Chapter 41: Episode 39

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I didn’t know whether I wanted to compliment the broken science of the Witcher-Verse, or utterly tore it down like the wet toilet-paper it was. What I did know, was that I had figured out how the Witchers utilized the mutagens they gathered from monsters, sort of, and it did not paint a pretty picture. When Vesemir and Yennefer said parts of the Witcher Ritual were made specifically to make the body more open to changes, they weren’t wrong, not in the slightest.

But that was basically a huge, planet-size simplification for the less learned and intelligent of their group.

The real explanation was far, far more barbaric: The Ritual was designed to rip apart their entire Genetic Sequence, down to the nucleotides.

There wasn’t a part to ease the recipient into that, it just straight up tore the whole thing to literal pieces and likely used Ambient Mana as a replacement afterwards.

Now, as with all predictions and theories, I could be wrong, but the puzzles simply fit too snuggly for me to ignore. Why nearly all participants of the Witcher Ritual seemingly died gruesome deaths. Why Vesemir said the Ritual was specifically made to open up the body to changes. How a monster’s Genetic Sequence could be placed inside a human vessel with little consequences and plucked out by Geralt in Wild Hunt so effortlessly.

It just made so much sense. If the Ritual did what I believed it did, then it’s no wonder seven times out of ten, the young participants were transformed and mutated into horrifically disfigured blobs of flesh. I’d have been surprised if they weren’t with the very Sequences that determined their physical form turned into a malleable pile of goo. At that point, even a passing wind could prove fatal to their fragile vessels and the innate Mana of a creature nearby.

It would infect them, twist their bodies into things unrecognizable, and they would have no method to fight the changes other than their failing immune system and sheer fucking willpower. It would also explain why all Witchers, regardless of their heritage, were capable of wielding magic… They were no longer humans, not in the strictest of sense. Their organs placement might be similar, but their Genetics were something else’s entirely.

Yet, despite the dangers associated with the Ritual, I wanted– No, needed it. It offered me an alternative to powers beyond my reach I simply couldn’t ignore. Sure, it was destructive and dangerous at the moment, but I was fairly certain I could improve it with my patched-up, arbitrary knowledge about CRISPR Technology and Nasu-chan’s own brand Magecraft.

Imagine the things I could do with it, the Elder Blood and Gods knew how many other Magical Species stranded out in this Verse? I could biologically be a God by the time I got back to Nasu.

Obviously, I wouldn’t abandon my Humanity, Gil would never forgive me if I exchanged it for Powah, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t abuse the Witcher Ritual to my advantage, retaining my Humanity and amping myself up in the process. Just the werewolf’s regenerative healing factor was a cheat in Nasu, albeit not a particularly game-breaking one with all that Cursed Noble Phantasms and Mystic Eyes thrown around like candies over there.

Still, it was a start.

A start to glorious evolution!

I could create the perfect alteration of Mankind, with me heading it.

… Now I was really beginning to regret terminating Regul’s lifework. His legacy might have been a disgusting, inhumane one, but his Magecraft and expertise in dealing with the body would have been a lifesaver. Granted, as Angra Mainyu had said, humans in my OG Universe were different than those of Nasu, meaning Nasu’s humans and Witcher-Verse’s might be two separate entities too. But, even then there would be similarities, enough to catapult my own research into new height.

‘Oh-well, no use crying over spilt milk…’ I thought as I continued carving away at the werewolf’s hide. It wasn’t exactly necessary, the skin or hide were often the least magical parts of any creature, but I might be able to fashion something out of it, a magic-resistant outfit perhaps. Would help a ton in any dealings I might have with the various factions of Sorcerers and Sorceresses in this World. If not, it could prove useful still.

Since monsters were magical, having a outer coat resistant to magic might just save my life later on. After all, there was no such thing as being over-prepared. I had learnt this hard way in Nasu on multiple occasions, and I wasn’t about to throw those painful, yet arguably valuable lessons out the windows simply as a consequence of my perceived superiority over the magic users of Witcher-Verse… Then I paused, a sickening sensation creepy into my stomach.

“I sound like one of those stuck-up Mages– No, no… I sound like Shinji! Gosh, what is wrong with me?! What has the World come to?” Alright, new objective, get a grip on this weirdass superiority complex before it killed me, or worse, left me in eternal torment because I managed to piss off some mega-powerful cosmic Entities or something. Without insecurities to keep it under control, my pride was left unchecked.

Apparently, literally murking my fears had unforeseen ramifications.

