—Third-person perspective—
On the battlefield, Zoltan advanced agilely atop his ram. It was the first time he had ever fought while riding this mount.
"HAHAHA! THIS THING IS EVEN MORE FUN THAN HORSES! I'M DEFINITELY GETTING MYSELF A WAR RAM!"
Beside him, Kargan shared similar thoughts. Hearing a sound, he glanced over his shoulder.
"ZOLTAN! THERE ARE WARGS SNAPPING AT YOUR ASS!"
Zoltan carefully looked back. The Wargs were barking excitedly, while the armored Orcs riding them pointed mockingly and made jeering noises. Seeing the pack of idiots behind him, Zoltan snorted derisively.
"PEH!"
He quickly scanned his surroundings, and when he spotted the jagged mountain wall, his eyes lit up.
"I'VE GOT AN IDEA! FOLLOW ME!"
Kargan grinned at the mischievous expression on his friend's face. That look carried a familiar flavor from the past. As he slipped past an oncoming Warg rider, he spoke:
"We'RE DOING SOMETHING CRAZY, RIGHT?"
Zoltan laughed as he cut down the rider charging at him.
"HAHAHA! IT'D BE A SHAME NOT TO."
Zoltan turned his ram, and Kargan followed close behind. Zoltan shouted back over his shoulder:
"IF YOU'VE GOT THE GUTS, CATCH ME, YOU ***, **, AND ****!"
Zoltan hurled several heavy curses, deliberately provoking those behind him—and it was frighteningly effective. Not only the Orc riders behind them, but even nearby ones joined the chase. Kargan followed Zoltan on his ram, silently watching the enemies closing in from behind and from the sides. He turned his head to look at Zoltan.
"YOU AND YOUR DAMN FILTHY MOUTH!"
Zoltan casually glanced at the chaos he had created. His insults had worked better than intended, but his pride refused to acknowledge it.
"JUST AS PLANNED! JUST FOLLOW ME!"
As the pair surged forward, they cut down enemies while skillfully slipping through their ranks. Charging toward the mountain wall without slowing, Zordo and several Dwarven cavalry joined them.
"ZOLTAN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!? HOW DID YOU BECOME THE ORCS' NUMBER ONE ENEMY!?"
Kargan looked at him and replied:
"BECAUSE OF HIS FOUL MOUTH! YOU WON'T FIND ANYONE WHO SWEARS BETTER THAN HIM!"
Ignoring his friend, Zoltan shouted:
"I HAVE A PLAN! JOIN US AND FOLLOW MY MOVES!"
Zordo looked at the confident dwarf he had just met.
"LEAD THE WAY, COUSIN!"
In formation, the Dwarven cavalry advanced rapidly under Zoltan's lead. Whether on foot or mounted, every Orc they encountered was either crushed beneath their rams or cut down by their weapons. As they neared the wall, Zoltan shouted at the top of his lungs in the Dwarven tongue:
"CLIMB!"
Kargan smiled, understanding immediately. Zordo and the others were momentarily stunned, but they followed Zoltan. More than a dozen Dwarves began climbing the sheer wall using their rams. The Warg riders pursuing them suddenly halted in confusion; some even crashed into the wall. Those who stopped hurled insults and mockery at the climbing Dwarves. The Wargs barked excitedly, thinking the Dwarves were fleeing.
But the one leading them had learned a few tricks where he came from.
Once they reached sufficient height, Zoltan called out softly in Dwarven:
"TURN!"
Kargan grinned.
"I KNEW IT…"
Zordo and the Dwarves were stunned—but they understood what was coming. Zordo burst into laughter.
"HAHAHAHA! YOU CRAZY BASTARD!"
First Zoltan, then Kargan, turned and charged straight down, the other Dwarves following in their wake. The Orcs were momentarily confused but braced themselves for combat—yet something felt wrong.
Why weren't these Dwarves slowing down?
