Dark clouds blotted out the sun. Thunder swept across the breadth of the world, murderous intent filled the fields, the mist churned, and a hundred ghosts wailed in anguish.
Ever since Geralt and Victor had entered and begun playing their assigned roles, the ancient battlefield had undergone tremendous changes visible to the naked eye. Most noticeably, the spectral mist had dispersed, revealing manifestations of the Kaedweni and Aedirnian armies from that long-ago battle.
"I remember this war. It looks exactly as it does in my memories. I was standing on that mountain at the time, watching everything unfold below. Countless lives were lost for no reason. That was when I vowed to protect Vergen and all of Upper Aedirn."
Standing atop the wall and gazing into the distance, Saskia the Dragonslayer, the Virgin of Aedirn, spoke with heartfelt emotion.
"To control the North, one must first control the Pontar Valley. To control the vast valley, one must first control Vergen. We will succeed, Saskia. The Pontar Valley is ours!" Philippa Eilhart declared.
Angoulême's caterpillar-like eyebrows rose.
She felt that the sorceress's choice of words had been somewhat inappropriate. According to the philosophy Victor usually taught her, namely, "How to Preserve a Leader's Authority," any public declaration should state that the Pontar Valley belonged to Saskia.
It could only belong to Saskia.
The noun should be singular. There should be no "ours."
However, Saskia appeared unconcerned, and the dwarves did not seem to object either. The girl suspected she was simply being too sensitive and that this was merely the sorceress's habitual manner of speaking.
Not far away, the two commanders of the dwarven militia, Zoltan and Yarpen, were pointing toward different parts of the battlefield and discussing them. Neither had personally participated in the war three years earlier, but every resident of Vergen was expected to remember it.
"In another half hour..." a deep, resonant voice said languidly.
Angoulême turned toward the source of the voice. It was Iorveth.
"Although the Aedirnian army lost its commander, Seltkirk, the collapse of the Dun Banner greatly encouraged its soldiers. They continued resisting Vandergrift with renewed determination.
"Another half hour after that, Sabrina Glevissig, growing impatient with the battle's progress, cast the forbidden spell Firestorm."
Angoulême pulled a face, refusing to be impressed by his display of knowledge.
"Of course I know which part they've reached! Vic made me memorize the entire sequence of the battle, then refused to let me participate!"
Iorveth adjusted the position of his headscarf slightly.
"He did it for your own good. On a battlefield, only the most elite survive. No, only the luckiest survive. Especially when everyone else is a manifested wraith, adding one living person would serve no purpose."
"I know that too, but it still pisses me off! Where's Lansi?"
"We originally didn't know that breaking the curse would follow the original battle's precise timetable, so I ordered her to lead a special detachment and lie in ambush nearby. That way, Henselt could not charge toward us the instant the mist disappeared."
Angoulême nodded and said nothing more.
Her sharp Eagle Vision surveyed the distant battlefield as she silently prayed that the old man and Victor would remain safe.
...
"Vandergrift, fuck you! Fuck your mother too!"
Victor rarely unleashed such vicious curses, but he had become highly proficient in the foulest language of the gutter because the Kaedweni army was chasing him across the battlefield until he was panting for breath and fleeing with his head tucked between his shoulders.
Within this reenactment of the past, killing a draug could indeed lay the spirit to rest immediately.
The problem was that Vandergrift had no intention of fighting Victor in single combat.
He commanded several hundred ghostly warriors. They could truly be called a legion because they were numerous.
Following Eskel's teachings, Victor refused to confront an army head-on.
This army could not be compared to the disorderly rabble in Flotsam. Although their wraith bodies merely appeared lifelike, they were actually immune to Dragon Shouts.
Fortunately, the reenactment was still continuing. The Kaedweni army pursuing Victor therefore did not use the instantaneous movements normally employed by wraiths. Instead, they chased him using their own two legs.
Even the draug Vandergrift himself merely possessed a massive body filled with magical power and strength capable of uprooting mountains. He could not use supernatural spells such as Ghostly Shockwaves.
Victor continued running with all his strength.
At first, Geralt had been running beside him.
Several minutes earlier, however, the white-haired witcher had abruptly changed direction and headed toward the Kaedweni lines. Every battle spirit pursuing them had completely ignored the White Wolf's existence.
Victor immediately realized that Geralt had gone to play the protagonist in the next part of the reenactment, the symbol of faith, Priest Chrest leading his lambs safely out of the sea of flames.
In other words, after Victor endured a little more long-distance running, the fierce, cruel, and irritable sorceress Sabrina Glevissig would unleash the apocalyptic forbidden spell Firestorm, reducing every wraith on the battlefield to blood and mangled flesh and finally laying them all to rest.
Once Victor understood this, he felt reassured. He turned sideways and taunted his pursuers.
"Come and catch me, Vandergrift! Catch me and you can do whatever you like!"
Taking advantage of the opening, Victor drank a Werewolf Decoction. Fearless once more, he launched a second round of bold taunts.
As long as the performance continued, the draug would be unable to display its full strength. It could neither summon crossbowmen nor call upon trebuchets.
