Chapter 51: Episode 48

Disclaimer: I don't own Nasuverse or Skyrim or any other franchise that can be found in this fanfiction.

Words Count: 5397

Here's my usual spiel:

You can read way more than 10 Episodes in advanced plus my other fic: Ars Goetia– Antichrist here.

p a tr e on . com (/) LiamThePoor

A/N: And so the two ‘Big Bad’ have been dealt with. I’ve also shown the consequences of Leonis’ actions through the Rider and a peasant girl’s eyes.

A/N#2: Btw, can I just say I loath dancing with all my might. Yup, that's your daily dose of complaints ????

A/N#3: Okay, so one last-last Edit. I've been made aware that NNN is coming, and I'm contemplating writing pure lemons just to fuck with my Readers. I'm most certainly gonna fail that shit, but what if I bring some of you with? ????

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Novigrad– Her once beautiful city was in complete and utter chaos.

Corpses littered the streets.

Blood stained the cobblestones.

In the distance, Annie could see the Witch Hunters engaging with the Skeletal Riders and their beasts– A bunch of ferocious creatures with rocks? Or were those ices, jutted out of their bodies in jagged pieces.

Their maws bloody with the fresh blood of their victims, some of whom were once Annie’s family, friends and neighbors.

Not all of them were good, but most simply wanted to live their lives.

To work, get money, have kids and pass away under their children and grandchildren’s care.

Sadly, their hopes and dreams would remain forever unrealized. “Why’s this happening?”

She choked, feeling something forcing its way up her throat.

Was it bile and vomit? No…

The young woman doubled over, hands reaching to touch her bleeding stomach. “W- Why–?”

She turned to look at her assailant, one of the Riders adorned in black, skeletal armor.

He did not respond and Annie could not read his expression under that skull-shaped helmet of his, yet…

Yet, Annie had a feeling even if she could, she’d be hard-pressed to find any emotion on his face.

Annie was simply another casualty.

Another corpse to add the already growing pile of those he had slain.

She was little more than another face he would quickly forget.

Despite her best judgement, despite her instincts telling her to keel over and play dead…

Annie refused to obey, she stretched her bloody fingers towards him, towards that unfeeling helmet accusingly.

‘I have amounted to nothing in life, unloved and despised for my profession, but–!’

Her thoughts were cut short as the Rider pulled out his gleaming sword and swing, cleaving her head clean.

Novigrad had fallen, and nobody of importance could be bothered to care about the lives of the innocent.

Nobody could save them.

Not Radovid and his army,

Not the gangs and their groups of lackeys,

Not the Temple Guards and their donations,

Not the Witch Hunters and their pyres,

Not the Skeletal Riders who lived and breathed murders,

And certainly not the young Magus who had brought about this disaster upon the once beautiful, populated Free City…

As of this very moment, all these forces and individuals were too busy having a free-for-all to waste their thoughts on the peasants.

——◇  [Fate: DML] ◇——

I jumped on the carriage, barely dodging a hail of icy spikes by the hair’s breadth.

Swinging my legs, my the instep of my foot crashed into a Wild Hunt’s Hound. The creature’s skull splintered, sending sharp fragments and brain-matters splattering against its handler’s ebony armor. The Rider swiftly brought his hands up to shield himself, yet he failed to realize that would be his biggest mistake.

I blinked next to him, grabbing him by his breastplate and threw the Rider towards his own squadron. “[Spatial Expand]!”

[Skill: Spatial Shrink/Expand(Active) – Novice: 7/15]

Glowing cyan hue covered the Rider’s frame, before a Spatial-Force enlarged his flailing body. The result was the already giant of an Elf grew tripled his original size and squashing his comrades. While his weight had remained the same, the impact of something that big being flung into them still left the other Riders broken and concussed. Then, with a wave of my hand, the cyan-coat over his body reversed. The Elf, which was once humongous, shrink to the proportion of a butterfly.

I kicked a barrel towards him, and since he was still disoriented from being flung, the Rider did not avoid the rolling barrel in time, leaving him crushed to a paste. “Die, you fucking fairies.”

