, one night, Erland led thirteen friends who shared his ideals and a sorcerer away from the castle. As Arnaghad went south, he went northwest, eventually entering the bay of Kovir and Poviss. He found Kaer Seren, a castle standing on the cliff overlooking the coast. It was another place Alzur and Cosimo used to conduct experiments in. They cleared the magical land of its skeletons and declared that they owned the place.

"Knights, do you remember the training we went through when we first became witchers?"

"Whenever you swing your sword or cast a Sign, think about the glory of witchers and our creed!" thirteen witchers, noble and proud, answered.

This was the teaching of Llewelyn, a wandering knight and their old swordplay teacher. The man who called himself Griffin had unwavering will, and he was a perfect example of the spirit Alzur talked about. He influenced the lives of many young witchers, but alas, the knight was only a regular human, and he'd passed a long time ago.

"No matter how times change, we shall hold on to the ideals of saving the people. One day, they will throw away their fear and rumors and thank us for our services."

Griffins were noble, loyal animals. Also, to commemorate the Griffin who taught them so long ago, Erland set up a school before his friends. "From here on out, this fortress, our home, shall be named School of the Griffin."𝑙𝑖𝘣𝓇𝑒𝒶𝘥.𝑐ℴ𝑚

Someone in the mist got excited. Coen's heart soared, and he sang the school's song of battle, though only he could hear it.

After Erland's departure, another group of witchers embarked on a journey without a destination. In the end, only Elgar and his twenty companions who chose the path of neutrality stayed behind in Morgraig. They stayed in the castle for years and searched for their brethren everywhere as they waited for Alzur and Cosimo's return. They hoped to see their brethren gather once more, but alas, their passion cooled down and was turned into disappointment.

On one certain day five years later, Elgar and his twenty brothers who'd stuck through thick and thin with him, marched into the northeastern part of the land, where Kaedwen's Blue Mountains stood. They found the abandoned fortress standing within the wilderness of the mountains—Kaer Seren.

"Brothers, we maintain a code of neutrality. We will not partake in any politics or wars between kingdoms. We only accept requests and slay the monsters that harm humans. We shall band together forever." Elgar looked at his brethren, tearing up. "Every time we turn our heads and call for our brothers, there will always be people walking with you. Like wolves, we will never walk alone. Thus, we are the School of the Wolf."

Vesemir watched his younger self swinging his fists around with Elgar. Tears spilled from his eyes, and guilt filled his heart. I'm sorry, Elgar. I let you down. The school went into a decline in the end.

In a place no one noticed, a half-elf that had gone through a mutation led a group of second-rate products on a mutiny against the sorcerers in Stygga, then they joined the faction of Aen Seidhe, serving the elves faithfully. They walked silently and with grace. Like cats, they were temperamental, and they called themselves the School of the Cat.

The golden age of witchers thus began. The mist blinked, and Roy followed Alzur, who'd destroyed half of Maribor, and Cosimo. They came to the ever unfurling Dragon Mountains and stopped in a hidden valley.

Chapter 582

Dragon Mountains stood in the northernmost part of the Continent, hidden in the mist. The legendary sorcerer, Alzur, walked into the depths of the mountains with Cosimo. They came to a silent, snow-covered valley hidden in a remote area.

Within the center of the valley stood a two-story tall black obelisk. Mana swirled around it, and there were no beasts surrounding it. Alzur wiped the snow off the obelisk's surface, staring at the complex, strange, and wriggling runes on it. "Not Elder Speech, not Northern Common Speech, nor is it Nilfgaardian language."

"That's the language of Dauk and Vorkers a thousand years ago." Cosimo looked at the map in his hands. "Geoffrey's notes wrote of the legacy of these extinct civilizations."

"Cosimo, can the secrets contained within really let me see Lylianna again?" Alzur had a vacant look in his eyes, and he was dazed. The reason he kept on living was so he could see his lover once more, but she had passed decades ago. Not even necromancers could revive her.

The djinn left behind by Geoffrey could only cast its magic on nearby targets, and it had a lot of rules to follow. It was far from omnipotent. It could not revive Lylianna, but there was another record left behind by Geoffrey, and it lit hope within Alzur's heart.

"Dauk and Vorkers were the first humans to descend upon this world after the Conjunction. They lived in the Dragon Mountains as neighbors and believed in a goddess named Niya. The goddess of the east and the demoness of night, Lilit. The runes they left behind were used by archeologists to create the infamous Curse of the Black Sun, condemning countless girls to damnation. However, these civilizations disappeared overnight more than a thousand years ago, including the goddess they believed in. There must be an incredible secret unknown to anyone hidden within."

Cosimo held up his belly and circled the obelisk, musing. He read the runes. "A Dauk blacksmith picked up a red star that fell out of the skies. Within the star, a voice spoke in the language of ancient gods. 'I can grant you any wish you desire, but I require a sacrifice in the form of fallen souls.'"

The mention of a wish stirred something within Cosimo and Alzur, but they were worried they might get disappointed, so they held their anticipation back.

"And so, the blacksmith picked a target from his tribe and struck him down, subsequently turning him into a sacrifice. Not too long later, his actions were found out. He and the star were destroyed by Dauks and Vorkers. Or did they seal them?" Cosimo stomped his foot. "That's all the obelisk says." The power that chased away all the valley's beasts was right before him. "But according to Geoffrey's appraisal, the civilizations were destroyed because of this meteorite, and it might be right under this obelisk."

Cosimo sadly said, "Alas, Geoffrey died because of a magical accident before he could explore the secrets of this meteorite, and he left his legacy to me, his student." Cosimo patted the listless Alzur's shoulder. "We've collected twelve sealed bottles before coming here. It's enough to deal with most emergencies. If we can find the meteorite and harness its power, perhaps we can grant you your wish of seeing Lylianna again."

*** 𝘭𝑖𝑏𝘳ℯ𝑎𝑑.𝒸ℴ𝘮

"This power destroyed two civilizations." Alzur hesitated. "What if its source is a powerful evil god or even a demon?"

"That's what I've been worried about. What we're about to do brings with it unpredictable dangers. We do not know if the thing we'll unleash is a box of wishes, or a crate of disaster." Cosimo said, "Fortune telling gave me no results. Whether we go on with it or not depends on you."

Alzur stared at his wizened, tired, but encouraging teacher, and he wanted to say something. For decades, Cosimo had been by his side, helping him, answering his doubts. He was Alzur's teacher and a father figure. He was Alzur's best companion in his experiments and his closest comrade.

"You do not have to say anything. You are my student." Cosimo patted Alzur's shoulder, then he stopped talking for a moment. A hint of sadness, for once in a hundred years, flickered on his face. "I do not possess your courage. I could never have summoned a myriapoda in a city like you did."

Alzur nodded. The feeling of despair returned once more, and he snapped his fingers. The snow underneath the obelisk was blasted away, revealing a flight of obsidian stairs leading downward. The sorcerers descended the stairs and pushed the black stone door at the end of the passage with their magic.

"Ilre," Alzur said. A ball of orange light floated over the sorcerers' heads, illuminating the chamber, showing them all its corners. It was a regular square chamber, and there were braziers in all corners, though they were dusty and covered in cobwebs. From the looks of it, it had been deserted for perhaps a millennium.

The light shone on the few vibrant, primitive, and rough murals. They were depicting some kind of sacrificial ritual. From the left, the first mural showed a group of barbarians in hide jackets and garlands holding up a huge platter filled with gutted grizzly bears, boars, and wyverns. They presented their sacrifice to a dark, naked woman in the center. Behind her was the depiction of a black sun. Sixty girls with golden crowns on their heads knelt around her, fallen in a river of blood.

The second mural showed a man holding up a diamond-shaped stone, then scores of holes opened up in the skies, releasing beams of crimson light. The red light shone upon the barbarians standing underneath a statue, and then they caught on fire. Eventually, they disappeared in the red light, leaving nothing behind.

Between the murals, a statue kept everything under control. She was curvy, seductive, gorgeous, and wore a golden crown on her head. A pair of goat's horns covered in runs protruded from her crown, and a pair of fangs were clasped over her lip, while a pair of batlike wings hung from her back. She looked like the combination between a higher vampire and a succubus.

Even though she was just a statue, there was captivating magic coming from her eyes. Any regular human would never be able to move their eyes from her once they had a look. But the statue had no warmth on her face. She was smiling, but it was a lonely smile, as if she was warning the intruding sorcerers.

The sorcerers would not leave, not when they were already at the end. They turned to the item sitting underneath the statue. An ebony box the size of a fist stood on the altar, and chains tied it down. After hundreds of years, the chains were already covered in dust and had rust on their silver surface. Despite the seals, the box radiated strange and powerful mana. The space around it collapsed and rebuilt itself from its influence.

The light and breaking space wove together a little domain that vibrated at a high frequency. The air around the box was rippling like the surface of a lake after it was kissed by a gust of wind. The box seemed to have a life of its own, shivering happily as the sorcerers watched it.

Rings of red light radiated from the box, and something formed in it. The chick of a falcon was trapped in its egg, struggling for life, shaking its body, but it couldn't break free. The chick chirped weakly, asking the sorcerers for help, but the sorcerers hesitated.

Roy, who was held by the mist, stared at the red light as well, and he felt a sense of closeness coming from it. It felt like he was looking at his twin, at his familiar yet unfamiliar reflection in a mirror. His heart, his soul, and his blood were shaking. Is that the Most High? The shard?

The light called out to him, but Roy held back his urge to respond. The sorcerers made up their minds, and a bright light of magic burst forth from their robes. The power of their minds, made into a pair of invisible hands by the element of air, flew toward the box, but before they could reach the statue, black light blinked, and an elliptical energy barrier appeared in the air, covering the statue and the box. Yellow bolts of electricity danced around the barrier.

The invisible hands were destroyed right away. The sorcerers exchanged a look. Alarm bells rang in their heads, and they stopped attacking. Once again, Roy saw something familiar.

Cosimo took a yellow porcelain jar out and took off its cap. The cap had a cross and an enneagram on it. Electric bolts swam around, and thunder roared. Then, a silver thundercloud appeared. The djinn extended its left claw at the altar of Lilit.

The air itself sizzled, and a purple bolt of electricity slammed into the statue like a meteor hurtling through the air, but the barrier reappeared, burning the lightning bolt red, halting its advancement.

The air screeched, and smoke billowed. Electric bolts writhed and thrust ahead at the black barrier like a viper, but they came to a stalemate. White-purplish and red lights filled the chamber.

The djinn opened its beak, letting out angry caws. It extended its right claw, and another bolt hurtled away at the statue. The barrier once again dispersed the impact to the space around it, and the chamber rattled, rumbling as if it were hit by an earthquake. Even the black box on the altar shivered violently.

The sorcerers quickly made gestures. Their rings and necklaces shone, and layers of shields appeared around them. The only one unaffected was Roy, the eternal observer. Lilit's statue gave him the same feeling he got from Freya and Melitele. This was a true god. She was the patron goddess of the legendary Dauk and Vorkers, but she was weak. Weaker than Freya or Melitele. Lilit felt like a mirage.

The barrier lasted for thirty seconds, and then an explosion rattled the air as the barrier shattered from the electric bolts' assault. Like a broken porcelain item, cracks appeared on Lilit's statue, and it quickly spread like a web. The statue shattered into pieces of debris, falling to the ground, and the box fell into silence.

The sorcerers had no respite, however. A great wave of energy surged forth. Black light appeared in the air, weaving a lifelike illusion in the air. The creature stood in the air quietly. She had horns on her head, a body that was to die for, and lips crimson as blood, but fangs glinted on her lips. Her eyes were as silver as the moon in the sky, and she looked at the sorcerers.

There was fury, despair, venom, and ice-cold power that could freeze the soul. An invisible wave of energy kept the sorcerers in place, and winds howled. Lilit opened her beautiful mouth, and a mysterious, dark, hate-filled voice echoed in the air, piercing the minds of those around, cracking their heads.

"Pot? piewórzpude? ko, dobrze umrze?!" A surge of black light, almost impossible to catch with the eye, pierced the djinn, and the elemental exploded. The remaining light charged at Alzur, but for some reason, Cosimo broke free of his bondage and held up a barrier, then he stood before his student.

The black light rammed into his body, and the old sorcerer shivered, his face turning red. The chains tying the box down were breaking up, and a ball of crimson came running out. It was like a petite octopus flailing its tentacles. The octopus pounced on Lilit and flailed its tentacles, its suckers crunching like mouths, tearing away at the goddess.

The illusion let out a scream of despair before it broke into pieces and disappeared. The octopus slowly waved its tentacles, floating around for a moment. There was joy coming from it, but more than that, it was listless and weak.

"What is this thing? A meteorite?" Alzur said, his voice trembling. He held Cosimo up, but he didn't move.

The little red thing was like a blob of jelly, it's almost transparent veins rolling around. It was almost adorable, and then the thing started knowingly at the witcher hiding in the mist.

Roy was shaken, and his character sheet glitched uncontrollably.

The little blob of red's tentacles fell limp to its sides, and then it fell to the ground. The light around it strobed, blinking in and out of existence, as if the thing would disappear soon.

Alzur's heart clenched up. He went ahead and scooped up the little red blob. The moment he touched the thing, the octopus melted into a puddle of mud and merged with Alzur, leaving nothing behind. Alzur closed his eyes, then he stood frozen in his spot, as if falling into a stupor. As if he were accepting some message.

"Alzur?" Cosimo held his chest, huffing and puffing. He leaned on the wall, still wobbling, and he looked at Alzur nervously.

A while later, Alzur opened his eyes. Confusion flickered in his eyes, but then he regained his composure. "Worry not, Cosimo. I have never felt better. It feels like I've been reborn." Alzur clenched his fists, a smile curling his lips.

"What was that light in the box?" Cosimo stared at Alzur's eyes, reconfirming that this was the same person he knew.

"The meteorite that's written on the obelisk, but it calls itself Most High."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Hard to explain. It now lives in my body and soul, akin to something like an appendage. It relies on me for survival. I can harness its power as I wish. Once it matures and awakens it's true power, it can, with a special way, realize all our wishes," said Alzur confidently. "But this involves the mystery of the Dauk and Vorkers' destruction as well as Lilit's fall. I will explain it on the way back."

"All our wishes? So Geoffrey's testament is right." Cosimo's voice was shivering, and his wrinkles seemed to wriggle. He bent over and coughed violently, clapping his hand to his mouth. When he removed his hand, there was blood in his palm.

"How do you feel?"

"That illusion was probably the image of Lilit, goddess of the east. She stayed here to seal the Most High you talked about. Because of our blasphemous actions, she cursed me." Cosimo frowned. "She's weakening me continuously, but it doesn't matter. I can still hold on."

The sorcerers tossed the shards away and left the underground chamber.

"We need some assistance. It requires enough nutrients, and we cannot collect it fast enough by ourselves."

"Let's meet some old friends, then. They deserve closure as well."

Chapter 583

In the snow-covered fortress of Haern Caduch stands a big courtyard and training field, but they were empty and quiet. Arnaghad, in his bear-hide cloak, stood silently like a thinker's statue. His icy face and chilly eyes had questions in them. Once, there were more than thirty Bears swinging their blades in the training field, but the merry situation only lasted a few decades. Now, there were only five Bears left in this castle. Aside from him, everyone else was outside, adventuring. Most of the Bears left this castle in spring years ago and never came back.

Arnaghad lost badly. The oath he made during the founding of this school now sounded like a joke. He couldn't understand. He followed the creed and didn't get tied down by emotions or morals. He took requests as he pleased. So why did his school decline so much?

"Don't you understand?" a dark voice said from behind.

Arnaghad turned around and saw a cloud of swirling mist. An unfamiliar witcher with grayish-green eyes appeared. He walked with the grace and balance of a cat. Arnaghad and the other witcher saw a familiar sense of forlornness in each other's eyes. The Cat School and the Bear School similarly broke apart.

"Who are you?" Arnaghad held his blade up, pointing it at the intruder.

Felix didn't answer. He asked, "Do you still not understand how or why your school fell into ruin?"

Arnaghad mused over it for a moment. He took one step ahead, and he shifted his sword from his left to his right. The point of his sword was trembling, and Arnaghad said, "Because of Ivar's betrayal. He gathered a group of traitors and ruined the school's future." And he injured me badly. That left a deep mark on his back, and even now, it didn't heal completely.

"You blame someone else for your failures, but have you ever wondered why he betrayed you?"

"Because he refused to be someone's second-in-command. I knew he was ambitious when I saw his eyes."

Felix shook his head. "You know about the creed you set for the school. Heartless and cold. In the short term, your members of course feel great. They have enough freedom and personal space, but the severely flawed Trial had sown the seeds of disaster long ago. Your members not only are heartless to strangers, but they feel no camaraderie among themselves either. Their lives revolve around nothing but requests. They do not cheer for their comrades' triumphs, nor do they mourn for their deaths."

Felix's eyes were flaring. Adamantly, he said, "You lack a sense of camaraderie. That is the soul of a team." He looked at the silver bear head's medallion hanging from Arnaghad's neck. "Aside from a cold, useless title, what does the School of the Bear bring for your members? Haern Caduch is nothing but a temporary abode for them. They will not find their true home here."

Furious, Arnaghad leapt into the air, pointing his blade at Felix, and he swung it down, drawing a silver line through the air.

Felix spun like a top, his blade spinning as well, drawing a silver ring around him. He dispersed most of the impact, and his blade slithered closer to Arnaghad from the momentum, eventually piercing his wrist.

Metal clashed. Arnaghad swung his greatsword around and around, winds blowing around him. He stirred up a storm. Like waves in a sea, his attacks crashed and crashed again. Felix was a lone wooden boat in that sea, swaying and sailing at incredible speeds along with the waves. He was plunged into dangerous situations multiple times, but the Cat kept his balance.

The battle raged for a few moments, then the fighters broke apart. Felix crouched a little, clenching the hilt of his sword slowly. His hand was getting numb, but he kept on arguing, "Arnaghad, the iron will and the armor of your heart you depend on so much are the biggest flaws you have. Without emotions, you can never show your true self to your companions. You will walk this life alone."

Arnaghad remained icy. Quietly, he swung his blade once more, but before his sword could hit, Felix disappeared. He looked around in a daze, and then a voice in his heart told him that the stranger was right. The advice from Alzur, Erland, Elgar, and Ivar rang in his mind. His erased emotions were his strength, but also his biggest flaw. Unfortunately, without any emotions, Arnaghad could never realize what it meant to feel. He could not turn back anymore. The School of the Bear was already broken. Even if he were to regain his emotions, nothing would go back to normal.

"Arnaghad. Finally found you." A dark, swirling square portal appeared in the air. Three robed figures appeared from the portal and landed silently. Magic swirled around them like light.

A handsome man with graying sideburns looked at him. "Come with me, my friend." Alzur smiled at his long-lost friend. "I shall help you regain your emotions and create a new Bear School. You will have the chance to patch up your regrets."

Arnaghad held his sword cautiously, staring at his creators in disbelief. He also looked at the man behind them. The man named Darren had a manic smile on his face. The creators. They're supposed to be dead, and yet they're still alive? "You abandoned us without a word, and now you want us back? What do you think we are? Pets? I'm not going back!"

In the east of Kaedwen stood the Blue Mountains. Within it was the fortress of Kaer Morhen. Vesemir was witnessing the growth of the Wolf School under Elgar's guidance. Every spring, the school's members would travel the northern lands, slaying monsters and taking requests. They remained neutral, not taking any sides in politics or war, nor did they break their moral code by taking any assassination requests just for coins. Yet they wouldn't stubbornly stick to the so-called creed either. The Wolves would demand payment depending on their mood and the fluctuating prices in the market. That helped them adapt to different lands. 𝑙𝑖𝑏𝓇𝘦𝑎𝒹.𝑐𝑜𝓂

However, they had a mandatory rule. Everyone, no matter where they were, must return to Kaer Morhen every winter, bringing the coins, items, and even children they gained from the Law of Surprise. They would share their triumphs and defeats with their brethren. The Wolves' casualty rate was always low. Unlike the Griffins, they wouldn't throw themselves into danger for their ideals. They wouldn't take any requests that were obviously beyond their capabilities, and they knew how to stay away from a lot of trouble.

Thanks to the warm surrounding and great camaraderie as well as the assistance from the sorcerer's Chord and Hieronymus, Wolf School quickly gained a hundred witchers, becoming the school with the most number of members.

And then the fateful day came. As the founder and master blacksmith of the school, Elgar, in a bid to make better weapons and armor for his brethren, left the school to travel the land, searching for master blacksmiths all over the realms. Six months later, he returned, weary but smiling warmly. In his knapsack were blueprints he spent a lot of effort making. Once he made armor and weapons out of these blueprints, his brethren would have a safer time adventuring.

However, his passion was quickly turned into despair. Despair worse than the falling out in Morgraig. The once bustling and noisy Kaer Morhen was nothing but ruins standing on steep cliffs, its walls torn down. The stair-like walls were torn in half, and bricks were strewn all across the ground. The barbican and city gate's remnants had black marks on them, proof that they were burned. The turrets had holes bored through them, as if they were hit by falling meteorites. Some were broken from the middle.

Elgar could accept this. He could always rebuild if the castle was gone, but if the people were gone, then everything he'd brought back would mean nothing. Elgar knelt before the gates of Kaer Morhen, where bloody corpses lay. He saw familiar faces among the corpses. They'd greet him every time they saw him.𝑙𝘪𝑏𝓇ℯ𝑎𝒹.𝒸𝘰𝓂

They were dead now. Their faces were covered in blood, their bodies cold and lifeless, but their eyes were wide open, the last remnant of their rage and dismay etched on their visage. More than nine out of ten people of Kaer Morhen were dead. The swordmaster was stabbed by swords and pitchforks. Young witchers held their bellies, leaned against the charred tree in the courtyard. They weren't breathing anymore, their dilated pupils still staring at the broken castle. Some of the corpses belonged to young children who hadn't even passed the Trial just yet. They were burned and electrocuted into cinders.

The witchers' corpses were strewn across the castle. Lying beside them were the corpses of peasants, soldiers, violent thugs, and some sorcerers. For one witcher corpse, ten bodies of their enemies lay beside them. Even so, that did not change the fact that Kaer Morhen was gone. Elgar buried his face in the mud, tears covering his gaunt cheeks. "What did we witchers do wrong? Why did they do this to us?" We've always been neutral! We only minded our own business! Why did this happen to us? "Why? Why? I should never have left!"

Regret and fury flared in Elgar's heart. He was the founder of the school, and yet in their last moments, he failed to stand with them and fight off the invaders. He would rather die valiantly in battle than live alone in this world.

"Elgar…" Vesemir stared at the broken school, the rims of his eyes getting red. Memories of that fateful day flooded his mind like waves in a sea, but they were pushed down.

His younger self was buried under the sea of corpses, unconscious. This would be goodbye to Elgar. He stared at the grandmaster and walked out of the mist.

Winds howled over the castle, and a diamond-shaped portal appeared. Four silhouettes leapt out of the portal and landed before the wailing witcher.

"Elgar." The voice Elgar vividly remembered rang out in the air. He looked up, his eyes still watery, but he saw a familiar face. "Come with us and end this monstrosity once and for all."

Sagely Cosimo, Idarran, and icy Arnaghad stood behind that man.

"It's been years, but you're still as weak as ever." Arnaghad shook his head. "Wipe your tears and make yourself useful if you're a man."

"They're dead. All dead. They can't come back anymore." Elgar wiped his tears.

"No." Alzur's eyes twinkled with light that shone brightly. "You have a chance to right this wrong, trust me."

Beneath the Dragon Mountains was the coast of Kovir and Poviss. Stars shone in the night sky above, while Kaer Seren stood silently on the cliff. It had a rough outline, looking like a beast devouring the stars' light.

A man in knight-like silver armor equipped with twin swords stood in the snowy night, listening to the waves crashing on the reef. He stared up at the changing stars silently, and memories that spanned a century filled his heart.

Under the guidance of valor, the Griffin School grew, despite the difficulties. The Law of Surprise was rare to begin with, and they were bound by a lot of noble rules. Not everyone could adapt to their teachings. More than a hundred years had gone by, but they only had slightly more than 60 members. Compared to the other schools, however, the Griffins had a great advantage. Their reputation was good, and the people gladly gave them requests and enough respect.

Erland could feel the oath he made slowly coming true. Alzur was no more, but the Griffin School inherited his will perfectly. He was confident that the world would eventually come to respect those who cut down the dangers that attacked humanity, just like how they admired the stars in the sky.

Hm? Erland cocked his eyebrow. The constellation of Centaurus, that stood brightly beside the silvery moon, suddenly shone crimson. Dangerously, bloodily crimson. The constellation hung over the castle overlooking the coast, and the red omen enveloped Kaer Seren. Something's wrong.

Horrified, Erland quickly made a blue Sign and shoved it at the castle behind him. A blue light charged through the air, and the rune shone bright. A screeching explosion rattled the air, spreading across the castle.

"That's the alarm!" Keldar, handsome though he had a long face, snapped out of his meditation. He roared as he ran out of his room, knocking on the doors nearby. "Get up! Danger incoming!"

Unlike most witchers, his eyes did not inspire fear. Instead, they twinkled with wisdom.

A burly, knightly witcher came out. His pupils were sharp. As he wore his armor, he asked, "What's the situation, Keldar?"

"The grandmaster sounded the alarm. Wake our brethren. We have to leave immediately!" Keldar shouted.

The witchers moved quickly, but orderly. Erland charged straight to the castle, but the ominous feeling in his heart hung heavier with every passing moment. His face was red, and he clenched his teeth. He quickly made gestures with both hands, holding them high over his head. A gigantic silver barrier of Quen expanded like a balloon, keeping the castle under its protection.

But it was too late. Something thundered in the night, and it rattled the air. The roar was a hundred times louder than the alarm Erland set off. The castle, the cliff, and the nearby sea were starting to shake. Behind the castle stood a steep, towering mountain. From beyond the skies, a terrifying roar came. The snow that had covered the Dragon Mountains for a thousand years, the snowy, ancient land on the slope, started to crack.

Like a tsunami, the avalanche rumbled down the sides of the gash. Faster and faster it went toward the ancient castle underneath the mountain. Hurricanes screamed, plunging the world into darkness, and the avalanche quaked the earth.

Erland stood before the castle, and he saw through the night. He saw white steam rising from the mountain nearby. Rising, rising, until it reflected the sharp moonlight, then it tore open a hole through the dark skies.

Endless snow galloped down the mountains like ten thousand stallions, bringing with it deadly chill and a destructive roar.

When the witchers saw what was going on, when Keldar finally gathered his brethren and came to their mentor's aid, it was all too late.

The snow tumbled off the cliff and fell like a torrential downpour, crashing into Kaer Seren without fail. The barrier Erland held up only lasted for a moment under the assault of nature, and it broke.

That night, beautiful snow tore off its mask, revealing the true, violent nature it had hidden for a thousand years. The castle was engulfed. Snow covered the plains, but it wasn't enough. It rolled off the cliff overseeing the coast and filled the sea, forming countless bizarre glaciers.

The snow rolled off into the sea along with the pale, foaming waves, taking with it more than sixty lives. The castle was mostly destroyed by the impact. The only thing remaining was the top of a tower jutting through the snow-covered tomb. Everything else was buried underneath.

The once vibrant, lively School of the Griffin was melded into the snow and turned into a great snow mountain overseeing the coast.

A long, long time later, one single hand pushed itself through the snow. It was Erland, and he was ashen. Like a madman, he dug and dug through the snow, but all he found were cold, lifeless bodies.

A few days later, the mountain behind Kaer Seren, which had grown more than a hundred feet taller, saw more than sixty graves dug in it. Erland had changed into traveling attire. He took out the journal he recorded his life's adventures and knowledge in. The grandmaster buried Liber Tenebrarum into the grave of Keldar.

Once again, he looked back at his destroyed home. Despair and agony flooded him like waves. His dreams, goals, and aspirations were destroyed once more. The grandmaster left, never to return.

Coen was in the mist. He watched everything, his eyes red.

Not too long later, a gash opened up in the mountain path Erland was taking. Five silhouettes landed before him. Alzur extended his hand, inviting the grandmaster to join him. Cosimo's face was blackened for some reason, but he smiled at Erland.

"Erland, my prized student. Join me. Your brethren have died in vain, but I swear I shall revive them."

Erland took Alzur's hand without hesitation.

Further down south in Amell stood Tir Tochair, home to Gorthur Gvaed. A great spiraling staircase adorned the conspicuous tower of this fortress. Ivar was crouched on the castle's walls. Beneath him was a moat a few hundred feet deep. Mist swirled over the moat, and the air was filled with the horrifying stench of poison.

When he looked at the starry sky above, his eyes that could see through dimensions showed him terrifying scenes. Lightning leapt across the skies like snakes. Again and again lightning slithered, but he heard no thunder. Then winds howled, and Ivar's fringe slapped his cheeks. A white ribbon quickly lit up the night sky, and it wriggled like a maggot.

Countless silhouettes appeared on the ribbon. They were vague and terrifying, but as they came closer, they got clearer. The knights had horned helmets adorned with feathers. They wore deathly gray masks, and the skin underneath was white as corpses. The skeletal steeds they rode wore gray, tattered rugs.