As the rams thundered downward, they leapt toward the Orcs from five meters away. The Orcs froze in shock; for them, time seemed to slow to a crawl. They locked eyes with the rams. Some would later swear the rams were smiling—but none could prove it. A few Orcs acted quickly and raised their spears, but it was already too late.
BANG!
CRASH!
BOOM!
MEEEE!
AAAARRRGH!
SKREEEEE!
The ram riders slammed at full speed into the Orc cluster below. Chaos erupted instantly. Caught off guard by the sudden charge, the Orcs couldn't react in time. The Dwarves cut through them like wheat before a scythe.
Zoltan rammed headlong into a Warg rider. Hearing a sound behind him, he turned and saw another Warg charging. He nudged his ram lightly with his feet. The ram kicked backward, smashing its hooves into the Warg's head. Zoltan swiftly turned left and split the skull of another incoming rider, then spun right to block an attack—but the Warg beneath his enemy lunged at his ram. Without fear, the ram dodged by tilting its head and then slammed its skull hard into the Warg.
Kargan was fighting just as fiercely. His ram charged through two Warg riders, striking them with its head as he attacked with his axe. He beheaded the first Orc he faced, then twisted his axe and killed the Warg beneath it. Feeling a chill crawl up his spine, he spun quickly and blocked an incoming strike—but his opponent's Warg moved to attack his ram from below.
As the Warg lunged for the ram's throat, the ram headbutted it. The blow stunned the Warg, causing it to stagger, and its rider lost balance. Seizing the opportunity, Kargan drove his axe into the rider's neck. The Warg rider's eyes flew wide open as he slid sideways and collapsed to the ground. Without hesitation, Kargan twisted his axe and buried it into the Warg's skull.
The battle raged on at full ferocity. The Dwarves fought while watching each other's backs. Dust, smoke, blood, screams, the sound of flesh being cut, bones breaking, bodies tearing apart, the barking of Wargs, the cries of rams—everything blended into a single, deafening chaos. At first, the Dwarves had gained the upper hand through sheer surprise, but the Warg riders began to recover, and slowly, the Dwarves started to fall into a disadvantage.
The Dwarves were cutting down a considerable number of enemies, but they were few in number, and because of that, they were slowly being pushed into a disadvantage. In the midst of the fighting, something caught Zordo's eye—Balin had been knocked off his ram and was now surrounded. Zordo's eyes widened. He wanted to act immediately, but he couldn't abandon his men. He made a swift decision.
"KARGAN! ZOLTAN! BALIN IS IN TROUBLE—GO SUPPORT HIM NOW! WE'LL HANDLE THINGS HERE!"
The two named Dwarves looked at Zordo, then followed his gesture with their eyes. Seeing the situation, they blocked the incoming attacks, exchanged a brief glance, nodded to one another, and after forcing their opponents back, spurred their rams forward.
As the pair advanced rapidly, cutting down every Orc in their path, Balin tightened his grip on his sword and looked at the five Orcs surrounding him, letting out a weary sigh.
"I'm starting to get too old for this sort of thing…"
He focused all his attention on his surroundings. The spear-wielding Orc to his left lunged at him. Seeing it coming, Balin calmly leaned his head back; the spear passed by his face with mere millimeters to spare. In one swift motion, Balin lunged forward and slashed the Orc's abdomen. The Orc screamed, dropping his spear as he clutched his split belly. Balin spun, catching the falling spear midair. In the same motion, he severed the Orc's head, gripped the spear tightly, infused it with his aura, and hurled it at the enemy charging from the right. Without even looking back, he turned and blocked an incoming attack from behind. A moment later, a scream of agony rang out—the spear had struck its mark.
Balin twisted his sword, which was locked against his opponent's weapon. The Orc was forced downward by the momentum. Seizing the opportunity, Balin drove his head forward in a brutal headbutt, then slit the staggering Orc's throat. Pivoting on his heel, he deflected the weapons of the two Orcs trying to pin him down by striking them aside with his blade, then drove his elbow viciously between the legs of the Orc behind him.
CRACK!