Of course, once the Riders were gone, the Witch Hunters immediately took their place, because they were sniveling cowards like that. Unluckily for them, they were little more than inconveniences. I made quick work of the group before charging towards the Hierarch Square. That’s where there was the highest concentration of Ambient Mana, and likely where Imlerith or Eredin was waiting for me. ‘But first, Radovid.’

With a target in mind, I changed my direction to the docks.

There, I encountered countless Redanian Soldiers battling it out with the Riders of the Wild Hunt, and failing miserably. The Riders were not only better-equipped, but better-trained as well. Their armors were so thick and durable that the Redanians’ chipped and rusty swords could barely leave a scratch on them. Their weapons so sharp and heavy a single swing could bisect or crush even an armored opponent, sometimes both.

Their hounds so ferocious, the beasts would rather ignore a sword digging into their spine than releasing their jaws from the Redanians’ limbs.

And the fighting style. Redanian Soldiers might as well be flailing children compared to the Riders. It made sense, the Elves’ lifespans were about three to four centuries on average, if I remembered correctly. Those promoted to be Riders were all veterans, one way or another.

Aen Seidhe’s entire society revolved around raiding and capturing ‘inferior species’ as slaves. Their words, not mine. Their culture was essentially an unholy hybrid of ‘Romans-meet-Vikings’.

On one side were unhinged schoolyard bullies who were paid to hunt and kill peaceful herbalists, while the other was made of magic-wielding, monsters-taming, centuries-old, murder-happy slavers…

It was simply absurd to expect Radovid’s barely-blooded army to emerge victorious from the conflict.

Still, in all fairness, the Redanians were doing decent against the Hunt. For every Soldier or Witch Hunter slain, five more would take the places of their fallen brothers-in-arms.

Powerful as they were, the Riders were mortals still. They too got tired and suffered decreases in performance, while their foes appeared to be endless in number. I smirked, sneaking behind the two groups and shouted, enhancing my vocal cords with [Reinforcement].

“Brothers and sisters! The Spectral Riders have tired, slay them! For the safety of our children and generations to come! For Novigrad– The only Free City in all of the Northern Continent! For Redania and her people! For Humanity! You must not falter!”

That did the job. The Redanians who were slowly losing hope and grounds began to fight with reckless-abandon, uncaring of the wounds they sustained, indifferent to the pains and screams of their bodies. I must admit, they were quite the courageous bunch. A shame I’d have to kill them all should they come out victorious. What? It’s not my fault they were racist, religious zealots. If they wanted to blame anyone, blame that frothing mad King of theirs.

I left the two groups to battle, sprinting towards the Novigrad’s docks.

I was late, Radovid’s ship had left far in the distance, but if the bald bastard thought he was safe, then he’s either a fool or delusional.

I aimed my middle and index fingers at the rapidly disappearing ship, a mass of Cursed Mana swirling to their tips.

I had use [Finn Cannon] plenty, but this was the first time ever I’d make good of its namesake. The pulsating Curse kept growing in size as I poured Mana into it.

Before long, the [Finn Cannon] had grown to dwarf me in height. “Where do you think you’re going? Did I give you permission to leave, you lowly cur?”

My scream echoed, overlaying the sounds of panicked shouts and fighting, and as I finally let the ball of [Finn Cannon] loose, an even bigger sound erupted. It was like a missile had gone off, the sea parted, sending nine-feet tall waves crashing into the docks. The Curse tore a hole straight through Radovid’s vessel, leaving the ship in two crumbling halves. With my enhanced sight, I watch as the Redanian King tumble over the railings, clinging desperately to a piece of debris once attached to his ship.

He turned, glaring at the docks, as though trying to find the one responsible for the attack. But, regardless of how highly he thought of himself, Radovid was a mere man in the end. He could not see me under the haze of burning of Novigrad and ice storm caused by the Hunt. I laughed, aiming at the drowning King and began to take pot-shots. The first shattered the debris he was clinging to, the second devoured what remained of the ship, the third…

It ripped Radovid in half.

Though, to his credits, Radovid was alive still.

He might be a stuck-up, conceited, racist piece of shite, but he was a… Persistent King, one whose willpower was stronger than most could ever claim, I’d give him that.

