Chapter 12: Funeral
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Bartfort Barony
Docks
After exchanging greetings, Luce led the soldiers toward the only inn in town.
Balcus remained behind, walking alongside Captain Rogers as they slowly drifted away from the docks.
Rogers glanced at him. "How's the situation been? You look haggard."
Balcus let out a quiet breath, dragging a hand across his face. "It hasn't been easy. The families want to hold the funerals soon… before they start to rot"
He paused. "I agree with them that we can't disrespect the dead like that—but the capital's research team is pushing back. So I'm stuck in the middle."
Rogers studied him for a moment—the exhaustion was clear, deeper than just lack of sleep. "I'll handle the capital's people, you handle the rest" he said.
Balcus gave a small nod. "I'd really appreciate that."
A brief silence settled between them as they walked.
"So… how many of the guys did you bring?" Balcus asked.
"Not many," Rogers replied. "The whole unit wanted to come—but we both know you can't host numbers like that out here."
Balcus smiled faintly as he added. "Yeah… no chance."
"What about the Sergeant Major?" he asked.
Rogers let out a quiet breath. "Him especially. But someone had to keep the boys in line."
A faint smile flickered."He sends his regards."
Balcus nodded.
"…To think he survived the battlefield… just to lose to a damn plague," Rogers muttered.
Balcus let out a quiet, humorless chuckle.
"That's funny… he said the same thing."
Silence followed.
Rogers' steps slowed slightly.
"…How were his last moments?"
Balcus's steps slowed. For a moment, he said nothing.
His gaze drifted ahead, unfocused. "He was in a lot of pain…" he said quietly.
The words lingered between them.
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "…but he wasn't alone in the end."
Flashback – Five Days Earlier
Island of Rivia – Docks
As the ship slowly docked against the island, a voice sounded behind Balcus.
"My Lord… are you sure about this?" Nile asked.
Once Geralt's second-in-command, he now carried the weight of leading the guard—but even now, there was hesitation in his voice.
Balcus didn't turn immediately. "There is no other way, Nile," he said at last. His voice was steady—but heavy.
"If the capital's team arrives, access to this island will be restricted."
"And if these people are ever going to say goodbye…" his gaze lowered slightly, "…this will be their only chance."
Nile's jaw tightened. "…And the payload?" he asked, quieter now, thinking of the crates they had brought.
Balcus's expression didn't change.
"We don't know how much pain they're in," he said quietly.
"Why should we force them to hold on… when we already know how it ends?"
A brief pause later he adds. "If we do that, we're not doing it for them—we're doing it for ourselves."
His gaze lowered slightly. "And all we'd be doing… is prolonging their suffering."
He exhaled slowly. "If it makes it any easier to accept… it's only for those who want it."
That was all he said because in the end it wasn't up to him, Nile or even those who had come to see their loved ones but was in the hands of those who were suffering.
Balcus turned and left the observation deck, his steps measured as he made his way toward the lounge.
Inside, the atmosphere was thick.
Dozens of people—families, friends—sat in silence, their grief hanging in the air for all to see.
The moment he entered, every face turned toward him, faces full of different kinds of emotions, some were pain, some anger towards what he didn't know.
Balcus felt it all press down on him at once.
For a brief moment, his chest tightened, he knew what he was about to ask them to do, he wanted nothing but to run, but he pushed that feeling down.
As a lord… as their leader… he didn't have the luxury to falter.
"We are about to touch down in Rivia," he said.
His voice carried through the room, forcibly calm, steady.
"Your loved ones have been escorted back to their homes, there is nothing more that can be done for them"
He paused, giving himself the courage to continue, "Go to them… and comfort them."
His eyes hardened slightly. "They will need it now more than ever."
One of his men stepped forward, placing something into his hand, a small bottle.
Balcus raised it just enough for everyone to see.
"Each of you will receive one," he said.
His grip tightened slightly around the glass.
"Inside… is something that will help your loved ones ease their passing."
No one moved and for a moment, the room fell silent.
A woman in the front took half a step back, her hand rising to her mouth stopping the tears from falling.
Someone else shook their head as if trying to forcibly eject the idea from their head,
While another looked away from the bottle as if it was cursed.
Another man's fingers curled into fists at his sides, tight enough that his knuckles turned white.
No one spoke, they looked at him as if he were the devil himself.