Winds howled, and lightning cut through the black sky. Hauntingly beautiful singing came from the ribbon, then the knights turned directions, coming straight to Gorthur Gvaed. The skeletal horses seemed to have crushed the walls beyond the moat easily. The king of the Wild Hunt was in the vanguard, charging straight ahead. It had a skull for a head, and its helmet was rusted. Greenish-gray flames flared in its empty eye sockets, and its tattered cloak billowed in the wind. Its necklace clanged against its rusty armor.

"Ivar Evil-Eye!" The king of the Wild Hunt kicked its horse's rib, letting out horrifying, arrogant laughter. "The Viper School belongs to us! They will join us and race toward the end of days!"

"No, you bastard! Give them back to me!"

"Then come at us. I await you in another world."

"I swear, someday I'll find your hiding place and tear you down, you bastards! I will make you kneel before me!"

A skeletal knight behind the king of the Wild Hunt took off its helmet. Its eyes were gray, and he stared at Ivar numbly. Something was flaring in its heart, but it was pushed down. A silver viper medallion hung around the knight's neck, gleaming. How ironic. Behind that knight were five more that had viper medallions hanging before their chests.

Ivar leapt, unsheathing his sword, and he swung it high in the air. The cavalry's illusion was cut in half, turning into smoke. The grandmaster landed, clenching his teeth and shivering in rage. Ever since the Viper School's inception, the Wild Hunt would come and take its members away once every few years. They seemed to have considered the school a place from which to steal new recruits. Time and time again, they took away Ivar's students.

The Wild Hunt was the Viper School's nemesis, but Ivar was powerless to stop them. He had the power to see through dimensions, but not the power to conquer them. Under the attacks of the Wild Hunt and the growing greed of the Southern empire, the Viper School was weakening. They would go extinct at this rate.

"Ivar." An icy voice snapped Ivar out of his rage.

"Arnaghad, you icy son of a bitch! You're still alive?"

"I am not going to die before I pay you back for breaking my school up," Arnaghad retorted.

Four figures came out from behind him. Ivar took a look, and his heart thumped. Elgar, Erland, Alzur, and Idarran showed up. Ivar rubbed his eyes, thinking he was seeing things.

"Stop that, Ivar. It's true. We're still alive." Alzur smiled at Ivar. "Come back. We shall rid you of your problem once and for all."

"You'll deal with the Wild Hunt? Are you for real?"

"I swear, in the name of my love." Alzur looked at the other witchers. "Do you see? Everyone has their own wish they want to be granted, but we must band together. This time, however, we will not rid this world of its monsters. We will no longer sacrifice ourselves for the laughable people. We will only do things for ourselves."

Chapter 584

Roy and the other witchers followed the blinking mist back to snow-capped Haern Caduch, hidden among the mountains. On the first floor of the castle stood an empty great hall. The ceiling was held up by multiple rough stone pillars, and sconces hung on their sides. The fire in the fireplace was crackling and burning brightly, illuminating the grandmasters and sorcerers around the table.

Ivar joined the team a hundred years after the first three. He missed a hundred years' worth of activities. With a conflicted gaze, he scanned his long-lost friends. The other witchers were still wearing almost the same clothes as when he last saw them, but time left some marks on them. They had scars on their faces and felt more storied, but aside from that, there wasn't much difference, though there was a hint of numbness on their faces.

Alzur, his mentor, was still as dashing as ever. He had not a single wrinkle on his face, but his hair was fully white, and his eyes had a tired look in them. Ivar smiled bitterly. "Like the gods' believers said, we're heretics cursed by destiny. That's why the schools we spent our lives making crumbled in the end. The members either die or leave. Our efforts were for nothing. In the end, we're alone."

"Are you trying to show off, Ivar?" Elgar heaved a sigh. He looked at Ivar enviously. "You're a lot luckier than us. At least your school has a legacy to carry on. My Kaer Morhen, Erland's Kaer Seren, and Arnaghad's Haern Caduch are barely left with anyone to carry on."

A moment of silence froze the chamber.

Ivar broke the silence. "Alzur, even you survived the disaster of Maribor. So why isn't Cosimo around?"

Alzur tensed up. The flames in the fireplace roared higher, the light illuminating Alzur's sad, forlorn face. "He left fifty years ago."

Everyone hung their heads low.

"What? But he's always been a healthy guy."

"He was cursed."

In their trip to the Dragon Mountains, Cosimo was cursed by Lilit's image before its death. Not even his modified body could take on the dark, powerful, divine power. He wished for a few more years of life from djinns, but he didn't make it to the end.

"I will fulfill his wish," Alzur said solemnly. Cosimo's dying message rang in his mind, stealing his resolve.

"What a shame." Ivar rested his cheeks on his hands. Forwardly, he said, "To be honest, Alzur, the old man was a lot more likable than you. Now back to the topic at hand. How are you going to help me deal with the Wild Hunt?"

"We're not helping you." Arnaghad shook his head. "We're helping one another."

"Aside from Idarran, everyone here has a wish and ideal so grand, not even djinns can fulfill," said Erland. "That's why we're gathered here, so we can complement one another."

"How are we doing this?" The witchers turned to Alzur.

"Ivar, what I'm about to say might be unbelievable, but I promise there's not an ounce of lie within it. A great existence is sharing a body with me. You may call it the Most High." Alzur was silent for a moment. "Once it matures, it will come into possession of endless power. Power that can fulfill all our wishes and patch up our regrets. I came to you because I need your Evil Eye to search for more food so it can grow quickly."

Ivar cocked his eyebrow and looked around. "Are you sure this isn't a joke? You sound like the fool who's been tricked by the devil in the bottle and the evil god from another dimension."

"You do not know of its power." Alzur extended his left hand at Ivar, and an eerie red light bloomed in the sorcerer's hand.

Ivar saw something horrifying before him. A round, bouncy, crimson octopus leapt out of the void. As it flailed its tentacles, it showed the witcher scenes that came out of nightmares. Ivar's eyes went wide, and his expression took on a look of horror. The monsters he'd killed in his career leapt out at him from the void around him, snarling. The people he killed were wailing and screaming as they clawed their way out of the bloody, bone-covered hell beneath him, dragging the witcher down.

They tore at his flesh and cursed his actions. Ivar felt his muscles tense up so much, they started to convulse. His pupils contracted, and sweat drenched his head. Mysterious power seeped into his pores, covering his nerves. He couldn't even move a finger. Ivar was like a pig slated for slaughter, and he could do nothing about it.

Alzur waved his hand, and the octopus leapt back into the void.

Ivar wiped his sweat off with his clammy hands. He breathed deeply and took a step back, putting some distance between him and Alzur. There was caution in his eyes. "This… Most High isn't a kind entity. It's shaped like something bizarre. Like an evil god born in the void. Its abilities are vicious. Horrifying. It can create nightmares from a person's past and use it to attack them. I almost fell. Honestly, I think it's using you to reach some kind of evil goal. You have to be careful, Alzur."

"An evil goal?" Arnaghad retorted, "Are you sure it's more evil than the thing that kidnapped your brethren and brainwashed them into pale, emotionless skeletal knights? Is helping the Most High worse than watching your own castle being burned down by the sorcerers, priests, and peasants? Worse than watching your comrades being buried under the snow and turned into icicles? Worse than watching your brethren stabbed a hundred times but you can't do anything about it?"

Erland and Elgar blanched. Bad memories were stirred up.

"Worry not. The Most High was in an extremely weakened state when it merged with me. I am still the dominant one here," said Alzur adamantly, red light strobing around him. "It cannot defy me."

Ivar hung his head low. A long while later, he shook his head, smiling. "You're right. Even a knightly man like Erland took your invitation. Thinking about good and evil is just adding unnecessary problems to my plate. If anything goes wrong, you guys are going to deal with it before I have to. If we can get rid of the blasted Wild Hunt, I'm in. So what is it about food?"

Alzur gave Idarran a look. Idarran got up and bowed to everyone like an actor. An excited grin curled his lips, then he approached the black wall on the east side of the hall. He brushed his gnarly left hand from up to down. Like an expert painter making a portrait, a golden oak tree appeared on the wall, connecting the ceiling to the floor. However, the tree had nothing but a trunk. It didn't have a single branch of leaf.

"The Most High's food comes in the form of human souls. The easiest and quickest way to gain souls would be to use forbidden spells and destroy a whole city. There'll be thousands of souls to harvest from a destroyed city, and Alzur possesses the ability to level a city."

Everyone was reminded of the time the myriapoda was summoned in Maribor. Its arrival meant destruction.

"Or we can create a plague. Those killed by the plague will be fed to the Most High. I have devoted my life to the field of genetic modification, and I think that's a good way to go," said Idarran proudly. "I say that's the best way. After all, the priests and sorcerers a hundred years ago claimed that the witchers created the plague that razed Vizima. They summoned an avalanche and destroyed Kaer Seren for that. We should play along and give them what they want, but alas, Cosimo disagreed. He thought that we should have a moral compass even though we're fulfilling our dreams. Alzur follows his teachings, and Erland refused to work with me as well."

Ivar heaved a sigh of relief. If Alzur had agreed, then he would probably have been taken over by the evil creature within him.

"And that's why we went the slowest, clumsiest way. War. War is the deepest evil humanity can provide this world. It's the most disgusting creation humanity has created, all for bloody politics. They'd kill their own brethren for profit. There's nothing to be guilty about if we harvest those kinds of souls." Idarran whipped out a porcelain bottle from his belt. A cross and enneagram was drawn on its cap. He tossed the bottle to Ivar.

Ivar was stunned for a moment, but he grabbed the bottle. It felt warm to the touch, and the residual chaos energy was making his medallion buzz. "To harvest faster, Alzur used djinns to strengthen his soothsaying abilities. He can predict the time, place, and rough number of casualties for every war that will happen on the Continent. The witchers, with their physical skills and alchemical tools, cross the battlefields and collect the souls of the dead."

Idarran brushed a finger down the oak tree, and a line of words written in Elder Speech appeared on the bottom of the trunk. There were times, places, and numbers. The line was like a branch on the tree.

"1150, 20,000…" Idarran read the numbers out loud, a little excited.

Ivar knew what the letter in the center meant. Dol Blathanna. He then realized that the numbers meant the year the war would happen in, as well as the number of casualties. "This is the legendary bottle of Geoffrey Monck? The one he sealed djinns in? Where did you get this?"

"Geoffrey was Cosimo's mentor. He left his student a record of some of his treasures' locations. Alzur spent a lot of time finding them, and he managed to gain about a dozen of them. The Most High is the existence that appeared in Geoffrey's last will and testament. Alas, we've used three bottles over a hundred years. We have to see the future again every few decades or so," Idarran explained, gesturing with his fingers. The light of magic kept adding leaves and branches to this tree of war.

"1170, Vizima, 12,000."

"1186, Tretogor, 5,000."

"1198, Oxenfurt, 1,000."

"1220, Kingdom of Kovir and Poviss, 5,000."

The witchers in the mist realized what was going on. This was the mural they saw in Haern Caduch. This was the answer they guessed, and it was right.

"If you've found a way to harvest souls, then why do you even need my eyes?" Ivar asked, confused.

"It's not enough," Alzur said grimly. "The frequency of wars that happen in this world is not enough to satisfy the Most High's needs. I require your ability to see through dimensions precisely because I want you to find wars that happen in other worlds."

"Other worlds?" Ivar was surprised. "But portals can't cross the barrier of worlds." That was why Ivar could never cross into another world, or he would've gone to Tir na Lia and brought the fight to the Wild Hunt's home.

"I cannot make any portals that can cross the barrier of worlds either." Alzur turned his attention to the magic bottle. "But djinns can help us cross to and return from other worlds."

That was what they did to Roy back in the castle of Cintra. They used Ivar's eyes and a djinn to exile Roy to Skyrim.

"Last question," Ivar said. "So what's everyone's wish? Djinns can help you regain your emotions, can't they, Arnaghad?"

Arnaghad shook his head. "They will also turn back the changes in my body, changing me into a regular man who's more than two hundred years old, but I will never give up my power."

Ivar nodded. As for Erland and Elgar, he knew what their wishes were. Darran was just here to help as a friend. He then turned to Alzur.

"This world, this era, is no place for me to meet the person I want or to fulfill the dreams I have," Alzur said. "But the Most High has the power to turn things back and grant us all the dreams we have."

"That kind of power exist?" Ivar said in disbelief. "Not even gods can do that."

"Just because our world does not have that kind of power does not mean other worlds don't. The parallel branches of the world tree are infinite. There will be one world that matches our wishes. That is as much as I can tell you. When the time comes, you will know the truth."

Parallel branches? Roy had an inkling of inspiration, but then the scenes changed once more.

Haern Caduch was gone. Three grandmasters cloaked themselves in black and stepped into an era of war without hesitation. Their figures cross through the lands of blood and fire, drifting across crimson seas and mountains made of corpses. Black balls of light flew out of the broken, mangled bodies. As if drawn by something invisible, the souls threw themselves into the box the grandmasters carried.

With Ebbing finally taken over by Nilfgaard, the empire in the South set its eyes on the Northern Realms. There weren't many wars, but skirmishes were plenty. A few mysterious figures would appear on the battlefields, moving around.

Ivar kept his eyes set on the changing skies. He saw different, bizarre worlds that did not belong to the realm he was in.

On a snow-capped peak was a kind of humanoid creature. It had green skin, long fangs, and muscles as big as hills. The creatures rode frostwolves, screaming something that sounded like 'Lok'tar Ogar!' as they battled soldiers in black armor.

On a riverside, fully-armed human soldiers were swinging their swords, fighting gurgling, slimy humanoid monsters with fish heads. In a mine, bearded, heavily-armored dwarves held up their hammers and axes, smashing fluorescent, humanoid fruits into jam. On a barren wasteland, a group of soldiers with barrel-like, long-ranged weapons and circular steel helmets were hiding in a ditch, pulling triggers and sending bullets flying everywhere. Ivar saw black machinery as clumsy as carriages, shooting streams of fire at the enemy camp. The flames exploded, and the air itself roared.

With the djinns' assistance, Ivar traveled to more than ten bizarre worlds, then he came back to the sewers of Maribor, holding souls that died in wars that happened in different worlds. Alzur controlled the souls and absorbed them. The crimson silhouette behind him grew and grew, until it was vast and soul-shaking. The Most High was nearing its matured state.

On a certain day in the year of 1260, Alzur had an encounter with a young and lovely lady in Maribor. She called herself Sasha Crawford, but her real name was Carthia van Canten. She radiated an air similar to Lylianna, so Alzur chatted with her. Unbeknownst to him, the Most High split a sliver of crimson light and swam into Sasha's body.

Then the mist rolled once more. The existence in the mist pulled Roy away from Alzur, then crimson tentacles shot out of the mist, pulling everyone into its depths. Only Roy followed Sasha. She went all the way south, eventually entering the village of Kaer in Aedirn. He watched as the woman stole a gold Gwent card from Jack the old captain. She rode on a horse and ran into a weak, dumbfounded, and bumbling village boy.

Roy saw a rickety wooden shack. It was his old home. Moore and Susie were taking care of the boy who the horse bumped into. Crippled by exhaustion, they dozed off on the sheet of hay beside them.

The unconscious boy, unbeknownst to everyone, let out one final sigh, and he drew his last breath. His legs went limp, and the last dregs of life flowed from his face. The boy was already a corpse.

'Roy

Age: 13 years old

Gender: Male

HP: 0 (Deceased).'

Impossible. Roy was shaken. I crossed two worlds and merged souls with Roy in this world, but he was already dead before I got here? Then where did I come from? Who am I? In disbelief, Roy extended his hand toward the icy corpse on the bed.

And then, for a moment, beautiful red flames flared in the void. As if an invisible gate had opened, slivers of crimson light leapt out of the icy corpse, and it fell beside the body like a ball of sponge, weaving and converging. A moment later, to the young witcher's horror, another Roy appeared beside the corpse. The boy was thin, had a clean face, big eyes, and regular lips. He looked just like the dead boy down to the last strand of his hair. The only difference was, this new body was breathing, and its heart was thumping.

The crimson flames roared and drowned the corpse, turning it into wisps of shards, then the shards disappeared into the air. The new boy took the place of the old Roy and became the son of Moore and Susie.

That was the current Roy. No. Impossible! The young witcher reeled in shock. He felt goosebumps flaring all over his skin, and every single strand of hair on his body rose. His soul was shaking, as if a shadow that loomed over the world and coming down on him, suffocating him.

I was nothing but a clone this entire time? I was a life form created by the Most High?

And then, an ear-piercing sound screeched in the air. It was the sound of shattering glass. Everything before Roy cracked and shattered like a glass panel.

Roy swayed, and everything around him spun. The mysterious mist that had gone on for a long, long time finally dispersed. Roy reappeared in a room that was warm as spring. The warmth coming from the room was intoxicating. It almost felt like he was back in his hometown. Every cell in his body was screaming in delight.

Yet… yet the decorations that adorned this room was a scene of horror. Uneven balls of crimson flesh formed its walls, and the red light coming from it illuminated every corner of the chamber. Roy then raised his head, and he froze, his eyes going wide.

Nine figures were embedded in the wall, forming a pyramid from top to bottom. On the top of the pyramid was Alzur. Beneath him was Arnaghad, Ivar, and Erland, though their eyes were closed as if they were asleep. The ones on the bottom of the pyramid were Elgar, Vesemir, Letho, Felix, and Coen.

The witchers were like insects stuck to spiderwebs. An endless sea of crimson tentacles drowned them, engulfed them, leaving only their faces visible.

A long sigh echoed in the room. "Roy, the final shard. In the end, you still came." Alzur looked worse for wear. His hair dangled over his forehead, and he laughed at the witcher, but there was despair, dejection, and resignation in his laughter. It was the laughter of a man who was eliminated from a grand race right before he could reach the end.𝑙𝘪𝑏𝓇𝑒𝑎𝒹.𝘤𝑜𝘮

Chapter 585

The chamber was like the insides of a heart, only enlarged by a thousand times. The heartbeats of its captives beat at the same frequency as the chamber. The witchers were all in deep sleep. The only one who could speak was Alzur, and he sighed at Roy. "This is the most impossible path, and yet it is the destined path. The power of the Most High led you here, where the end point resides."

Roy denied that claim in his mind. If he didn't do that, he might not be himself anymore. "I don't care what the Most High is. I came here of my own volition to find out what you're trying to do. Tell me, Alzur. What in the hell is this place?" Roy stared at the sorcerer. He'd watched Alzur's life that spanned a hundred years in the mist. The sorcerer's hair was white, and his face was covered in wrinkles. It hadn't been long, but he was a lot more wizened than he was in the scenes in the mist.

"This is the maze and cage constructed by the Most High. It's a cage for us."

A cage? Roy's eyes roved across the witchers. "What happened to them?"

"Worry not. They are well alive." Alzur shook his head. "Though like me, they're captives."

"From what I saw in the mist, you've had the Most High under control. Your hundred-year plan was coming to fruition. All you had to do was wait for the Most High to mature." Roy was perplexed. "So how did this happen?"

Alzur looked at Roy, a hint of fury flaring in his eyes. "I had the same conclusion you came to. I was ready to plunge into the new world, but I left one factor out of my equation: you. You came back, and much to my surprise, you were no regular shard. You weren't even a regular human. You are the piece that decides who will lay claim to victory in this game."

"What's this got to do with me?" Roy's heart skipped a beat. "I couldn't do anything. I was just an observer in the damn mist. Whatever I did could never affect reality."

"Don't you understand? You woke the Most High up."

Roy fell silent for a moment. He was reminded of the scene where the red light created the clone, but Roy shook his head, chasing that memory out of his head. He remained adamant about his resolve and changed the subject. "What is the Most High, Alzur?"

Alzur gave Roy a look of surprise. "Even when the end is nigh, you are still passing through the mist. I see you do not belong to it completely. You are not connected to its thoughts." There was something glinting in Alzur's eyes. Something called hope. With a tired, ancient tone, he explained, "The Most High was born before the descent of humanity from the Conjunction. Before the natives of this world, the gnomes and the elves had even risen to power."

"Then it is a unique existence. Where did it come from?" Roy asked.

"From sentient life forms. We created it." Alzur's eyes glinted. "And because of one reason you know. The Most High feeds on the souls of sentient life forms, especially the dark side of humanity. That's how the Cleansing Flame came to be. It was created to hunt. The Most High was born from humanity's arrogance, greed, sin, and fear. Through the consuming of humanity's pitiful darkness, it grew from a hatchling into a fully realized life form. At first, it would devour individuals that possessed twisted souls, then broken families, then towns clouded by darkness, then cities shrouded in sin, and then it would move on to consume a civilization ruled by negative emotions. Finally, it would consume a whole world."

Alzur paused for a moment. "Ever since the Most High started sharing a body with me, I've witnessed part of its brethren's terrifying activities. They would devour and purify anything they came in contact with. The birth, prospering, and decline of many civilizations are set in stone, because it decreed it so. Those who lost their sanity, those who begin wars, those who starve, and those who are driven by their desire, will slowly but surely cover any world in darkness, and that darkness is what strengthens the Most High. It feeds on that darkness, growing ever stronger. The more wars that happen, the faster it grows. Then, eventually, the Cleansing Flame descends and engulfs souls tainted by sin."

"So…" With difficulty, Roy asked, "That thing was the reason the Dauk and Workers were wiped out?"

"Yes. Both civilizations thrived from their sacrifices to Lilit, but those who were sacrificed had souls filled with negative emotions. The Most High captured those emotions, set its sights on them, and eventually purified them, wiping the Dauk and Vorkers off the surface of this world." Alzur had fear and respect on his face. "I'll never forget the scene it showed me. A beam of bright light will tear through a great hole in the skies. In the span of hours, that beam of red light will penetrate the earth, the sea, the plants, every living being, and even metal. It will spread across the world, and everyone will feel its existence. Should anyone have even a bit of darkness hiding within their hearts, they will be cleansed."

Roy's lips were trembling.

"To be honest, besides from unborn babies and infants, no one can escape the purifying light," Alzur continued. "Because negative emotions are a part of humanity. The difference is that criminals act on their darkness, while most people hide it deep in their hearts, never acting on it until the day they die. The flames slither into everyone's bodies, igniting the darkness within their hearts, using it as fuel to burn the flesh and soul of everything it touches, turning it into food for the Most High. The flame signifies the end of days."

"So that's the Cleansing Flame?"

"It does not just burn sin. It's powerful and heartless. Everyone has a darker side hiding in them, but that's a more complex emotion and a far cry from being a sin."

Roy fell silent. The Most High is something that ends worlds? It's a universal-level threat like the White Frost. "If the Most High is that powerful, then how did it get locked in a box?"

"You have to understand that the goddess of the East, Lilit, was stronger than Melitele in her prime." Alzur had a conflicted look on his face. He was reminded of his mentor who died from Lilit's curse. "Lilit witnessed her people and believers getting devoured and cleansed. She used all her divine power as fuel and severely injured the hatchling Most High, but she couldn't finish it off. Then, with the last dregs of her strength, she sealed it under the ground for a thousand years."

"So you and Cosimo released it?" Roy had a conflicted look on his face as well.

Alzur nodded, sighing, but he had no regrets. "Cosimo was right. It's a box of infinite wishes, and a crate of disaster. We paid dearly for our actions." Cosimo died, while he himself was turned into a captive.

*** 𝘭𝒾𝑏𝓇𝘦𝒶𝘥.𝘤𝘰𝑚

"So you're saying the Most High is the devourer of civilizations and bringer of untold death and destruction." Roy scanned the faces on the walls. He still remembered the wishes the grandmasters had. "I do not understand. How can it grant you your wishes?"

"You should have a guess at this point, Roy." Alzur said, "Think back on your experiences and the scenes you saw."

"They were all real," Roy said. "The birth of the grandmasters, the creation and destruction of the order, the founding and decline of witcher schools, and the reason you destroyed Maribor. Was that the past we saw?" Roy asked. "Is time travel another power of the Most High, besides Cleansing Flame?"

"What you saw was what happened to me, and these four. The stories were untouched. You are approaching the truth now." Alzur rasped, "Before anything reaches its end, it always has endless possibilities. Some might lead a story to a similar end, but some might turn everything on its head. Every element in the multiverse forms the trunk of the world tree, and every possible ending will split into branches on the same level on the tree's trunk. These branches are infinite in numbers. Some are close to one another, while some stand on the opposite side of the tree, leading to different outcomes."

He looked at the unconscious Erland beneath him gently. Erland was smiling, perhaps because he was immersed in a nice dream. "For example, when I first met Erland's mother, her conscience would've screamed at her, and she wouldn't have sold him to me. Erland would then keep working on the ship as a regular sailor or pirate. Eventually, he would marry someone and raise a family like most people. That branch would have a lot of leaves growing on it."

"No," Roy interrupted, "With how temperamental Erland was, the other pirates would've killed him off sooner rather than later."

"Which is another possibility, yes." Alzur turned to Ivar and brought up another possibility that was far removed from reality. "Ivar would've gone through the Trial like he did in this reality, but his evil eye would not have awakened. He would not have been troubled by visions of the Wild Hunt, thereby losing his reason to start the Viper School."

Roy fell silent. If that was what had happened, Letho, Serrit, and Auckes would have been long gone by now.

Alzur then turned his attention to the similarly sleeping, but tense and icy Arnaghad. "He might have gone through the Trial without any complications and retained his emotions. The order's conflict regarding the difference in ideals wouldn't have escalated so quickly. Perhaps the order could have survived longer." Then he looked at Elgar. "And perhaps on the day he left Kaer Morhen to look for armorers, he would have a change of mind and stayed behind to face the threat of extinction with his brethren."

"As for myself…" Alzur's eyes shone. "On the day I met Cosimo, I would've refused his invitation and never embarked on the path of magic. I would've remained a naive, reckless knight. I would've ignored the everlasting problems of humanity and monsters and stayed with her instead. She would never have been killed by that ghoul, and we would raise a big family together. Then we would grow old as a couple."

There was longing on Alzur's face. After going through a whole lifetime and facing accolades and curses, the sorcerer finally knew what he truly wanted.

Roy took a deep breath. "Those are nothing but conjectures. They do not exist in reality."

Alzur's eyes went red. He turned to Roy and adamantly said, "This is the truth. We live in a multiverse that encompasses every possibility. Like the examples I brought up, everything we face can have different outcomes, and those outcomes are what create parallel timelines."

Parallel timelines? Roy's heart skipped a beat, and his eyes glinted.

"These timelines, compared to ours, are different. Some might be in the past, some might be in the present, some might have gone further into the future, forming branches of different heights on the tree. Some are developing slowly, their leaves just breaking free of the branches. Some are going at their own pace, bearing fruits when they desire. Some developed too fast and wilted away. Some grow at the same rate, showing no difference between timelines. Some ran into great change halfway through, leading to a completely opposite result compared to the original timeline."

"So these timelines happen simultaneously but in different spacetimes, and some lead to different endings?" Roy rubbed his chin, and realization struck him. "So everything I saw in the mist happened in actual timelines, just parallel to ours?" So that's why the people I killed had souls.

"Yes. Those were the similar timelines I and the grandmasters have experienced, but they belong to different worlds. That's why even though you and your companions saw the same scenes, you couldn't see one another. No matter what action you took in those timelines, the next scene would not be affected. Every time the mist reappeared, it would take all of you to another parallel timeline."

Multiverse and parallel timelines. Roy held his breath, sweat drenching his forehead, and thoughts ran through his head. Could it be that the world I am in belongs to a parallel timeline? That would explain all the weird happenings. In some worlds, Alzur and the grandmasters are already dead. In some, Roy does not exist, or he's just a regular farmer boy.

"In these parallel timelines, some took the path they desired, some ran as usual, while the rest took up awful routes. In this timeline, I'm held captive by the Most High, which means there must be a timeline where I still control it. In this timeline, Cosimo died because of Lilit's curse, but in another timeline, he must have survived." Alzur looked at the ceiling covered in bloody tentacles, as if he could see brilliant sunlight behind it. A smile curled his lips.

Loudly and with passion, he said, "Roy, there must be a timeline where all our dreams come true. Where everything happens as we wish them to. That is what I seek. A perfect world that belongs to me. A perfect world filled with endless dreams."

He wants to find a perfect world in all these parallel timelines. A big and special dream. Roy was shaken, and he was at a loss for words. "So the Most High can cross parallel timelines as it pleases?" That's similar to the power of the Elder Blood, but the Elder Blood can only cross into worlds contained in the same timeline, while the Most High can cross to parallel timelines.

"The Most High is something that perches over the world tree. It can leap between branches as it pleases and even control them. Do you think it'll stay in a world it has devoured and wait for life to take root and restart the next cycle?" Alzur shook his head. "It'll leap into another parallel world to devour and cleanse and restart the cycle. Parallel worlds are infinite, and the Most High is eternal," Alzur declared.

The whole chamber thumped, as if something was about to awaken.