If the contest was purely about running away, Victor Fleetfoot was the man who had completed Skellige's Path of Warriors. No one had matched him since the days of Kaer Morhen's legendary sprinting killer.
From the perspective of the Kaedweni general Vandergrift, the enemy officer was also a remarkably formidable target.
The Aedirnian could run far too quickly. No matter how hard Vandergrift pursued him, he could never catch up.
Worse still, the bastard occasionally stopped to attack an isolated soldier.
Such a shameless method of battle was unprecedented. Victor was truly the embodiment of dishonorable fighting.
...
While Victor Fleetfoot and Vandergrift played their game of cat and mouse, the king of Kaedwen stood atop a watchtower north of the Pontar, inspecting the battlefield.
After considering the situation, Henselt lowered his spyglass and issued a rough command.
"That will be enough for today. Recall the army and have the soldiers remove their armor and rest. Tomorrow, we mobilize our full strength and assault the city."
Upon hearing the king's order, an officer immediately climbed down from the watchtower and dispatched messengers to relay the command to the army.
"Dethmold, do you know what will happen next on this battlefield?" the Lord of Ard Carraigh asked in a low voice.
"Yes, Your Majesty. The tragic moment will soon arrive. Sabrina, the infamous and treacherous sorceress known throughout the world, will use magic to murder the king's loyal soldiers and stain the glory of Your Majesty's reign."
"Precisely! Lormark is our territory, and the Pontar Valley belongs to us as well. What have you discovered about the spies undermining the unity of my army?"
"Your Majesty, Vernon Roche and his Blue Stripes are responsible. Their agitation has even caused some nobles to lose confidence in the war."
"Good. Mobilize my personal troops and surround the Blue Stripes. I'll go there myself and deal with those shit-spewing bastards. As for the army's declining morale, write an announcement. Distribute money before tomorrow's battle to inspire them."
"Your will shall be done, Your Majesty."
...
While Henselt and Dethmold plotted to slaughter the Blue Stripes, the legendary Batman known as Victor Fleetfoot, three-time champion of the Vizima Road Race, had completely shaken off Vandergrift and reached the safety of high ground.
The elevated position offered an excellent view. Magnificent tents stood everywhere.
This was Vandergrift's headquarters before he entered the battle. Since he had taken the entire army with him, it currently felt quite safe.
The witcher strolled around at his leisure. As he turned a corner, he unexpectedly spotted Sabrina Glevissig.
The magically manifested sorceress was using a megascope to converse with her companions.
Drawing upon the stealth skills of the School of the Viper, Victor easily approached her and hid in a corner, secretly watching the events of the past unfold before him like a live performance.
Sabrina had red hair and brown eyes and was known as "the true daughter of the Kaedweni wilderness."
She wore a red, low-cut, off-the-shoulder gown. Her eye shadow was indigo, and the small beauty mark near the corner of her mouth gave her a sensual, untamed appearance.
"Nadovessiveg..."
As she recited the incantation, the crystal atop a brass pillar began to glow. A mirage formed within the megascope, revealing Philippa Eilhart, Síle de Tansarville, and an unfamiliar sorceress holding a black cat.
Philippa raised her hand and spoke.
"Sabrina, how is the war progressing? Is there anything we can do to assist you?"
"My position at Henselt's court is under threat. Vandergrift may win the war, and if he does, no one will be able to prevent Henselt from occupying Lormark, or Upper Aedirn."
As Sabrina's gaze moved from left to right, her diamond earrings glittered.
Síle de Tansarville said, "The balance of power in the North would be destroyed. The Pontar Valley cannot be allowed to fall into his hands. What do you intend to do?"
"I intend to summon Firestorm upon the battlefield, kill Vandergrift, and weaken the strength of both armies, bringing this war to a permanent end," the red-haired sorceress replied.
She truly deserved her reputation as the daughter of the Kaedweni wilderness. Her plan was extraordinarily violent, and the other participants exchanged glances.
Cradling her pet, the blond sorceress questioned her in a leisurely voice.
"Any act of war involving unconventional weapons will be severely condemned. Henselt will certainly not be pleased by what you intend to do."
"Assire, I have no other choice. I will claim that the battle was going badly and that I cast the spell to destroy the Aedirnian army's resistance," Sabrina replied decisively.
Victor blinked.
"Assire..."
She must be Assire var Anahid, a sorceress from Nilfgaard.
Philippa waved her hand and delivered a clear conclusion.
"Everyone, listen. Time is short. Henselt's hegemony conflicts with the plans of the Lodge of Sorceresses."
She raised one finger and pointed toward the red-haired sorceress.
"Sabrina, we will help you cast Firestorm. But remember, if Henselt demands that someone answer for this, you will stand alone."
Sabrina Glevissig nodded in agreement.
"Very well. Let us begin!"
Through the megascope, Philippa Eilhart, Síle de Tansarville, and Assire var Anahid combined their powers to cast the forbidden spell Firestorm.
A vast surge of blue-green magical power erupted into the sky.
Victor took a deep breath nearby and pushed Magic Sense to its limit, experiencing the unrestrained splendor of Firestorm.