Sadly for him, his story had ended the night I quite literally stumbled into this World.

For all his scheming and plans, he never stood a chance against me. They were useless in the face of overwhelming might. “Be a better man in your next life, Radovid The Fifth. Maybe you’ll live longer that way.”

I whispered, and as if having heard my voice somehow, Radovid stared directly at my location, his eyes bloodshot with rage, hatred and unwillingness. He was close, oh-so very close to his goals of taking over the Northern Continent and eliminating the Supernatural, only to fail thanks to me– A foreign Entity who had come barreling my way onto the planet. With his demise, it wouldn’t be long until the Redania Dynasty too shall fall into chaos…

And without Radovid backing them financially, the Hunters, the Eternal Fire and their Temple Guards would pose little threat to the Mages. “I’ve done all I can, I leave the rest to you, Triss.”

I swept my hair up triumphantly, with Radovid sinking into the bottomless depth of the sea, it was time for me to face Eredin and his Riders. Stopping the White Frost was Ciri’s fate, and I didn’t feel comfortable stealing it from her, despite knowing there’s a, albeit extremely unlikely, chance of her dying. But, ‘The Wild Hunt are free-game.’ I drew Invictus, a smug, demonic smile on my face as I turned to address the approaching Red Riders. “Half-blood, you’re coming with us!”

It seemed the Redanians’ forces had fallen.

Oh-well, I didn’t have a high expectations for them anyway. “I’ll bring Eredin your heads. Though, worry not. Your King will reunite with you soon.”

“Inferior half-blood!” One of the Riders wasted no more words, rushing towards me with his blades drawn and ready. He’s aiming at my legs and non-lethal areas, presumably under Eredin’s orders. I noted, before lazily stepping out of the path of his swords. In a flash, I appeared next to him, landing a punch that not only crushed his breastplate, but also causing the upper-half of his torso to explode beneath his heavy armor.

I stepped on his throat under the astonished gazes of the other Red Riders, then stomped. I stomped so hard and fast his neck turned to mush, mixed with the fragments of his armor. Sending the Riders a cold smile, I lazily picked up the bouncing, helmeted head and waved it around animatedly like a toy. “Do you still think I’m just an ‘inferior half-blood’, zasshu?”

My head whirled with thoughts as the Riders looked at me with cautiously.

The Elder Blood was powerful, but [Blink] could not bring me to locations I hadn’t visited before.

Well, it actually could, but I wouldn’t be able to control where I landed.

It’s settled then. ‘Let’s capture and have one of them bring me to Aen Elle. I’m gonna rob these bitches blind.’

——◇  [Fate: DML] ◇——

As the Riders gazed into the Child of the Elder Blood’s eyes, they involuntarily took a step back.

In that short, passing moment, when those amber-green orbs flashed with a cyan light, they saw themselves– Or rather, their futures. The possible ways the Child could end them, they experienced it all. From being drowned, decapitated, sliced to pieces, cursed, burnt and electrocuted, or simply get ripped apart by the Child’s bare hands and/or telekinesis.

Those who were veterans, having raided and enslaved dozens of planets during their deployment managed to keep a straight face, but for the Riders who had only recently been allocated to the Hunt… They were utterly terrified, so much so that their legs gave out from under them. This Child, whatever he was, was a force of Nature, one that no other could compare.

Whereas before, the Riders still had hope they could tire him out first, then go in for the capture.

Now, they could not even harbor the thoughts. “You’re no mere Sorcerer, what are you? An individual can’t fight off armies, regardless of how powerful they are, not even the Sages are capable of such a feat!”

A Rider tremblingly asked, his helmet failing miserably to disguise the horror in his voice. “What are you, foul creature?!”

The Child– No! The Thing in the guise of a Child grinned toothily.

It was as though he wasn’t standing on a ruined battleground with a deceased Rider’s head being twirled by the hair in his hand. “Me? I’m just a human, a very strong human–”

It pointed its slender, claws-like fingers at the Riders and continued, a casual smirk plastering its angular features. “– The first to volunteer bringing me to Eredin will be spared. The rest…”

It laughed, the smirk widening to a monstrously disproportionate degree. “Well, you had better pray to whichever God or Gods you believe in, ‘cause this is your season finale.”

