Not far from Kaer Morhen, Victor and Angoulême were leading their horses through the mountain forest. This was no place for galloping, so they had simply dismounted and continued on foot to save the animals' strength.
They had come here from very far away. From Novigrad to Kaer Morhen, they had crossed nearly the full breadth of Redania and Kaedwen, almost enough to count as traversing the continent.
And the meaning of this journey was to go to the ancient keep of the School of the Wolf and meet that man, Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, someone deeply important to both Angoulême and Victor.
About a month earlier, the Phantom Troupe had left La Valette Castle in high spirits. But when they returned to Novigrad, the letter Triss had left behind, passed to them by the blacksmith Yoana, shocked them both.
For Angoulême, the former leader of the hanse, Uncle Geralt, the man who had given her dignity and a sense of safety, was not dead after all, or rather, had come back from the dead. No matter what, going to see him was the right thing to do.
And for Victor, the matter was even more serious. In the witcher world, at least in the games, the White Wolf was the absolute center of every storm. He was like a certain famous child detective, wherever he went, trouble followed.
Even though Victor had become someone in his own right by now, compared with Geralt, the sharpened edge of a century of experience and destiny, there was still a vast gap between them when it came to attracting chaos.
And the boy knew himself well. What he knew amounted only to fragments of the future. What did The Witcher 3 mean, exactly? It meant there had been The Witcher 1 and The Witcher 2 before it, not to mention the original novels...
If another Megatron incident happened, he truly had no idea how much credibility his so-called foresight would have left. So Angoulême wanted to visit Uncle Geralt, and Victor wanted to observe Geralt up close. And so the two of them set out on this peaceful journey.
It was peaceful because, compared to their usual catastrophes, almost nothing had happened along the way. A few scattered bands of toughs, a handful of wilderness monsters, none of it had been enough to block the iron hooves of the Phantom Troupe.
Now, as they walked through the mountain woods breathing in the fresh forest air, the nourishing scent of the trees soothed both body and mind. Even Catherine was delighted, and the captain and his companion chatted idly as they walked.
"Vic, the more I think about it, the more I feel like you're ridiculously strong now. Look at it this way, with the herbal satchel backing you up, you've got an endless stream of bombs for anyone who refuses to behave. I really believe you're going to get even stronger in the future."
"Don't get ahead of yourself. The impossible has only just begun. And my invincibility doesn't come from bombs anyway. Two factors limit how useful bombs can be, time and materials, and neither one can be overcome.
"There's no need to even talk about the materials problem. As for time, just making two Grapeshots eats up four hours, and a Hornet's Nest takes six. Look at how many bombs I throw whenever I really cut loose, and you'll understand why I practice with a sword.
"When I took down the frost giant, I almost burned through my entire stockpile. One serious fight means squatting beside the cauldron for ages afterward. It's completely uneconomical."
"Hey, even getting mixed up in a few huge incidents a year is already terrifying enough, all right?" Angoulême was talking nonsense as usual, when Eagle Eye Vision suddenly picked up something strange.
So the girl let go of her horse and stepped into the bushes nearby. Amber obediently stayed where she was.
Victor followed her over and saw several bandit corpses, mauled apart by a bear. Their clothing had no business appearing in such desolate mountain wilderness. Curious, he searched them and turned up a short note.
Kill Order
Everyone chosen by the Professor is to report outside the keep at the appointed time. Lateness, laziness, lack of proper equipment, or defiance of orders will all be punishable by death.
We will launch a full assault on Kaer Morhen with the Frightener, taking the keep should not be difficult. I've heard there are only a few witchers left living inside. Remember to move quickly, every mutant head you bring in will earn fifty orens.
After obtaining the witchers' secret, we must split up and act separately so as not to attract attention. All of you must make your own...
The rest was completely obscured by bloodstains.
...
Many years ago, when Kaer Morhen was at the height of its power, it housed twenty-three witchers and forty students. But then a mob of religious fanatics attacked the fortress. With the help of sorcerers, those zealots seized the keep and slaughtered every witcher they found there. Only Vesemir survived, hiding beneath a pile of corpses.
, The Historical Origins of Kaer Morhen ,
...
That afternoon, beneath a gray and overcast sky, steel clashed and magic flashed.
After a century, Kaer Morhen's inner courtyard had once again become a battlefield. This time only three witchers stood resisting a tide of criminals, though fortunately, this time there was a sorceress fighting on their side.
They were holding the line in front of the keep's entrance, and after barely managing to cut down another wave of thugs, the witchers saw Geralt and Leo running out from inside the fortress during a brief lull.
Vesemir asked, "How is it, Geralt?"
Geralt faced him. "Bad. Those bandits have already broken into the laboratory and are searching for something. That Zerrikanian mage is also using the Circle of Elements to maintain a magical barrier. We can't break through it. We need Triss."
"Plague take it, you idiots, why did none of you mention there was a Circle of Elements in the castle?" Triss cut in at once when she heard the key phrase.
