All these details combined made Karl raise an eyebrow, and understanding dawned on him immediately.
He had initially assumed that Geralt had accidentally crossed paths with some hot-tempered Sorceress, but he truly hadn't expected—
It was Yennefer.
Something must have happened between the two once again, leading to the White Wolf being "hunted down."
However, in Karl's opinion, Geralt's current situation was hardly what one would call a hunt.
Rather than being chased with murderous intent, it looked far more like an intense—and rather dramatic—form of "flirting" between lovers.
Yennefer possessed a quarter-elf bloodline, and her magical talent far surpassed even that of Triss. Coupled with her greater age and experience, her overall strength was on an entirely different level.
If Yennefer had genuinely intended to kill Geralt, then given her abilities, he would have died several times over already.
There was no way he could have escaped with nothing more than superficial wounds and a few conspicuous bite marks, then calmly fled into Karl's territory looking so remarkably intact.
This was clearly a case of one willing to strike, and the other willing to endure it.
Karl glanced at Geralt's disheveled appearance—especially the bruises and dried blood on his face—and couldn't help but feel it was rather unsightly.
With a casual wave of his hand, a gentle and pure golden light, warm and brilliant like sunlight, swept across Geralt's body.
The golden radiance flickered softly before fading away.
Geralt felt an incredibly comfortable coolness wash over his face and several other places where he'd been injured. The vague aching sensation vanished instantly.
All the superficial wounds left behind from the "fight" healed in an instant, leaving no scars behind—as though he had never been injured at all.
Startled, Geralt raised a hand to touch his chin and cheeks.
They were smooth and unblemished. Even the dried bloodstains had completely disappeared, without leaving the faintest trace.
"This…" Geralt stared at Karl, his amber eyes filled with unconcealed astonishment.
He had always known Karl was powerful in physical combat, but he had never imagined that Karl's command over spells could be this refined—casting magic without incantations, gestures, or visible effort.
Karl didn't wait for any expression of thanks. To him, it had been nothing more than a trivial matter.
He turned and walked out of the temple first.
"Let's go, Geralt."
Suppressing his lingering surprise, Geralt quickly followed.
The two walked side by side along the neatly paved stone road outside the temple. Karl wore a faintly amused smile as he glanced sideways at the Witcher beside him.
After a moment, he spoke directly, his tone curious rather than prying.
"Geralt, I'm genuinely curious."
"What exactly happened between you and that… passionate lady? To the point where she personally decided to hunt you down?"
"Judging by the state you were in earlier, she doesn't seem to truly want to kill you. It looks more like… a very particular kind of punishment."
Geralt continued walking, his gaze drifting slightly away. He remained silent for a moment, as though weighing his words carefully.
A complicated emotion flickered in his cat-like amber eyes.
Finally, with a trace of helplessness in his voice, he said quietly, "She… wants a child. But I—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
There was no need to.
Karl immediately understood.
Combining Geralt's words with what he already knew about the complicated entanglement between the two, Karl quickly grasped the core of their conflict.
Yennefer harbored a deep and painful obsession with having a child—an obsession born from her infertility after becoming a Sorceress.
As for Geralt, at this stage in his life, before forming a deep bond with Ciri, the Child of Destiny, his feelings toward the idea of having children were complex and conflicted.
Perhaps he avoided the topic altogether.
Or perhaps he refused outright, fully aware of the cruel reality that Witchers, too, were infertile.
Either way, his blunt and straightforward rejection would undoubtedly have wounded Yennefer deeply.
And so, this pursuit—appearing violent on the surface, yet steeped in unresolved emotion—had begun.
Karl chuckled softly, his tone understanding rather than mocking.
"Geralt, I think I more or less understand what's going on."
"Since she has a way to track your location, she must already be near my territory by now."
"I imagine my knights will soon report the presence of an unfamiliar spellcaster."
He patted Geralt on the shoulder, his gaze sweeping casually over the surrounding streets and rooftops.
"Don't worry. Within my territory, she wouldn't dare—and wouldn't be able—to act recklessly."
Geralt nodded.
The faint worry he'd felt ever since realizing he was being tracked finally eased.
Karl's reputation had grown tremendously.
While taking on contracts across various regions, Geralt had often heard people discussing Karl, the Grand Duke of La Valette, in taverns and roadside inns.
From winning the Martial Arts Tournament to turning the tide of battle at the border… from sweeping territorial reforms to being elevated to a Duchy…
Most notably, his benevolent policies toward commoners had spread far and wide throughout the North.
Within the territory of such a ruler, even Yennefer would have to think carefully before causing trouble.
The two continued chatting as they strolled through the streets of Terra.
As they walked, Geralt found himself secretly astonished by the scenery around them.
Suddenly, Karl turned his head slightly and cast a meaningful glance toward a nearby rooftop.
There, perched quietly, was a crow.
It was unusually still—almost unnaturally so.
Geralt followed Karl's gaze and noticed the bird as well. Aside from its silence, however, he couldn't detect any magical disguise or abnormal fluctuations.
At that moment, a knight approached at a brisk pace and bowed respectfully.
"Lord Karl," the knight reported, "we've located a strange and beautiful woman staying at the inn. She's suspected to be a Sorceress."
Karl nodded calmly and turned to Geralt.
"Let's go. It seems she's already waiting for you."
Soon, the two arrived outside a newly built and fairly large inn located near the center of the village.
Villagers nearby stopped whatever they were doing and spontaneously bowed in unison.
"Lord Karl!"
Their voices were filled with genuine respect.
Gone were the fear and aloofness that commoners often showed toward nobles. What remained was admiration—and gratitude.
Even their appearance had changed drastically from what Geralt remembered.
No longer thin, pale, or dressed in rags, the villagers now looked healthy and well-fed, their physiques stronger and their clothing clean and sturdy.
It was clear that their living standards had risen significantly.
Karl, for his part, didn't put on any airs. He returned their greetings with a gentle smile, occasionally nodding in acknowledgment.
Geralt watched everything silently, his eyes filled with disbelief.
It had only been three months since he last set foot in Terra.
Yet the changes were nothing short of earth-shaking.
The muddy dirt roads he remembered were gone, replaced by flat pathways paved with neatly cut marble slabs.
The pungent stench of livestock and manure that once lingered in the air had largely disappeared, suggesting that designated pastoral zones had been properly planned and enforced.
What surprised him even more was the sight of non-human races walking openly through the streets.
Elves, dwarves, and even halflings moved about freely, working, trading, and living alongside humans in apparent harmony.
And perhaps most astonishing of all—
When Geralt had entered Terra alone earlier, even without Karl at his side, the villagers had shown no fear, hostility, or discrimination upon seeing him.
A Witcher.
For the first time in a long while, Geralt felt something unfamiliar stir quietly in his chest.
A sense of peace.
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