Who woulda’ thought? ‘Cause I certainly didn’t.

I grimaced as a tight frown knitted my brows. “Gotta’ keep a tight lid on that arrogance before it gets in me trouble…”

I shrugged off the thoughts, scalpel digging away at the werewolf’s hide with the same ease and experience of an aged hunter, and like butter, the scalpel split the monstrous, cursed corpse apart while I carefully navigated the thin membrane holding its furry hide to the flesh. It was gruesome and arduous work, but the promise of a new, magically enchanted outfit was too much to ignore. Thus, even as my mind yelled for me to hurry up, my hands steadily skin the corpse.

I was so absorbed in my work that I almost didn’t hear the sounds of footsteps and heavy-breathing growing closer. I patted, cleaning my hands with a projected handkerchief and looked up. There she was, the peasant girl Gretka, yet Ciri was nowhere to be found. Her expression was tainted by worry I just couldn’t associate with her, Gretka spoke– Screamed, more like. “Leonis, Leonis! Ciri’s in trouble!”

I abandoned my equipment, rushing to her. “Where?!”

No further questions needed to be asked. Gretka had seen Ciri deal with several packs of wolves, butchering her way through the animals with little to no effort, she wouldn’t have come running to me if she didn’t feel like our ashen-haired Witcheress need the additional help. Obviously, this could be a trap, a trick, but I wasn’t too worried. Few could be my match when it came to sheer physical prowess in this Verse, doubly so if [Reinforcement] was taken into account.

As for the more magical threats, I had it on good authority that Boss-Level ones were few and far in this swampy forest. Which made me question, just what had managed to push Ciri so hard she felt the need to send the girl looking for me? Sure, the place was fucking infested with drowners and hags, but those were mild inconvenience at worst and slightly more dangerous than your average wolf pack at best. Unless– ‘The Crones?’

Ah-yes, I nearly forgot about them…

The Crones.

The ‘Good’ Ladies.

The Ladies of the Wood.

Said to be older than the very forest in which they resided, they were the stereotypical witches who dwelled in the woods, kidnapping and luring women, men and children to devour and satiate their hunger. They were precisely the kind of monsters that the Eternal Fire often preached about, vindicate and cruel, merciless in their pursuit of preys, and often wore attractive glamour to fool the uneducated masses into worshiping them.

Their true forms however, were utterly monstrous with wrinkled, discolored skins, pointed noses, narrowed eyes and watery boils littering their bodies. Their appearance was frankly offensive to the eyes.

If I hadn’t remembered incorrectly, when Ciri came to kill them in the game, their skillsets were extremely disappointing, with only a handful of AoE Spells in their arsenal, while the rest were simple and clumsy physical attacks resembling the clumsy hand swipes of an infant. Too easy to dodge compared to the pet they kept.

But, this wasn’t a game, and I sincerely doubted their Spells would limited to a stomp-attack and tracking blood-mist… They were amongst the creatures I feared, creatures so ancient they likely had a trove of tomes and grimoires hidden in that dirty hole they had taken up residence in. I wasn’t afraid of their frontal attacks, if push came to shove, I was confident in my ability to utterly destroy them in combat.

What I was wary of were the Curses.

If the Eredin was able to curse an actual Elven Sage and transform him into that little hunchback abomination, then imagine what these dark creatures would be capable of? ‘No, I can’t afford to make them my enemies, not until I’ve devised methods to counter their curses.’

But if I was forced into a confrontation with them, they must die as quickly as I could manage. That, or I must ensure they never got their disgusting hands on my bio-matters, especially hair and blood.

“Alright, Gretka. I’m gonna need you to listen very carefully, hide in the cave. Climb to somewhere high up so the monsters will have a harder time reaching you, or slip inside those small cracks where only you can go in and out, and don’t come out until you’ve heard and seen me, do you understand? Ciri is in danger, I have to go help her, I’ll return in a sec–” I took her in my arms, jumping up a section that jutted out near the cave vault, then I gently set the frazzled girl, who was clinging to me like a terrified koala, down.

“Don’t make unnecessary noises, and stay safe.” With my instructions made crystal clear, I disappeared in a burst of speed, phantasmal petals fluttering behind my silhouette as I exited the cave. While my senses were better, much better than any non-magical, humans or otherwise, could boast; the splatters of rain and howls of wild animals would have made locating Ciri in this environment a real pain and a half. Thankfully, the Elder Blood was quite… Potent.