"When it first escaped the ebony box, it was at its weakest, and I swooped in at the right time. I had control over it," Alzur said, a little self-deprecating. "Time means nothing to the Most High. A hundred years is nothing but naptime for it. My plan was to raise it to maturity and use its power to transport everyone into their perfect worlds and merge them all into one timeline, and then I shall break my ties with the entity. Everything you saw in the mist were the most vivid memories everyone had. Those memories happened in the infinite parallel timelines out there. They're our reference for the search of our perfect world."

Roy paused for a moment. Can that really be the way for the grandmasters to gain their happiness? Are the friends and family in the parallel timeline really the ones they know? This was, of course, a great placebo for those who desperately needed salvation.

"The timeline we're in is where Cosimo and Lylianna were born. I had no plans to let the Most High devour it. For the longest time, it could not defy my will. It remained dormant, snoozing off all the time. However, as it grew, I felt my grasp on it weakening, and I had to give all my power just to barely come close to the finish line. Just when we thought we were about to win, you came."

Alzur stared at Roy, sighing. "You're the last straw, roy. You ruined our plans when we were this close to completion. You're the key for the Most High's full awakening. The stakes that tip the scales in the Most High's favor. Your sudden approach resulted in my abandonment. The Most High pushed me away. Perhaps when it finally merges with you, it will destroy this world and leap into another timeline to start the next cycle."

"No! I did nothing!" Roy roared. "I'm not the key! I'm not a part of this!"

"Even after all I've said, you still don't understand?" Alzur said, too calmly. "The real Roy died years ago in Kaer. He died on the day of that accident."

Roy felt his blood freeze, and once again, he was reminded of that image he saw. The boy drew his last breath, but the red light created its clone right beside the corpse.

"This has all been its plan. The Most High recreated the body, mind, and soul of the dead boy, and it created you. It knows of your impulses. It knows how to drive you forward using your desire and curiosity. It knows of your longing for the Elder Blood and the endless worlds. That's how it managed to predict your actions. It set you up, manipulated you, and kept you out of my line of sight until the time was right to reunite. It used you as a timer to decide the right moment for the puzzle to be pieced together. That's why you came today, at this moment, right on the cusp of its maturity. It led you here to wake it from its slumber, right when we were about to ascend to our perfect world."

Roy tensed up and roared defiantly, "No! Everything I did, I did of my own volition! No one can control me!" Before he knew it, he was already covered in sweat, and a chill ran down his spine.

"No. You just refuse to accept the truth, but at this point, you have to acknowledge something. You are a part of the Most High." Alzur gazed at Roy, and he enunciated, "You are the shadow of divinity."

Chapter 586

I'm the shadow of divinity? The shadow of the devourer of civilizations? Roy was in a daze, thunderstruck, but then, inexplicably, he felt something within him loosening up. Something that had been locked for a long time.

Before he could think deeper, the whole chamber started rumbling violently. The infinite tentacles on the walls contracted and collapsed like quicksand, quickly devouring their captives.

"Stay true to yourself, Roy." Alzur was getting drowned out by the crimson wave, but stubbornly, he kept shouting and screaming, "Don't let it assimilate you, or you'll lose everything!"

The legendary sorcerer's honestly tipped the scales in his favor as well. Roy held his sword with both hands and leapt into the air like a hunting cheetah. He swung his sword down in a straight line. Crimson light burst forth, conjuring a red crescent, and the crescent cleaved a bloody gash on the walls. Hundreds of entangled, wriggling crimson tentacles were sliced in half, and they fell to the ground.

But not a single drop of blood came out, nor did the entity scream. The sliced tentacles melted into the ground like snow. The gash on the wall was quickly filled in by more tentacles. Roy quickly made some Signs. Blue and red runes appeared on his palm. Purple bolts and scorching flames whizzed through the air, crackling and sizzling.

The elements crashed into the collapsing wall, and then crossbow bolts hurtled across the air. However, no matter how much Roy swung his blade, shot his bolts, or cast his Signs, it was futile effort. The crimson chamber was unhurt in the slightest, and the captives were gone without a trace.

The rumbling came to a stop, and the tentacles stopped wriggling. The sound of heartbeat was gone as well. Only silence remained. Eerie silence.

Roy was alone. Feeling spooked, Roy frowned. Unease and danger were prickling him, giving him goosebumps. It was as if countless eyes were hiding behind the walls, staring at the young witcher with judgment.

Roy took a deep breath and looked around, his senses tightly locked on his nape, the hardest spot to defend. Quickly, he made Signs, covering himself with golden and black barriers. Underneath him, a kaleidoscopic ring of Yrden glinted and glimmered. He uncorked his decoctions, downing ekhidna's decoction, Thunderbolt, and Petri's Philter at the same time. Black veins crept up =his neck, eventually taking over his face, but it was of no use. The Elder Blood was still screaming, and the sense of danger did not abate in the slightest.

Something popped. It was almost quiet, but Roy heard it. On both sides of the towering wall before Roy, swirling holes appeared. There was not a sliver of light in those holes. They were as dark as a moonless night sky. The silent void attracted Roy's attention, and he felt the air of chaos pouncing at him. It was like a gigantic creature, bending down and huddling its face closer to a narrow little cave to see what was inside.

The creature spun, taking all of Roy's attention. Every time it spun, a flood of information would overwhelm Roy's mind. He saw green planets hanging in the endless void of space, and he saw scenes showing creatures of every race battling. Humans, dwarves, elves, gnomes, fungi people, and beastmen swinging their weapons and blasting magical energy away on the battlefield. These were wars. Battlefields filled with blood, death, and horror.

When the wars reached their peak, a titanic, horrifying crimson octopus came out of the void, flailing its tentacles. Every single one of its tentacles was gigantic enough to blot out even the sun. The creature wrapped its tentacles around the planet, sucking and slurping away. Humanity was devoured, and beasts grew in abundance on the planet. The greenery turned into something lusher.

Having satiated its hunger, the creature let go of the planet. Like a jellyfish in the ocean, it swam away, red light strobing around its body, and it leapt into the next universe. The darkness of humanity was purged from the planet. Civilizations were devoured and destroyed, but thousands of years later, human civilization would be born again. This was an endless cycle. Feeding on them was the Most High's instinct and duty.

The darkness blinked. The monumental creature just blinked. It opened its eyes, revealing a pair of gigantic crimson peepers. The creature looked around, its eyes red as perfect rubies, then it met eyes with Roy, and the creature radiated a certain emotion called joy. Like endless waves on a sea, the creature's joy crashed down on the witcher's numb little heart. Every single cell cheered for the reunion. The witcher relaxed, holding his blade in a more eased up manner. A small smile curled his lips.

The creature behind those eyes and Roy were like long lost mother and son, or a pair of identical twins who were reunited after years apart. Roy's worry, concern, and caution melted away. A loving voice called out to him, like a mother calling out to her son. Roy let his guard down.

"Come back. Come home…" And be one. This is the immutable truth. The dark fate you cannot defy.

Drowned in warmth and joy, the witcher took a step toward the monster. A pair of tentacles shot out from left and right, wriggling in the air like titanoboas slithering among bushes. The tentacles wove their ends into a small platform. Roy stepped onto it and was taken into the air, until he was standing between the great creature's eyes.

A long slit spanned the chamber's walls, but as the witcher came closer, the slit opened up, forming a deep, dark maw. It was like an abyss, and ancient winds of chaos came blowing out of it. Every incisor on the maw was glinting crimson. The maw remained open, waiting for the witcher who was lost in his joy to fall into it.

Winds ruffled Roy's hair, but the witcher didn't notice. He leaned ahead, letting the tentacles take him to his death.

The endless darkness within the maw sprang to life. A blob of black goo pounced on the witcher, enveloping half his body. Ripples spread from the center of Roy's body, and the witcher was like a piece of obsidian getting thrown into the sea.

This was a process of cleansing. All of Roy's memories, including his status, name, his family (Susie, Moore, Mino), his friends (Letho, Vesemir, and more), his lady friends (Coral, Triss, and Casiga), were thrown deep into the abyss, disappearing as they fell into its depths.

The countless consciousnesses devoured by the Most High resided in the depths of this darkness. They cleansed all feelings and returned it to chaos. Then, the consciousness of the Most High surfaced, gaining strength with every passing moment. At its core, the Most High was a ball of impulses. A ball that felt only hunger. It must feed. It must feed on greed, selfishness, arrogance, and weakness. It must feed on humanity's darkness.

The entity would devour this planet, all its civilizations, and sentience, even if one of those sentient minds was itself, a clone named Roy. It would devour Roy's character sheet and the boiling Elder Blood. Everything would return to chaos.

A voice screamed. And new life will come from destruction! A new cycle shall begin! The voice rang far and wide.

No! The maw was almost done devouring Roy. Only a pair of feet remained, but the feet froze. And then, a flowing, roaring explosion blasted through the chamber. Glimmering starlight shot into the air, and endless stars twinkled in the void behind the witcher. The grand light of the galaxy filled every corner of this bloody chamber, forcing the bloody eyes to close themselves.

The light slammed into the darkness swallowing Roy. As if it was burned by holy flames, the maw let out an ear-piercing screech, and it abated like waves going back to the ocean. Roy was spat back out, and he fell to the ground head first.

His clothes were devoured, revealing his scalded skin beneath. Most of his body was corroded, leaving hideous holes and gashes. The witcher's muscles, veins, and even bones were exposed to the elements, but his head was the most horrifying thing of all. It was like a ball of dough, and his features were kneaded together. Without a mouth, he couldn't make a sound. Without his eyes, he couldn't see what was before him. There was only white nothingness. His limbs were bent at unnatural angles, as if they were made of rubber. His back was slightly hunched, and he was wriggling on the ground like a maggot.

He didn't resemble Roy at all, but the galaxy hanging above him draped him in a layer of magnificent colors, and he raised his head. Despite having no face at all, he stubbornly, furiously, hysterically screamed at the Most High. At the eyes and the bloody maw on the wall.

"He thinks the Most High created me? He thinks I'm your shadow? A worthless appendage and a marionette who can't control my fate?" The mangled Roy screamed silently with all his might. With all his soul. "No!"

Even identical twins would grow up to be vastly different people depending on the environment they grew up in. Eventually, they would end up as two different, independent entities. They might live their whole lives never meeting each other.

"And I'm Roy." The melting body was wriggling even more violently. The entity could hear the voice of Roy's heart. In response, its eyes went wide, and they looked like two crimson full moons hanging in the sky.

The tentacles lashed out at the air, stirring the galaxy up. Winds of chaos shot out of the dark maw, keeping the witcher pinned on the ground, forcing him to submit. An ancient voice, carried through endless time, spoke to him. There was doubt and admonishment in that voice, but all Roy felt was motivation.

The roaring Elder Blood was not the only thing helping him in his fight against the Most High. All his emotions stood with him too. Sadness, delight, fury, everything good and bad, everything he gained from his experience. Be it monster slaying, cold-blooded murder, his adventures in the Northern Realms, and the discovery of the truth behind so many mysteries… All the memories he had, all the experiences he went through made him. It made Roy unique. It made sure he remained true to himself and would never be assimilated.

Roy took his stand, declaring war at his erstwhile creator. "From the moment I descended on Kaer, from the moment I made my first choice, I no longer was tied to the Most High. The trace you left became my power. It became my character sheet! I am not you! I do not exclusively go after the darkness of mankind. I accept everything. I devour everything that stands in my way, but I do not destroy civilizations! I am a traveler who has gone through time and space!"

The vibration of his soul blasted through layers and layers of obstacles. It echoed through space, rumbling it.

The light of curiosity flared in the eyes of the Most High. Liquid crimson flames were rolling within them, as if challenging Roy to prove his worth.

"I am Roy! A witcher of the Viper School!"

'Level 13 Witcher (20500/14500)

Do you wish to level up?'

Yes!

'Level 14 Witcher (3000/16500 [3000 EXP taken away from the act of guarding your soul]).

You have leveled up. Your health and mana are replenished. All negative statuses cleared.

You gain (1) skill point and (1) stat point.

Will: 34 → 38 (+2 to main stat. +1 from the remaining stat point. +1 from stat point gained through level up).' 𝓁𝘪𝘣𝘳ℯ𝒶𝘥.𝘤𝑜𝓂

Crimson flesh started to grow on the broken, melted body. They wove themselves into new pieces of flesh, and skin grew over it. The bent, broken bones were cracking and growing and getting straighter, returning to their original state. The merged features started stretching out, revealing silver eyes and tightly pursed lips.

In less than one fraction of a second, a determined young man stood up, barely wearing anything. In his hands, he held his swords, but that was not the end of his change. Far from it.

Aerondight, Gwyhyr, and Gabriel all leveled up as well.

'Massacre Level (9 → 10)

Bloody Aura: Any attacking enemy that comes within 3 meters of you has a 20% chance to be Feared by the aura of murder. If their Will is not higher than yours, they will lose control of their bodies for 3 seconds at most.

You gain a permanent (30 → 45)% damage increase to creatures you have hunted before.

Fear: You may cast this skill and Fear single, multiple, or all targets within (3 → 4) meters around you and mandate a Will check. If their Will isn't stronger than yours, they will lose control of their bodies for (3 → 4) seconds at most. 1 minute cooldown.

Note: This skill will level up as you kill a higher number and species of creatures.'

'You now have 30 points in Will.

Massacre has reached Level 10.

You have awakened a new branch of power.

Descend: Your will has shattered the walls between reality and fantasy. Once you activate this power, you will unleash your murderous will in its full state. The power of your will shall gather your emotions, desires, fighting spirit, all your skills, and the strength of your body, turning them into the form of the Most High.

You may use all abilities of the Most High as you wish and break all limits. This form costs 10 souls/EXP per second. You may exit this form anytime you wish. Once your EXP reserves fall below 10, you will exit this form automatically. A long refractory period follows the usage of this form. You cannot use this form again during this period.'

Activate. Roy felt a surge of burning warmth coming from within his body. Strength filled his heart, and it roared down his limbs. The moment that familiar energy came rushing out of his pores, Roy almost screamed with ecstasy. He felt like he was floating in the void, and crimson energy was swimming within his body, shooting out like streams of fire burning brighter and brighter. The crimson flames wrapped around his body, flailing around like tentacles. Within this ball of flames, Roy ballooned and changed his form, turning into a bloated, oval-shaped creature resembling an invertebrate.

Beautiful star-shaped tattoos covered his skin. This was the power of the Elder Blood. His eyes burned with silver flames, and his tentacles drew a crimson sun above his gigantic head. The tentacles flailed, and they fired off roaring flames into the distance.

Roy had changed into the Most High, floating in the void, radiating starlight and crimson illumination.

And he pounced.

Chapter 587

There were still people in the room filled with fluorescent plants, and then the ground rumbled, shaking the group standing right outside the ouroboros door.

"What's going on?" Lambert pointed his sword at Idarran, who was bound in dimeritium chains. He saw a hint of excitement and fanaticism flickering on the treant's face.

"Alzur is nearing success!"

"Explain!"

"I told you. The Most High has reached maturity!" he shouted. "The whole world shall be turned on its head!"

Kiyan, Eskel, Coral, Kalkstein, and everyone else felt their hearts squeezing up. They were worried about their comrades, all of whom were still inside.

"Where's Roy?" Eskel asked, cutting off another of Idarran's wooden arms.

Idarran only gasped and winced a little. "Are you ready, people?" His mushroom eyes roved over the group. He held his pain down and roared, "Bear witness to a miracle!"

A long, everlasting wail echoed through the air, and then, an eerie red light followed. The light revived the nightmares hiding in everyone's hearts. Horrified, they covered their ears, and they tensed up.

The ground and walls were rumbling more violently than before, shaking like a raging sea, as if some titanic creature were shaking the outer walls of the sewers they were in. Shockingly, the ouroboros door sprang to life. It lay on the ground and was dragged backward. Like a python slithering out of its hole, the door left a deep, wide trail filled with crushed boulders and scalding hot smoke.

The white light of dawn shone behind the living door. The elements were pelting down on Maribor's old city area. The sewers that had been standing strong for centuries now had a great hole bored through them.

A creature the size of a mountain was curled up outside the hole, red light shining around its body. The people hiding within the chamber couldn't see the creature in its entirety. All they saw was the door dragged by the creature swiftly turning into a pair of crimson tentacles.

What happened next almost killed them with horror. The tentacles split up, revealing a bloated head. One crimson eye the size of a palace opened up on that head. Burning, sawlike crimson light was embedded around the rims of that eye. It hung in the air like a burning red sun, and it unleashed a sea of nightmares to the world around it.

A black, sharp line appeared underneath the eye, and then it opened up wide, eventually turning into a bloody maw as black and dark as an endless abyss. The creature let out another voice akin to the song of a whale, then the sewers shuddered, the ground rumbled. What little clouds were left hanging in the gray skies overhead ran away in terror. The creature's voice could penetrate everything easily. It charged straight ahead at the wall before it and slammed into the city of Maribor.

The time was dawn. The people of Maribor were still sound asleep, but they woke up with a start and pulled their clothes on tightly. Quickly, they went to their windows to see the commotion that was coming from the old city area, and what met their eyes horrified them.

A towering crimson monster was hovering over the ravine in the broken area. The ravine left by the nightmarish myriapoda a hundred years ago. The monster floating on it was obscenely gigantic, taking up the whole zone. It was like an octopus, but the tentacles that were supporting its body numbered far more than eight, and each of them was more than 100 feet long. The tentacles wove themselves into a crimson shadow underneath the monster. If the monster so wished, it could open up its tentacles and cover the whole city easily.

Blinding, ominous red light shone from its body, painting the skies above in bloody red. It scared the people. The sky looked like something evil and demonic. The skies could shatter and collapse at any moment, raining down on the city.

"Gods, have mercy on us! Save poor Maribor!"

Stricken by fear, the people of Maribor prayed silently. Some packed their possessions, ready to escape the city. Some fell unconscious from fear. Some huddled with their family, shaking in the corner of the walls, awaiting their demise. Even the soldiers of the city did not dare come close. They paced around the city gates. Their armor and weapons meant nothing in the face of this colossal creature.

Kalkstein was at the entryway of the hole, the light of magic shining on his robe. He hurled a string of fireballs at the monster's head, but they were all doused out right away like crushed fireflies. "That giant squid in Flotsam is just a maggot to this thing. How are we supposed to win this?"

Coral looked icy. She quickly tied her hair in a ponytail. "We're fighting it one way or another. Roy, Vesemir, and Letho are in there."

The witchers quickly unsheathed their weapons and covered themselves in the golden barrier of Quen. They were solemn, and their medallions were buzzing. Without hesitation, they leapt out of the hole and approached the gigantic monster before them.

"Fools. This is the Most High." Idarran, still locked in place, stared at the leaving group. He looked up at the great creature before them, and a hint of fanaticism flared in his eyes. "The devourer of civilizations and bringer of the world cycle!"

The monster hanging in the air shot a tentacle across the battlefield. It hung in the air for a moment, then it swung down like a giant red bat. The ground was crushed, and dust flew into the air. Idarran, still in awe, was crushed into splinters, and it died.

The tentacle landed on the ground, and the prairie of Maribor shook. Even the walls were shaken. The houses started to rumble, and the people held their breaths. A ravine more than 30 feet deep spanned across the ruins. Corrupted, crimson flames tore through the dust like a dragon rampaging through broken land.

The vines, alder trees, and bushes burned. The debris that was sent flying into the air from the impact fell like meteorites, arcing down to ground. Part of them flew into the city of Maribor, crushing multiple houses in an instant. The flames on the meteors were like leeches. Some unlucky sods were infected by it, and before they could even scream, red light shone from every hole on their face, and they were burned into nothingness.

Screams filled the air of the city.

Some meteors fell onto the witcher and crashed into their barriers. The light on the barriers went dim. Kalkstein and Coral were shaken. Their mana recoiled, and blood trickled from their noses and mouths, but the meteors were deflected eventually. Then, as if struck by lightning, everyone stopped in their tracks.

Before the gigantic creature, a ball of something that resembled it was moving at lightning-fast speed. That ball was not even a hundredth of the monster's size, though it was more vibrant. There was a layer of starlight on its crimson skin. The creature hung in midair, expanding and contracting like jellyfishes in a sea. It blinked around, evading the tentacles that were coming down on it.

The blob tensed up all its tentacles and pounced on the big octopus' head, aiming for the left eye that was bigger than the little blob itself. It thrust its tentacle again and again. The air hissed, and the suckers on its belly opened up as much as possible. Crimson energy beams came pouring out like waves.

Red whirlwinds screamed in the air, and a blinding flash of red and white shone in the air. The void was shattered like glass from the explosion of the storm of attacks, and it fell into the red eye.

The Most High let out a deafening roar as its left eye was punctured by the little blob's attacks. Crimson liquid resembling magma came spurting out of its wound. The monster slammed the ground with its tentacles, and the shaking of the earth ran far and wide. Winds howled, and everyone wobbled. Carefully, they evaded the incoming debris and tried their best to stay balanced. Trees and patches of land were pulled off the ground and flew into the air along with screeching gales.

Once again, Maribor was affected by the attack. Houses were destroyed and bathed in crimson flames.

"Two Most Highs? What the hell is that little one?" Eskel roared, rolling away. The patch of grass beside him was burned in red. A searing wave of heat shot over his ear, and his skin prickled.

"Must be something to do with Roy! Maybe it's him!" Lambert held up his weapon and crouched, crossing the ditch deftly. He shrugged the patch of grass flying his way away from his shoulder. The witcher was like a soldier dodging incoming projectiles on a battlefield.

"That red energy beam is Roy's signature attack! Now we know who the enemy is! Get that big squid, people!" Serrit quickly cast a Sign and covered himself with a golden barrier.

Before they could do anything, however, the Most High slammed two tentacles down on its smaller counterpart. The tentacles were like twin towers crashing into the ground, and a cross was left in its wake. A burning dragon flared, and its light shone upon the silhouette of the wriggling monster.

It flailed its tentacles around, crushing the ground and covering its vicinity in dust and flames. The world around it was plunged into a hellscape, and within this hellscape, Roy was like a dancer performing on the edge of danger, crossing through space like a phantom, again and again evading the Most High's slam attacks.

Then, at one moment, Roy blinked in a direction that led away from Maribor. When he reappeared, he was a hundred yards away from the city.

The Most High roared, expanding and contracting as it chased after its smaller counterpart, leaving the other witchers behind. The ground it touched was turned into a bloody hell devoid of any life.

"By the gods." The people of Maribor, who'd been watching the battle in fear from afar, heaved a collective sigh of relief. They were in tears, and they were still worried. "Please don't let it come back."

Roy flew across the endless prairie. Every time he flailed his tentacles, the woods, the ground, and the beasts would move back from his path. The power of teleportation given to him by the Elder Blood was transformed into his third tentacle, and he could use it as much as he wanted. Every time he flailed the tentacle, he could appear anywhere within a few hundred yards of him, but in exchange, his EXP was burning away at a blistering rate. He didn't have much time, but even fireworks would burn themselves up to the very last moment. Even if he was destined to be destroyed and devoured by the Most High, he would fight until the very last moment and leave no regrets behind.

The Most High riled up a destructive crimson storm on the prairie. Cracks and gashes opened up on the ground, and countless beasts and greenery were burned into cinders. The air current high up in the skies was stirred up by the red light, conjuring a tornado shaped like a funnel, connecting ground to sky.

Thunder boomed in the heavens, and purple lightning bolts swam in the clouds. The strobing lights of nature shone on a hunter and its prey.

Dozens of tentacles would shoot out of the clouds, slamming down on its smaller, escaping counterpart like red lightning bolts, but the smaller blob would manage to evade its attacks every time.

Half an hour later, the whole of Maribor was already out of sight, and Roy screeched to a halt. He flailed his tentacles and shot through the air, passing through the pair of tentacles shooting out at him. He saw the sawlike teeth in the tentacles' suckers, and they could easily crush him if he was caught.

A third tentacle was swung up at the little blob. The tentacle hanging on Roy's side swatted away at him, and shadows of flailing tentacles danced across the air.

Rows of black bolts shot out of the suckers on Roy's tentacles, and they turned into a storm of arrows. The bolts pierced half of the tentacle coming at Roy. The tentacle exploded into a blooming crimson flower of fire, then it was destroyed.

The remaining tentacle wasn't long enough to hit Roy. It thumped down on the ground, leaving a burning ditch. The Most High howled.

Roy finally made it through the obstacles and seized the split second of opening. The blob teleported to the Most High's eyes and flailed its fifth, sixth, and seventh tentacle. The light of the stars above started to shine on these tentacles. First, a sword that could cut through everything appeared in the light, and then a great maw that could devour the heavens, then a rune that commanded all fire.

A black dragon covered in spikes flapped its obsidian wings and flew out of the void, charging straight at the direction shown by Roy's tentacle.

The dragon slammed into the Most High's left eye and punctured its flesh with its horns. Blood spurted from the point of impact, and the dragon swung its claws, tearing and biting at the crystal embedded in the eye of the Most High. Its throat rumbled, and the dragon let out a shout that could destroy souls.

Fus!

Fus!

The magnificent roar froze the Most High in place, and its wriggling tentacles fell limp. The suckers on Roy's sixth tentacle opened up in rage. They were like countless mouths, and behind those mouths were broken throats, but the breath of flames rose through the suckers.

And then Roy shot off three bolts of his own unique Sign. The air was lit, and the temperature rose. Three gashes opened up in the void. Roiling magma came spitting out of the void, drenching the face of the Most High. White smoke of sulfur rose, bringing with it a sharp stench.

The magma turned into flying dragons, and they engulfed half the octopus' body before trickling down to the ground. A river of magma came into being, drowning the tentacles that were holding up the Most High.

Smoke billowed in the air. The great octopus had holes over its body, and its skin was charred. Like a crumbling mountain and a sinking ship, it fell into the magma, and it closed its eyes.

It let out one last song, and it was no more.

Roy was floating before the carcass, wobbling as if he were drunk on something. His tentacles fell limp, and there was no satisfaction of victory coming from him. The intense and neverending spellcasting took a toll on his soul and body, leaving him weak, and the starlight on his body dimmed.

Then, a tentacle big enough to blot out the sun shot out from the magma and wrapped itself around Roy. The tentacle hurled Roy into the magma, and the crushing impact flattened Roy into a piece of mincemeat.

Starlight swam, and the Elder Blood roared. Time was turned back. The piece of mincemeat gained volume, and Roy teleported away.

Ten tentacles flew out of the magma, flailing in the air like a great demon blocking out the sun. Once again, they wrapped Roy in their embrace, and this time, Roy could not move. Immovable strength came from all directions, crushing him.

The tattered Most High came out of the magma, red light flaring on its skin, and its wounds healed up in a matter of moments. The monster swung its tentacles, looking like a jellyfish coming up from the deep sea. It took Roy up, up and away from the ground. To the skies they went, and into the thundering, rumbling clouds they swam.

When Coral, Lambert, and everyone else came, all they saw was a patch of cooled magma and broken land. They looked up into the skies and were met with forked lightning tearing through the heavens, and deafening thunder roared. One crimson tentacle slithered out of the clouds like a python and swung around the vicinity. Dark clouds rolled, and sharp gales howled.

The tentacle returned into the clouds, and the light of lightning poured forth, revealing the insides of the clouds. Revealing the titanic silhouette of an octopus. The creature was hiding in the clouds like a god looking down at the world.

There was another shadow inside the clouds. Weak and insignificant, and yet it defied its superior, challenging it again and again, raining down assaults from all every direction.

Coral and the others could do nothing but watch from the ground underneath.

Lightning crackled, and thunder boomed. Towering tentacles would slither from the clouds, flailing around. Bloody light coursed and strobed like waves. Bolts flew through the air, and the hiss of swinging swords rang in the air. Crimson flames screamed, and bombs exploded. Blue currents of air roared, and colorful chaos energy blinked.

At times, majestic, furious roars belonging to a dragon tore through the air. And then, wails followed.

In a couple of minutes, the sky was nearly torn apart by the battle. Holes broke open. Red light and crimson, roiling magma came pouring out. Smoke billowed all over the land. The silhouette of the Most High blocked out the sun, creating a weird, bloody eclipse.

The red light was piercing everything. The air was filled with heavy depression, suffocating everyone. Their skin was starting to prickle.

"The Cleansing Flame? It wants to purify the world!" Eskel blanched. There was pain in his eyes. "Roy lost?"

"No. We can't stand idly by anymore. Give me a hand, Kalkstein." There was a plea in Lytta's eyes. "We'll cast Alzur's Thunder together and smite this beast."

"Are you mad? That spell will kill us! We'll explode on the spot!" Kalkstein snapped, but he quickly started casting the spell, and the sorcerers started chanting.

The clouds were getting darker, and biting winds howled. Millions of silver bolts sizzled and covered the beast in the clouds.

Crimson tentacles tore through the lightning bolts like titanoboas rolling around in the skies. They were more powerful than ever.

The tentacles fell down, rolling around. This time, everyone saw the tentacles holding the silhouette of a falling human, before they took it high up into the clouds.

Roy had failed. He had expended all his EXP and exited the form of the Most High. The status bar in his character sheet was shining bloody red. He was but a regular human now, and his refractory period would go on for a long time.

The Most High, on the other hand, had nearly infinite power. No matter how grievous its wounds were, they would heal immediately.