Vesemir replied mildly, "Child, it didn't seem important."
"It is important. Very important. Ordinary portals can only carry limited people and supplies. But if a mage synchronizes with a Circle of Elements, he can create a stable portal. Through that, he could send anything anywhere on the Continent, even empty the entire laboratory." Triss puffed up with frustration as she argued back.
The old witcher master smiled. "All right, then we made a mistake. Fortunately, it's one that can still be fixed."
"Don't get so worked up, Merigold. I know you've always wanted a look at our witcher secrets," Lambert said.
"Vesemir, if that idiot doesn't shut his mouth right now, I swear I'm going to..."
"That's enough, Lambert. Stop teasing Triss and show her some respect."
"Triss, only you can break the magical barrier. Go with Geralt. I, Eskel, and Lambert will hold the line here."
Once Vesemir assigned the tasks, he acted at once. Geralt and Leo followed Triss and rushed back into the castle, heading for the laboratory.
And scarcely had they gone when, amid a thunderous collapse, a section of the wall was blasted open by magic. The Frightener came first, flailing its deadly limbs, while Savolla led an even larger horde of thugs pouring through the breach.
Noticing that Triss was gone, the evil mage let out a low sneer, cast a spell to make the monster lock onto the witchers, then opened a short-range portal and stepped directly into the castle, vanishing before their eyes.
...
The White Wolf and his group charged into the castle, only to be stopped in the main hall. Having used short-range teleportation, the evil mage had reappeared there, with five or six of the men who had entered the keep earlier standing beside him.
Standing before Geralt, Savolla wore a face covering, and his exposed bald scalp was covered in red scars. "You're going nowhere, White Wolf. In a moment I'll summon a demon and tear you to pieces!"
Triss coldly exposed the bluff. "Empty posturing. The teleport already drained him badly. Right now he can probably only manage a few simple tricks."
"Triss, go on ahead," Geralt said. "Leo and I will deal with the mage and his men, then meet you at the barrier."
Without questioning him further, Triss nodded and left. She trusted the witchers' skills, and she needed to study the magical barrier first to figure out how to break it.
Geralt drew his steel sword, and that old familiar feeling flooded him again. The White Wolf did not fear the mage before him, even though the man looked as though he was forming a fireball in his hands, which was definitely not any sort of simple trick.
...
In many works of literature, law officers only arrive after the dust has settled, it is a common storytelling convention. And heroes making a shining entrance at the very last moment is an even more classic pattern that everyone accepts.
The hero may arrive late, but he will never fail to appear.
, Introduction to Writing Narrative Poetry, by Ricardo Milos ,
...
The battle in the inner courtyard was going badly.
The Frightener's scythe-like forelimbs were simply too dangerous. Their speed was no slower than a witcher's, and their strength was monstrous, far beyond what human force could withstand.
If they had known in advance that they would be facing a beast like this, they naturally could have prepared with the right tools. Weapons such as Grapeshot, which combined deafening noise with killing power, or the long-burning Dancing Star, would both have been highly effective against the monster.
But the witchers had only steel swords at hand. Their armor was incomplete, and they had only a few potions between them.
They could not even focus solely on the monster. The bandits might not have crossbows, but the second wave of thugs had brought bows and arrows, forcing the witchers to reduce their range of movement and seek cover.
Fortunately, several bronze bells stood nearby. Striking them with the Aard Sign produced a booming noise that could briefly stun the Frightener, giving the witchers a chance to thin the bandits' numbers.
If there had been fewer bandits, the tactic would have worked well... unfortunately, the enemy had an overwhelming advantage in numbers.
So the fierce battle dragged on for quite some time. Even the strongest fighters could not resist being surrounded forever.
As exhaustion and mental fatigue slowly mounted, the slightly balding witcher Lambert was driven into a corner by the Frightener, far from the protection of the bronze bells. Faced with those razor-sharp scythes, in the next instant he would be chopped into three pieces just like the training dummies.
Vesemir and Eskel saw what was happening and were alarmed at once. They knew the situation was critical, but both of them were tied down by bandits and had no way to reach him in time.
And with death directly in front of him, Lambert had no choice. Though he had no confidence it would work, he drew a deep breath, raised the Quen Sign, and prepared to take the Frightener's thunderous blow head-on.
At that very instant, when life and death hung in balance,
an eagle's cry cut through the air, it was a beautiful golden hawk.
"Few witchers die peacefully in their beds. Regrettably, the foul-mouthed Lambert is no exception..."
Beneath the darkened sky came that curious narration, in a sweet voice brimming with girlish energy, achingly familiar.
Standing high above, Angoulême cut a dashing figure. "...He will die! But not today!"
Lambert saw an iron sphere flying toward the Frightener's head. That smooth, exquisite shape was one he had seen more than once before.
Boom.
It was the sky-shaking detonation of a Grapeshot.