The Riders did not know what ‘season finale’ was, but by the smug tone in its voice, it could not be anything good. Thus, after hesitating for a while, one hurriedly raised his hand to offer his aid to the monster. “His Majesty did not arrive with us, but I can bring you to his castle on Aen Elle!”

“You dare?!” Enraged shouts sounded and ended as quick as they came. “Damn traitor–!”

The two Riders who had protested and cursed at their defected comrade tumbled lifelessly to the ground, bisected from the waists by a single swing of the broken curved blade in its hand. The defected Rider did not know how it killed them when it was still standing at least a dozen feet away, and with half of a broken blade at that, yet that no longer mattered, not to him anyway.

He was a traitor, and his comrades– The people he had fought, sweated and bled with were now his enemies…

The Thing brought up his hands, and suddenly, the rest of the Riders were coated by a cyan-hued, transparent layer of magical energy. They can’t move, the defected Rider noted, before stumbling back as the Thing kicked a sword to his feet. “Prove it, prove that you’re willing to betray the Wild Hunt…”

The smile on its face was not quite a smile anymore, and the defected Rider quickly realized that should hesitate for even a second longer, he too would be joining his former brothers-in-arms. “I understand.”

The defected Rider took up the sword without a moment of hesitation, before swinging it at his immobilized comrades. He kept hacking and hacking at them until he’s sure none was left alive. While his expression and voice remained stoic as ever, the slithering guilt was eating the Rider from inside out like a cancer. Finally, he paused, teeth clenched, grinding so hard he could hear the nigh inaudible sounds through the crackling of the spreading fire.

“It’s over…” He spoke, feeling both emotionally and physically exhausted. “It’s done, I’ve killed my own squadron, are you satisfied?!”

The Thing, it had the nerves to chuckle, as if amused by his anger. “Oh, lighten up. The Wild Hunt have murdered and enslaved their way through life for how long again? Hundreds?” It titled its head. “Or was it thousands of years...? What? You can dish it out but can’t take it? You are all cunts, and it is only by my grace that you still draw breaths–”

The last surviving Rider yelped as a telekinetic force dragged him on his knees to the ashen-haired Devil. “Do not raise your voice at me ever again, I couldn’t care less what you think of me in the confines of that stubborn, helmeted head of yours, but keep that shits to yourself, or I’ll find another more respectful Rider to do the job. You’re entirely expendable, carve that into your mind…”

You are reading story Fate: Dead Man’s Lament at novel35.com

The telekinetic grip on the Rider’s throat tightened. “Am I understood?”

“Y- Yes…” The Rider croaked painfully, his neck bruised, his vocal cords raw. He got to his feet, cautiously sheathing his sword. “I- I’ll open a portal to his Majesty Eredin… Please follow me, D'yaebl.”

——◇  [Fate: DML] ◇——

It felt nice.

It felt really nice.

It’s no wonder Gil chose to act arrogantly all the times.

To push your weight around, to have power over the lives of others…

I had experienced this, this feeling once or twice now, yet I sincerely doubted it would get old any time soon.

I followed the Rider into the portal, unconcerned with the potential dangers.

There was nothing to fear.

Beside Gaunter O’Dimm and perhaps the stronger Demons, no one was my opponent.

Physically, I reckoned I was as powerful as the Unseen Elder– The High Vampire who utterly wrecked Geralt’s shit.

Magically, I had already reached the absolute limits of a normal Magus.

I had not met a Barthomeloi before, but I was certain that at 100 INT and with the Elder Blood at my disposal, my Mana Pool likely equaled, if not surpassed the average descendants of the Barthomeloi.

Yes, I said average.

Because Lorelei was a beast of a woman.

The Queen of the Clock Tower had more magical energy than the current Headmaster and Founding Member of the Mages’ Association.

The same who once served King Solomon, and had held on to his Titles for the last two thousands years… I know, I was surprised when I found out too. I had thought Zelretch– That vampiric troll of a Magician was the only Apostle powerful and/or suicidal enough to willingly choose to remain affiliated with the Association after the Barthomeloi’s rise to prominence, but apparently I was wrong.