The winds in the skies were cutting Roy's face. It hurt him, and the rims of his eyes were red, but there was still defiance in his gaze. Still, he was also shivering from great fear. Am I going to disappear?

The tentacle took him to the Most High. The creature that stood tall like a god. Lightning illuminated its silhouette and the bizarre look on its face. The creature was looking at Roy, and there was a hint of approval in its eyes, as if it saw one of its own. "Roy, witcher of the Viper School."

An androgynous voice spoke in the witcher's mind. There was no emotion in that voice, but Roy felt connected to it for some reason. There was no anger or fury in the voice at all, unlike before the battle.

"You have proven yourself enough moments ago," said the voice calmly. "From now on, you are no longer my shadow. You are no longer anyone's marionette or appendage."

Roy was held in the tentacle, and his eyes went wide. He saw, in the creature's big, crimson eyes, his face. What the Most High said next shocked him further.

"You shall be a new Most High. One that I gave birth to."

"How is that possible? I-I'm the Most High?" I'm not a pitiful shadow anymore? I'll become a monster that devours civilizations? Roy was starting to suffocate, and he shivered uncontrollably.

"Far from it. You have a long journey ahead of you. For now, you can enjoy the present to the fullest. But when enough time has passed, you will eventually tire of your erstwhile passion. Humanity's hearts and feelings are fragile. They are transient in the face of eternal time. Fleeting and powerless. Eventually, you will understand that the one true cycle of the multiverse and all things in them is to feed, destroy, purify, and begin everything again. You will awaken your nature eventually. To celebrate your birth, I will give you this space-time, these people, and their wishes."

The holes that broke in the sky were patched up. The dark clouds and lightning disappeared, and the titanic tentacle, for the last time, rolled down the clouds. Within it were Roy, nine unconscious figures, and five agate-like crimson crystals with circles of bands within them.

The tentacle placed everyone firmly on the ground, and Roy's friends came running toward him.

The young witcher looked up stiffly at the giant creature swimming in the skies. This time, Roy saw through all the clouds. He witnessed the Most High swimming away, disappearing through the ozone layer. Within the void of space, it tore a dark gash open and leapt into another timeline.

Before it flickered away, one last tentacle hung at the edge of the portal to wave Roy goodbye.

The creature was magnificent, and yet it was lonely.

Roy fell into his musing.

Chapter 588

The gentle morning breeze blew away the smoke of the battle, and the light of dawn shone on the broken land.

"How do you feel, kid?" Lambert tapped Roy, who was staring at the skies.

Roy's clothes were tattered. He fell to the ground, and dead silence graced the air. The young witcher was pale as a cloud, but his thoughts were pensive. There was something else welling up within his heart, and he did not look like someone who came out alive from an intense battle.

"Still alive, don't worry." Roy took a deep breath. The pain from his bones was relieved a little, then he turned his attention to the character sheet.

'Age: 18 years old

Gender: Male

HP: 50/100 (Locked. Weakened. Remaining time: 59 days, 23 hours, 50 minutes and 30 seconds).

Strength: 5 (Extremely weakened)

Dexterity: 6 𝘭𝘪𝑏𝑟ℯ𝒶𝑑.𝘤𝑜𝘮

Constitution: 10

Perception: 5

Will: 38

Charisma: 10

Spirit: 6

Level 14 Witcher (0/16500)

You are currently unable to use Descend.'

Three hundred seconds in the form of the Most High. All that power, and in exchange, he had a refractory period of two months. Roy sighed, smiling bitterly. The side effects were a lot worse than he thought. This form would, without a doubt, be his last, desperate resort.

And then he felt his cloak and the rough ground beneath him replaced by something soft and warm. It was so comfy, he moaned.

Lytta was already on the ground, resting Roy's head on her lap. She massaged his temples gently with one hand and rubbed his forehead with the other, as if trying to soothe his wrinkles and worries.

Roy looked back, and Lytta smiled gently, though Roy could see red tear tracks at the corners of her eyes. Blood covered her mouth, proof that her magic had recoiled. For a moment, holes covered the skies earlier, and the Cleansing Flame fell like rain. Lytta thought everything was over. She was ready to die with Roy, but then fate took a swift turn.

Roy survived. Even though he was battered and weakened, this was the best they could hope for. She brushed her fingers across his cheek. Every single one of them survived this battle. He did what he promised.

Triss was a distance away, but she was quickly approaching them. She clasped her hands before her belly and pursed her lips. She wanted to say something, then the winds blew her hair across her face.

She and Kiyan stayed at the sewers' entryway throughout the whole ordeal, missing the whole adventure.

"Had enough of the lady, Roy? You can breathe, can't you? Then talk. So… um… that giant octopus was the Most High? The monster Idarran was obsessed with?" Lambert rolled his sleeves up. Felix was unconscious before a patch of ribleaf. Lambert slapped him awake.

The witcher woke up with red marks on his face. As though he had just awoken from a long dream, there was confusion in his eyes.

Bald Eskel and Serrit woke Letho, Coen, and Vesemir up the same way Lambert woke Felix up. Auckes, Geralt, Aiden, and Kiyan quickly bound the sleeping Alzur and grandmasters with dimeritium cuffs and fetters.

"To be precise, it's the devourer of civilizations and bringer of the cycle. The traveler of parallel worlds," said Roy.

"Tsk. Scary titles, yet it ran away anyway." Kalkstein had forgotten all about his condition. He crouched, staring at Roy with curiosity and the lunacy of a mad researcher. "So tell me, that little blob that won the battle was you, wasn't it? You're the Most High's relative?"

Roy's pupils contracted, and he answered curtly, "It's a secret."

The witchers exchanged a look and scanned the place around them. The ground in a 500-yard radius around them was covered in crimson magma, caved in, and broken up by the tentacles. The land that spanned miles from Maribor to the wilderness had a deep ditch carved into it. It was like a dried-up riverbed.

This landscape was made by incredible power that exceeded the forbidden spell of Alzur. Not even a battle of twenty thousand soldiers could leave this deep a mark. The witchers knew they couldn't last ten seconds in a fight with that monster. The cruel reality was that Roy was already miles ahead of them.

"You were at a serious disadvantage. The tentacles almost flattened you, so how did you defeat that nightmare?" Serrit asked, surprised.

Roy was silent for a moment. Should I tell them that the Most High has acknowledged me? That I am no longer its shadow, but a new Most High myself? That someday I'll become an octopus that feeds on civilization across parallel worlds? Roy shook his head. He was still a Viper School witcher. At the very least, for the next few centuries, he had no interest in being a Most High.

Roy slowly scanned his companions. "We have agreed to a permanent peace treaty. From now on, our world will not be threatened by the creature anymore. The Cleansing Flame is no more." The Most High had given up feeding in this space.

"So the problem is solved, and we can go back to the kids in Ellander?" Geralt asked with uncertainty, but there was anticipation in his eyes.

"Yes."

Everyone was relieved, and smiles broke out on their tensed-up faces. "The brotherhood's diplomat and top seer, now the world's savior." Auckes crossed his arms. He looked proud. He knew Roy had kept a lot of details and secrets tucked away, but he wouldn't ask too much. No matter how powerful Roy got, he would always be Auckes's junior.

"So should we thank you, then?" Lambert cleared his throat. Like a bard who was about to start performing, he bowed deeply to Roy, his head shining like a mirror and nearly blinding everyone. "Your act is too great for my thanks. If you run into any sort of monster like 'The Fearless' next time, I'll take care of your family in your stead."

Someone harrumphed. "Will you shut it, you fool? You want to die?" Aiden snarled and smacked the back of Lambert's head.

Lambert smacked him back. Coral covered her mouth and giggled, then she winked cheekily at Roy.

The sorceress smiled. "I have nothing to repay this favor with, save for my body."

"Ahem, Lytta, we're all single here, so spare our feelings, please." Serrit picked up a crimson agate from the ground. There were five of them. "And let's talk business. What are these, kid?"

Roy took a look, and a look of disbelief painted his face.

'Essence of the Most High

Effect: When taken, the user will ascend to the perfect world and attain the best outcome of all parallel worlds.'

Roy was reminded of the Most High's message before it left. "To celebrate your birth, I will give you this space-time, these people, and their wishes."

"It's an infinite wishing well."

"A wishing well?" Everyone stopped breathing for a moment. They had a collective look of awe and surprise on their faces.

Serrit's heart skipped a beat. He knew how important this thing was, and he stuffed all the crystals into Roy's hands.

"Is it better than djinns?" Kalkstein's eyes shone. He wanted to cut these up and research them.

"No. It grants wishes in a very special way." Roy held the opinion that parallel timelines couldn't be compared to their original world. After all, the family and friends living there weren't the people he knew. "We don't need these. We have a better choice."

They were living in the present. There was no need to go after any parallel worlds.

"You sure that's right, kid?" Letho rubbed his shiny head and turned to their captives who were sleeping beside a tree. Five agates for five captives. "If these are not for us, then who's it for? Them?"

"Good question, Letho. People, we have an issue on our hands." Serrit raised his voice, looking troubled. "How should we deal with them?"

The witchers' creators and grandmasters were tied up easily by their juniors. Such a thing would have been unimaginable in the past.

Aiden growled, "I say we kill them." He didn't know any of these people. No Cats among them.

"Grandmasters are no monsters. Killing them would be a waste. Akin to smashing a priceless treasure." Kalkstein was raring to go. "Why don't we cut—"

"Get them on our side," Letho quickly dashed the idea. He stared at long-faced Ivar and blurted, "The creed does say we need to gather all the brethren worth gathering. Aside from collecting the souls of the dead on battlefields, the grandmasters have done nothing bad over the years. I think they're worthy of the membership."

Vesemir nodded, and he stroked his beard out of habit, though all he could grab was air. "We know Ivar, Elgar, and Erland mean us no harm."

Coen looked at Erland, his eyes shining. He stared at the eagle tattoo and the grandmaster's dried Mohican hair. "Every grandmaster is a living treasure trove. Their knowledge, experience, and skills in alchemy, swordplay, and blacksmithing will be valuable for the brotherhood."

Liber Tenebrarum was something written by Erland. "If the kids know they'll have legendary witchers as their teachers, they'll go wild with glee."

Letho added, "The grandmasters took this path for their own reasons. We've witnessed their past. Any other human would've broken down if they were put in their positions."

Everyone fell silent. Once again, they were reminded of the vivid history. The grandmasters had never brought destruction to this world. This world and the people it protected, however, betrayed and ruined them. These witchers were idealists who wanted to save the world, but reality beat them back to their senses.

"I say we kill just Arnaghad and avenge Roy." Serrit slit a finger across his throat, the look on his face solemn. Like a reaper hiding in the shadows.

Felix shot him a glare. He thought about the young boy who sold himself to Alzur just to save his parents. He thought about how Arnaghad stood in a broken castle with nothing but a sword in his hand. The butcher of the Bear School resembled him a little. Killing him just like that wouldn't feel right.

Roy looked at the icy, unconscious witcher, and his eyes flared with anger. He was reminded of the battle in the castle of Cintra, where he was chopped up.

Lytta noticed the anger in his eyes, and she quickly massaged his temples.

"As for Alzur…"

The sorcerer under the tree coughed, and he opened his eyes. He first scanned the space around him, disbelief filling his eyes. "Is this heaven or hell?" Alzur held himself up with difficulty. His whole body was sore, and his limbs cramped, like he'd just done three days and three nights' worth of manual labor. "Or is this an illusion in the Most High's body? How am I still alive?"

"Alzur." Kalkstein crouched before the sorcerer and grinned toothily. "You think the dimeritium cuffs are fake? Try casting a spell. Just accept the truth. The Most High you dream of has escaped."

"No! No one in this world can stop it!" Alzur growled, black as thunder.

"It is the truth!" Triss shouted.

The grandmasters grunted and slowly woke up. There was confusion in their eyes, but they were hardened enough to stay calm quickly and realize what kind of situation they were in.𝓁𝑖𝘣𝑟𝘦𝘢𝒹.𝑐ℴ𝘮

Lambert looked down at them. Haughtily, he said, "From now on, you're the brotherhood's captives."

"The Most High has gone to the next cycle? Then everything's over," said Alzur weakly after he was brought up to speed. There was despair in his voice. "Who can grant us our wish, then?"

The grandmasters blanched, looking defeated.

"How did you do it, Roy? You're the Most High's shadow. How did you defeat the original?" Alzur's bloodshot eyes went wide with mania. He was speaking nonsense.

"But that doesn't mean a shadow will remain a shadow forever," Roy said, barely a whisper.

"Don't mutter, brat. Speak up like a man!" Arnaghad sat up, agitated.

And then a flash of white light flew through the air. Letho smacked the burly witcher with the back of his sword and knocked him down. "Watch your tongue, mate. Roy's not a brat. Without him, you'd have nothing but piles of sh*t in the Most High's belly."

"Living like this has no meaning," said Erland listlessly, his hair hanging down. The Most High had disappeared, and the avalanche couldn't be turned back.

"Erland." Coen took a deep breath and straightened his collar out. There was respect in his eyes. "Keldar has passed, but the Griffin School still has me. The brotherhood has talented kids that'll grow stronger in the future. If you join us, we can make a better future together and revive the order's glory!"

Coen was starting to get too excited. "No! Even better than that! There will be no sorcerer or mob who'd dare attack us, or they will be ripped apart!"

Erland paused for a few moments and looked at the younger Griffin. He looked like an honest guy. "I don't remember Keldar taking in you."

"Long story short, Liber Tenebrarum, the book you wrote, gained some sort of power and raised Keldar from the dead. He kept on living, until a few years ago, that is."

Erland had a conflicted look on his face. He was glad to hear that, but he regretted it too, and he sighed. "You do not understand. My world has stopped turning since the avalanche happened."

"Elgar," an old voice said. It caught Elgar's attention. He saw a fair, hairless, beardless, and browless old man. His eyes held stories within their depths, but Elgar thought this man looked familiar.

"I'm Vesemir. Do you still remember me? I learned the art of blacksmithing from you in Kaer Morhen."

Ten seconds later, realization struck Elgar. He blurted, "Oh, the guy who hooked up with five women in a year? You're still alive?"

All the witchers gave Vesemir looks. The sorceresses, especially, were looking at him like they were saying, 'Wow, didn't know you were a pervert, Vesemir.'

Even though Vesemir knew no shame, he still smiled awkwardly. "Just the past, just the past. I'm not the same person I once was. Back to business. Elgar, after that devastating battle at Kaer Morhen, I survived by lying underneath a corpse. Kaer Morhen did not disappear. He patted the shoulders of Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert. The Wolves nodded at Elgar with respect. The man deserved as much.

"See these? They're my students. We have a couple young kids back at the temple. They passed the Wolf's Trial too. Join us. So what if the Most High is gone?" Vesemir said animatedly, like he had returned to his younger years. His eyes were shining. "You can rebuild Kaer Morhen with us and return it to its former glory. No, even more than that."

Elgar looked like he was struggling with a decision.

"You sure know how to hide, you old git. We've been searching for you high and low." Auckes was rubbing his fist, like he would punch his mentor at any given moment. "You dumped us without saying a word and went around living the best life instead."

"Best life, my f*cking *ss! Can't you guys put yourselves in my shoes? I did it to deal with the Wild Hunt problem!" Ivar roared at his students, but there was a smile on his lips. He was like an old man with the soul of a child inside him. "This is insubordination! Release me, now!"

Letho narrowed his eyes and grumbled, "I think you should stay fettered. That's what you get for dumping your comrades. Oh, and allow me to introduce you." Letho pointed at the young witcher who was lying in Lytta's lap. "Roy of the Viper School. He's one of us too."

"I saw him back in the castle of Cintra." Ivar nodded at Roy. There was praise in his eyes. "Young, skilled, loyal, and managed to come back from a different world. Loads better than you three. F*ck you do but drink and sleep around?"

Triss had a conflicted look on her face. She pulled her hair back. These jerks wiped my memories, and I couldn't even get them back until now.

"Still better than an old git who dumps his whole school behind," Auckes snapped, but he was grinning.

"Think about it, Ivar. Don't need to ask the Most High to deal with the Wild Hunt problem." Letho looked into Ivar's horrified eyes. He declared, "Sooner or later, the brotherhood will fight the warmongers."

Ivar looked at the cuffs around his hands. Aucked looked around and declared, "Look forward, people. Don't wallow in your past. See into the future. The witcher brotherhood is the future."

Everyone ignored Arnaghad on purpose. He tensed up and looked dark. The Bear pulled his shoulders closer, tensing up and putting on a defensive stance.

"Where's Idarran?" Alzur asked, his voice dead and weak.

"The Most High's tentacles flattened him." Geralt shook his head. "We couldn't save him in time."

Alzur heaved a sigh of relief. He had a look as icy as the winter winds, then he turned to Roy. "Someone died again. Kill me, boy."

"Sorry?"

Everyone's hearts sank.

"Kill me. Devour me." Alzur was ashen. There was pain and agony in his voice. "Without the Most High, I have lost my chance to see Lylianna. I can never fulfill Cosimo's wish. There is no meaning in living."

His hundred-year plan was ruined. He hung his head low, hope in his heart snuffed out. "At least I can contribute something if you kill me."

Chilly winds howled across the lands, dousing everyone's enthusiasm.

With Lytta's help, Roy slowly got up, and he showed the Most High's essence to Alzur. The agate's bands were glimmering under the sun. "Even without the Most High, this thing can help you ascend to the perfect world."

"What is this?"

"A gift from the Most High."

Perhaps the creature left them these because they had ventured through countless battlefields over the years just to feed it.

"What would you want in exchange?" Alzur's eyes flared with hope. It was like he found his saving grace.

Roy slowly looked at the captives. They were looking a little fanatical. "I want all your knowledge, collections, and treasures. Including the djinn bottles."

Chapter 589

The cataclysmic battle had come to an end. Part of the sewers lying under the ruins of Maribor were still standing strong. Alzur and the grandmasters led the group through the dark, squalid passages. At the end of the journey, they came to a chamber made of stone.

The chamber was not grand in scale, but it was gorgeous, appearing to be a fusion of a library and an alchemical laboratory. Bookshelves stood before the walls of the room with thousands of books lining the racks. Outside of the bookshelves lay agitators, centrifuges, and operating stations, as well as vials and vessels typical of a laboratory. Each piece was beautiful and expensive.

There were also plump couches as well as glasses and plates made of gold and embedded with gemstones. Alzur did not live a frugal life. He pointed his chin at an ancient table beside a bookshelf, where one beautiful bottle stood.

"The bottle of a djinn?" Roy's eyes shone. He rubbed the bottle with his hand. A djinn wish came with a great deal of limitations, but it had many uses. One of which would be to grant a sorceress, whose womb had shriveled, the ability to conceive.

"We have expended nine out of ten bottles. This is the last one we have." Alzur's eyes roved across the expectant witchers. "Three wishes it contains, but beware. Once you have released the djinn, hold the bottle cap and make your wish as quickly as you can, or it might just pull a prank on you. These books are Cosimo's, Idarran's, and my collection." Alzur looked at the books with love and a sense of pride. "Magical training is not the only topic they cover."

"Do they include the spells you made yourself?" Coral interrupted, her eyes shining. She could cast Alzur's Thunder, but it was an incomplete version. Even so, that spell's power was incredible. So incredible, it was almost forbidden.

Triss was curious as well.

"The complete Alzur's Thunder, Alzur's Shield, Alzur's Double Cross, and my lifetime's experience in magic are included within this collection. And that's not all. These books contain many records involving genetic modifications. The Trial for the first witchers, Idarran's modified animals, and his mutated plants. I believe they can be of assistance to you."

Kalkstein was grinning so widely, it almost seemed like a leer.

Serrit, the one with the best sense of them all, found a few exquisite rosewood crates behind the bookshelves. He opened it up, and a beam of light shone into the air. Orens, crowns, and gemstones sat within the crates, almost blinding everyone with their splendor.

"With these in our hands, the brotherhood will not have to worry about its finances for the next twenty years."

"If we're talking about comparison by weight, gemstones and jewelry are the items with the least worth in this place," Alzur said. "But from this moment on, they belong to you."

The group exchanged a look. They were pleased. Pleased that their hard-earned victory was not in vain.

Erland held his hands before his chest. Earnestly, he asked, "Now that you're happy, can you have mercy and grant us our little wishes?"

"Are you sure, Erland?" Coen clenched his fists. He looked dismayed. "Is the perfect world even more valuable than reality itself?"

"My heart died the day the avalanche fell." Erland shook his head, staring at the brazier in the corner, as if he could see familiar faces dancing within. "I kept on living until now just to change that day."

Elgar and Arnaghad were standing with him, and they nodded. Vesemir thought it was a shame. He failed to change Elgar's mind. Only Ivar changed his stance and joined the Viper School. He looked at his old friends, lamenting. It had only been just under thirty years since he worked for Alzur. His obsession didn't run as deeply as the other grandmasters'.

After witnessing the brotherhood's roster and Roy's power to turn time back and chase the Most High away, his opinion had slowly changed. If he joined the brotherhood, he would eventually do battle with the Wild Hunt and reach his dream. There was no need to risk going to a perfect world.

Roy took out four pieces of the Most High's essence. "Alzur, once you ascend to the perfect world, what will happen to the Alzur of that dimension?"

"We shall enter their bodies, and our souls will merge," said Alzur honestly.

That's just like how I descended. Roy scanned Alzur and the three grandmasters who were ready to go. In the end, he set his sights on Arnaghad, the burliest among them. "Then there's one last thing to do. You and I have a bloody score to settle," Roy said. "I haven't forgotten about that day in the castle of Cintra. I haven't forgotten how you cut up my corpse."

Felix tensed and tried to say something, but couldn't. Arnaghad hung his head low. He was always the most unwelcome and unrecognized person among the group. It had always been that way. He took a deep breath and looked at his old friends and mentor. Then the Bear looked at the agates in Roy's hand.

There was no fear in his eyes, and he looked ahead with sharp eyes. The brazier's flames illuminated him. He was like a condemned inmate going to the gallows. "No need for talk. Do it, Roy. Make it quick." He held his head high, revealing his neck in full view. "I spared you no mercy. It is only fair that you wish to kill me, but I only have one wish." He looked at Erland and Elgar. As if saying his last words, he said, "You two, we've fought together so far. Please save a spot for me in the perfect world. This time, let me be a regular witcher, just like how we planned."

Elgar and Erland looked at Roy. "We will bear the weight of his crime."

"Sorry, but I do not take payment from those who do not owe me."

Roy unsheathed Aerondight.

"Roy!"

"Kid!"

Gasps filled the air of the chamber, but the flash of silver light flew ahead faster. The air hissed, and blood spilled. Roy might be weakened, but his blade was still sharp enough to cut through flesh.

To everyone's shock, the Bear's body broke into pieces. His limbs were cut off, and only little stumps of his legs were holding him up, a pool of blood forming around his body. He was pitiful, laughable, and almost amusing. Even though Arnaghad had his limbs cut off, all he did was grunt and frown. He looked up at Roy, his face the color of clouds.

The chamber fell silent. Some witchers had looks of pity on their faces. Some closed their eyes seeing a witcher harming one of his own.

"Listen here, Arnaghad." Roy pulled his blade back from Arnaghad's neck and went down. He grabbed the Bear's collar and stared into his emotionless eyes, as if he could see Arnaghad's long and ice-cold soul within them. "We're even now." Roy grinned and nodded at the Bear. The brazier's flame illuminated his face, and it was a look of relief.

The grudge was water under the bridge. They were no longer enemies. What Roy did next shocked many of those present. Only Coral and Letho appeared to know this would happen.

"And now, my brother, I shall grant you your wish, as a witcher myself." Roy held the piece of essence close to Arnaghad's lips, and he gave him his prayers. "Find your humanity. Find your heart. Find that which you have lost. Find redemption, and turn a new page in your life."

Roy's voice echoed in the chamber.

Arnaghad swallowed the priceless essence. At that moment, his cold, dead heart was starting to crack, and an ugly smile curled his lips. He looked at the weakened Roy and felt a surge of warmth swimming across his body.

Crimson light burst forth from Arnaghad, the Cleansing Flame burning him. Red light illuminated the chamber, brilliant and dazzling. There were bizarre scenes playing in the flames. Scenes where Arnaghad was smiling, angry, grateful, and wallowing in sadness. Everyone closed their eyes.

And then, Arnaghad broke into pieces, disappearing into slivers of smoke as the flames burned him, leaving nothing but a pool of blood and severed limbs behind.

Auckes gulped. "You sure he went to a perfect world instead of getting destroyed? Are you guys sure you don't want to reconsider this?"

Alzur, Elgar, and Erland exchanged a look. As if they were going to celebrate a new lease on life, they smiled, hugging their successors and bidding them goodbye.

"I leave the Griffin School of this world in your hands, Coen. One word of advice. Do not forget about valor, but be sure to show it to the right people. Don't be blind in your kindness. Most importantly, take care of yourself and the people around you."

"Vesemir, never walk alone. Never abandon your brethren."

"Roy, hold on to your humanity, just like how you did moments ago. Never allow the desire to consume to instead consume you."

Erland, Elgar, and Alzur gulped down the crystals and shattered into pieces, swallowed by balls of crimson flames. A long silence ensued.

Coral held Roy's arm. With uncertainty, she asked, "Does a perfect world really exist among all the parallel worlds?"

Everyone looked at Roy. The young witcher held the last piece of essence, staring at the air. For a moment, he thought he saw the Most High leaping between the world tree's branches, its tentacles wriggling. "Yes."

Within the void, time and space were born. Within chaos, they entwined. Within them, a perfect world was woven.

In a bright laboratory within Morgraig, a boy about the age of ten woke up from a long coma. He had bushy eyebrows, a round nose, and lips that were not too thick. The boy was pale from malnutrition. He tilted his head, staring at his slender arms and gaunt body in shock. Awe etched itself on the boy's face.

"Congratulations, Arnaghad." A magical light shone upon a man before him. He was handsome, had black, curly hair, and was wearing a blue robe. The man extended his hand, his eyes twinkling with delight. "You have passed the Trial without any complications left within you. Now hold out your fists."

The boy did as he was told. He could feel a surge of power flowing across his slender, pockmarked arms. Within his hands was strength that exceeded a normal adult's.

"Do you feel that? From here forth, no one will be able to push you around anymore. You shall use this power to protect yourself and the people. You shall chase the darkness away."

"Alzur! I-Is everyone alive?" Arnaghad asked, his voice trembling. He was nervous. This would be their reunion after hundreds of years.

"This is a miracle. It's unlike the survival rates we calculated in Morgraig. A beautiful, curvy sorceress in a blue robe came up and held Arnaghad's hand. "A hundred percent survival rate. Madoc, Ivar, Elgar, Erland, Jagda, and you. All six of you lived."

Arnaghad looked around at the other kids who had just woken up around him. They too were on operating tables.

"What a relief." The sorceress shuddered, but she was still looking at the boy with love. "Or I would live my whole life in regret."

Alzur held the woman's arm. Their eyes met, and love swam between them. Arnaghad grinned. This was just like how they planned. Lylianna survived and became a sorceress. She stayed with Alzur. The first experiment wasn't done in Rissberg anymore either, but Morgraig. The thirty-two tragic deaths never happened here. They never existed. This was the miracle created by the Most High's essence.

He was the one who gulped it down first. Erland and Elgar shouldn't have arrived just yet. As for Alzur, he went to another parallel world.

Noticing Arnaghad's look, Lylianna asked, "What's the matter, child? Are you alright?"

"I miss home." Arnaghad rubbed his cheeks, his eyes getting red. Sobbing, he said, "When I get better, can I go home? I want to see my parents. And my brother. And sister." There was longing in Arnaghad's eyes. Reminiscence filled his voice. The emotions he'd forgotten and the memories of his family he'd locked away came back to him with full force, nourishing his cold, dead heart. "It's been too long since I saw them. Feels like a few lifetimes."

"I don't remember you being one to exaggerate. That's Ivar's specialty. You're only ten years old. Barely even a lifetime." Alzur patted Arnaghad's head. He said, "We're creating the strongest warriors, not cold-blooded butchers. Rest up for a couple of days, and I shall open up a portal home for you. But remember to come back." Alzur said sternly, "The next step of your training will begin soon. For our dream, understand, Arnaghad?"

"To rid this world of the monsters hiding in the shadows. To create a safer world for humanity," said Arnaghad loudly. He grinned, and then he shed tears of joy. This time, I will hold on until the end, he told himself in his mind. I will not walk alone again this time. There was light shining in the boy's amber eyes. Delight and hopes for the future filled him up.

Years passed. A castle stood on the top of a lush mountain within the wilds of Poviss. Within the spacious courtyard, a bonfire flared. Silvery moonlight shone upon the ground, where men with beastly eyes stood.

"Do you know why Kaer Seren was moved from the cliff overseeing Kovir's coast?" A long-faced witcher in knightly armor took off a piece of scalding, golden-brown roast pork from the grill. He radiated the air of a scholar. The witcher slowly tore off a sliver of the pork and popped it into his mouth.

"Don't keep us hanging, Keldar. Talk!" a young voice urged.

