Chapter 98: Brokilon's Past
Seeing that Geralt's mood was off, Dandelion hastily put away his lute and gently nudged the white-haired Witcher's shoulder with his hand:
"Hey, Geralt, what's wrong with you?"
But Geralt remained kneeling on the ground, motionless. Dandelion turned his head, his face full of anxiety:
"Does anyone know what happened? Although this guy looks a bit soft, he's actually a tough nut. He never begged for mercy even when his ribs were broken. Has an evil spirit possessed him?"
Arthur shook his head. He hadn't detected any abnormal magical fluctuations nearby. Geralt's current state looked less like possession and more like extreme sadness.
A cold voice came from above:
"He's fine, he's just seeing the forest's memories. When the Forest of Giant Trees opens its heart, everyone connected to Brokilon can see these memories."
Arthur looked up and saw the expressionless Faiv on the Treant's shoulder.
Strange and powerful magic swirled around her. Arthur tried to touch it but found the magic as solid as iron, completely uncontrollable.
Geralt groaned softly: "Please, no."
But Faiv's voice was like unmelting ice:
"You're curious what happened? Then see for yourselves."
With the first experience under his belt, when the scene switched without warning, Arthur immediately understood that he was immersed in a second memory.
This time it was at the edge of the forest, with thick grass stretching into the distance. Occasionally, patches of sand, gravel, and giant rocks appeared—clearly the same scene as in the first memory.
Only this time, there were no warhorses, no arrows. Just a few children squatting in the sand playing, and in the distance, thatched huts and barns. A young Geralt galloped down the hillside, and everything looked warm and peaceful.
But the next moment, Arthur noticed the discord in this peace—the way the grass swayed was a bit strange; it wasn't tilting left and right like waves with the wind, but rather swaying slightly in place.
Soon he knew what was going on—it was a Giant Centipede, low to the ground, using the cover of the grass to crawl towards the children.
Crows cawed, and a woman leaped onto a grey horse, then fell off even faster.
Just as Geralt was about to catch up to this woman, he suddenly reined in his horse and looked in the direction of the Giant Centipede.
Then, the Witcher dismounted, drew his sword, and walked towards the crawling Giant Centipede, completely ignoring his previous prey, who had remounted and fled.
Geralt's new opponent was a Giant Centipede nearly ten meters long. Although much smaller than the one Kolgrim had dealt with before, it was still dangerous enough.
"Is this the legendary genius Witcher?"
Arthur watched Geralt move with exquisite footwork, making the Giant Centipede spin in circles. The silver sword, like a whirlwind, cut unhealing wounds into its chitinous carapace, and he couldn't help but sigh in admiration.
In terms of agility and swordsmanship alone, Geralt was far superior to Kolgrim.
If Geralt had hunted the Griffin back then, there probably wouldn't have been so many twists and turns; he could have easily handled it himself.
But Geralt also had his shortcomings. Whether it was due to haste or simply being unprepared, he didn't apply sword oil. Instead, he continuously swung his sword, hacking violently at one spot.
It seemed he intended to use the property of silver swords—that the wounds they inflicted wouldn't heal—to hack the Giant Centipede to death.
The children caused Geralt some difficulties—a terrified little boy, while running away, stepped into a crevice and couldn't pull his foot out, crying desperately.
The Giant Centipede seemed to find a breakthrough, abandoning Geralt, whom it couldn't reach, and moved its legs to crawl towards the boy.
"Ard!"
Geralt unleashed a shockwave, but he seemed to have little magic within him. The Giant Centipede merely swayed slightly and continued to crawl forward aggressively.
Just then, several arrows flew from the forest.
The first one severed the Giant Centipede's long antennae, depriving it of its ability to sniff out scents;
The second struck the horrible wound on the Giant Centipede's back. The Giant Centipede turned to bite at the arrow shaft, but the third arrow, following closely, pierced its soft abdomen.
These arrows were unlike any Arthur had seen. Their fletching wasn't feathers, but several emerald-green leaves, as if a tree had specifically grown branches to serve as arrow shafts.
Strangely enough, the Giant Centipede had been fine after Geralt's numerous sword hacks. But after these two small arrows, it immediately seemed to have fallen into a frying pan.
It thrashed and dug on the spot, clearing a patch of grass before finally dying.
"Who's there?"
Geralt looked in the direction from which the arrows had flown.
At the edge of the forest stood a slender girl. Her skin was green, and her long hair shone like silver—it was Morien.
Morien held a longbow made of yew wood in her hand, and a quiver adorned with flowers hung at her waist. She was smiling as she looked at Geralt.
"Are you a Dryad of Brokilon? What are you doing here?"
Geralt did not return the Dryad's friendly gesture. He helped the little boy pull out his foot, then faced Morien directly, never lowering the sword in his hand.
Arthur understood Geralt's caution, because the woman who had fled on the grey horse was now lying with open eyes at Morien's feet, an arrow with green leaves still embedded in her throat.
Morien proactively put away her longbow and explained:
"A oriole told me a Giant Centipede was moving towards the edge of Brokilon. I was worried something might happen, so I followed it."
"Your moves against that monster were excellent! I really liked them!"
The young Witcher hadn't yet become the stone-faced uncle he was now. A blush crept onto his face:
"What are you talking about? What's this about liking or not liking, does it matter?"
"Of course it matters!"
Morien smiled sweetly, pointing at Geralt's leg and saying:
"You probably haven't noticed that the Giant Centipede injured you, have you?"
Geralt looked down and only then realized a severed venomous fang was embedded in the outside of his thigh.
He had been stabbed during his close-quarters fight with the centipede. Perhaps it was due to an excessive adrenaline rush, and it was immediately swept away by his sword, which was why he hadn't noticed.
"I'm a Witcher; the Giant Centipede's venom has no effect on me."
Geralt bit down on his collar, pulled out the fang with force, and blood immediately gushed out.
His face paled, and he slowly swayed to the side.
(This is based on the ending of the Crossroads storyline. Geralt had only recently recovered from serious injuries and then fought several battles in a row, so he is depicted as being quite weak. Under normal circumstances, this amount of blood loss would not cause a Witcher to lose his footing.)
Morien exclaimed, rushing across the grass, followed closely by a seven-meter-tall Treant:
"Idiot, you might be immune to venom, but are you immune to blood loss?"
She placed her hand on the wound on Geralt's leg, and as a green magical glow illuminated, Geralt's brows relaxed.
When the Dryad removed her hand, only a hole in his pants remained, and skin as tender as a newborn's.
.............
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