The Orc screamed in pain, clutching his groin, but Balin didn't pause for even a heartbeat. After clashing swords several times with the enemy in front of him, he first severed the arm holding the weapon, then cut the Orc's throat. Spinning once more on his heel, he decapitated the Orc who had collapsed behind him, still crying out in pain. He caught the falling head midair and hurled it at another Orc charging toward him, then quickly turned left to block another incoming strike. The flying head hit its target dead center, knocking the Orc to the ground.
As Balin continued fighting the opponent in front of him, the Orc released his aura. Balin chuckled and activated his own aura in response. The two swung their swords again; steel collided with steel. Suddenly, Balin felt a chill run down his spine. He forced his opponent back and turned just in time to block another attack from behind.
He found himself face to face with an Uruk-hai.
Balin was now locked in a fierce battle against two aura users, and because there were barely any Dwarves left around him, the other Orcs continued to swarm him as well. Without hesitating for even a fraction of a second, Balin kept moving—dodging attacks, parrying blows, and killing his enemies. He was fighting two aura users who were his equals, cutting down aura-less Orcs charging at him, and at the same time trying to avoid the arrows being fired at him. Not for a single moment did Balin lose his composure or his focus.
As the battle raged on, a cheerful voice rang out nearby.
"HAHAHAHA! MAKE WAY FOR THE DWARF, YOU *****!"
Zoltan and Kargan charged in, circling Balin on their rams. Without stopping for even a moment, they created a five-meter-wide clearing, riding around Balin and cutting down every Orc that crossed their path with their axes. At last, Balin found the chance to focus solely on his own fight—though he never let his guard down.
Meanwhile, on a platform overlooking the battlefield above, Mephisto stood wearing a gas mask because of the foul stench emanating from Ciri's body, producing Darth Vader–like breathing sounds as he looked at her.
"Yes! The procedure is complete. To be honest… you don't look all that different. Well… mostly."
Ciri sat on the edge of the bed, taking deep breaths. The half hour of physical agony she had just endured had utterly exhausted her. She had never screamed or suffered this much pain in her life. The entire bed was covered in a black, sludge-like substance, and Ciri's body was coated in the same foul-smelling liquid. She had grown two centimeters taller; her feminine features had become more pronounced; her muscle definition had slightly emerged and swollen; her hair had grown down to her waist and turned a little whiter. But the most striking change was in her eyes.
Ciri opened them and glared angrily at Mephisto. Mephisto examined her eyes closely.
"Yes! You've become even more beautiful. Your body's contours have grown slightly fuller and your musculature stronger—but that's normal. The elixir enhanced your bones and muscles. However… your eyes were a surprise. That deep forest green is gone, replaced by a dark ruby red. And your pupils seem… slightly vertical."
Ciri steadied her breathing and looked down at her hands, her arms, her body. She felt physically stronger, but not excessively so; her body felt far more comfortable than before. She lightly squeezed her arm muscle, but Mephisto's last words made her flinch. She frowned and looked up at him.
"What do you mean, you sadistic bastard!"
Mephisto clutched his chest dramatically.
"Ahh~ how rude. Such a brat… See for yourself!"
He snapped his fingers, and a full-length mirror appeared. Ciri forced herself to stand. Her body, having just undergone the procedure, was extremely exhausted, and she stumbled slightly. Noticing this, Mephisto moved quickly to support her, but the furious Ciri shoved him away and glared at him with hatred.
"Don't touch me, you sadistic freak! Do you have any idea what I just went through!?"
Mephisto shrugged.
"More or less. But I didn't expect you to drink the elixir so quickly… You share some of the blame here."
Ciri shot him an irritated look, then struggled toward the mirror and stared at her filthy state.
"…I look horrible…"
Mephisto was momentarily surprised, then understood and lightly slapped his own forehead.
"Ah—my apologies! My mistake!"
He snapped his fingers again. A sphere of light formed around Ciri and rapidly spun, cleansing her body and clothes. The garments that had previously been slightly loose now clung perfectly to her skin. Ciri looked at herself with quiet astonishment. She possessed the body of both a graceful lady and a warrior—her muscles were subtly defined. When she lightly flexed her arm, the muscle lines became clearly visible, swelling just enough—neither excessive nor thin. It was the elegance of a warrior lady. But the change that shocked Ciri the most was her eyes.