I could sense the bursts of Mana, tainted with Space-Time two to three miles down South. Thus, there I went, and the closer I got, the more signs of devastation were visible to my eyes. There weren’t many creatures in the Witcher-Verse who could cause this sort of destruction, none other than the Giants, the Cyclops, the Chorts and its bigger, meaner cousin– the Fiends.

Giants was generally assumed to be extinct, and there was only one I knew was still alive, which was in Skellige so it couldn’t be them.

Cyclops mostly lived on mountainous areas, so I could scratch them out of the equation as well.

That left us with either Chorts or Fiends. If I remembered correctly, the Crones had one of those under their control, ready to be unleashed at a moment’s notice.

I didn’t quite remember which though. Were the Chorts capable of hypnotism, or was it the Fiends? It had been too long. My memory might have been enhanced by the Gamer System, but even then I couldn’t be expected to retain knowledge about the two rarest creatures in Wild Hunt. I had replayed that game at least three times, and I could count both the number of Chorts and Fiends encounters on my fingers, with three to spare.

The only other monster that could somewhat rival them in rarity were the Lesshens, and they could actually be found in abundance on the Kaer Morhen map…

“Ciri!” I shouted, launching towards the lumbering creature, who was clenching the groaning Witcheress in its fanged-mouth. She didn’t seem too injured, the Crones must have ordered it to bring her to them. Fucking crazy, witchy cannibals. Growl poured through the creature’s clenched fangs, its three eyes rolling madly in their sockets and its antlers made to aim themselves at me. “You dumb animal…!”

It charged… With Ciri in toll.

I reared back, casually sidestepping its charge attack as the newly-summoned Invictus slammed onto its wriggling tail, nailing the beast to the ground. It growled, swinging its thick, muscles-bound arm behind in a desperate attempt to get at me, but I had already taken off, jumping on its back and re-summoning the beautiful rapier to my hand. This time, I stabbed Invictus into its right shoulder-blade and it let out a guttural howl, allowing Ciri to fall helplessly from its mouth.

Then, the fiend stumbled away, falling backwards in order to crush me. I rolled from its humongous form, rushing towards Ciri while the beast was distracted and temporarily put out of commission. The pain wouldn’t keep it occupied for much longer, I must hurry! I snatched her mid-fall, dirt and rocks rupturing beneath my feet as Mana pulsed inside my vessel. [Reinforcement] was activated, and before the Ciri could even properly register the passing scenery, we were gone.

Miles away from our initial position…

Rather than taking the swampy path likely filled with dangers and drowners, I had taken Ciri to the air by propelling us with an explosive kick at the ground, 2003 Hulk’s style. Here, we could scout the road ahead and avoid the fiend altogether. After all, no matter how smart a fiend was, it’s nevertheless an animal, an animal which mainly tracked preys through sight and scent, and us bouncing away would put a damper on its ability follow us.

“THIS IS FUCKING AWESOooome!” I yelled as we plummeted to the ground.

In all honesty, I found the whole experience a novelty to be had. I had wanted to do this for ages, just never had the chance to try it out in Nasu for fear of being discovered or picked up by a random satellite.

Sadly, Ciri wasn’t quite as enthusiastic about it as I was, her Elder Blood thrumming as though to reflect the terror she felt. I didn’t blame her, I was fairly certain I could survive a 700 feet fall, but she definitely wouldn’t. It’s well within her right to be panicking.

I couldn’t have her blink us somewhere else, since we still had a peasant girl to retrieve and all that, thus I leaned in, mouth so close to her ear I could practically feel how cutely it twitched. “DON’T! WE’LL BE FINE, TRUST ME!”

Ciri looked scared out of her mind, but her struggling did subside afterwards, which I was thankful for, it would have been incredibly hard to navigate mid-air if she kept fighting me.

‘Alright, show me your worth, [Petal Burst]…’ I spoke in my head as I flipped on the Skill. Now, [Petal Burst] hadn’t exactly been the focus of my research, but I did dabble in it, and what I found was that [Petal Burst] didn’t increase my speed or accelerate me, those were merely the side-effects.

Its true usage was the ability to manipulate self-mass or the mass of whoever and whatever I was touching. Those fluttering ‘petals’ that trailed behind me every time I used it? Those weren’t petals, they were my molecules being broken down as [Petals Burst] began to turn my mass into smaller, more manageable bits in order to help me move faster. It was fucking terrifying the first time I realized, but there didn’t appear to be any adverse effect thanks to ‘supapowah logic’ so I just ignored it.