"Calm down, brat. You keep being impatient, and one day, a troll is going to teach you a painful lesson." Keldar shot the young man a look. "Many years ago, a group of evil sorcerers set their sights on Kaer Seren's book collection. A collection they yearned for but couldn't possess. They blamed us for the plague that spread in Vizima and planned to start an avalanche on Dragon Mountains. On a scale hitherto unheard of. They planned to bury me and more than sixty brethren in icy graves."

He paused. A young apprentice quickly turned on the barrel's tap and filled a glass with wine. He handed Keldar the alcohol, and the witcher continued animatedly, "Fortunately, Erland observed the skies the night before and predicted this disaster. He then extinguished it."

A group of young witchers sat around the bonfire, holding their heads high. There was excitement and worship in their eyes, and the medallions hanging from their necks were glimmering in the flames' light.

"Erland defeated a group of evil sorcerers alone?" A lad with tri-colored eyes and pockmarks on his chin asked.

"Oh, that'd be an unbelievable feat, but no. Erland asked for some help in the form of legendary individuals. Alzur, Cosimo, and Lady Lylianna, so to speak. The creators have always been on good terms with us. They led a group of allies to the battlefield and beat those b*stards all the way back where they came from, but to prevent any disasters like that from happening once more, Kaer Seren was moved from the coast to this castle in the mountains of Poviss. Alzur and Erland used that chance to hold an extraordinary speech and turned our infamy around in the lands of the north.``

Keldar sighed. "That's why you almost never hear anyone calling us mutants or abominations now. Of course, discrimination and prejudice still linger, but the people are starting to acknowledge our efforts in helping the needy. They're acknowledging our contributions to the world. Showing us the respect we deserve. We're not just slaying evil monsters now, but we're also helping villages, towns, cities, and nations liaise and de-escalate conflicts. If wars were to break out, we would be helping the people evacuate. The people before you built that foundation with their lives."

"Erland, instead of drowning yourself in past glories, why don't you teach the kids something more useful?" A towering man with Mohican hair and a tattoo on his profile came in with a curvy woman with graying hair. They stood around the bonfire as well. The light shone on the man's face. There was majesty there, but also love.

"Erland!"

"Lady Jagda!"

"Grandmaster!"

"Why don't you take the stage, then?"

The young Griffins were buzzing with excitement, staring at Erland. Erland looked around. There were 120 witchers here—half having gone through life, the other half young and inexperienced. This was the perfect world. The avalanche had never happened here. A sizable portion of the population had thrown away their prejudice. The Griffin School had made knights of themselves, ones worthy of respect and acknowledgment. Knights who the people did respect. He turned his head and smiled at the woman beside him. She had amber eyes and graying hair the length of her hips. He and his lover, Jagda, were finally reunited. Everything was going perfectly. Their ship was going to sail through the storm of life.

"Children, only a few suggestions. Remember to protect yourself even when you're trying to do good. Do not be like the old me. I was stubborn and foolish. Some people do not deserve any protection. As witchers, we must be responsible for ourselves and our brethren."

An old witcher took a big swig of alcohol and roared, "When we fall and bleed, we care not for coin and deed."𝒍𝓲𝒃𝙧𝓮𝙖𝒅.𝓬𝙤𝓶

Then, Griffins both young and old sang loudly in their nest, safely tucked away from the world. Their collective voice echoed through the night, with the light of the bonfire and the scent of alcohol following in its expansive wake. The song they sang filled the air of Kaer Seren. Their voices flew high across the towers, and then, they traveled through the northern lands. In the end, they soared toward the world out there.

*** 𝙡𝒊𝒃𝓻𝒆𝒂𝓭.𝙘𝓸𝓶

Years later still, a battle broke out at Kaer Morhen. Shouts and flames that danced across the walls were growing fainter. Elgar swung his sword as fast as possible, and he leaped into the mob without any hesitation. White light danced across the necks of the thugs, and blood splattered. The Wolf cut down three enemies in one instant. Another two came charging at him, but he crouched and got out of their swords' way.

As he blocked their attacks, a ball of fire blasted their backs. A witcher with a tattoo on his face and a griffin medallion hanging around his neck burned an ambushing thug with Igni. Underneath the banyan tree in the center of the courtyard, a burly witcher with a bear medallion leaped into the air and swung his weapon down on a pair of thugs, splitting them in half.

Atop of the watchtower, a slender witcher with changing eyes thrust his blade backward, the viper medallion laying across his chest swaying. The sorcerer who teleported to the back of the witcher had a ball of fire dancing on his palm, but he charged into the witcher's blade like he wanted to kill himself. The sorcerer held his neck, but blood was already spilling. He fell backward, his legs convulsed, and he stopped moving.

Before the drawbridge of Kaer Morhen was a witcher in light armor. He had dark, catlike eyes and moved and reacted as quickly as a cat. The witcher swung a thin, bluish blade that was sharp as a razor. He leaped across the drawbridge and swung his blade three times. Three corpses rolled into the moat, their blood splattering the battlefield.

Similar deaths happened across Kaer Morgen. Witchers from Wolf, Viper, Cat, Griffin, and Bear Schools as well as a dozen in-house sorcerers were battling together, weathering the storm of fire and blood. In less than two hours, the hundreds of thugs and sorcerers who tried to invade the fortress were all dead.

Elgar led a group of muscly Wolves and stood on top of the mountain of corpses within the castle. He bowed at the grandmasters and brethren who came to his aid.

"Don't do that, mate. It's not even a chore, dealing with these greedy, worthless fools. This isn't even a warmup." Erland's hair swayed in the air. He looked solemn. "This isn't the other world. The order broke up because of the difference in our Trials, not because of our ideologies. We established our own schools for our group's better development. Remember what we promised before we came to this world? Witchers work together."

"Whenever anyone is in trouble, everyone's going to help." Arnaghad was smiling brightly and happily. This was the perfect world they'd been trying to make. The plan they'd been trying to complete for two hundred years.

Elgar was at a loss for words. Everyone was here. He looked around, and the witchers who lived, a hundred of them, were tearing up too. "Clean this place up, people. "We're having a drink tonight. Let's see who's the best drinker among us."

In another unknown space-time, birds were chirping within the woods of evergreen plants. Brilliant sunlight shone on the blooming roses and jasmines around the hill. A blanket of mist swirled around the mountainside, and a patch of purple orchids cascaded from the ceiling of a cave, weaving themselves into a pleasant-scented curtain.

Alzur woke up on a simple haystack within this comfortable cave. He looked around, dazed. Magical crystals shone on the two hundred strollers in the main chamber of the cave. Cosimo, beard long and graying as ever, was there. A lovely middle-aged sorceress and Idarran, Alzur's protege, were casting spells along with Cosimo.

The light of magic danced in the air, weaving itself into a beautiful river. Glass bottles were turned into bees that had just returned from work. They buzzed around the air, feeding the gurgling babies in the strollers.

"To the usual place, Alzur." Cosimo noticed his student waking up. He wiped the sweat off his forehead. "She's waiting for you there."

She? Alzur's heart skipped a beat. He quickly changed into simple clothes and pinned a lily emblem on his chest. Quickly, hurriedly, he left the cave.

He saw her beside a roaring waterfall cascading off a cliff. She too was in simple clothes, but it didn't take away from her beauty. The woman was dangling her legs off the cliff, the spraying water splashing her smooth, silky face. A hint of red flickered on her cheeks, and the golden sunlight draped her hair in a sheen of gold.

She was like the statue of a goddess crafted from marble. Alzur was enthralled. He had waited for centuries for this. Had given up everything for this. Alzur held his breath and approached the woman. He carefully sat beside her, too scared to even make a sound, as if the faintest whisper would shatter this beautiful illusion.

Alzur quietly looked down with her, enjoying the beautiful scenery unfolding underneath them. The flowers were blooming. Deers, storks, and dogs were lapping up water from the stream. The beasts were double the size of their regular counterparts. They were stronger. More full of life.

"My love, even now, I cannot believe that we and a group of children are spared from the Most High's purification." Lylianna rested her head on Alzur's shoulder and smiled sweetly at him. There was curiosity in her eyes. "Everyone was burned into nothingness. We've scoured the whole world, and we're the only ones left."

"Perhaps it took a nap and missed us. Or perhaps it spared us because we have a great dream," Alzur said, motivation steadily rising. "It wants us to educate these children and start another cycle. We shall be humanity's pioneers and sow the seeds of civilization. We shall guide them and create a new world free of war. A human civilization free of sin. Under our guidance, humanity will change. The monsters hiding in the darkness, and the darkness hiding within humanity's heart will all disappear. This is our perfect world."

Lylianna stared at Alzur with worship and passion.

"More importantly, we are together again." Alzur put an arm around Lylianna's shoulder. "But now, we have an urgent matter awaiting our attention."

"What is it?"

"There are five more boys than girls among the babies. Do you know what that means?" Alzur gazed at his lover, trying to make up for the centuries they'd lost.

"What are you trying to say?" Lylianna's cheeks grew rosier, and there was embarrassment in her voice.

"We need to make more girls."

Lylianna giggled.

The sprays from the waterfalls hopped into the air. Sunlight shone through them, and through the beads of water, a rainbow appeared, connecting the two silhouettes on the cliff, until time immemorial had passed.

Chapter 590

Roaring sea winds rampaged through the coast and stampeded up the snow-capped hills of Poviss. The skies burned red, shining upon long lines of hoof marks on the snowy ground. The clops stopped right outside the pine woods. A brown stallion, its fur gleaming, brayed and whinnied in excitement.

On the horse was a knight with the beauty of a young lady. He patted the horse's neck, then looked at the building in the woods before him. These woods were nearly 100 miles away from Lan Exeter. The people who made a living from harvesting in these woods had set up villages in the wilderness. Some of those villages were settlements, while others were just small camps. Some villages were self-sustaining, while others were just little plots of wooden houses and obscenely big barns.

Before the knight was a rickety temple in the wilds, the center of this place's believers. It was a good place to rest. The rider turned to the part-elf on a black horse. The part-elf had pointy ears and some stubble. He was chewing on a foxtail. "It's getting late, Acamuthorm. We'll stop here. Don't want to tire Wilt out, or we'll have a lot of explaining to do to Roy."

The part-elf looked at the skies and smirked. "You're complaining about exhaustion? You're the one who asked Lydia to open up a portal to Kerack and told her we'd go back on horseback while training our swordplay on the way back. It's been two weeks. Aside from one boring drowner, we've done no training at all."

Acamuthorm took out a piece of carrot from the saddlebag and stuffed it into his black horse's mouth, then he watched the steed munch on the food. "So tell me, genius, how are we supposed to tell them we created a record? 'We killed a drowner'? Please, just thinking about it is a joke. We should've been going into a city and having fun in the new ballroom Dandelion opened up. Or we could've gone to apothecary number two and caught up with Vicki, but all we did was waste time and ruin our plans. And then we'll have to go back to Ellander to train."

The mention of training almost made Carl jump. Acamuthorm jolted, and he snarled. "That Ivar's a madman. His torture methods know no end. Bladed, spinning dummies; enhanced killer's path; sparrowhawk slope. I haven't healed from the fall last time. You think that's ever going to heal up without complications?"

"Shut it. This is the fourteenth time you've complained in as many days. It's more annoying than your snoring." Carl rolled his eyes and tucked his Cat medallion underneath his leather armor. He led Wilt by the reins into the woods, where an icy building stood. "If you have time to complain, you should come up with a plan to convince the priestess. Or do you want to keep sleeping on stones?"

The young witchers led their horses into the temple standing between the trees. It wasn't majestic. Even a corner of Novigrad's Eternal Fire temple was bigger than this place. The temple here was just a small building made up of a fence, a few walls made of bricks, and a roof made of wood. Much to the witchers' confusion, however, the old house beside the left barn was sealed shut with wooden boards. Daytime was coming to an end. In the courtyard, the dappled light of the setting sun shone down upon a marble statue. It was a sagely old man with a bushy beard wearing a short-sleeved shirt that cinched around his waist and extended down to his knees. The statue was holding the excess fabric with its left hand, while its right hand was stretched before it, as if sharing wisdom with its believers.

The witchers were lucky. This was Lebioda, a figure known for his generosity and friendliness. Perhaps the figure would take them in for the night. Before the niche and altar of the statue was a group of boys and girls. The youngest were about seven or eight, while the oldest was about fifteen or sixteen. They were in simple, patched clothes and stood around dumbly, their eyes vacant. Their grayed, cotton jackets had snow hanging on them, and mist came fluttering out of their mouths and noses. Cheeks red from the cold, the group looked dazed, as though they had troubles on their minds.

The witchers were reminded of the House of Gawain, though this place was far more depressing. As if it was a pool of water that was absent from life. A young lady in a simple white robe and leather cap came hurrying out with a pair of burly men accompanying her. She looked at the witchers sharply. "Hi. You're not residents of this area, are you? What brings you here?" 𝓁𝑖𝒷𝑟𝘦𝒶𝑑.𝒸𝘰𝘮

The woman was about twenty-three or twenty-four years old. She looked at the young witchers, her maroon hair swaying around her shoulders. Her skin was almost transparently pale, and a thin layer of hair was visible on her neck. She was tense, however, and her eyes were bloodshot. Obviously, she hadn't been sleeping well lately.

The witchers shrewdly noticed the stiff look on this lady's face. "Hello, sirs. Lady. I'm Carl, and this is Acamuthorm. We were just passing by. As you can see, it's going to be dark soon, and the night's chill is deadly. We'd like to ask for a place to stay for the night and Lebioda's protection, if possible."

"I'm Daisy, the administrator and priestess of this temple. They're the guards, Dino and Rumachi."

One of the guards had a wide, protruding chin. The other sported shaved cheeks paired with a mustache and goatee as well as a brooding look. The guards smiled at the witchers, but they looked uneasy and alarmed. Their eyes were locked on the swords behind the witchers' backs and the silver bottles in the pouches around their waists.

"Lebioda is merciful. He is more than happy to provide a warm resting place for weary travelers, but you are armed. And you have swords. Swords can kill and hurt, and the temple has a lot of frail children."

"Hoes, pitchforks, and scythes kill too. It all depends on who uses them. We make a living swinging our swords around, and our vocation demands that we keep our weapons close to us at all times. Do not worry, however. We will only point our blades at monsters."

Acamuthorm smiled, showing off the medallion before his chest. "We're Griffin School witchers. We came from Kerack in the south, planning to seek out old friends in Lan Exeter. There are more job opportunities in big cities, you see."

It was no secret that witchers had to travel the land to look for requests. Even after they made a name for themselves in Novigrad, that tradition would not be broken. The difference was that requests would now be nothing but zest to spice up the lives of witchers rather than their livelihood. The wealth left by Vilgefortz and Alzur was enough for the brotherhood to run for ten years.

"It's rare to see witchers your age now. Do you have any other evidence?" Even though the Trial made the boys look a few years older, sixteen-year-olds were still young. They were a far cry from bloodthirsty, scary mutants. The priestess was musing.

"Then check this sword out. It's not a regular sword." Carl grinned with excitement and put his hand over his back. He held his sword's hilt, covered by leather. Silver light flashed through the air.

The priestess and her guards saw a bolt of white lightning flying ahead. Carl swung his sword, and the blade bloomed like a white flower. Beneath the cross-shaped crossguard, a rune glimmered. Six bursts of blue light flowed in waves around it. A line of beautiful, stylistic Elder Speech inscription was inscribed underneath the rune.

The sword was beautiful—almost like a piece of art. Carl brushed his finger across the blade, which buzzed and glimmered. It was beautiful, and yet deadly. For some reason, the guards took a step back in fear.

"The sword's core is meteoric iron, the blade silver, and it's imbibed with layers of magic. Only witchers can swing them. Do not worry, you two. It is only deadly to monsters, not humans." Carl sheathed his blade and grinned. The look of shock on the temple staff's faces made him swell with pride.

Acamuthom grunted. Dammit. That should've been me showing off, not Carl the narcissist.

The guard with unkempt hair looked in fear, asking, "Carl, was there something inscribed on the blade?"

"You have a good eye. That's a message from my mentor, Roy the legendary witcher. And then another grandmaster inscribed it during the high noon of Midarete. I'll explain when we have time."

"Beastly eyes, Griffin medallion, and a legendary silver sword. You're witchers, alright. Please, come in." Daisy's eyes shone, and her attitude turned in a completely new direction. She waved at the young witchers without hesitation and dragged them inside.

The vacant kids in the courtyard looked at them, and a hint of life flickered in their eyes. Acamuthorm waved at them, smiling, but they ran into their houses like scared little foals, leaving messy footprints on the ground.

Acamuthorm frowned. A weird feeling flared in his heart, and he exchanged a look with Carl.

"Lebioda, have mercy. He sent you two to our rescue. To end this temple's disaster," said Daisy happily.

"What disaster?" The witchers were interested.

"Do you see the kids? Oh, sorry, they're scared of strangers, and they get shy easily. There's a reason why they look gloomy. Because something corrupted is haunting this temple, plunging our lives into chaos. A skilled monster slayer is just what we need."

Chapter 591

The temple's dining room was similarly rundown. Sitting in a corner were two snow-covered cloaks, and their owners were devouring their food quietly and quickly at the room's long wooden table. Carl wolfed down a stuffed scone into his mouth and let the fluffy, potato-stew-soaked bran puff up in his mouth. The scent lingered, unabating.

Daisy sat across from them, sighing and wincing a little. "You're professionals, witchers. Slayers of monsters and supernatural beings. You know countless monsters hide in these wilds. Kikimores, ghouls, spriggans, and things I don't even know the name of."

"On the contrary." Carl put his cleaned plate down. With the air of a veteran, he said, "Monsters are dwindling in numbers lately. Compared to them, bandits, robbers, mercenaries, and soldiers are the biggest threat to humanity. So you're saying that there's something unusual in the temple."

Daisy put her hands on the table, clasping them together, and she rested her chin on their collapsed steeple. She looked at the bald guy beside her. The fireplace's light was shining on her, and in her eyes, there was worry.

"Six months ago, I started hearing eerie sounds every night. It upset me. Do you know what it felt like? It felt like a worm was wiggling its way into my ear. Like a tongue was licking my nape." Rumachi clenched his fists. He was animated in his description, wriggling around as he recounted the experience. "Sometimes it would sound like a baby's gurgles, and sometimes it'd sound like a rat's squeak. Sometimes I even hear lutes! We searched the whole temple, and the sounds came from the cellar underground. That place is filled with miscellaneous items and pickled food. Dino and I went to check things out."

Acamuthorm listened closely and took a swig of goat's milk. It was sweet. He quickly took a glance outside the window and saw a girl with dry, golden hair staring into the dining room. She was gulping. The night's breeze was making her rub her hands as she shivered.

The sun was setting, but the young witcher's strengthened eyesight allowed him to see the girl's face. She looked almost like the cheeky, beautiful, regal girl beloved by Geralt and Yennefer. That's impossible. She should still be in Skellige. This must be a coincidence.

"There was something corrupted hiding behind the pork jerkies!" The guard's jiggling face was red, his voice trembling.

"Calm down. One step at a time. What did it look like? We want every detail."𝓵𝙞𝒃𝓻𝓮𝙖𝓭.𝙘𝓸𝓶

Acamuthorm's voice calmed the guard, as if it was infused with magic.

"It was like a hag. Gaunt, hunched, rotten flesh hanging from her face. She was wearing a dress made out of gauze."

Acamuthorm rubbed his stubble and frowned. "You sure you saw it right?"

The guard was getting redder. He stammered, "I-I didn't dare stay underground for too long. Just saw its outline. Vaguely."

"Was there only one?"

"Honestly, we'd probably be dead if there were two," said the man with the mustache and goatee.

"That thing came after us, screaming. Dino's fire blocked it for just long enough, or it'd have pounced on me. Lebioda, I've never been more terrified in my life. I got goosebumps. Almost pissed myself. Good thing our legs were enough to carry us back. We got back up, slammed the board on the hole, and sat down on it."

Acamuthorm gave the bald guy a look. "You aren't as brave as you look."

"Brave doesn't mean stupid. I wouldn't try to bite on a rock and think it'd be crushed. Even veteran soldiers would run if they saw that thing."

That was how most people would react to horrors beyond their understanding.

"That thing didn't break through the trapdoor?" Acamuthorm asked.

Dino was surprised, but he also said with relief, "Thank Lebioda, that thing only screamed, still stuck in the cellar."

"Wait, so it's a sitting duck. How'd you deal with it, then?" Carl looked at the temple staff members.

"Smoked the entrance, chanted Lebioda's prayers, tried traditional exorcism, tossed swine bladders filled with virgin piss, virgin course blood, and blood of a black dog, but they were useless. It's weird. We saw nothing when we went into the cellar during the day, but the sounds would come at night. Not even cock-crows happen so consistently.

"Tried fire before?" Carl asked.

"Burning the temple is blasphemy to Lebioda," said Daisy.

"If you can't deal with it, why didn't you move?"

"We have a lot of kids. No place to house them. And Lebioda's believers cannot be scared by a mere ghost," said Daisy adamantly.

"Do you remember the time of night it shows itself?"

"After the moon rises. When the next moon shines, we'll hear it scream."

Carl mused. It's not scared of smoke, locked in a small cellar, disappears during the day, and only shows up when the moon appears? "Does it do anything worse than scream?"

The temple staff members shook their heads. With relief, Daisy said, "That evil entity only terrorizes the darkness of the cellar. It cannot escape its prison and hurt the children. That's why we stayed back and endured its screams, but I'm worried. One of these days, it might come out and hurt everyone."

Carl massaged his temples. That creature was humanoid. He considered a grave hag, a spriggan, a nekker, or a ghoul, but the habitat was wrong. Not to mention those monsters couldn't be stopped by a wooden board and a paltry few locks. The moment such things had to be fed, the people in this temple would be its food. Not those monsters.

Carl nodded. He asked, "Have you been having nightmares a lot over the last six months?"

The temple staff looked at one another. Daisy mused. "Lost sleep for the first few days. Then everything was alright. Must be Lebioda's protection."

Carl's eyes glinted. If this was a cheeky godling, then the temple dwellers would have nightmares chasing most dreams and many pranks pulled on them.

A short silence fell upon the temple.

"You have an idea, don't you?" Rumachi asked.

"We have a rough guess, but there's something odd, so we need to investigate."

The witchers were reminded of an earthbound entity they'd seen in the Almanac of Creatures. It was humanoid, only came out when the moon appeared, and had an eerie voice. However, that thing could only be born of corpses and paths upon which the moon would shine, not a temple cellar.

"Daisy, this might be rude, but has Lebioda's spirit never helped you exercise the creature?" To witchers, ghost hauntings could happen in a great many places, be it a city or village, but not temples. Never temples.

Even though Melitele hadn't shown her power to the world for a long time now, her temple in Ellander was still protected by her sanctity. Ghosts and evil entities would never do anything near something sacred. Even Kreve was a god on the good side, strictly speaking. His temple could ward off evil creatures and people, too.

Daisy mused over it and sighed deeply. "Perhaps I'm too young. I've only been working in this place for six months. Maybe the creature is Lebioda's test for me."

"So the children have only been here for six months?"

"Ah, you do not know this." Daisy looked outside the window, her face filled with love and sympathy. "The children are mostly orphans who came from Cintra and Sodden a few years ago. Some were sent here because their families couldn't afford them. Sinny was the priestess who took care of them. She eventually went around traveling, and I took over the job."

Acamuthorm praised, "It's not easy keeping so many mouths fed in the wilds of Poviss. This place is freezing."

"It's all thanks to the donations and aid from the people. We get by," said the priestess thankfully.

Acamuthorm shook his head silently. During his days of wandering, he knew that the poorer the place, the fiercer, stingier, and stupider the people. The farmers could barely support themselves, let alone help kids that weren't theirs. But he didn't argue.

"You're dashing, witchers. You must be kind, too," Dino suddenly complimented the witchers.

"Can you help us, for the children's sake?" Daisy clasped her hands before her chest, her eyes flaring with a plea.

"Witcher's rules. Pay us, and we get rid of your problem. According to your description, that monster in the cellar seems to be hard to deal with," said Carl.

Daisy looked troubled.

"Have mercy, witchers. We don't have money." Rumachi stood up, towering like a bear. He clasped his fists, pleading, "All we have is food for the winter, and we've used up the best part to serve you."

Carl and Acamuthorm rubbed their noses awkwardly. Should they refuse? No, all we did was kill a drowner on this boring trip. It'd be embarrassing just to get back like this, but if we work for free, Serrit's going to yell at us. Why don't we try the Law of Surprise and take a child with us? No, we saw them the moment we came into the temple. There is no surprise at all.

As time passed in his contemplations, Acamuthorm brushed his finger across the griffin medallion before his chest. This is my trip. I call the shots. Time to prove myself and get some glory. He cleared his throat and got up, and then he circled the table. With justice in his eyes, he said, "You're lucky you ran into me. Griffins are bearers of the valor of knights. Just this once, we will slay this monster. You have paid for the job in the form of this meal."

"Y-you mean that? You aren't joking, are you?" Daisy heaved a sigh of relief, and she opened her mouth in surprise.

"Witchers never go back on their word."

Since Acamuthorm had made his promise, all Carl could do was hold his forehead and sigh.

"Thank you, truly. May Lebioda protect you." Delighted, the priestess bowed at the witchers. As if worried they might break their promise, she quickly said, "What do you need us to do? How can we help? Just say it."

"Take care of yourself and the kids. Let us focus on the monster." Carl looked outside the window. The sky had darkened, and the light of twilight shone on the snowy ground and the statue in the shadows.

A layer of darkness draped itself over the statue of Lebioda.

"Give us some time to prepare. Once the moon rises, we strike."

Chapter 592

Decadent moonlight spilled into the window, shining upon the figures sitting cross-legged upon the icy ground.

Carl's face tensed up. Like a general trying to order his soldier around, he smacked Acamuthorm's shoulders. "Mate, I have an important mission for you. Stand guard outside the cellar later."

"Piss off." The part-elf shoved his hand away in scorn. "We're doing this together."

"Don't argue. My gut tells me something's wrong with the guards. You have to stay back just in case anything happens." Carl stared outside the window, musing.

"There's something wrong with you. You killed the drowner last time, so this time, I'm dealing with whatever this is." Acamuthorm's eyes were as wide as saucepans. He argued defiantly, "I'm the one who offered to do this for free. I'm taking the risks myself."

"That's a different matter. You can be the main unit when you beat me."

That hit Acamuthorm where it hurt, and he laughed mirthlessly. Knowingly, he said, "You'd be so selfless and thoughtful of someone else? Do it, then. After you die, I'll take care of Vicki in your stead."

Carl grinned toothily, his eyes icy. He held his hand up and aimed it at his comrade's crotch, gesturing like he was going to chop something off. "I didn't know you picked up Lambert's bad habit. Maybe I'll cut that off first."

"Try if you dare."

The witchers bantered for five minutes, and they calmed down. Carl held the silver weapon on his left side and grabbed the hilt with one hand. He greased some specter oil on the blade with his other hand. Then he smeared the blade with the Viper School's modified, colorless pufferfish toxin. Just to make things safer.

The moment the liquids slid into the stylistic rune, Carl brushed his index finger across the back of the blade like a swordsman going into a deadly dance. Like a sword maker making a sword. Once the oils were evenly spread, the blade glimmered grayish-brown. He sheathed the weapon and grabbed two bottles from the pouch around his belt and chest. One was made of porcelain, while the other was a long, silver container.

The corks fell to the ground, and Carl gulped the decoctions. Cats enhanced their mutated eyes so they could catch light easier. Thunderbolt expanded their muscles, coursing power through their veins and awakening their potential. Carl was like a panther lying in wait for his prey. Black veins wriggled and throbbed, snaking from the neck to his temples. The veins spread through his face, contorting it until Carl looked like a demon. Slivers of white mist poured forth from his nose and mouth. As his eyes turned, lightning bolts seemed to flicker around.

Carl stood up, his cloak billowing. He strode out of the doorway, and Acamuthorm followed. He relaxed his muscles, livening up his body.

Snow fell through the landscape. There was only silence around the temple, accompanied by the chilly night wind. The priestess and her guards were holding up torches, standing before the sealed house beside the barn where the horses stayed. They were shivering.

Carl took a few steps, and his ears wiggled. He heard soft moans and cries coming from the darkness of the house, spreading through the night like icy winds. It reminded him of madwomen who stayed in cemeteries, whispering to themselves. Within the weak voice was chilly air that could seep into the bodies of those who heard it.

When the torches shone on the witchers, the man with unkempt hair was shocked by Carl's demonic look. Cautiously, he held the dagger around his belt. "Carl, are you sick, or did you get possessed?"

"Calm down. This is just tattoo magic. It can scare ghosts off. And it works on humans, though only just a bit. Calm down." Acamuthorm's face was covered in black veins as well, and he smiled, but it was a terrifying smile. "Well, don't just stand there. Open the door."

Rumachi wheeled around and looked at Daisy. The moment she nodded, he pried the sealed door with a hammer and tossed the wooden boards onto the ground. They stepped into the house.

It was a place made of wood. Dark and empty, it looked like it'd been deserted for six months. Dust and cobwebs came flying at the intruders. In the center of the house was a piece of wood that slightly caved downward. The torches shone on it and the ball of chains that were wrapped up like a metal python. There was a lock on it.