Where once there had been deep forest green, there was now ruby red.
"WHAT HAPPENED TO MY EYES!?"
She quickly turned to Mephisto. He shrugged.
"As I said, there can be certain hereditary side effects… I didn't expect the eye color to change either, but it suits you."
As Ciri inhaled sharply in anger, she caught an overwhelmingly foul, nauseating stench. She immediately covered her nose and frowned.
"What is that smell!?"
Mephisto, breathing like Darth Vader behind his gas mask, pointed at the bed.
"Do you think I'm wearing this gas mask for decoration!? That disgusting smell is the impurity expelled from your body!"
Ciri stared at the sludge-like substance on the bed, utterly stunned.
"From me!? That foul-smelling mud came out of me!?"
Mephisto nodded.
"Absolutely."
With a snap of his fingers, the sludge and the stench vanished instantly, replaced by a refreshing mint-scented breeze. He removed his mask and took a deep breath.
"Ahh~ now this is living. That smell nearly burned my nostrils."
Ciri removed her hand from her nose and mouth, stepped toward Mephisto, and grabbed him by the collar. Pointing at her eyes, she spoke furiously.
"Fix this."
Mephisto shrugged.
"The transformation is permanent. There's nothing I can do about it… Well, unless I surgically remove your eyes and replace them with new green ones. But honestly, you look beautiful. Why would you want to change them?"
Ciri snapped angrily.
"Because they're not mine!"
Mephisto shrugged again.
"They are now! If you want surgery, I'd happily add them to my collection!"
Ciri stared at Mephisto for a moment, seriously considering punching him, but she knew he would dodge before her arm even finished moving. She shoved him aside and stepped in front of the full-length mirror. Mephisto, meanwhile, adjusted the bow tie of his tuxedo as he spoke.
"Oh~ by the way, biologically speaking, you're now Geralt's daughter! Congratulations~"
Ciri flinched, looking down at her refined yet powerful muscles, then snapped her gaze back to Mephisto. She was completely stunned and spoke with a trembling voice.
"W-what do you mean!?"
Mephisto puffed out his chest proudly.
"My girl! That elixir was actually something newly developed. Our job is to act according to Igris's character and support him! Thanks to the power—the system—we gave Igris, the likelihood of Witchers emerging was extremely high! But Igris preferred them to have an identity, so we decided to elevate Witchers from mutations into a race."
Ciri stared at Mephisto in disbelief.
"What are you talking about?"
Mephisto rolled his eyes.
"In short, Witchers won't be mutated creatures or test subjects anymore—they'll be a distinct race, just like Humans, Elves, and Dwarves!"
Ciri's thoughts ground to a halt as she stared at him in shock. Mephisto continued proudly.
"You're the first person to drink it. Your eye color most likely changed because of the fusion between Witcher blood and Elder Blood. I had yours prepared twenty minutes before giving it to you! We added a bit of Geralt's blood—had it stored away too—ahem… what was I saying? Ah~ you're now considered a pure Witcher, but at the same time, Elder Blood has evolved you into something unique. Honestly, even I don't know what you've become… You'll have to discover that yourself."
Ciri froze completely, her mouth slightly open, her thoughts utterly blank. She had entirely forgotten the pain she had just endured. After standing motionless for a few seconds, Mephisto blinked.
He stepped closer and peered at her face.
"Hello! Is the rabbit still in there?"
No response.
"Hey~ I'm talking to you!"
Still no response.
"Ciri? Are you okay?"
Ciri finally reacted. Her breathing quickened as she struggled to regain herself. She glared at Mephisto with burning fury and spoke in a low but seething voice.
"What did you do?"
Mephisto noticed her state but didn't care in the slightest.
"As I said, you're now a purebred Witcher, and we also made Geralt your biological father. We rewrote your genetics."