‘Superpowers be weird like that…’

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If, if I did this right, then we should be able to surf on the air currents, effectively allowing us to glide through the sky and land completely unscathed.

I was correct in my assumption.

We went from ‘plummeting to our gruesome demise’ to ‘descending from the sky like graceful angels’ in a heartbeat as I tightened my focus and poured my mind into controlling the Skill.

“This, this is nice.” Ciri commented, breaths steadying with each word as my feet gently landed on the earth; while hers, strewn over my arm, dangled like a child. “I could get used to this…”

At one point, Ciri had thrown her arms over my neck, and as I turned to face her, our lips were but a palm away from touching, and with her chest pressed against mine, I could feel the slight quickening of her heartbeats as we met gazes. I hadn’t bothered to take a good look at her before, but she was beautiful, even more so than the game had portrayed. Unlike Gil’s perfect countenance however, her beauty was flawed, human, what with the scar and all, yet that only made her just as attractive in my eyes.

Despite my efforts, I blushed, dropping Ciri to the ground as she yelped. It might seem weird, seeing as I had done the dirty with Gil already, but in my defense, Gil was different, she was casual, fun, confident in an infectious way. Ciri was too, in a sense, still there were human reservations under that heroic facade of hers, something the Golden Queen lacked, and it embarrassed me. No idea why either, it just did. Odd, considering all my fears and insecurities should have been gone by now.

Perhaps my inability to do and say anything even remotely romantic without cringing might have escaped the purge somehow?

“What was that for?!”

The Witcheress grumbled, a scowl painting her face as she rose to her feet, hands massaging her arse. She looked even more beat up than she did initially, on her bicep were lengthy claw-marks, and her shirt torn in several spots, though thankfully none was on her chest, or the situation might have become even more awkward for me. “That–” I crossed my arms defensively as I sniffed, eyes diverting from the Witcheress. “– Was for embarrassing me.”

“And exactly when did I do that–?!” Ciri rolled her eyes, instinctively reaching to feel for her blade only to find it was gone. If I remembered correctly, that thing was hilt-deep in the fiend’s shoulder at the moment. “MY SWORD! Where is–! It’s still in the fiend, isn’t it…?”

She let out a heavy sigh that seemed to exude sadness, and sat down heavily, arms thrown on top of her knees. “It was a gift from my father. I think I lost the blade you gave me too, sorry Leonis… I got cocky, didn’t think a fiend would roam these parts. I only got out of it alive because it wanted me alive for whatever reasons.”

I patted her lightly on the shoulder. “It’s fine, Black Keys are a dime a dozen anyway. And, I don’t think your dad would blame you for losing the sword, beautiful craftsmanship as it was, its value doesn’t even compare to your life, so cheer up.” Pulling her up, I continued with a grin, chuckling. “Now, I believe we still have a helpless peasant girl to fetch? I’ve helped her hide, but I’m planning to retrieve her before she manages to attract anymore monsters and wild predators. You in?”

To her credit, Ciri cheered up rather quickly. Hard to keep her down, huh? “Yes, let’s go.”

“Oh, and Leonis?”

I hummed in response.

“Thanks for trying to cheer me up. It’s not the best attempt I’ve seen–“ The ashen-haired Witcheress smirked teasingly. “But I appreciate it nevertheless.”

——◇  [Fate: DML] ◇——

The Witches of the Wood.

The Crones.

The Good Ladies.

They had been called by all these names and more, at times insulted and spat on, other times worshiped and prayed to as they ought to be. They were forces to be reckoned with, far older than even the elves that inhabited this miserable planet, and they were not to be messed with nor crossed. That was a fact everybody knew, but it would seem that not all understood.

Their hunt for the Child of the Elder Blood had been halted, foiled by the hands of another, one whose fate didst not touch, unbound and unchained. An anomaly to the time-stream, hidden even from their ever-seeing gazes, yet he would learn, as all did. “It appears fortune doth not favor us today, for the Child hath escape our grasp once more, sisters. Should we hunt down the boy responsible for this… This challenge to our powers?”

Face concealed behind a wicker basket, limbs large and bloated, ending with three black claws darker than black, spoke. Its voice raspy, like it had swallowed just a tad too much smoke the day before, yet those familiar with them would know its sisters’ voices were no different, if not worse than its own rasps. Brewess questioned, tone lauded with anger and ridicule aimed at the Traveler that had stolen the Child from her rightful fate, which was to be their food.

Sustenance to help them prolong their existence.