According to records, there were at least three other Founding Members of the Association still alive and kicking somewhere. Zelretch and Brishisan– The Headmaster, were merely the most well-known and accessible out of the group. Yup, the Elven Sages ain’t shit. While the Witcher-Verse had some creative Spells and Rituals, their main focus lied with the discovery of new magics, rather attempting to reach the Source, or overcome the limits of the existing branches.

This made them more versatile, yet came at the expense of their firepower.

But, enough of my ramblings.

There was an Elven King to kill.

I stepped through the portal to find rows and rows of Riders all around me.

“Holy fuck, Eredin. Even your castle looks miserable.” I exclaimed tauntingly, disregarding the hostile Riders. The Throne-Room I had found myself in was washed-out in colors, its silvery aesthetic, I assumed was supposed to bring a sense of regality and strength, yet with the sun blocked out by the dark clouds, it just looked dim and filthy. “How courageous of you–”

More and more Riders began to surround me, standing clumped together like a horde of ants. “– But you’ve made a mistake challenging me, half-blood. If you had come peacefully, you’d have had servants, women serving your whims and wants. Unfortunately, I have to kill you and have your body thoroughly dissected.”

“Wait, did you just say you’ll send me women?” Eredin, expression still hidden underneath his skull-shaped mask, replied. “The Elder Blood must be returned to the Aen Seidhe, and you’ve proven yourself to be an incredible warrior. Our people, men and women alike would’ve thrown themselves at you, regardless of my orders, if only you had contacted me in a respectful manner.”

… “Damn! Is that still on the table?” What?! He’s telling me I can have as many hot Elven women as I wanted, fucking sue me! The King snorted, seemingly amused by my reaction. “Sadly, it is not.”

“Darn it.” I cursed under my breaths. I wasn’t really upset, but… I meant, it’s hot Elven women. Racist, murderous psychopaths or not, they were still the staple of fantasy. Beside, if I was willing to court Gilgamesh, then there’s no reason for me to turn them down. “Are, are you sure? Like, really sure?”

Eredin took off his helmet, staring at me weirdly. Hey! You had no right to judge me! You’re the racist slaver here! “Yes, that is an option no longer.”

“Urrgghh… Fine! Whatever, I don’t need you to gift me women, successfully courting one feels way more fulfilling anyway.” The Red Riders looked at Eredin, then at me with apprehension clear in their body language. I guessed this was not exactly what they expected when they saw the portal open. “So, how do you want to do this? Are you gonna come at me? Should I come at you? Oh… Should we come together, at the same time? I must warn you though, my swordplay is quite deadly.”

.

..

…

“I don’t believe he’s referring to fighting anymore.” Shut it, random, nameless Red Rider! Nobody’s asking you! “I… I suppose?”

Eredin, speechless at my insinuation, or was it innuendo, spoke. His expression was set in a tight frown still, but I could tell he was fighting the urge to cringe as gestured for the Riders to get into positions. “Riders, capture the Child, your King commands it.”

I gotta admit, Eredin of the games got drip. I’d put him somewhere along the side of the other iconic villains of the 21^st century. Maybe not Darth Vader or Darth Insidious level, but he was close, and infinitely better than Voldemort and the likes. That skeletal, ebony armor, those glowing eyes, and the cool-ass sword he carried with him everywhere.

He looked and felt like a menace to be around. “Shame you meet me…”

A real shame indeed.

I blinked... Wait, what? A frown came over my expression, I definitely felt the Blood activating, but for some reasons, it didn’t take. Something was blocking my use of the Elder Blood. A Bounded Field perhaps? “What’s wrong, half-blood? Having performance issue?”

This motherfucker… Did he just–?!

I barely dodged to spiked club targeting my head, these guys weren’t playing around anymore, they were really aiming to kill me. That’s extremely careless of me, I had totally forgotten the Elves had this, this Ward which managed to keep Ciri locked for a while on their planet. Their King at the time, not Eredin, tried all sorts of shits to seduce the Witcheress to no avail.