The priestess looked at the witcher and patted her chest. She took a deep breath, crouched, and took out some keys from her robe. One by one, she unlocked the chains. She had her back turned to everyone. Her hair swayed, inadvertently revealing a pattern on her nape. It was the pattern of a cobweb, and it was the size of a fingernail. Most of the pattern was hidden under the robe, revealing nothing but eerie black runes.

A mark? A tattoo?

The witchers exchanged a look. They thought that mark looked familiar, but they couldn't remember where they saw it.

The guards helped the priestess pull the chains away and opened up the stone slab. A flight of stairs that descended into the underground was revealed. The moans in the cellar became a high-pitched scream, unnerving the hearts of anyone who heard it.

Carl's medallion was buzzing, and the mana hanging in the air was getting erratic. He quickly made a Sign and covered himself in a layer of golden barrier. Heliotrop followed quickly after. The witcher unsheathed his blade and held it up. Holding his head low, he walked into the darkness like a crab.

"Aren't you going to help?" Daisy looked at Acamuthorm curiously. He was standing guard at the entryway.

"He's my leader. Strongest guy among the first apprentices of the brotherhood. Ruler of the drowners," Acamuthorm jokes, then the look on his face changed. He spoke again, but there was a hint of excitement in his voice this time. "Shh. It's coming."

The thick scent of dust, rotting items, and soil filled the air. Two green beads were floating in the darkness, shining like glow-in-the-dark balls. Beams of moonlight poured into the holes deep in the cellar, weaving a beautiful silver web. Like a hunting panther, Carl bent over a little and held his breath. He stood on his tiptoes, quietly advancing into the depths of the cellar, where the screech was coming from.

His pupils had contracted into slits, and he looked through the darkness. The ground was a mess. Piles of stones, miscellaneous items, and pickled food were strewn everywhere. Right in front of him, a charred table leg was stabbed into the ground, standing like the mast of a sunken ship. The table and the half-buried marble table further away formed a triangular opening.

A vague silhouette burning green charged through the darkness, stirring up howling winds. It charged at the intruders of the cellar. Carl focused and quickly seized a bottle from his belt. He hurled it at the entity. The bottle broke, and a greenish-gray dust cloud filled the air, covering the entity from head to toe like a net capturing its haul. Electric bolts flickered, and Moon Dust took effect. The entity's translucent body turned corporeal, revealing itself under the moonlight.

It was wearing a long, tattered green dress. In one hand was a lantern, while in the other was a rusty dagger. The entity was hovering an inch above the ground. It was spindly and skeletal. Its arms were gnarly, its face dried and covered with rotting flesh. The creature was like a corpse bride in a gown that just broke out of its ancient grave.

In the books of witchers, this creature was called a nightwraith. It screamed and spun like it was performing a waltz. The creature's dagger spun as well, just like a spinning gear. A green wheel spun around, but the witcher knew this was coming. He crouched and rolled away easily, just like how he evaded the spinning dummies thousands of times.

The witcher escaped the edge of the attacking dagger until he was behind the creature. Before the nightwraith could do anything, Carl quickly made a purple Sign and pushed it ahead. The circle of Yrden gleamed on the ground, locking the nightwraith within.

Its screams echoed through the cellar. As if it was fettered to heavy chains, the creature sank like it was caught by a pool of mud. The light around it strobed, and its movement slowed to a crawl, yet it screamed and pounced at the witcher anyway.

Carl smiled. He held his blade up to his cheek, pointing it at the monster like it was a bull's horn ready to attack. He put his left foot forward and thrust his blade ahead, swift as lightning.

The waves of its screams blasted all around the monster, and debris flew everywhere. Carl swayed and the black barrier coating him broke, but it fended off the sound wave. The witcher darted ahead, holding his sword before his torso. Like a plough, Carl swung his blade up and pierced the monster's left eye. He wanted to destroy it.

And then a gust of wind charged from behind him. Another wraith came rampaging out of the darkness. Shocked, the witcher leapt left and hid behind the marble table, but he was one step too late. The dagger destroyed Quen, and the golden barrier shattered.

The battle took a turn for the worse. The injured nightwraith and its screeching companion came toward the witcher, flanking him. Carl knew the battle wouldn't be easy, but his lack of experience put him at a disadvantage, and he was caught by surprise.

The injured nightwraith attacked Carl's legs with its dagger. Carl leapt in time and kept his knees intact, but the new nightwraith swung its lantern. Sparks flew across the table, and it grazed Carl's right hand.

A gash opened up. Carl's hand screamed in pain, and he almost let his sword fall. Fortunately, he'd gone through tons of hellish training in the brotherhood, so his endurance was remarkable. Quickly, he bent backward at the perfect angle. He evaded the monsters' attacks and quickly swung his blade in an arc.

The nightwraith on the left howled, a corrosive wound opening up on its wrist. The one on the right had its belly hit by the blade, and it screamed louder. Carl quickly cast Aard and shoved the left monster backward.

The injured nightwraith swung its weapons like an insane beast. It hit the witcher's left waist, but it only left a white mark on the dragonscale-reinforced leather armor. Carl only grunted. He spun around and leapt out of the monster's attack range. Quickly, he moved to its side and swung his blade at the monster's back, then he thrust his weapon ahead.

A stream of fire swam across the air. Flames burned on the blade, trying to pierce the nightwraith from back to chest. The monster shimmered, trying to become incorporeal, but it had no more strength for that. It let out one final, ear-piercing scream as its skin was peeled off from its whole body.

As if the monster had been rotting for many centuries, it turned into dust, leaving nothing but a pile of green specter dust behind. Carl was breathing heavily, swaying like a clock, but he quickly leapt at the other nightwraith that had split itself into three, bombarding it with Signs, bottles, and his sword.

"Do you hear that? The battle's raging. Are you sure he can deal with it alone?" Daisy gritted her teeth. She looked at the dark cellar with worry. "Are you sure you're not going to help?"

"Don't worry. He's not an idiot. He'd have asked for help if he needed it. Since he's not saying anything, he can deal with it." Acamuthorm had a determined and confident look in his eyes. "Get ready to welcome a victorious warrior."

And then the sounds of battle came to a halt. The four standing outside the cellar tensed up, holding their weapons and torches tightly.

Ten minutes later, a pair of gleaming eyes quickly ascended the staircase, and then, a young face covered in black veins appeared from the darkness. The witcher was covered in soil and dust, sweat trickling down his chin. Carl was pale and exhausted, as if he hadn't slept for three days. A small gash decorated his cheek. It was obvious he'd gone through a tough battle.

Dino, Rumachi, and Daisy froze in shock for a moment, then they smiled brightly. "You won?"

"Took everything I had, but fortunately, I dealt with the monsters." Carl wiped the sweat and blood off his forehead, then he smiled. "The cellar is safe for now."

Acamuthorm heaved a sigh of relief.

"Speaking of which, your information is seriously flawed." Carl frowned. He dug out a bottle of Swallow and poured it on the back of his bleeding hand. "There were two nightwraiths inside, not one. If I wasn't prepared enough, I would've died."

"Oh, sorry, Carl." Panicked, the priestess and her guards quickly bowed. "Please forgive us for our mistake."

Carl leaned on the edge of the staircase and looked at the trio, then he turned to the angry Acamuthorm and shook his head. "Forget it. Now get some shovels and help us."

"What do you want to do?"

"I searched the cellar, but I couldn't find the source of these nightwraiths. They might be buried underground. We need to find the corpses and deal with the problem once and for all. We have a long night ahead of us."𝙡𝙞𝙗𝒓𝙚𝓪𝙙.𝒄𝓸𝓶

Chapter 593

Chilly morning winds blew into the open doors on the west side of the temple, blowing across a pair of human corpses lying on the ground. They were covered in tattered, yellowing, molding strips of cloth. Between the skeletons was a dirty, patched-up ragdoll covered in blood. The doll's eyes were staring into the empty ceiling, as if telling it a quiet secret.

Carl wiped the sweat off his forehead and turned to the astounded temple administrators. This was what they found after a whole night of digging. Five minutes of silence had gone by. The administrator's shock didn't seem fake. That, or they were perfect actors.

Carl coughed and snapped the administrators' attention away from the corpses. "As I guessed, there were corpses under the ground. This is how the nightwraiths were born."

"Nightwraiths?" The priestess gave Carl a curious look.

"If someone bears a great grudge and enmity before they die, and if they die in pain, their souls are turned into nightwraiths, and they appear over the corpse or something they were deeply attached to. They appear along with the first sliver of moonlight, standing sentry in a certain place, releasing waves of hatred on everything around them. They torture and kill the people around them, creating more of their kind. As long as these corpses remained buried, the nightwraiths would never have been truly eradicated.

Carl paused and observed the look on the administrators' faces, but he saw no hint of guilt or nervousness. There was only fear. Regular fear.

"I have to give it to the pros. Found the source of the problem in a single night. Even a moment of the monsters' staying in the temple is sacrilegious toward Lebioda," said Daisy unctuously. She took a deep breath. "No time to lose. How should we cleanse them? Do we burn them or bury them in the woods or throw them into the waters?"

"Calm down. Cleansing this thing isn't as easy as you think." Acamuthorm sneered silently, and he exchanged a look with Carl.

They're showing their true colors. If someone found out they had a corpse in their house, the first thing they would do would be to ask why. And how. And a lot more questions. Daisy, however, couldn't wait to destroy the evidence.

"Before we do this, I have a few questions I need answering. This is a temple, not a grave scattered in the wilds. Lebioda isn't a god of death either." And then his face fell, his eyes shining like lightning. He raised his voice, and it boomed like thunder. "So how did these corpses get into the cellar? How are the deceased related to you? And what's with the doll? You denied everything when I asked you about the truth. You swore no one died in the cellar."

The administrators were shocked by the sudden interrogation. Daisy blanched. She retreated to her guards' side and answered solemnly, "But I don't remember anyone dying in the temple. I don't know these people."

"Really? Well, I think you just don't want to remember it. Why don't I jog your memory?" Acamuthrom crouched and held up the pelvic bone of the corpse on the left. It was wide, short, and the walls were thin and smooth. The upper side was circular, while the front and back were wide. He knew the gender of this corpse immediately. "This was a woman."

He observed the whole outline and picked up the skull. Acamuthorm brushed his fingers across the yellowing teeth, then he pointed the skull at the admins, as if trying to get it to interrogate them. "Between ages ten and fifteen. Time of death, uncertain as of yet." The time of death was affected by many factors. The witchers were still young and inexperienced, so they couldn't make any conclusions.

The admins said nothing. Acamuthorm went on with his investigation, and he murmured in surprise. "Ribs, legs, and hips are fractured in more places than one. Cause, outside force. A row of circular paw prints are left on the chest, spanning from the collarbone on the left to the right rib. Four paw prints, and not a canine beast. Not necrophages either, so it was a big cat."

Acamuthorm looked solemn. Since the killer wasn't human, then there must be more to this nightwraith haunting. "Left shoulder was crushed by incisors. From the marks left, there are about twenty-five to thirty incisors on the upper row. Incredible length and bite force too. The killer's bigger than a cheetah."

The admins took a deep breath and exchanged looks of awe and shock. The witchers took a deep breath, and they could imagine a bloody scene. A sleek, slender, feline beast crushing a gaunt girl under its feet, tearing her apart. The girl howled in pain as her bones were crushed. Her body convulsed, and the blood splattering from her wounds blossomed into roses of death, drenching her clothes and the ground. Her screams eventually quieted, and her blood became a crimson pool. In the end, she drew her last breath in agony.

However, that was not the only trace on the body. Carl scanned the waist of the skeleton and touched it, then he pulled a stretch of string from it. It was mostly white, but parts of it were reddish-brown. Blood covered it and dried up. The string was about the thickness of an index finger. Upon closer inspection, there was a lot of hair on it. The string was sticky to the touch, and that was after the stickiness had disappeared a lot after being buried in the ground for so long.

Carl pulled on both ends, and the string showed remarkable resilience. "What is this?" Carl looked at his companion curiously.

"Cobweb." Acamuthrom inhaled sharply. He guessed, "Regular spiders can't make strings this thick. Perhaps an arachnomorph had taken up residence here sometime earlier."

Arachnomorphs were about the size of cattle. It had great speed and jumping power. It could spit venom and incredibly sticky webs. Those creatures could easily hunt lions or even a Skellige man.

Daisy tensed up. Her face was hidden in the shadows, her expression a mystery.

"Impossible. Poviss' weather is chilly. Arachnomorphs do not live in places like this," Carl refuted. "Even if we set that aside, if an arachnomorph had taken up residence in a temple, the children would've been turned into breeding grounds for its larvae. I think it's some sort of mutated, gigantified spider creature."

The admins' faces morphed. The mention of breeding grounds sent chills down the admins' spines, and goosebumps appeared all over them. Acamuthorm observed those people through the corner of his eye, then he turned to the smaller skeleton on the left. "A girl. Younger, and her bones have the same cracks. Small amount of cobwebs on her."

He fell into a long silence. First, they were killed by a strong, gigantic feline beast, and then a mutated spider creature took their bodies. How much pain must they have gone through? That's why they turned into nightwraiths and haunted this place. But why were they the only victims while everyone else was spared? Creatures that size would never leave quietly after only killing two girls.

Acamuthorm had questions, but he couldn't sort everything out yet.

"Still can't remember anything at this point, Daisy? You have two people dead in your temple, and none of you had any idea about it? That can't be true. That's a lie. Answer my question."

"I did not lie in the slightest. I've never heard of any spiders or big cats." Daisy licked her cracking lips and shook her head stubbornly. "If they had appeared in the temple, they'd have created a big ruckus. Everyone must've seen them. The news would've reached every household in this area."

Acamuthorm mused, falling into his thoughts. They'd never heard of anything about these creatures on their way here.

Shocked and indignant, Rumachi asked, "Why do you insist on asking? Do you think we're related to the killers?"

"Only gods know the answer to that," Acamuthorm muttered.

Dino went red, and he argued, "Please, I swear that these poor children's deaths have nothing to do with us. If we were the killers, we'd have never led you into this and helped you find the corpses. We'd only get ourselves in trouble if we did that."

Carl nodded.

"I've always thought of the kids as family. I give my everything to them and care for them the best I can. I'd never beat them or yell at them. How could I ever hurt them?" Daisy blinked innocently. "The number of children has always been eighteen since I came to serve Lebioda. Not a single one has gone missing."

Acamuthorm mused over it and looked at Carl. He mouthed, 'Sign?'

Carl shook his head. The young witchers practiced Aard and Igni the most, given their craving for battles. Axii, the Sign to control the heart, wasn't as perfectly honed as the other two. They could use it to stun someone for a while, but it wasn't enough for any interrogation. Not to mention Roy told them not to use Axii on any gods' ardent believers, or they'd be in grave danger.

"Then tell us about that priestess. Has she left any messages before she went on her travels? Or any written records? Make it fast."

Daisy mused and started saying, "Grandma Skinny has always been a nice person…"

Dino and Rumachi would add to the story sometimes. Acamuthorm listened for a while, and he thought asking these questions had no meaning. He gave Carl a look and looked at the kids outside, then he took the ragdoll. "You guys keep talking. I'll take a piss and feed the steeds. Don't want to leave Wilt and Scorpion thirsty."

Daisy looked at the witcher as he went into the courtyard, and she continued talking as if she hadn't seen anything.

Chapter 594

Weirdly enough, the moment Acamuthorm left the great hall, the children whispering in the courtyard quickly fell silent, as if they'd seen some terrifying beast. Before he said anything, they darted into their dorms like frightened cats. The hardy pinewood door slammed into the frame, and someone locked the door from within. A few kids looked outside the window, sneaking fearful glances.

Acamuthorm was standing beside Lebioda's statue, and he grinned. Miffed, he touched his face. He'd never been so feared by anyone before. Not on his journeys. Thinking this was just some mistake, he went to the window and whipped out a few pieces of pork jerkies from his pouch and said hello to the kids, but that only made them react more violently. The kids shrank into the darkness in fear and stopped breathing.

"What's going on?" Acamuthorm turned around, looking annoyed, and then his eyes shone. In the stables not far from him, a girl seemed to have been separated from her companions. She was crouching behind the head of a brown horse, unmoving, as if she were playing hide and seek with the witcher.

Unbeknownst to her, Wilt had sold her out. Its tail was spinning like rotor blades, telling the young witcher that a child was hiding around it. Acamuthorm walked on his tiptoes and stood beside the bucket filled with water. Through the side of the horse's neck, he observed the girl. She was about fifteen years old and slender, her clothes made of cotton. They were gray and patched up, and the girl was half a head shorter than Acamuthorm. She was about five-foot-five, and her hair was dry, golden, and short. A few braids decorated her head, and a green headband was tied around her forehead, giving her a hint of heroism.

Her features were beautiful, and her eyes were dark brown. Her nose was aquiline, and her lips were not big or small. She looked a bit like Falka, though this girl had a more prominent outline, felt more mature, and her skin wasn't as refined.

Falka is probably on Skellige, taking lessons from Yennefer and Roy.

The girl didn't notice the commotion in the courtyard. She was immersed in breathing near the horse's nose and patting its mane. A frustrated Wilt was snorting, shaking its head. If Roy hadn't trained it to sharply sense threats from any incoming entity, it'd have kicked this cheeky girl away a long time ago.

Acamuthorm cocked his eyebrow.

"Hey."

The girl looked up, and she tensed up. She gasped and quickly held her right hand before her chest, then she pulled out half a bat from her left boot. The girl curled up defensively.

Acamuthorm looked annoyed. Only people attacked by drowners make that kind of face. Am I that scary? "Calm down, girl. I'm not a bad guy. I won't hurt you." Acamuthorm straightened out his fringe, collar, and sleeves. He forced a smile and handed a piece of pork jerky to the girl. "I come in peace. I just want to make a friend."

The girl stared at the witcher, wide-eyed, for half a minute. She stared at his face and flat belly for a long time, as if she wanted to confirm something. Coldly, she asked, "Who are you?"

"Acamuthorm, a kind witcher. I've rid this temple of the monsters lurking within, free of charge. Just to help you poor children."

"Don't call me girl, witcher. I have a name. Angouleme. You talk a big talk, and you claim to have gotten rid of that howling monster?" The girl stared at the pork jerky the witcher was holding, her eyes filled with desire, but she licked her lips and held her desire down, then she forced herself to look away.

"From now on, you can sleep easy. This is my gift for the temple's children. Do you like it?"

Angouleme didn't answer. She remained crouched, and she puffed her cheeks like a squirrel, blowing at the horse's nose.

Ungrateful brat, Acamuthorm thought. He popped the jerky into his mouth and chewed loudly. "Ah, it's good. What are you doing to Wilt?"

Angouleme gulped and widened her eyes. Seriously, she said, "Haven't you heard? Blow at a horse's nose, and it'll stay loyal to you for life. But you have to stay really close and get its trust patiently."

"Where'd you hear that kind of horse taming tip? Weird." Acamuhorm smiled. This girl was interesting. At least she was more interesting than the scaredy cats who hid the moment they saw him. "Roy's steed is loyal. It'll never be bought. Will you turn your back on Roy, Wilt?"

Wilt grinned toothily, gnashing its teeth. It sprayed the girl's face with its drool and turned away in disdain, obviously trying to say it wanted to have nothing to do with Angouleme. Angouleme was deadpan, wiping the drool off her face. She kept blowing on the horse's nose, and Acamuthorm could hear her whistling.

"Alright, stop harassing the horse. It's just a waste of time. So what if you somehow gain Wilt's loyalty? What can you do?"

Angouleme said nothing. Acamuthorm looked at her quietly. A few moments later, he sighed in resignation and changed his question. "Why are your friends so scared of me?"

Angouleme pursed her lips, hesitating for a moment. Then, like an annoying brat, she said, "Haven't you looked into the mirror? Amber eyes, vertical pupils, ears and nose pointy enough to stab someone. Of course you're scared."

She has a short fuse and a sharp tongue. Acamuthorm's lips twitched. "Why aren't you scared of me? Why didn't you run?"

"I'm terrified." The girl's lips shivered. "But your legs are so long, and you have weapons, and your eyes are like a cat's," she said. It sounded like she was talking about Acamuthorm, but she was looking into empty air. Her voice was barely a whisper.

Acamuthorm thought she was talking nonsense at first, but then he realized she was hiding a message in there somewhere. "And your noses are… as strong as a dog's. You have fangs and claws and run faster than a horse. I can't escape. Where can I even go?" she muttered, a little manic. The rims of her eyes went red, then she sniffled and rubbed her eyes.

"At this rate, you'll be making me out to be a god. So tell me, you want to ride Wilt and get out of this temple, don't you? Is there something in here that scares you?" Acamuthorm asked quietly. 𝙡𝙞𝙗𝒓𝙚𝓪𝙙.𝒄𝓸𝓶

Angouleme kept blowing, ignoring him. The witcher wasn't discouraged. He had found out some ways to talk with this weird girl. He took the ragdoll out and swayed it in front of Angouleme. "Have you seen this thing before?"

That gleaned a reaction. Suppressed agony and guilt filled the girl's face, as if she was repenting for something too painful to even think of, but then she regained her composure. "No. The temple's poor. We don't have coins for toys."

"You lie."

The witcher's answer made the girl shiver.

"Forgot to tell you, but we found this ragdoll by a corpse." Acamuthorm was staring at the girl's face. He confirmed that no one could hear them and he lowered his voice. "She was buried in the cellar. No older than twelve years old when she died. And we found the remains of another girl similar in age. They died in pain. A big feline tore their skin and bones, and a terrifying spider caught them in its web, sucking their flesh and blood clean like vampires. They were tormented and died with rage, so they haunted the temple to find their killers."

Angouleme turned the color of a headstone. She stopped blowing on the horse and gripped the doll tightly, her knuckles getting white.

"Daisy claims she has no idea who the victims are, nor has she ever seen any big cats or spiders barging into the temple. Everything is the remnant of the last priestess' management. They've only been here for six months. You've been here for longer. You know the truth, don't you? Answer me honestly. Help me find the killers, and the dead will really rest in peace."

Angouleme quietly wrapped her arms around the horse's neck. She hung her head low, shivering, as if she were holding back an overflowing emotion. That unexpected reaction showed Acamuthorm the black, web-shaped tattoo on Angouleme's wrist. And he saw a row of small pincers.

"You won't answer? Scared? Is someone threatening you? Tell me. I just want to help."

Angouleme put her hands on her hips and spat on the ground. Her eyes were gleaming with fury, and she roared in hysteria, "Help me? You think I'm a kid? We're barely acquainted. Why would you help me? I've seen too many people who never walk their talk. They're perverts. Depraved and mad. No one can be trusted." She was like a hurt little hedgehog. Fiercely, she said, "Leave. Don't try to lie to me."

Acamuthorm frowned. He couldn't understand why the girl was so sensitive and quick to anger. He stopped fooling around and said honestly, "Why? You think I like to butt into business that's not mine? It's all because you look like my friend. She has silver hair, and her eyes are green as lush spring. She's not like you, unlucky enough to be trapped in a freezing temple, starving and without any good clothes." He turned around and looked at the room the priestess was in.

"She used to attend a rural school in Novigrad. Everyone gets along well there, and we help one another. We can learn how to read and write, and we can play as much as we want. Falka's my good friend, and you look like her. If I ignore you, she'd grumble about it."

Acamuthorm smiled. "And according to witchers, the meeting between people is a sign of destiny. Destiny led me here, to solve your problem. If you can help me find the monster, I swear I'll free you and your friends from your predicament. No one can threaten or hurt you."

Angouleme took a deep breath. She tried to say something, but then her features stiffened up. She had a vacant look in her eyes, and her pupils dilated. "No. Daisy's right. We've seen no lynxes or spiders. They never came to this temple."

"Angouleme?" Acamuthorm stared at the girl behind the horse. She was blinking.

A long silence ensued.

"Stop hounding me. I told you, I don't know." The manic girl's chest was heaving, and her cheeks turned red. She tossed the doll over to the witcher's feet. "If you have so many questions, ask the doll," she roared.

Reluctantly, she smacked the horse's neck, saying goodbye to it, then she ran out of the stables, leaving rows of footprints behind. She banged on the dorm's doors.

Acamuthorm and Wilt exchanged a look. The witcher picked up the dirty ragdoll, musing. Behind him, bald Rumachi approached slowly. He sniffed the air and had a look of disdain and fear on his face, then he put on a stiff smile.

Chapter 595

"Did you find any clues?" The bald guard bowed at the witcher, simpering.

"No. It's a shame. The kids are a bit too shy. Like tortoises who don't want to see anyone. Any little movement scares them. I couldn't ask them in time." Acamuthorm carefully held the doll in his arms, and he looked at the bald guard. The morning sunlight shone on his face, but he didn't have a look of relief at all.

He wasn't worried about the witcher asking the kids questions in private. "Carl has confirmed that Skinny is not a suspect. The monsters didn't leave anything behind. So we can't cleanse the corpses before nightfall, then?"

"That depends on how much you're cooperating with us."

"Ask away. I'll tell you everything I know."

Acamuthorm mused. "I saw a girl just now. Fifteen years old, gold hair, brown eyes. She reminds me of a friend, so I wonder where she comes from. How'd she come to this temple?"

"Angouleme. Poor girl." Rumachi wondered why the witcher was changing the subject, but he answered, "A noblewoman gave birth to her in secret, but her mother's lust for vanity outweighed her sense of responsibility. She refused to give her daughter any love, so she left her in a relative's house in Sodden when the girl was about six years old."

"That explains why she's so cautious." Acamuthorm empathized with her. Children without their parents were like boats without an anchor. Even if they had relatives taking care of them, they'd only be surviving on the bare minimum. If their relatives were the harsher type, the kids would be better off orphaned. Compared to her, he was lucky. The brotherhood took him in and raised him into a fine warrior, giving him the power to protect himself in this world. Giving him the power to exact justice to the extent of his strength.

"Nilfgaard's army invaded the North, and a battle broke out in Sodden Hill. The whole area was dragged into the mess. War's an uncertain and fickle thing, so her relative and their family moved to Kovir and Poviss."

Rumachi looked at the patch of red kale outside the fence in the courtyard. The veggies bloomed in the snow like red roses. "They journeyed a long way, starving most of the time. When they passed this area, her relatives thought that they couldn't afford to keep Angouleme even if they got into the city. She was just twelve back then. They dumped her at the temple's entrance like a deadweight."

The bald guard wiped his nonexistent tears away. "Her family abandoned her, so she leapt into the arms of our savior, Lebioda, ending her wandering life." He opened his arms at the dorms, speaking animatedly. "Now she has a quiet life. I, Daisy, and Dino are more responsible than that failure of a mother and heartless relatives."

"So she was abandoned twice?"

"Is that so odd? All the kids here have gone through similar experiences. They lost their family in the war and became orphans. Or their families go bankrupt, and their parents can't afford them anymore. They're abandoned on the streets or in the wilds. More than one-third of the kids here were abandoned twice. One boy was abandoned thrice. But the temple, in all its kindness and generosity, took the children in."

Rumachi continued adamantly, "If the children put all their faith in Lebioda, then this will be their forever home. I, Dino, and Daisy will be their family."

Acamuthorm felt conflicted. His gut told him that Rumachi was speaking from the bottom of his heart, but Angouleme didn't seem to like this temple. "I can see you have no talent in raising kids. They're more cowardly than a mouse."

"That is not our fault. Not totally." Rumachi slowed down. He rubbed his neck. "The children had gone through a lot before they came to this temple. The bad environment traumatized them too much, and that made them wary. Cautious. You know how it goes. Childhood trauma haunts you for life." Rumachi stopped and looked into the distance. Daisy, Carl, and Dino were done talking, and they'd come out of the room. Carl was carrying a knapsack that had the skeletal remains in them.

The young witcher shook his head at Acamuthorm regretfully. That long talk yielded no results, but then Acamuthorm gave him a furtive wink. Acamuthorm found some clues from Angouleme. The ragdoll she mentioned before she left, and the tattoo of Grayba the Black. There were a lot of questions to be answered, so Acamuthorm suggested they should tour the temple.

Sinny agreed to it and accompanied the witchers as they toured the buildings, the kitchen, the main hall, the bathroom, the toilet, and the prayer room. There wasn't much to say about the tour. Even when the witchers had turned on their witcher senses to the best they could, they found no claw marks or cobwebs.

Everything was normal. And then the last place to tour were the children's dormitories. Acamuthorm took the chance to make a request. "I only talked to Angouleme for a bit and no one else. They're scared of strangers. Daisy, I'll need you to gather them around."

Daisy pulled her hair back and said, "No problem, but please be gentle and understanding, you two. Destiny has given them too many hardships. They should not be harmed any further."𝑙𝘪𝒷𝓇𝑒𝑎𝑑.𝘤𝑜𝑚

"Do not worry. We were orphans once. We understand the pain," said the witchers.

The courtyard gleamed white, and ten kids stood in a formation under the overhang. Acamuthorm saw Angouleme standing at the end of the line. The girl was still craning her neck, looking at the horses in the stable, ignoring the witchers. The other children were sallow and scared. They curled up a little, and under their old, patched clothes were skeletal and hunched bodies. The judgmental looks from the strangers were making them restless. They averted their gaze, twiddled their fingers, spun their feet, and gnashed their teeth.