...
At the center of the battlefield below the hill, Vandergrift had led the courageous Kaedweni army in attacking the Aedirnians from the front, rear, and both flanks.
Although he had failed to stop the unbelievably fast bastard, he had finally crushed the Aedirnian army's soaring morale.
Naturally, the next step would be to order a general advance and seize the glory of victory.
At that moment, however, the sky suddenly turned fiery red.
Disastrous clouds gathered, and fireballs began falling like rain.
One flaming projectile after another thundered into the ground, burning and destroying the thousands of soldiers locked in battle on both sides.
"Gods! We can't fight sorcery like this..."
The Kaedweni and Aedirnian soldiers were equally terrified.
Vandergrift roared furiously.
"No! That damned sorceress! After we won such a glorious victory, how could she dare...?"
The Kaedweni general desperately wished that everything before him was an illusion.
Yet no matter how furious he became, what he witnessed was the unchangeable truth of the past.
...
On the other side of the vast battlefield, the grand performance's final climactic act, Saving Corporal Zyvik, made its spectacular debut.
The symbol of faith, Chrest's medallion, flickered with black light.
Unable to control his own actions, Geralt of Rivia stepped forward, raised his hood, and addressed the dozen soldiers standing before him in a clear voice.
"Behold! Sorcerous fire! Unclean fire! Kaedwen's doom has come!"
"Why would Sabrina do this?" Baldy Kraska asked in terror.
Geralt expressionlessly recited his assigned line.
"As the prophecy foretold, when sorceresses turn against men, the appointed hour will come. Fireballs will rain from the heavens, and destruction shall be unleashed."
Corporal Zyvik asked fearfully, "Priest, what are we supposed to do? Wait here to die?"
The White Wolf pressed his palms together and cried out in a reverent, chanting voice.
"I shall guide you, as a shepherd guides his flock, safely out of the dark abyss!"
With that, he raised Chrest's medallion high against his chest.
Brilliant white light shimmered like water, surrounding the priest and his followers.
The fireballs of Firestorm could not penetrate this barrier.
Without further danger, Geralt, playing the role of Priest Chrest, led the survivors, including Corporal Zyvik, across the ancient battlefield and out of the deadly inferno.
The group fled directly to the high ground at the front of the ancient battlefield.
A newly manifested King Henselt stood there with his attendants, confronting an apparition of the sorceress Sabrina Glevissig.
Walking at the front, Geralt immediately spotted the young witcher Victor hiding in a corner and enjoying the performance.
Corporal Zyvik then separated from the priest's group. He rushed before the king and cried out in anguish.
"Your Majesty, please stop the magical attack! The men of the Dun Banner are almost all dead! This is a massacre! My lord, save us!"
Henselt glared fiercely at the sorceress.
"Sabrina, is this your doing?"
"This is no time to accuse me! Order your men forward, Your Majesty. The Aedirnian army has collapsed," the sorceress replied coldly.
"Not only the Aedirnians! Look at those terrified men. This morning, they were my finest knights! Who gave you permission to use magic?" the Lord of Ard Carraigh shouted, his eyes wide with fury.
"Calm yourself, King Henselt. This is war. If they receive reinforcements, they will soon regain their composure. Attack now, and Lormark will unquestionably fall into your hands."
"You damned whore! I will reclaim Lormark sooner or later, but not like this, and not today!
"You have humiliated me before Demavend. His army fought honorably until the final moment, while you stained my reputation by using magic to send countless courageous warriors to their deaths...
"Sabrina Glevissig, I sentence you to death. You will be burned at the stake!"
As Henselt roared in fury, Sabrina, left severely weakened by the spell, was seized by guards carrying anti-magic weapons and dragged away.
...
With that, the only two living spectators in the front row, Victor and Geralt, finished watching the vivid performance of the year.
They looked at each other, smiled, and applauded.
In the next instant, the curse was broken.
A magical shock wave swept across the entire battlefield.
This pure, uncontrollable force created a violent anti-magic field, indiscriminately striking every magical construct and magical seal on the battlefield, assuming any such seal existed.
At the center of the storm stood the White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia, sufferer of amnesia.
An explosion thundered through his mind.
He remembered.
...
May 30, 1270.
The Wild Hunt continued galloping south toward the Yaruga.
Since I began tracking them, they had abducted twenty-three people. Aside from Yennefer, every one of them was a young person between ten and twenty years old.
Then came the fateful day.
July 25, 1270, in the forests of Angren.
A slyzard...
This enormous draconid possessed a deadly venomous stinger at the end of its tail. No body could withstand its attack.
Letho was no exception.
Yet through some miracle, I managed to help him survive.
Regardless of circumstances, those who walk the witcher's path should help one another.
After all, if we do not help each other, who else will?
Letho had two companions, both fellow witchers from the School of the Viper.
The cheerful Auckes and the solemn Serrit.
The Wild Hunt continued southward.
Letho of Gulet and his companions decided to repay their debt by joining my quest to rescue Yennefer.
//Check out my P@tre0n for 30 extra chapters //[email protected]/Razeil0810