“No, they shall return, they always do, sister. And then we’ll be here ready to welcome them…” Face veiled in washed copper-red, head adorned with an ugly black shroud, with lengthy, oversized arms. Whispess replied as a matter of fact. Its voice of marginally higher-pitch and wretched compared to its sisters. “He seems powerful magically, I’m sure he’ll taste just as fine as the Child of the Elder Blood herself.”

The third– Weavess, the only of the witches who did not possess a form of concealment on her face, proudly showing her hideous visage and insects-ridden eye sockets to any and all to witness, quickly added as a forethought. “But it would be rude to let them go without a parting gift, would it not? A Curse might be fitting, it will ensure they return to us as soon as possible…”

Brewess nodded in response, agreeing to her sister’s comment as barked. “Indeed. I shall go inform Eredin and the Wild Hunt of the Child’s whereabouts, if they’re successful, we might have a reserve of Elder Blood to bathe in at our convenience–” The witch cackled madly, seemingly pleased with what she had imagined. “In the meanwhile, you two must prepare to weave a Curse unto that boy, a powerful one, but make sure he doth not die before he returns to break the Curse. I’ll be quick.”

With that, the three exploded in a bloody mist, their very presences tainting the land where they once stood and discussed.

Brewess to the cave they had taken up residence in.

Her sisters, on the other hand, decided to venture deeper into the forest to gather ingredients for their insidious Curse.

This all happened with Leonis being non-the-wiser about the scheme involving him.

——◇  [Fate: DML] ◇——

Lindenvale was a… I’d say it was a nice place, but I’d be lying outta my ass.

It was a shithole, literally. I had seen at least twelve different holes where the villagers dumped their, well, dumps into. Almost fell into one too, and wasn’t that a bloody nightmare to experience? Ciri, Gretka and I had returned to the village at the beginning of dawn, when the roosters hadn’t even begun their incessant cooing and the sun had not broken through the haze of darkness surrounding us.

Not even the inn we currently stayed in was open, but we– And when I said we, I meant I, slammed the doors hard enough to nearly dislodge the entire thing from its frame, ‘cause I wasn’t sleeping in the wilderness like a fucking savage when the continent was being plagued with war, death, diseases and an ungodly amount of magical creatures running about the place, each of whom would be more than grateful to be granted the chance to feast on our sleeping forms.

And I definitely wasn’t sleeping in no haystack with all the insects crawling around the village in droves so numerous they made anthills look like a better place to sleep on in comparison. Not to mention, the spiders… By all that’s good and pure, the damned spiders!

So yes, I forcefully woke up the grumpy owner while Ciri was bringing Gretka back home. A shame we didn’t have the werewolf’s head on hands, seeing as my favorite Witcheress had dropped the thing when she was attacked by the fiend. Thankfully, the werewolf’s heart and hide I had gathered were enough evidences for the owner, and we were able to erase whatever complaints they still had, while simultaneously receiving their goodwill since we didn’t even ask for coins.

Just a place to spend a few nights in and, hopefully, mornings too. Once that was done, Ciri and I went to our own rooms to get some shut-eyes.

Sadly, my sleep was plagued by insects, the shithole I almost tripped in and three beautiful witches who peeled their skins back to reveal their monstrous forms.

Apparently, the Crones worked even faster than I had thought, but I was no more afraid of them than I was of other witches in Earth folklores. Whatever Curse they had placed on me, it was nowhere strong enough to harm me in any meaningful way, even the loss of HP by the time I woke up was barely 5% in total, which was good, all things considered. This I could deal with, anything worse… Just look at Avallac’h, that guy had it Bad, and that’s bad with a capital B.

At least I wasn’t stuck as a boils-ridden, dwarf hunchback. That would have sucked. Doubly so since Ciri was injured still, meaning she was in no position to protect anyone, and I sincerely doubted Yennefer and Geralt would have helped me out of the goodness of their hearts. Geralt maybe. Yennefer? Definitely not. That Sorceress’ heart was blacker than mine if her utter disregard to the Skelligen dude who aided Ciri in escaping the Hunt were anything to go by.

Anyway, after being thanked once more by the residents of Lindenvale, which was much larger in actuality, and given days-worth of supplies, we set out at the start of noon on the fourth day, after Ciri had recovered from her wounds with our own horses, which I bought using projected coins. What? It’s like they would dispel in this Mana-rich environment. “Where are we headed?”

“Crow’s Perch, then probably Novigrad, we didn’t receive any coin for our work on the werewolf–”

I interjected. “Our work, Princess?”