Daisy stood in the group, and some kids huddled close to her, holding the hem of her dress. They were friendly toward her, just like how children would get close to their mothers.

"Children, for the temple's safety, you must answer the witchers' questions honestly. If your answer can help them capture the killer, you get an extra potato during dinner."

That made the children's eyes shine with anticipation.

Acamuthorm didn't waste any time. He held up the doll and looked around. "Anyone ever seen this before?"

The kids shook their heads. Something rippled through them. Acamuthrom pointed at the child in the lead. He was a freckled boy and didn't look too smart. The child was thin, like a weak chick. "You, answer me."

The boy was thunderstruck when he was called.

Rumachi pushed him out of the group. "Answer him like a man, Durant!"

The boy's forehead started glistening with sweat. Nervous, he scratched his head and ears and looked around. He shook his head. "I-I've never seen this," he said, his voice cracking. He looked to his companions for help, but everyone took a step back and isolated him.

"Poor boy. Don't worry. We won't cut your head down. Come here and answer us." Acamuthorm pretended to be waving at the boy nonchalantly. The boy reluctantly came near, and when he finally got close enough, and the temple admins were behind him, Acamuthorm quickly held down the boy's left sleeve and grabbed his skeletal hand with his right. He swayed the hand as fast as possible and furtively pulled the sleeve up. Once he had a look, he pulled it back down.

Grayba the Black. That black web-shaped tattoo again.

This was done subtly, and not even the boy noticed it. Everyone only saw Acamuthorm stuffing a piece of jerky into the boy's hand. "Eat. This is a present for you. Do you feel better? What's your name? How old are you? How long have you been in this temple?"

"Lampaia. I'm twelve years old. Um… I've been here for four years."

"Now do you believe us?" Dino stroked his beard. "No one has ever seen any cats or spiders."

Rumachi agreed, "That tragedy is long gone. No traces left behind. Let the past be the past. What's important now is to cleanse the remains you're carrying."

"Perhaps you're right," Acamuthorm said. "Or perhaps there's another possibility." He paused, and then he raised his voice to a volume that could influence the hearts of people. "Children, are you threatened by something? Is something forcing you to not tell us the truth?"

"Do you see the swords we bear? We have slain hundreds of monsters with our weapons," Carl said, adamant. "Tell us everything. We'll keep you safe."

And then, silence fell in the courtyard. Only a gust of breeze crossed by, taking a pile of snow with it. The kids blanched, and they held their breaths. They stayed silent and hung their heads low.

"What do you mean, witchers?" Rumachi put on a look of incredulity. He was hurt by the question, and he no longer simpered. Fury flared in his eyes. "We did everything you asked us to, and you're still suspecting us? You doubt our love for the children?"

"You misunderstand. I wasn't talking about you. I was talking about something that's hiding in the dark, get it?"

"Why won't you two believe us?" There was sadness in Daisy's eyes. Tears glistened in her eyes, and her shoulders shivered. "Do witchers see everything in nothing but black and white? Is everything either good or evil?"

The children around Daisy looked like they were agitated. Their fear melted away. They tensed up, and their eyes were filled with contempt and fury. An invisible wave of strength was pushing them to approach the witchers slowly. The kids were glaring at them, clenching their teeth.

Angouleme was part of the group too, but there was a hidden plea on her contorted face. "Leave, witchers!"

Childlike voices roared through the quiet courtyard. The branches shivered, and snow fell to the ground.

"Do not slander our family!"

"The temple does not welcome you!"

The kids roared with all their might.

"Leave!" 𝙡𝙞𝓫𝒓𝙚𝒂𝓭.𝓬𝒐𝓶

"Leave!"

The witchers were in the center of this storm, and they blanched. All they had to do was swing their blades, and the children would fall like leaves, but they retreated as if they were facing a tsunami, and they were almost at the stables.

They were reminded of something that happened a few years ago. Everyone from the House of Gawain stood before their teachers, facing off the mob made of the church members, the Beggar King, and the Cleaver. This was just like that day. They stood for their mentors back then as well. But are the two scenes really the same? Is it wrong for us to find the real answers? Are we going to let the kids die in vain just like that? Is Angouleme's struggle and hesitance fake? Are we going to give up just like this?

No. We have another choice.

"I'm sore." Carl took a few deep breaths and forced himself to calm down, then he exchanged a look with pale Acamuthorm.

"We'll leave right now."

"Right away."

Chapter 596

Angouleme watched as the knights rode their horses into the woods. The light in her eyes dimmed as they disappeared. She leaned on the walls of the dorm, feeling the icy breeze cutting her skin as she sighed. She looked weaker than ever.

The other kids stood around the statue of Lebioda, spacing out, as if the witchers never came.

The bald guy beside the fence looked away. With uncertainty, he asked, "So we got through this without a hitch?"

"Oh, don't look so serious. Smile. Those amateurs took the bones and doll away. Even if more nightwraiths show up, it's their problem." Dino picked his sharp teeth with his pinky.

"Don't let your guard down. You've never witnessed how much of a problem witchers can be. I have seen it firsthand in Vizima." There was wariness and hatred in Daisy's eyes. She turned to Rumachi. "Follow them. Make sure they're truly gone, but do not alert them."

Rumachi leaned ahead and pounced forth, disappearing into the woods like a gust of wind. A solemn Daisy turned to Dino. "Dino, tell the kids to start the preparations. Someone from the city is coming in a couple of days."

Time went by. The sun was slowly moving toward the west, painting the skies with a shade of yellow. In the wilderness miles away from the north of Lebioda's temple, a sliver of smoke floated from a boulder shaped like a bowl. Around the warm campfire, two horses were grazing away.

Acamuthorm stiffly turned the gutted, golden-brown rabbit on the grill, frowning at the grass. Carl circled the skeletons on the ground, spreading white powder, chanting under his breath. When he was done making a circle, white light came forth, conjuring a hexagram. The witcher covered the circle with a piece of black cloth and heaved a sigh of relief.

"Acamuthorm, you bloody idiot! Why'd you push forward before you found any concrete evidence? That's like asking a wolf if it'd eaten any meat before. Of course they'd get mad! Now we're kicked out of that place. Happy?"

"Hey, I have evidence. And I gave you a look," Acamuthorm argued, his face red.

"You think I'm a mind reader? How was I supposed to know that you had shit for brains?" Carl heaved a sigh of disappointment. He dusted his hands off and plopped down on the grass around the campfire. He tore off a steaming piece of meat and munched into it. "I'm not going to argue with an idiot. If you had evidence, why didn't you show it?"

"Baldy kept a close eye on me, and the kids looked like they were possessed. I had no chance to bring it up to you." Acamuthorm simpered. He knew he was in the wrong, so he handed over a canteen for his companion to drink from. He told himself, "But now that we're out of the temple area, no one can do anything to us. I call this a tactical retreat."

"Stop talking nonsense and get to the point."

"Alright, Carl. I saw a mark on the wrists of Angouleme and that boy I picked at random." He quickly drew the web-shaped mark and the words written on it on the ground. "I couldn't remember where I saw this rune before, but I know it's got something to do with religion."

Carl stopped munching on his food. Quickly, he stood up and rummaged through Wilt's saddlebag. A moment later, he took out a gray leather journal. It was the notes he would go through. This book recorded the essence of everything his mentors taught him. Carl flipped through the book. The campfire crackled, its light shining on the young witcher's face.

"Found it."

"Let me see."

The witchers stared at the pattern recorded in the pages of the notebook, and they were seized by shock. Within the cramped lines was an ancient, eerie drawing. Upon an evil altar was a gigantic, white, octagonal spiderweb. A creature with eight sharp legs covered in black fur was silently lying on the web. Shockingly, even though the creature had the body of a spider, it had the head of a lion. The mane on its neck was bushy and flaring like a ball of flames. Its maw was open, revealing the incisors within. The creature looked ahead, gazing at uncertain fate. Underneath the web was a mountain of skeletons. Skeletons of its prey. This picture was filled with evil and corruption. One look was enough to induce nightmares.

"Lionhead Spider. God of omens," said Carl solemnly. "Grayba the Black, also known as Coram Agh Tera. It's an ancient evil belief of the North. The great weaver that weaves the fate of humanity into a big web. This cult worships death and darkness. Like Svalblod, the evil god of Skellige, the one that merged humans and bears together, loves living sacrifice. Priests of the Lionhead Spider possess a powerful ability to curse."𝓁𝑖𝒷𝑟𝘦𝒶𝑑.𝒸𝘰𝘮

The campfire crackled, and the witchers fell into their thoughts. Wilt smacked their faces with its tail a while later. Carl snapped out of his stupor and muttered, "Daisy had this tattoo on her back, that means…"

"She doesn't believe in Lebioda at all." Acamuthorm's eyes shone, and he gnashed his teeth. "She's a believer of the god of omens. She believes in the Lionhead Spider. And the muscle guys who go around with her…"

"Probably believes in this spider too," Carl said. "Their emblem is probably hidden somewhere in the temple."

"Damn those bastards. They played us like fools and acted like they worshiped Lebioda." Acamuthorm was irked.

"They played you like a fool, you fool. I told you something was off with them. Told you to be careful." Carl shot his companion a look of disdain, and he sighed. "Daisy kept swearing to Lebioda and lied to us because Lebioda has no jurisdiction over her."

"That prophet's kind of a coward," Acamuthorm mocked. "His temple got taken over, and his priestess was probably killed too. She didn't go on any travels. And yet Lebioda did nothing."

Carl tore off another piece of meat from the grill. "Legends have it that Lebioda was just a poor sod who would stand up for his believers even if he had no power to, and he was taken by a dragon as food. Eaten up in the end." The witcher mused. "Now I think those legends might not just be legends. He's probably just a figurehead for knowledge. Lebioda himself has no divine power. That's why the Lionhead Spider cultists picked his temple to take over. All eighteen kids are now under the evil god's control."

The witchers looked at each other in silence, musing over the matter.

Acamuthorm was perplexed. "If they're evil cultists, then why'd they allow us to get into the temple and clear the nightwraiths instead of kicking us out? They were doing something risky."

"Lionhead Spider might have a powerful curse ability, but most curses can only hurt something with a tangible body. They're ineffective against spirits. That means they have no power to take down nightwraiths that can shift into the void anytime they want. They would need a witcher's help," Carl answered without hesitation. "They made one mistake, however. They underestimated the curiosity and sense of justice witchers can have. Especially one amateur who has no idea how the world works but would keep spouting things like knightly valor."

"Oh, you think you're so smart? Fine, answer me then. Were they the ones who killed the kids in the cellar?" Acamuthorm was reminded of Rumachi's talk about war orphans. He had a conflicted look on his face. "I think they do treat the kids well. They wouldn't kill them. To be fair, they did stand up and face us. Lionhead Spider might not be as evil as we think."

Carl sneered. "Do you really think a group of sheep would attack lions on their own? And didn't you see the struggle and plea in the children's eyes? I think their overreaction was influenced by something out of their control. The tattoo on their wrists, for example."

Carl tossed a piece of firewood into the campfire. "Fine, even if you're right, then how do you explain the big cat and spider? There were no signs or traces of them in the temple. The god of omens might be an expert in curses, but not even it can summon monsters out of nowhere."

Carl took a swig of the chrysanthemum tea in the canteen, and he thought about that question. He thought about Rumachi and Dino and how they would sniff like beasts. He felt pressure from them, and they acted weirdly. He connected the dots.

Carl stared at the fire and said aloud, "What we should've looked for weren't lynxes or spiders, but werepanthers, weretigers, or were spiders. If I take this further, the guys who are most possibly cursed would be Rumachi and Dino, the guys hanging around Daisy. They run the temple, so it'd be easy for them to erase their traces."

The moon rose into the air. Silvery moonlight and crackling flames shone on Acamuthorm. The young witcher was shocked. "So the killers we've been looking for have always been right in front of us? And they misled us?" Acamuthorm smiled bitterly. Sheepishly. It was a preposterous and laughable truth, but one that was reasonable.

"That's what I think happened."

"But why'd they kill the kids in such a horrifying way? They used painful deaths to sacrifice to the god of omens?"

"If they only wanted to sacrifice the kids, then those children would only be consumables. There wouldn't be so many survivors." Carl shook his head. "The real reason is none of our business. We should think about our next course of action. I don't like to say this, but we're just amateurs. First lesson they taught us was to pick enemies who are on par with us. The god of omens clearly isn't on that list. I suggest we go to Lan Exeter and contact the brotherhood."

"Haven't you had enough drowners? This is the perfect chance to show your skills. Seize it. We have to figure this whole thing out." Acamuthorm cocked his eyebrow. He grabbed the horse's braid and smacked Scorpion's rear. He argued, "If we give up just like this, we can't brag to our friends."

"You do have shit for brains. Learn how to assess the situation." Carl shook his head. Worried, he said, "I don't want Vicki to be a widow this young."

"She's not even fifteen. Hasn't even held your hand. She's not going to be a widow if she's not married. Oh, and I have more proof." Acamuthorm took out the dirty ragdoll from the saddlebag. The light of the flames shone on its patches and dried blood. He was reminded of what Angouleme told him. 𝘭𝘪𝘣𝑟𝘦𝘢𝒹.𝘤𝑜𝓂

If you have so many questions, why don't you ask them? Acamuthorm smiled and pulled the patch away. "Perhaps the answer to the kids' murder lies within here."

Chapter 597

A gash was torn on the back of the ragdoll. The witcher pulled out its insides like it was a chicken ready to be gutted. A big patch of colored, stench-filled tatters and cotton sat on the patch of grass beside the campfire. The witchers did a little search and realized that this insignificant patch of trash hid great secrets.

The gray tatters were connected by a thread, and once unraveled, it revealed a big page of words scrawled in charcoal. The handwriting lacked beauty, obviously a product of a child's doodles and records. With the aid of the campfire's light, the witchers saw the name written on the first piece of cloth.

Pamela.

This was probably the owner of the doll and one of the girls who died. The message read, 'Pamela's doll.'

The second piece read:

'First of January, 1264.

By Lebioda, I was chosen. It was a nightmare, that experience. There was pain and blood and tears. My head almost exploded. Grandma Skinny laughed happily, though. She praised my bravery and gave me this doll, Odonna.

I fear that this torture might continue. Someday, I might die. I've decided to start recording things from today on. I'm going to share this with my friends.'

***𝒍𝓲𝓫𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅.𝙘𝙤𝒎

"She was chosen. What's with the mention of pain and blood?" Acamuthorm frowned. A gust of a chilly breeze cut through his skin, sending chills down his spines. "Some sort of evil experiment?"

"This happened about two years ago. She mentioned Sinny, the real priestess. That means Daisy hadn't joined the temple yet." Carl warmed his freezing hands by the fire. He said, "Before the priestess of the god came, there were no evil experiments in the temple."

"Could it be some sort of difficult training regime? Like the ones we went through?" Acamuthom guessed.

"Do you think those kids look like they went through a training regime?" Carl shook his head. "And why'd Sinny feel happy when Pamela was tortured?"

The witchers had no good guesses, so they went on to the next piece.

'First of February.

By Lebioda, it's coming again. In its pretty carriage. And it has a new companion. Grandma's grinning from ear to ear, but everyone's terrified. I hid my face behind Odonna, praying for them not to pick me again. Cyria snuck to the kitchen to hide, but she was found and tied. Grandma said if she didn't listen to her orders, she'd starve.'

"What's Pamela doing, writing a novel? What's with all the mysteries?" Acamuthorm rolled his eyes, complaining. "And what is 'it'? Why were the kids so scared of it? Even hid from it."

"What we know now is that it will pick an orphan every time it comes to the temple," Carl said. "And its actions struck fear into the kids' hearts."

The witchers kept on reading. The following records were just regular ones. They mostly were just days of Pamela's boring life and lively imagination written down on paper.

For example, some of them read like these:

'The sun's out today. I feel a bit sunnier.'

'I played skipping rope and hide-and-seek with Syria and Angouleme in the courtyard.'

'I had a weird dream.'

And then there were records about her dinner. Most of the time, she only had potatoes, turnips, and carrots. Meat only came once a month. Eventually, the witcher could imagine the kind of girl Pamela was. She had black hair, bright eyes, and a melancholic air around her, but she would have a strong heart. And she'd be holding a ragdoll.

More importantly, Pamela never started her records with 'By Lebioda' anymore. She would talk about 'them' every time it was the first day of the month. Pamela's records about them were filled with fear and disgust. Eventually, she called them pigs. It was derogatory.

The pigs would come to the temple on the first day of every month and pick a few children for something. The children who were chosen would go through a nightmare of a day. Pamela's records described the pain and suffering the kids went through. It was as if they'd gone through some kind of abuse. Pamela was chosen the most out of the kids. Fortunately, she was a tough and rational girl.

Ironically, it was also on the first day of every month the kids could get to have some meat. This was akin to divine blessing for them.

"Notice anything?"

"Yes. On the first day of every month, the pigs come to the temple in carriages. Only on that day do the kids have meat to eat." Acamuthorm took a deep breath. His voice was trailing off. "So these pigs brought necessities for the temple. In other words, the temple didn't manage to survive because of the donations given by the people like Daisy claimed."

Carl nodded solemnly. "Pigs. That's code for the rich fat guys in the city. But they wouldn't support the temple while asking for nothing in return. The pigs provided supplies. Something that made Skinny grin from ear to ear. Think about it, what would the chosen kids have to pay in return?"

What would the rich want from powerless orphans?

"They have no knowledge or survival skills. All they have are their…"

Acamuthorm clenched his fists, arguing adamantly, "Stop. That's just conjecture. We have no proof." The moon shone on his ashen face. He had a guess for that question. The answer was dark and putrid. Despite his young age, Lambert had told him a lot of stories. He knew about stuff teenagers his age shouldn't know. Embarrassing stuff. "Lebioda's priestess would never commit a cardinal sin like that right in front of her own god. It's beastly."

Daisy. She's soft-spoken and has a motherly smile. Her eyes twinkle with tenderness. She's always concerned about us. Take care of us. We love her. How great would it be if Sinny was like her.'

"I see the god's priestess didn't completely lie to us." Carl held his chin with his right hand. "They came to this temple about six months ago.

"Yeah." Acamuthorm was getting a sliver of hope he knew would never be true. He hoped things would change, and the disgusting pigs would disappear from Pamela's records. He hoped the omen god's priestess would extend a helping hand to the orphans and prove that they were not as evil as the legends claimed, just like the witchers did.

In a hurry, he went for the next strip of cloth.

'First of June, 1265.

For some reason, the pigs took Grandma into the carriage when they left. Daisy, Rumachi, and Dino told us they'd be in charge of the temple from now on. Everyone was really happy. My tears drenched Donna's clothes.

Long live Daisy. She cares for everyone like a mother. She'll never let those pigs sully us again. I have a feeling Daisy will be our guardian.'

The mention that the kids were sullied proved the horrid guess Acamuthorm had. His heart sank, and he inhaled sharply. The witcher slammed his fist into the ground. "Damn that Sinny! That hag's an animal!"

The orphans had no one to rely on, were abandoned by their families, sullied by the pigs, and used by the temple admin to make coins. The witcher could imagine how much torture Pamela must've gone through for her to be numb to it all and write it down matter-of-factly.

"She went into the city with the pigs. She's still alive?" Carl was icy. This was not what they thought had happened. "Why'd she go into the city?"

The witchers had an ominous feeling about that.

'Third of June, 1265.

Daisy forcibly put a stop to the daily morning prayers to Lebioda. I've been wanting to stop this. Praying to the prophet is useless. No matter how devout you are, it never protects you.

I didn't think Daisy would start teaching us weird stuff, though. Stuff that talks about pain, misfortune, and webs. One thing stuck with me. To feel and endure pain while keeping yourself sane is a talent. Work on it, and someday, the labor will bear fruit in the web of destiny.

I felt darkness and death from those teachings. Everyone got scared. We barely talked the whole day.'

'Fifteenth of June.

The monsters knock on Lebioda's statue every night. I have no idea what they're doing. And the look in their eyes gets scary. It's like they're feral dogs guarding their house.

Daisy once again taught us a whole prayer. The Great Weaver, ruler of death and misfortune. We call upon your name, Grayba the Black, Coram Agh Tera. We beseech you, grant us passage into your infinite realm. Accept these children of pain.

She told us to pray like that to Lebioda's statue. It didn't take long for me to feel really drowsy all the time. My head feels woozy, and I keep seeing things. I see a scary spider calling my name in my hallucinations, and I have a weird black tattoo on my wrist.

I asked around. Cyria, Angouleme, and everyone else have that tattoo too. Something's wrong, and I know it, but it's bearable. I believe things will change for the better. As long as Daisy keeps us away from the sullying of the pigs.'

"What is Daisy trying to do to the kids?" Acamuthorm snapped, his chest heaving. He stormed out of the boulder, breathing heavily. A stream of mist hurtled into the silvery night.

"Quiet down, mate. Fury won't help us. My guess is that she used some sort of hypnosis and brainwashing to guide the orphans into the cult of the god." Carl thought back to the moment before they were kicked out of the temple. "And it worked."

'First of July.

It's been a nightmare lately. A few friends have changed so much, I don't even know them anymore. They're more sensitive and cowardly than ever. Very jumpy. They see a lot of hallucinations, and they listen to Daisy's every order.

I know that the weird things she taught us are starting to change and affect everyone. I can feel that I'm losing what makes me, me. But to make things worse, all the dreams I had were fantasies. Daisy herself ruined it.

A few carriages came in from the city today, and a dozen pigs came out. I've never seen so many of them before. They look at us with disgusting passion as usual. I wonder if Daisy's warmth and tenderness was an act. She's worse than Skinny. She tortures our bodies and uses something weird to affect our minds.

Torment doesn't scare me. A lack of hope does. I'm at my limit. At this rate, I'll break. I've had enough. Angouleme and Syria are right. We do not have to take this lying down.'

'Fifteenth of July.

Damn pain. Damn the Great Weaver. Damn Grayba the Black.

Angouleme, Cyria, me, and my beloved Odonna are going to sneak out of this place. We're not bringing any of those cowardly brats with us. We're giving everything we have. It'll happen after everyone's asleep. We've sharpened the dining knives we stole. If anyone tries to stop us from leaving, we'll kill them.

In two days, we'll be in another place. It's either Angouleme's home, where there are beaches, the sun, and pretty sceneries, or the big city filled with shops and big ports Cyria told me about. We're working hard to save up coins. I can't wait to start our new lives.

By Lebioda, I pray to you one final time. Please, protect us. For how devout we've been to you. Open your eyes, Lebioda, and grant us protection.'

The winds ceased to howl for a moment. Even the horses stopped grazing. The witchers' shadows stretched into the far distance, taken away by the light of their campfire.

"Lebioda's not worth trusting. This evil god is no savior either." Carl stared into the night, clenching his fists. Suppressed rage filled his heart, and a sense of powerlessness engulfed him. Three girls tormented by the wheels of fate, struck down by reality.

"That answers some questions," Acamuthorm muttered, hanging his head low.

"What question?"

"Why Angouleme looked so sad and guilt-stricken when she saw the doll. So she tried to escape too, and she saw her friends…"

The young witcher stopped, and his voice took on a hint of fury. "They're just powerless girls. No match for Cursed Ones. They could never win in a fight. They could never escape." 𝘭𝒾𝑏𝓇𝘦𝒶𝘥.𝘤𝘰𝑚

"And death was the punishment for their attempt," said Carl. Pamela, Cyria, and Odonna, the doll that kept their secrets, were buried under the cellar forever. "Only Angouleme survived. Pity Pamela and Cyria couldn't escape the temple, even though they turned into nightwraiths."

"Did you forget?" Acamuthorm wheeled around and stared at the black cloth covering the skeletons. Gently, he said, "We've taken them away from their prison, but it's not enough. They haven't been purified."

"Calm down, mate. This is beyond us." Carl was solemn. He said, "We can't do anything rash. We have to ask for reinforcements."

"What's the date today?"

"Thirty-first of December, 1265."

"Tomorrow's the special date," said Acamuthorm darkly. "If we go to Lan Exeter for reinforcements first, the pigs will arrive at the temple before we come back. Which means Angouleme and the kids will be tortured again."

"But…"

"But what?" Acamuthorm interrupted, fury flaring in his eyes. "But it doesn't matter if they're tormented one more time, because they're used to it?"

Carl couldn't answer that. A lump was in his throat.

"It's different. Now I know about the ugly truth. Now I know of their sickening act." Acamuthorm held his griffin medallion tightly. Imperiously, he said, "I cannot ignore it when it's right in front of me." He looked at the path they walked, where the temple stood at the end of that path. He looked into the night, his gaze sharp and unyielding as a griffin's. "Look. Angouleme and the children are right there, standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for someone to help them."

He turned his back on Carl. "Through my actions, I will tell them that this world isn't just filled with people who abandoned them, nor is it just filled with evil, greedy priests, perverted pigs, or manipulative, evil gods. There's still warmth out there." Just like how warmth was shown to them before. He waved his hand. "You can leave for Lan Exeter and ask for reinforcements if you want. I can understand that. Or, you can pull your weapon out and read the inscription on its blade aloud."

The inscription. Carl paused. Back when the apprentices were told of Alzur and the grandmasters' stories, they asked their mentors for a quote for each of them while they were drunk. Carl never put much thought into that, since they only did it on a whim, but now that his mind and heart were at odds, he had to put that quote into the equation.

He unsheathed his weapon. A silver flash of light hurtled across the night, shining on the blade like silvery moonlight. Shining on the flowing pattern and the wavy inscription. Carl had a firm look on his face. He read the inscription out aloud. "Hold tight the blade in your heart, and strike evil where it stands."

Hold tight the blade in your heart, and strike evil where it stands. Carl's voice echoed into the night, crashing like waves.

Another blade, thin as a cicada's wing, arced through the air, buzzing like a bee. Acamuthorm held the hilt with his right hand and brushed his left hand across his weapon's inscription. He read his quote out aloud as well.

"My blade will not stop before it comes to glory."

The moonlight and campfire shone on his face. "I don't have the ambition to save the whole world like Alzur did, but right now, my chance at glory is right in front of me."

"I've always wanted to tell you something, Acamuthorm."

"I'm listening."

"Drowners have more brains than you do."

"Thanks for the compliment. You too. And this time, I'll be the vanguard."

Chapter 598

The stars had already dimmed when the witchers made up their mind to fight. In a few hours, they would be witnessing the beautiful sunrise in the wilds of Poviss. Concerned that the pigs in Pamela's records might come too soon, the witchers didn't meditate that night. Instead, they carried the skeletons with them as they rode back to the temple. Pine branches were tied to the rears of the steeds, erasing the hoof marks from the snowy ground.

The witchers rode until the first sliver of dawn was about to break the horizon. They stopped in the woods three miles away from the temple and dismounted from their steeds.

"One of the Cursed Ones is a werebeast. Has a keen sense of smell. If we want to take the fight to them, we have to get rid of our scent to not alarm them. Rub some scent remover all over yourself. Yes, including your dick." Carl poured a handful of yellow powder out of a long neck vial and rubbed it all over his palm. The witcher proceeded to spread the powder across his face, hands, whole body, and even armor and weapon.

Even Scorpion and Wilt had to be subjected to this. Their glistening fur was turned into a shade of light yellow, and there was a complaint in their eyes.

"Are you sure that actually works?" Acamuthorm had his doubts, but he didn't stop moving. He rubbed the powder across his armpits and the insides of his thighs. He looked like a madman taking a bath outside on a winter morning.

"Kalkstein never disappoints. With the scent remover, Quen, and Heliotrope, not even the best dog can sniff us out, even if we stand right in front of it." Carl carefully took the steeds to a thick kale bush. He cast Axii on the horses and covered them with more bushes.

*** 𝓁𝘪𝑏𝓇𝑒𝑎𝑑.𝑐𝘰𝑚

This wasn't enough preparation to fight an evil god's priestess. The witchers checked their supplies. It was the first time any apprentice went out on a solo journey in a kingdom this far from home. The brotherhood put a lot of importance on it. They gave these two all the usual decoctions, health potions, mana potions, bombs, and Cloaks of Silence.

To make sure the trip went perfectly and that the kids wouldn't be killed by any powerful enemies, they went above and beyond to make some higher vampire decoctions for them. Crimson liquid and the best decoction they had. And they also had the most powerful new-gen clay bomb with them.

Without these supplies backing them up, Acamuthorm wouldn't even step into the battle, no matter how powerful his sense of justice was. However, the real reason they felt secure was because of another item they had.

Carefully, Carl took out a small, diamond-shaped, multicolored crystal from the saddlebag. He raised the crystal up and looked at it shining under the light of dawn. A drop of red blood swirled within the crystal, as if it had life. The drop of blood reflected a shade of a dreamlike color. "Keep it well. Crush it when you think you'll die." Carl handed the crystal to Acamuthorm.

"No, you take it."

"Then I'll be the vanguard."

Gusts of morning breeze tickled the snow-covered lands. A plump white hare stuck its head out of an edelweiss bush, looking around carefully. Seeing no predators around, the hare munched on the grass.