Ciri grabbed Mephisto by the collar and lifted him up. Their faces were inches apart. Ciri was overflowing with rage; Mephisto wasn't afraid in the slightest—he simply smiled. Ciri shouted angrily.
"WHY DID YOU DO THIS WITHOUT ASKING ME!"
Mephisto shrugged.
"Didn't you like it?"
Ciri raised her fist, intending to punch him, but her hand froze in midair. She ground her teeth together. Shoving Mephisto away with fury, she turned and slammed her fist into the full-length mirror. She was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling wildly. Mephisto, whose clothes were once again disheveled, meticulously straightened himself before speaking.
"Did you really not like it? You became a Witcher and gained a father…"
Ciri snapped.
"Shut up!"
Mephisto ignored her.
"You already had a precious bond as adopted family—"
"SILENCE!"
Ciri lunged at Mephisto and threw a punch. Mephisto casually stepped aside and spoke.
"Were you afraid Geralt wouldn't accept you?"
"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!"
She kicked out fiercely. In that moment, something changed within Ciri. The whites of her eyes darkened completely, her pupils became fully vertical, and the veins around her eyes bulged. The same transformation spread across her body. Mephisto whistled as he effortlessly dodged the incoming punch, feeling the faint shockwave it produced.
"Ahh~ this is the mode Witchers enter when they ingest chemical mixtures! A bit scary. But just a little."
Ciri began attacking much faster, her punches and kicks far stronger than before—but only compared to her former physical limits. For Mephisto? Even a mosquito would have been more troublesome than Ciri. He dodged every strike with ease.
"I understand why you're angry… a little."
He sidestepped a punch.
"But this is good for you!"
He avoided a kick.
"Yes, I acted without your consent and forced an identity onto you, but it's really not that bad."
Ciri screamed and raised her hand, unleashing a wave of force.
"Ah~ Aard! You can use it without a sign! Looks like the Witcher purifier really worked."
Ciri stopped and looked at her hand. She was still furious, breathing deeply. Her eyes caught on the shattered pieces of the mirror, and in them she saw the changes within herself.
"What's happening to me?"
Mephisto chuckled as he spoke.
"You entered the state Witchers reach through potions. We turned it into a bloodline ability, but of course it comes with side effects. After all, no living being is perfect."
Ciri finally regained her composure.
"Side effects? What do you mean?"
As soon as she finished speaking, her skin tone and veins returned to normal—but something was different. When she exited the feral state, it felt as if all her energy had been drained. She suddenly felt extremely tired, and hungry—especially craving meat. Her knees buckled and she collapsed forward. Mephisto reacted quickly, catching her and summoning a chair, placing her onto it. Ciri no longer had the strength to lift her arm. Mephisto calculated quietly.
"Hah! Six minutes! That's how long you can currently maintain that form. How do you feel?"
Ciri was gasping for breath, drenched in sweat. She couldn't even move her fingers, like a living doll. Her muscles ached with cramps, the hunger was unbearable, her thirst intensified, and her lips were cracked from dehydration. She spoke in a faint voice.
"What's happening!?"
Mephisto chuckled.
"You just entered a berserker-like mode that Witchers normally reach using toxins. In the future, this will be a standard ability every Witcher can use. However, how long one can remain in that state varies from person to person—it depends on potential. With enough training, you might maintain it for four or five hours. But with your current body, you can endure about ten to twelve minutes. This time, you lasted six minutes because your body was already exhausted from the initial transformation. So—how do you feel?"
Now fully rational again, Ciri glared at Mephisto angrily. Mephisto sighed.
"Look, I understand that you're angry, but I didn't force a destiny onto you. I merely removed the fragments of that miserable biological father from you and integrated Geralt's biological structure. That's why Geralt became the closest match to a biological father. Moreover, if I hadn't used Geralt's blood, the elixir could have backfired. These potions are designed to react with the mutagenic substances in a Witcher's body. You had almost no Witcher mutation traces—practically none. Only thanks to Elder Blood and Geralt's blood did you become a purebred Witcher."