Ciri rolled her eyes. “And by that, I meant yours. Happy?”

I chuckled, throwing my head back, but that was when horse, the ugly brown, dotted thing it was, jumped up, nearly sending me sprawling on the floor. The Witcheress taunted. “Are you sure you can ride her on your own? You can get on mine if you want, Sir Scholarly.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Firstly, I’ve been on more dangerous ride–“ I stressed, remembering my nights spent with Gil and grinned as I patted the horse’s head lightly in a futile attempt to calm it down. “Secondly, my World, we have these… Contraptions, known as cars and motorbikes, the first are horseless carriages, the latter have long since replaced horses. This is my first time ever on one of these creatures, so give me a break. And since it is my first attempt, I’d say I’m doing a damn good job at it.”

Ciri’s smirk widened, before she had her brown stead trot over to me. “You’re holding the reigns too tight, it’s confusing her. Take a deep breath and relax your grip, you will be fine.”

I clicked my tongue. “Doesn’t feel like it… Just look at it, this creature clearly wants me dead!”

“Just trust me, like I trusted you.” Potter! How dared you use my spells against me?! “Yeah, I’mma pass on that.”

Her lips twitched angrily. “… We’ll waste precious time if you spend the entire trip fighting your horse, get on mine if you can’t handle it.”

I shook my head stubbornly. “Urgh, fine. Have it your way, don’t come crying to me when she throws you off.” Ciri grunted, hands fiddling with another Black Key I had projected for her the night before. The one she lost had long been dispelled. “As I was saying, before I was rudely interrupted by a certain someone, we will head to Crow’s Perch first to stock up on supplies, then head to Novigrad. I have friends there who can help me– Us. Just have to look for them…”

Right, there’s that racing Quest with the Bloody Baron, wasn’t there? His name was Phillip Strenger if I wasn’t wrong, got a real bitch of a wife who made a deal with the Crones to kill her second child with the Baron out of spite. I meant, the Baron wasn’t exactly the beacon of goodness and virtues himself, but like the man said, he had never laid a hand on his wife or daughter, and frankly the crazy bitch was in the wrong here.

The man went on several battles, participated in wars to provide for his family, meanwhile she was home rutting her childhood friend. I’d have divorced the bitch ages ago if I were in his shoes, but what did I know? I was wifeless in my past life after all, and thanks to my aversion to doing and saying romantic things, my relationships often ended within months. “Well, I’d offer to race and make this a little bit more exciting, but I have a feeling this trip won’t be an uneventful one.”

With that said, my eyes zoomed on the path ahead, where a broken carriage laid broken, its boxes of wares scattered all over the road. We were barely out of Lindenvale and we had already encountered our first pack of ghouls. And it would seem they had seen us too, or rather, seen me. Almost immediately, their heads snapped towards my direction, ignoring my Witcheress friend completely. “Damn those old Crones!”

I rubbed my head, whispering as the pack bolted in our direction. From the looks of them, with their spikey shoulders and the blotches of black coloring their skins, they weren’t normal ghouls either, but alghouls. Creatures who had devoured so much corpses that human flesh became irresistible to them, and now? They craved warm, living meats, which we happened to be, and I believed I spoke for the both of us when I said I preferred my flesh intact and not ghouls’ chew-toy. “What a nice World to live in…”

Usually, alghouls were hard to come by, but thanks Emhyr’s crazy-ass, continent-spanning war, normal ghouls had a lot of corpses to gorge themselves on, leading to their eventual evolution to alghouls. ‘Thanks a ton, you incest-obsessed freak.’

“That doesn’t look good.” I grunted at the Witcheress’ assessment. “Let’s dispatch these volatile-rejects quickly then.”

Couldn’t let them get near the horses, they would kill them or scare them off, leaving us with no other means of transportation other than our feet, which I’d rather avoid if possible. Treading on foot from one place to another just wasn’t my style.

“Volatile?” Ciri titled her head in confusion as I jumped off my horse and summoned Invictus, Mana flaring in free palm to create a gigantic [Finn Cannon]. “You gonna join in on this or what, Warrior Princess?”

Ciri grinned. “There are twelve approaching, split evenly between us?” Not sure what was so tempting about killing a bunch of corpses-scavengers, their mutagens were nice in the game, but no way I was putting those in my body, Gods knew what kind of diseases the little dog-sized fuckers were harboring with their diet. Still, if it made her happy, why not? I shrugged. “Sure, don’t make me save you this time or I’ll change your nickname to ‘damsel-in-distress’.”

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