And then a breeze flew past it. Thinking it was a predator incoming, the hare froze up, its ears upright. It turned around to see what was behind it, but there was nothing. There were no sounds or scent. There were only two rows of vague footprints left on the ground.

Beyond the hare's line of sight, a pair of silhouettes, quick as panthers, hurtled across the land.

The witchers stopped under a pine tree a hundred yards away from the temple. They hadn't slept in two days, and the journey had been long. Even though they were mutants, they felt the slightest bit exhausted. Still, their passion for battle pushed down their discomfort.𝘭𝒾𝒷𝓇𝘦𝑎𝑑.𝒸ℴ𝓂

Acamuthorm leaned on the tree trunk, looking through the cracks between the woods. Three exquisite horse-drawn carriages stood in the clearing beyond the temple's fence. They were black in color, had gold roses engraved on them, and their windows had purple silk curtains hanging from them.

Standing at the courtyard's entryway was Rumachi the guard. He was in a thick cotton jacket and a wool cap. The guard stood guard with his back turned to the carriages, his arms crossed. He yawned languidly, his eyes glinting icily, like a lion taking a short break after a meal.

The witchers' preparations came in handy. Rumachi had no idea he was being watched. The other guard, Dino, must've been in one of the temple's rooms along with Daisy, the people in the carriages, and the kids.

"Let's go through our plan again." Carl patted his companion's shoulder.

Acamuthorm's face was tense and red. He was shivering from excitement and nervousness, his ears trembling. He could make a good speech, but he was still in fact an amateur. The young witcher whispered with a shaky voice, "We sneak into the temple, get Daisy as our hostage, force her to release the kids from the evil god's sign… We're running late, pal. We gotta make it fast."

"Calm down. I'll cause a diversion in five minutes and get Rumachi's attention. You only have one chance, so seize it, mate."

The witchers shook hands, unsheathed their weapons, and greased them in two layers of oil. Then they downed their decoctions.

Golden and black barriers swirled upon the witchers' armor, and black veins crawled upon their faces. They split up, with Acamuthorm going around the back of the temple, while Carl tiptoed toward the entrance like a cat in hiding. He was holding his breath.

When Carl was ten yards away from the carriage, Acamuthorm had leapt over the backyard's fence, sniffing and listening for where the kids were. He went to the window behind the dormitories to have a check, and what he saw shocked him.

A dozen gaunt children were huddled in a pile, looking dazed. They circled around slowly, chanting an eerie prayer under their breaths.

"Destiny's threads weave themselves into webs under your ancient gaze… Pain and suffering begets growth… misfortune and death are its servants… your power is eternal change…"

Acamuthorm only heard excerpts of the prayer, and already it made him frustrated and spaced out. What worried him more was that he could see black ripples coming from the kids. The air itself looked like a perturbed surface of a lake. The chaos energy in the air was moving erratically.

Acamuthorm's medallion was buzzing violently, like a bird trying to escape a web. "What on earth is Daisy trying to do?"

Angouleme and a few other kids weren't among the group. Acamuthorm left quietly and tiptoed to the prayer room beside this room. He could hear grunts and heavy breathing and painful moans getting louder and louder.

Acamuthorm knew that smile. Every time he showed some improvement in his training, Coen would give him the same smile. He held the hilt of his sword. Come on, Carl.

A deafening explosion roared from the temple's entrance, and a pillar of flames shot high up into the skies. One of the carriages caught fire, the flames licking it quickly. The steed whinnied and rammed the fence down, charging into the courtyard, dragging the ball of flames behind it.

Rumachi leapt away from the horse's deadly rampage like a big cat. The carriage slammed into the statue of Lebioda in the center of the courtyard and fell into the snowy ground.

Flames shone on Rumachi and his contorted face. He turned to the arsonist. The witcher was hiding behind a second carriage, beckoning at him challengingly. There was disdain on his face.

Furious, the man bared his fangs and pounced on the witcher, agile as a lion. He covered five yards in a single jump, and the man had turned into a beast before he even landed. He was a bipedal monster with a lion's head, his teeth replaced by fangs and incisors, and he stood over six-foot-six.

The moment it landed, Carl leapt far away to the side, holding his sword in one hand and a bomb in the other. The witcher and werelion stood face to face. Carl looked like a child in front of this monster, but the witcher was unfazed. He calmly assessed his enemy's weakness.

The monster's golden mane billowed in the wind, its bloodshot eyes filled with bloodlust and cruelty. Its maw was filled with incisors laced with poison, the barbs on its tongue standing on their ends. "We've shown you mercy once, witchers. Why did you come back? This will be the place where you meet your doom."

Everyone in the prayer room was shocked by the explosion, and they froze for a moment. In that split second, Acamuthorm shoved a blast of Aard and shattered the wooden window. He leapt into the room and walked ahead, spinning his sword around. As if cutting through butter, he sliced the nape of two men open, cutting their spines.

Blood splattered into the air like fountains. The pigs' eyes went wide, and they fell into pools of their own blood, gurgling.

Most people were still shaken from the explosion. Only Angouleme barely managed to turn around. She saw someone.

Acamuthorm tensed up and darted at the priestess like a bolt of lightning, his bloodstained weapon slashing through the air.

A bellow of shock and rage rang in the air. A big, furry claw shot out from Daisy's back and smacked the witcher's weapon away. A second werelion leapt into the room and pounced at Acamuthorm.

Chapter 599

The temple's silence was broken. A saw of flames flew in the courtyard, burning the carriage, charring it. Snow on the ground evaporated, turned into mist. Sunlight shone through them, and rainbows formed. The statue of Lebioda was tilted, gleaming from the shine of the flames. A stallion lay on the snowy ground, neighing in pain, despair filling its eyes.

Not a word was exchanged. The witcher and monster were battling to the death. A Dragon's Dream exploded beside the werelion, and slithering snakes of flames licked the tattered clothes and golden fur of the beast. A furious roar tore through the air, and the walls around rumbled. The beast leapt high into the air, its hair raised on ends, its claws pointed at the witcher.

Flowers of flames danced in the howling winds, but they were extinguished by the air spraying out of the beast's pores. Carl leapt away like a matador pulling a piece of red cloth away from a rampaging bull. With his left leg as a pivot point, the witcher quickly spun, and the werebeast crossed him just like that.

Still, being a feline creature, Rumachi acted fast enough, lashing its claws out the moment he passed the witcher. Quen shattered, and Carl staggered. The werebeast quickly turned and craned its neck. It opened its maw wide and snapped its poisonous incisors shut. They were only an inch away from the witcher's throat, and Carl could smell the pungent breath spraying onto his face.𝙡𝒊𝓫𝓻𝓮𝙖𝙙.𝓬𝒐𝙢

The young witcher leapt backward and shoved a blast of Aard at his enemy. The werebeast was blasted away, leaving a line on the ground, but the werebeast was as agile as it was strong. Once again, it pounced ahead.

Carl crouched, purple Yrden lighting up underneath him, and he pointed his blade at the werebeast's heart. The flames and sun shone on the steam drifting in the air. Carl's face was covered in black veins, and there was determination in his eyes. He faced the towering silhouette pouncing down at him, standing up to the intimidating attack.

And the witcher darted ahead, thrusting his blade at his enemy. Metal clashed with claws, and sparks rained like waterfalls from the point of impact.

The fighters split, but Carl staggered backward by three steps, and he almost lost his bearings. The werebeast barely took a step back.

Next moment, the fighters once again launched into another round of attack. The werebeast swung its arms shut, riling up winds. It tried to catch the small witcher in its arms, but the countless evasion and Yrden practice saved Carl. He crouched and darted from the werebeast's underarms to its back, like a ferret escaping a lynx.

The witcher's muscles tensed, and he thrust his blade ahead. Blood splattered. Half the sword was buried in the lower back of the werebeast, but the tough muscles stopped it from going any further. Carl couldn't pull it out either, but the silver hurt the beast, and the oil and toxin seeped into its bloodstream. Smoke billowed from its wound, as if it were on fire. The werebeast froze for a moment from the pain, and it couldn't turn as fast as it wanted to.

It's an opening! The witcher let go of his blade's hilt, but he didn't retreat. Instead, he did something risky. The witcher quickly circled in the direction the werebeast was turning in, like a cunning hyena trying to attack a lion from behind. He could feel the werebeast swaying mane almost touching his cheeks.

Carl touched the werebeast's back with his left hand for a moment, and he pulled back right away. A small marble the size of a thumb stuck to its back, pointing at its heart. He then quickly pulled the hilt out with his right hand, but he failed.

He paid the price for his greed.

A suffocating silhouette pounced at him, winds screaming around it. An arm, strong as a tower, slammed into Carl's chest, and power exploded from the impact. As if blown away by an explosion, Carl hurtled across the courtyard and crashed into the statue. Already tilted from the carriage's crash, the statue finally fell. Blood blossomed on the ground as the neighboring horse was smashed into mincemeat.

The witcher lay weakly in Lebioda's open arms, his pupils dilating. Blood and chunks of his innards flew out of his mouth and nose. His chest was caved in, and he was barely breathing. His face was the color of a headstone.

The statue was split in two. On its base was a web, where the statue of a lionhead spider lay. The statue's mouth was open wide, greedily sucking in the blood of the witcher.

"Breathe in… breathe out…"

"Foolish, powerless mutants. I told you this is where you would face your doom. But do not worry. Death is the only constant. I, the generous Rumachi, will send you back to death's embrace." The werebeast rubbed its head out of habit and let out a bizarre laugh. He strode over to the witcher, thrusting its claws at the witcher, as if he were going to split a watermelon.

Carl rolled off the statue and landed beside the werebeast's foot, staring at its back in a daze. The werebeast raised its leg, but the weakened witcher lay on the ground, muttering something under his breath, and an ugly smile curled his lips.

"Farewell." He clumsily raised his left hand, and the green of Axii hit Rumachi's eyes. The werebeast was stunned for a fraction of a second, but the crimson Sign on Carl's right hand was already shining like the sun.

A stream of flames charged from the witcher's palm, slithered up the werebeast's left leg, and hit the clay bomb on its back.

The temple rumbled, and a crater was blown on the snowy ground. Flames roared across half the courtyard, turning it into a forest of fire, but it lasted for only moments.

When the flames died down, a mangled witcher was standing in the crater, holding a crimson bottle with his mouth, pointing his blade at the werebeast, though it was already out of commission.

Something was happening to the young witcher. The burns on his body were starting to grow new, perfect skin, just like a baby's. His broken bones started to wriggle and mend themselves, while flesh grew from his many wounds, healing themselves in the blink of an eye.

The werebeast, however, was in the opposite state. It was blasted in half by the bomb, its body broken and shattered from the chest down. Its legs fell somewhere nearby. Yet the life force of a cursed one was strong. The werebeast was still hanging on to life, if only by an inch. Its head was charred from the flames, but it was staring at the witcher standing over it. There was no fear in its eyes. An icy smile curled its burned visage. "Don't get too smug. The battle's not over yet. I await you on the web of the Great Weaver."

Carl sliced the werebeast's head, and it flew down the ground, leaving a bloody trail behind it.

"Until next time, partner." Carl looked at the prayer room and heaved a long sigh. He wiped the blood from the back of his sword. The words 'strike evil where it stands,' were glimmering, as if it were nourished by something.

Let's turn back to a few minutes ago.

The candlelight in the prayer room was flickering from the gusts of wind. Dino roared and smacked Acamuthorm five yards away. The witcher crashed into a wooden table, and the knapsack behind him fell to the ground.

The pigs, snapped awake by the roar, quickly grabbed any clothing they could find. They covered their naked bodies and screamed for help like damsels in distress as they ran toward the door.

The priestess stood at the entryway, staring at the invading witcher coldly, her gaze filled with hatred and venom, and she chanted a curse under her breath.

The tortured orphans received their commands. They got up from the sopping chairs and rugs like marionettes. Quickly, they huddled around Daisy. The pigs went stiff, and they hung their heads low.

Only Angouleme remained stunned under the altar. Perhaps destiny had decreed it so, and the knapsack that fell from the witcher's back rolled over to her, revealing a pair of skeletons within.

This is… Her hair, drenched with sweat, stuck to her shoulders, shivering. Her pupils contracted, and sorrow crawled onto her face. She clenched her teeth, struggling and fighting. Her face was contorted, and rivulets of sweat covered her forehead. It was as if the girl were fighting some invisible power.

Run. Escape. You have lost your chance. You cannot emerge triumphant.

The witcher leapt into the air, holding his sword with both hands. He swung the blade down at the werebeast, the edge arcing down like a crescent moon. Acamuthorm heard a majestic roar echo through the air. The oil and silver sent agony screaming across its body.

Once again, the werebeast flung the witcher away. He felt a surge of strength slamming him away, and Dino tore a bloody gash on the left side of Acamuthorm's face. The witcher's weapon was sharp enough to cleave a lion in two, and yet it only left a small mark on Dino's arm.

You will perish.

Acamuthorm's palms were covered in sweat. Once again, the voice that egged him to his defeat rang in his head. The witcher saw Angouleme hobbling into the crowd. She hung her head low, the look on her face vacant. She too had been assimilated.

Without hesitation, he took out the crimson bottle from his pouch and took a swig. The veins on his face bulged further, and his blood roared in his veins. Finally, it pushed down the craven voice speaking into his head.

Every disturbance he felt melted away. Only him, his weapon, and his enemy were left in his world. The witcher let out a roar as he held his blade up and battled the werebeast.

A feral battle began. The fighters did not attack with any grace or elegance. They only battled with their instinct. Acamuthorm spun and swung his blade, opening a gash on the werebeast's waist, and blood spilled from the wound.

Dino shattered the witcher's Queen and sliced the artery on his neck open. Blood splattered all over Acamuthorm's mad, icy face. The witcher did not stop. As if he wasn't injured, the witcher darted across the werebeast's underarms like a cat and thrust his weapon up into the monster's armpit.

In pain, the werebeast turned and slammed the witcher into the ground, but to its shock, the wound on the witcher's neck had already healed. Acamuthorm swung his blade and closed in on his enemy.

The fighters clashed time and time again, leaving wounds on their enemy's body, throwing away their safety and letting their enemy injure them. They were like ravenous beasts tearing away at each other.

Every time they clashed, blood, fur, and chunks of flesh flew everywhere. In a few moments, the witcher's arm and shoulders were already torn away, revealing the bones within. Half his face was torn open by the barbs on Dino's tongue, and his chest was caved in.

The werebeast was like a waterskin filled with holes. Blood spurted from the wounds hidden underneath its fur. Blood and flesh had formed a pool and little streams underneath the fighters' feet, and the rug was swiftly dyed red.

The tables, however, had turned. The higher vampire decoction granted Acamuthorm powerful regeneration, and he remained as strong as ever, and the werebeast's strength was quickly slipping away from it, affected by the oil and toxin coursing through its veins.

Realizing things were getting worse, Daisy clasped her hands before her chest and started praying with devotion, "Grayba the Black, I pray to you. I beseech you, encompass my enemy in misery and misfortune."

An invisible wave of magical energy swam through the prayer room. Angouleme had been hiding in the crowd, biding her time. Her eyes lit up. She quietly took out her weapon and squeezed through her stiff companions.

And she thrust her weapon into the priestess. Blood splattered everywhere. The table leg punctured Daisy's belly. She howled and curled up like a cooked prawn, and she almost bit off her tongue. The prayer stopped.

Angouleme grinned. She then thrust the table leg into Daisy's eye, but one of the pigs stood before Daisy, though not out of his own volition. The table leg punctured his neck, and he fell into the crowd, howling.

The priestess' screams caught Dino's attention. He gave up fighting the witcher and dragged his battered body away, running toward the priestess.

It made one big mistake, however. The werebeast left its back wide open for the witcher, and Acamuthorm seized this chance perfectly.

Every movement he made from that moment on stemmed from his battle instincts. They were precise, accurate, and deadly. He quickly ran after the werebeast, channeling the strength from his hands, neck, back, lower back, and legs into one point, and the witcher thrust his most powerful attack ahead.

His blade lashed out at the air like lightning, and it pierced the left side of the werebeast's back. The witcher heard the werebeast's heart being punctured.

Dino came to a sudden halt. It covered the hole in its chest, as if it were trying to mend a hole in a boat. Its legs buckled, and it fell into the pool of blood.

Acamuthorm pulled his blade out and took another step ahead. A terrifying gasp exploded in the air. He swung his weapon, and the blade flashed silver.

An ugly head, still spilling blood, rolled over to the priestess. Dino was bleeding from every hole on its face, its eyes still wide open, even though it was dead.

For a moment, silence fell upon the prayer room, and then, green, shapeless flames burst into the air.

The children's faces were swaying violently in the icy flames, and the children themselves were spasming, as if they were having fits. Their limbs were straight, but their joints were turning and bending. Cracks rang out in the air. The children were going through some kind of eerie transformation, and Angouleme was not spared from it either. She stood in front of the priestess like a marionette, spasming violently.

Daisy held up the bloody lion's head and placed it before her face, replacing her beautiful mask. It was as if she had a lion's head. And then, eight spider legs, sharp as swords, appeared on the wall behind her.

The lion head started to blink. Green flames shot out from its eye sockets. It had a solemn, sacred look, staring at its surroundings apathetically, as if it were a god looking down at humans.

When the lion head looked at Acamuthorm, the witcher stood still, as if he were thunderstruck. He couldn't move, and breathing itself was a difficult task.

"Pestilent witcher," the head said, a majestic voice ringing through the room. It was a voice made up of thousands of different voices, echoing in all layers of space. The spider legs stretched out straight, resembling an open web. "Repent in eternal pain."

Chapter 600

Carl shoved Aard at his enemy. The spider-like monster flew back, but the moment it fell, it quickly flopped around like a fish out of water and jumped back up. Outside the dorm, twelve were spiders spread across the battlefields like a pack of wolves, attacking the witcher in every direction. Veins popped on their faces, black slivers of smoke swirled around them, and they displayed speed and strength far beyond the capabilities of children their age.

The werespiders' limbs were turned around, their heads and backs facing the ground, their eyes shifting between white and black like old-school film. In a pose much like an arch bridge, they ran on all fours, their speed rivaling a steed's. As they ran, they muttered vague incantations under their breath, as if praying to something.

Carl did not look happy at all. As the decoction's effect started to wear off, exhaustion from staying awake for two days washed over him like waves, robbing him of his strength. Even with his strength intact, he couldn't bring himself to kill the out-of-control orphans. He sheathed his blade, smacking the turned orphans with the sheathed sword. He swatted off one with short black hair and punched another assailant away. The witcher gave him a kick that sent him flying into the air. The assailant fell onto the fence, snarling and howling.

Letting out a guttural roar, the witcher leapt through the crevice between two spiders and rolled on the ground, picking up a pine tree branch as he went. The witcher charged toward the prayer room, swinging his weapons around.

It was a short journey from the statue to the prayer room, but it felt like an eternity for Carl. Werespiders pounced on him from both sides. Carl managed to hit five with his weapon, but two managed to pounce on his back. One held his shoulders, while the other grabbed his leg.

The iron-clad grip numbed the witcher. He fell forward, his head hitting the freezing snow. As the witcher lost control of his body, five spiders held his limbs and neck, holding him up.

Carl was facing the roof, his eyes going wide. An invisible wave of strength blew the roof of the prayer room away. Out leapt a giant silhouette the size of half a house. It had eight legs, covered in black fur and sharp as scythes. The legs landed on different parts of the roof, jumping around like springs.

A few spiders came rushing out the front door, prostrating themselves underneath the creature. The creature stood on the roof, looking down at its subjects.

From where Carl was looking, the creature was like a wolf spider enlarged by a thousand times. Its spindle-shaped abdomen rested upon the beams of the roof. Patterns of gold-green rings gleamed under the sun. In the place of what was supposed to be a spider's head was the visage of a misshapen lion's head. It had eight eyes, all gleaming emerald, like swirling whirlpools sucking in the souls of those who stared at them.

Slivers of black smoke billowed from the creature, spreading into the air around it. It felt as if an invisible hand in the skies were controlling the creature like it was a marionette.

Is that the omen god? The Lionhead Spider? Transfixed, Carl stared at the creature's maw. A thread was hanging between its fangs, and on the end of a thread was a white cocoon shaped like a human. "Acamuthorm!" Carl shouted. "Wake up!"

The lionhead spider scanned the young witcher and quickly tilted its abdomen up, revealing three pairs of spinners jutting out of its rear end. The monster shot a patch of half-liquid thread at the witcher, but once the thread touched the air, it turned into threads as thick as ropes.

As the thread started sticking itself to Carl, the werespiders let go of him. They prostrated themselves before their god, while Carl was dragged to the roof by the thread. His legs, torso, and head were getting drowned in threads. Stubbornly, he stretched his left arm out. As he closed in on the other cocoon, he quickly made a sign.

Igni! Carl shouted with all his might in his mind before he was turned into a cocoon. The magical fire flew through the air and slammed into the cocoon. The spider's prison fell, its top half melted away by the flames, revealing a dazed Acamuthorm. In his shivering right hand was a crystal. Snapping out of his stupor, Acamuthorm held the crystal tight, as if he'd taken destiny by its throat.

"Go to hell, you eight-legged monster!" 𝒍𝙞𝙗𝓻𝙚𝒂𝓭.𝒄𝙤𝙢

And the crystal was crushed. A drop of blood flew into the air, spinning and hovering. It gleamed like a ruby, gaining everyone's attention. At the same time, on faraway Skellige, a silhouette woke from his meditation, his silver eyes snapping open.

The lionhead spider sensed a disturbance in destiny. It was the scent of misfortune. It shot a thread at the drop of blood.

But it was too late.

Winds howled in the courtyard, and a black doorway appeared. The thread flew into the square doorway, but it did nothing.

Fu—

A deafening roar came hurtling out of the doorway, rattling the temple. The Shout was incomplete, and yet its power could not be denied. The strength of Skyrim's Bones of the Earth resonated with the Shout. It had the power to shake the planet itself.

—s!

And the Shout was complete. It thundered through the temple, freezing space itself. Everything within the temple froze in their spots, their heads buzzing as if they were bludgeoned by a sledgehammer.

Even the titanic spider on the rooftop fell into a short stupor. It could only move its eyes, and it saw a silhouette leaping out of the doorway. The silhouette had black hair, silver eyes, a slender figure, and a gray cloak billowing in the air like wings. Crimson flames made of the silhouette's willpower and desire to kill danced around him like a sea of blood crashing and roaring.

The silhouette stood in silence, yet he was like a sword out of its scabbard, glinting and striking fear into its enemies. The lionhead spider recognized this face. It harkened back to the days in Vizima's sewers. This man was Roy of the Viper School and the one who brought ruin to the god's cult. The cult was forced to move to different abodes frequently. Without Vizima to latch on as a safe haven, the cult's survival was an uncertain thing. In the end, due to the hunt of the Northern Realms, the cult was nearing extinction.

The cult had to hide within remote villages, luring war orphans and merchants tainted by their desires to survive, and only barely so. The flames of hatred roared in the Lionhead Spider, but it could feel a hint of fear simmering underneath. Its instinct was giving it a warning.

Roy was not the weak witcher he once was. He quickly scanned around, seeing the Feared were spiders and the apprentices who were trapped in cocoons. The witcher gave the Lionhead Spider a bit more attention, and he knew what he was dealing with.

'Lionhead Spider/Abigail/Daisy

Gender: Female

Age: 23 years old

Status: Cursed one, priestess of the god, avatar of the Lionhead Spider

HP: 400

Mana: 300

Strength: 30

Constitution: 30

Dexterity: 25

Will: 20

Perception: 18

Charisma: 30

Spirit: 30

Skills:

Curse of the Spider (Passive): The curse of the god is both a blessing and unimaginable agony. The victim will not gain release from their mortal coil that easily. +100 to HP. The heart is no longer a weakness.

Curse Level 5: Curses are the dissemination and transformation of pain. As the only living priestess of the god, the user is granted unimaginable power from the existing faith of this cult. She can transfer her pain to the Eternal Web, where the Lionhead Spider changes that pain into misery and misfortune. The Lionhead Spider will then curse its enemy, raining them with misery for their whole lives.

The user may also expend a considerable amount of pain and grant their followers the path to the next stage in life, where they will be gifted the shape of beasts. The more drastic the change of her followers, the higher the cost she has to pay. The werebeasts will be imprinted with the Lionhead Spider's mark. As long as they are alive, their pain will be absorbed, and once they die, their soul will enter the Eternal Web.

Pain Absorption Level 6: Mark those who have been inflicted great pain by destiny. They are then turned into children of pain. Their agony shall be power for the user. The mark loses effect once the target falls into madness from agony.

Admonition Level 5, Adhesive Thread Level 4, Charm of Violence Level 6.'

Abigail. Roy was reminded of something that took place years ago. This was the priestess who controlled fleders and rekindled Adda's curse. A woman who was innocent on the outside, but…

This is destiny, perhaps. Roy stared at the Lionhead Spider from afar. Abigail, priestess of this evil god, this is something you can never escape. Roy quickly flicked his fingers and crossed his hands. He shoved a gleaming double cross into the air, and a gleaming, humanoid illusion leapt out of the blue curtains. Then, a frost atronach, covered in icy armor, came out of the indigo doorway of Obsidian. Finally, a mutated longhorn beetle the size of a lion came out of the double cross. It was covered in black exoskeleton, and its antennae looked like snakes.

The minions quickly split up. The frost atronach knocked down the stunned werespiders, while the illusion and beetle darted toward the trapped apprentices. Roy grasped the air, producing Gabriel out of nowhere. He held down the trigger tightly, an ivory sword in his right hand. The sword's edge glinted icily, glimmering with the power of the many magic imbibed within it.

Roy pointed his sword at the Lionhead Spider's head, aiming for everything down to its soul.

Inexplicably, the Lionhead Spider felt a sense of crisis welling within its heart. It could not escape this danger, as if no matter what it did, it would meet its destruction.

A bolt hurtled across the air, the crossbow string buzzing. The witcher disappeared in thin air.

The Lionhead Spider quickly reared its front legs, shooting a sea of snow-colored threads into the air. The monster swings its legs around like scythes, beating off the incoming bolts. It opened its maw, muttering the curses of fear, agony, weakness, and transfiguration. Green flames shot from its eyes.

It was less than a fraction of a millisecond later, but fireballs charged across the battlefield, Furyfire melting the sea of thread. The witcher passed through the green flames along with his bolt, yet the shield of Heliotrope was destroyed by the power of curses. When the Lionhead Spider's curses tried to touch Roy, they were ripped apart by a phantom tentacle, their shards raining like snow.

Compared to the witcher's flesh and iron will, the Lionhead Spider's agony was insignificant. It was not able to twist the witcher's body or soul.

Abigail was horrified, its eyes turning around wildly.

Roy held his sword high over his head and brought it down with the might of a thousand lightning bolts. A crimson beam of energy split off the edge of Aerondight, rampaging through the air like a stallion.

The monster's legs were sliced off. Blood splattered the battlefield, and the monster writhed in pain.

Fear. Roy stepped into the pool of blood and sliced limbs, his eyes gleaming crimson. A ball of wriggling tentacles jumped out of the crimson sea behind him, bloody light swirling around them. They pinned the Lionhead Spider onto the roof, wrapping its legs, abdomen and head.

Tighter and tighter the tentacles constricted its prey, their suckers tearing away at the exoskeleton on the monster's back. The obsidian fur was eaten away, and in the battle of these gigantic creatures, the roof crushed under their weight, shattered into pieces.

Dust clouds swirled. For three seconds, the Lionhead Spider was pinned between the debris, beams, and roof tiles. It tried to struggle, but it couldn't move.

The witcher stepped into the ruins, raising the blade of judgment upon this monster.

The priestess' ambitions to revive the cult were destroyed. Under the gaze of the Most High, the priestess of the evil god, craven and devious, was vaporized.

Howls of agony came from the Lionhead Spider as it shivered from the fear its soul felt.

Roy swung Aerondight twice. Once across, once down. The head flew high into the air, and the spider's rear was cut in two.

Could this be the end?

Ear-piercing screams tore the air. As if they had their spines pulled out of their backs, the werespiders fell to the ground, spasming and frothing like they were having a fit.

A translucent soul was pulled out of the Lionhead Spider's remains. Just when the tentacles were about to devour it, the bloodstained spider emblem sitting within the courtyard's center shone brilliantly green.

The light pulled the witcher and his spoils of war. Everything around Roy started to spin. He was getting a sense of vertigo not unlike the sensation of traveling through portals. When he regained his bearing, he found himself standing within a dim, dark space that had the shade of chaos.

Balls of green flames floated high overhead, strobing like ghost flames. They illuminated the sticky, infinite spiderweb underneath Roy, as well as the tens of thousands of cocoons piled up in different corners of the web.

This was an insurmountable mountain, and Roy was standing at the bottom of it.

"Blasphemer. Soulstealer." An androgynous voice spoke from the depths of the web, echoing in the witcher's heart. Every voice it made was filled with darkness, malice, and hysteria, as if it were a curse spat by a thousand dying people.

"Welcome to my kingdom, the Eternal Web."