Mephisto looked at Ciri, who still refused to make eye contact, and sighed before asking:
"And is that really such a bad thing? Now you can call Geralt 'father' instead of using his name or saying 'hey.'"
Ciri flinched slightly at those words and spoke with difficulty.
"You don't understand… This changes everything…"
Mephisto tilted his head.
"I think you're overthinking it. Honestly, I believe Geralt would embrace you without hesitation, simply because you're you. You don't need to be afraid of that."
Ciri paused for a moment and took a deep breath. She didn't want to talk about this anymore. After a few seconds of silence, Mephisto sighed and asked again.
"How do you feel?"
Ciri paused and looked at Mephisto. He chuckled.
"I should be clear—the Witcher race is something entirely new. I don't know what you'll experience in the future. You're both the progenitor of this race and not, because Elder Blood complicates things. That's why I need to know exactly what you're feeling. If something's wrong, we'll fix it. Don't forget—Geralt will drink this elixir too."
Ciri shot Mephisto an irritated look, then took a deep breath and focused on her body.
"…My muscles keep cramping constantly. I'm hungry—very hungry—but only for meat. I feel like I could eat an entire lamb in one sitting… maybe two. I'm extremely thirsty, like I haven't had water in weeks… My head is spinning…"
Mephisto, now resembling a serious academic wearing round glasses, took meticulous notes.
"Anything else? What did you feel during the transformation?"
Ciri thought carefully. She couldn't fully remember what she had felt in that moment of rage.
"Power… I felt incredibly strong physically. Like I could tear a Griffin apart with my bare hands. It was very different from Elder Blood. It didn't feel like a part of me—more like something else inside me. Something wild. I can't really explain it…"
Ciri didn't know what to think. This was something entirely new within her. As she listened to her body more closely, she realized something—and it unsettled her. She focused on her Elder Blood and tried to open a gate, but failed.
"…Why can't I open a passage? Wait! I can't feel Elder Blood at all!?"
Ciri panicked. Not being able to use her power meant she couldn't extract Zoltan and Kargan in a critical moment. That meant she could be trapped in this world. Mephisto looked at her calmly.
"Don't worry. This is temporary. Your body is still undergoing transformation. Many things inside you are changing and renewing. Your power will return shortly."
Ciri frowned.
"When will it come back!?"
Mephisto was about to answer but suddenly stopped, realizing he had forgotten a small detail. He asked cautiously.
"…Would you like the answer according to your concept of time? Or according to mine?"
Exhausted, shocked, and furious, Ciri glared at Mephisto. If looks could kill, Mephisto would have died thousands of times already.
Meanwhile, within the Azanulbizar war simulation…
Kargan and Zoltan had lost their rams and were fighting on foot. They stood back to back with Balin, completely surrounded. All three were breathing heavily. Over two hundred corpses littered the ground around them. The surrounding Orcs had taken cautious positions, hesitant to approach—they didn't want to be the first to die. Balin spoke calmly, with regret in his voice.
"Haaah… Thorin was right. This was madness. If only we could have convinced Thrór… But I won't lie—retaking Khazad-dûm was my dream."
He turned his head to look at the two exhausted dwarves behind him.
"I'm sorry, lads. You're in trouble because of me."
Zoltan and Kargan chuckled tiredly. Zoltan spoke in a deep voice.
"Forget it. Everywhere's the same anyway. But you fight really well, Balin…"
Kargan chuckled and nodded. Balin replied modestly.
"I'm not that good—just experienced. If you fight as many battles as I have, you'll be able to fight like this too."
Kargan laughed loudly, causing the nearby Orcs to flinch and step back.
"Hahahah! Trust me, Balin—we've seen more battles than you think."
Zoltan nodded with a chuckle.
"Yeah! You're one of the few truly good warriors I've seen!"
As Balin opened his mouth to respond, a triumphant roar echoed across the battlefield. He turned his head—and what he saw made his blood run cold.
"…No…"
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(4280 Words)
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