Letting out a shrill, agonized scream, the Frightener staggered backward several steps. The tremendous blast and the storm of iron fragments from the Grapeshot dealt the greatest injury it had suffered since entering the fight.
"Angoulême, I'm the one who threw the Grapeshot, so why are you the one posing and shouting?" the boy said as he walked out from behind the rubble.
At the sight of him, Eskel and Vesemir both smiled.
Their eyes met, and Lambert shouted in complaint, "Bastard! You took your sweet time getting here!"
Victor only shrugged. "Better late than never. I brought Grapeshot, so leave this mantis to me. And Angoulême will be throwing Devil's Puffball. Let's clean this trash up fast."
Not long before, they had found the Kill Order in the forest and immediately realized the situation was bad. The Phantom Troupe had hurried forward without pause and had finally arrived in the nick of time.
There were many enemies left, but in Victor's eyes, they were all worthless rabble. With no mage present to command them, he was about to teach this entire pack of scum that the dignity of a man whose superpower was money, the Bombing Superman, was not to be challenged.
Receiving the signal, Angoulême put on her mask and, to the astonishment of the witchers, ran straight toward the place where the bandits were most concentrated. A moment later, Devil's Puffball burst open, and Farmer's Fart taught them a lesson they would never forget.
After stepping a little too close and getting a taste of that overpowering stench, Eskel gave Vesemir a helpless, bitter smile. The two of them tore off strips of cloth to cover their noses and mouths, then charged straight into the Devil's Puffball cloud to fight.
On the other side, Victor kept hurling Grapeshot after Grapeshot, quickly and efficiently shattering the monster's shell. He had no intention of using Dancing Star, because one look at the creature told him it had excellent Void traits worth dissecting. Those razor-sharp forelimbs were too valuable to burn away, and the mantis eyes would make first-rate alchemical materials too.
Before long the monster lost the ability to resist. Victor leaped onto the Frightener's back and drove a killing blow straight into its brain.
...
Kaer Morhen Keep, outside the alchemy laboratory.
By the time Geralt arrived after a hard battle, bringing Leo with him after killing Savolla, the once orderly, well-stocked alchemy chamber had already been completely emptied out. A stable, spacious portal stood open, leading who knew where.
The mysterious mage from Zerrikania was locked in a magical duel with Triss. Arcane light filled the area, and the sorceress's expression was grave. The man's technique might not equal hers, but it was not far behind.
As the White Wolf drew closer and observed, he saw that the mysterious mage wore a full beard, had a powerfully muscular dark-skinned body, and wore arm rings on his arms. His cheeks, brows, ears, bridge of the nose, lips, every place on his body where a ring could be worn, had been pierced without exception.
After some time, the translucent magical barrier was finally broken. But because the other mage was drawing on the Circle of Elements, Triss was exhausted by the effort and was wounded when he seized the opening. Geralt hurriedly helped her behind a stone pillar.
Having defeated the sorceress, the mysterious mage fixed his gaze on the witcher and curled his lips into a contemptuous smile. "Professor, you've got a few more minutes to play with them."
With that, he stepped through the portal and vanished.
Only the mercenary known as the Professor remained on the other side, dark round lenses still covering his eyes as he raised a crossbow.
The moment Geralt and Leo saw the weapon, they tensed. At close range, a crossbow was almost always a one-shot kill.
The Professor grinned with obscene malice and aimed the crossbow at Geralt. "I've heard witchers swing swords as fast as lightning, fast enough to knock bolts out of the air. Is it true? I'd really love to know."
The White Wolf did not answer. Expressionless, sword in hand, he advanced slowly. He had a feeling that his blade would be faster than the bow.
But what followed did not go as he expected. The Professor seemed to sense that Geralt would not be easy prey, and when he noticed Leo quietly trying to flank him, he switched targets instantly and fired at the apprentice.
Without superhuman reflexes, Leo was struck on the spot and collapsed.
The moment he saw the hit land, the mercenary turned and ran, mocking them as he fled. "Ha! I knew it, parrying crossbow bolts is nothing but a fairy tale!"
Seeing him about to escape, Geralt hurled his weapon after the Professor, but the man was already through the portal. The steel sword only embedded itself in the wall.
Then the portal vanished, and silence returned to the laboratory.
The White Wolf rushed over to check Leo's wound... but after only one look, he knew it was hopeless. The bolt had gone through the right side of the boy's chest and shattered ribs. The apprentice was about to die.
A spasm of pain struck his heart. Ever since waking with his memory gone, he had been frightened and uncertain, but the people of Kaer Morhen had treated him with nothing but sincerity from beginning to end.
Holding Leo, Geralt closed his eyes with a blank expression and carved the feeling of rage deep into his heart.
Footsteps approached. He could tell from the sound that it was Vesemir, Eskel, and the others.
Then suddenly, from beside him, came a young voice.
"Set Leo down slowly. Don't make the bleeding worse. I'm going to heal him."
Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, jolted and looked up at the speaker.
It was an ordinary-looking young man with four knife scars across his face.
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