And for a moment, they almost said it. You could see it in their eyes, the words forming, the blame, the desperation. 'How dare you'
But then, they saw his face, tired and heavy.
Like a man already carrying the weight of what he was asking them to do.
Their anger subsided, and it gave way to a cruel understanding.
He wasn't asking them to be cruel, he was asking them to do something even worse, he was asking them to let go of their loved ones, asking them to give them a way out.
As the people left one by one taking the bottles with them, no one thanked him for making the tough call.
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Balcus stepped up to Geralt's house. Or what remained of it as a "home."
After Geralt had lost his wife there, he had moved to the main island barracks, but the house had never truly been abandoned, he would return every two to three days to take care of the place. Even when it hurt to come back.
It was a simple two-story countryside home, nothing special if not well kept. The flowerbeds around it were still alive, carefully maintained.
The door wasn't locked so he pushed it open gently and stepped inside.
Silence greeted him.
His eyes drifted almost immediately to the wall. A portrait. Geralt stood younger there, happier even and beside him, a woman smiled softly, holding his arm in ceremonial attire.
Balcus didn't move for a moment. Then he removed it carefully. He carried it upstairs, each step quiet.
Now in.front Geralt's room, mana filled the room in unstable waves, as it pushed down on anything near him.
Balcus exhaled slowly, .his own mana responded instinctively, protecting him from Geralt's out of control mana.
Two forces met and cancelled each other out. Like two men acknowledging each other's strength without needing to speak it.
He stepped inside. Geralt lay on the bed.
Even while resting his body looked to be in pain. Veins stood sharply beneath his skin. Blistered rashes spread across his arms and neck. His breath came unevenly, as if each one had to be earned.Mana leaked from him in faint, broken burst.
His eyes shifted slowly. Took time to focus.
"…Afternoon, my lord," he said quietly.
A pause.
"…Apologies. I can't stand to greet you."
A faint, strained smile.
"I'm not as fit as I used to be."
Balcus didn't answer immediately.
He stepped forward and placed the portrait against the wall, angled so Geralt could see it without turning his head.
For a moment, Geralt just looked at it.
Something tightened in his expression.
"…Thank you," he said softly.
"For bringing her to me."
Balcus's hand stayed on the frame a moment longer than necessary. Then he let go.
"This is the least I could do," he said quietly.
He turned slightly. "I brought wine."
He placed the bottle down.
Two cups followed soon. "You up for a drink?"
Geralt let out a weak breath that almost became a laugh. "Gladly."
He tried to sit up but failed. Balcus moved immediately and helped him upright without a word shared between them.
The bottle was opened. Wine poured.
Geralt watched the cup as if remembering something far away. He lifted it slowly, struggling but forced it anyway.
Balcus didn't look away, they drank as old stories surfaced between them, Names, Battles, Small failures that once felt like the end of the world.
And for a while, the room forgot what it was and neither of them spoke of the end.
Until the bottle grew lighter, on their final cups Balcus placed a smaller bottle on the table.
Geralt looked at it for a long moment, then he poured it into his cup
Not much words were exchanged, just A final toast.
"…To old friends," Geralt said.
"And a life well lived," Balcus replied.
They drank.
The silence after was heavier than before.
Balcus helped him back down onto the bed.
Geralt's hand drifted to the side of the bed, he picked up a book and pressed it into Balcus's hand.
"…Give this to Leon," he said softly. "Tell him… I hope he reaches a level greater than mine."
Balcus nodded once, he didn't open it, didn't even look at it, fully focused on his friend. "I will."
Geralt let out a faint breath that almost became a laugh. "To think…" he murmured. "I survived countless battles… just to go like this."
Balcus gave a soft, quiet chuckle back.
"You know…" Geralt said after a while, voice weaker now, "you don't have to stay for this."
Balcus didn't move. "I'm not going anywhere," he said simply. "I'll be with you till the end."
Geralt's eyes drifted slowly toward the portrait. His lips moved. Barely audible. "…I'm coming, my love."
His eyes closed. Never to open again.
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[Chapter Image]
I am writing my A Levels this year so I'm already stumped and if you add the time I use writing I think I'm entitled to POWER STONES sooooooo give them to me
P.S
Let it be known that the Story is undergoing a Rewrite, hence if you read the unedited chapters its on you, they are no longer part of the story.