It's not my fault I forgot! The games never touched on that storyline at all. They were only shown in the books, and I hadn’t read those! I narrowed my eyes, Invictus slashing apart four approaching Riders in one clean swing. “If you think I need the Elder Blood to deal with you all, then you’re sorely mistaken!”

[Mana Burst] flared to life, working in tandem with Invictus’ [Phantasmal Edge]. My weapon flashed, coated in a layer of golden hard-light that sliced the Riders’ armors like a hot knife through butter. I swung, and the floor beneath our feet ruptured. Slamming my feet down, I bolted towards the hiding Mages first. They were trying to summon Ice Golems, and those fucks were a pain to deal with while using bladed weapons.

I jumped on the first Elven Mage, the impact leaving his entire breastplate caved in and sending him crashing against the wall behind. I didn’t waste more time on him, even if by some miracles he hadn’t died, he would not survive a wound of that magnitude anyway. I grabbed his staff, using its butt to spear three more Mages, two were carried away and nailed to the wall by metal-staff, while the first to get hit died instantly as the left half of his body turned into a mixture of metals and fleshy mush.

Unluckily, the remaining Mages hadn’t been idle.

A pack of Ice-Elemental Hounds soon… Well, hounded my ass.

I gripped one by its neck, and smashed it into its brethren, Hulk-style. Taking advantage of this, six Riders came jabbing their swords at me, but I was too fast, too agile to be killed like that. With a push, I shot to the ceiling, leading to the Riders hitting naught but air and themselves.

My fingers made into the shape of a gun, [Finn Cannons] swirling to life and fired rapidly.

In seconds, the army of hundreds all perished, some torn to pieces and bits of fleshy chunks, some having parts of their bodies blasted away to expose their hanging innards. Those who managed to survive were merely holding on by a thread.

By the time I touched the floor, they had expired, they all had with the exception of Eredin, whom I had left completely untouched. “… You’re more powerful than I thought.”

“Thank you–“ I patted the dust from my coat. “– I work hard to grow this strong.”

“Why have you left me alive, half-blood? By the look of it, you’re more than capable of killing me. I’m not your opponent.” He admitted, face stone-cold as though he was merely stating a fact, but I could sense the bitterness and resentment in his voice. Eredin was a genius and a warrior, for all his faults and the faults of his barbaric culture, his willpower and courage were worthy of my respect. “You’re the Boss, the Last Boss at that, I want this to be a spectacle.”

I cracked my neck. “Killing you with my Spells would have been easy, and I do not want easy. I’ll put on weights to even out the playing-field a bit… Come at me with all you’ve got, King of the Wild Hunt, let us fight until a winner can be determined.”

He looked at, really looked. A hint of respect and appreciation flashing in his inhuman eyes. “I’ve underestimated you, half-blood. Very well, let us dance, half– No, Worthy Adversary!“

Eredin drew his sword, a menacing-looking thing and pointed it at my head. Despite his size, the Soldier-turned-King still managed to make his movements look graceful somehow. “This is Hav'caaren– A sword gifted to me for my achievements in battle, should I lose my life here, take and wield it with pride.”

Damn it, he’s so fucking cool. If only he wasn’t a racist slaver, I’d be more than willing to grant him the Elder Blood using the Witcher Trials… “Come, Child of the Elder Blood!”

I materialized several circular-shaped weights on my arms and legs, before deactivating [Reinforcement] and got into a stance. I had decided, I’d not use Magecraft in this fight, Eredin was an amazing fighter, his techniques at a glance were impeccable and he also used the sword, it would be a good chance to hone [Sword God Style]. Overwhelming him with sheer strength and speed was an option I did not want to take, unlike Magecraft, Sword Styles must be honed in life-and-death battles.

We did not attack right away, simply circling each other to find flaws in our defenses.

[Sword God Style] was entirely offensive in its nature.

Being defensive would not work in my favor, I must take control of the fight.

Thus, I struck.

My feet rapidly slapping against the destroyed marble-floor in short, erratic bursts.

Invictus clang against Hav'caaren, pushing Eredin several steps back.

Yet, he did not panic in the slightest. Eredin let my blade slide down his own effortlessly, before maneuvering to make for a spinning swing at my neck.

I brought Invictus up, calmly batting the strike away, but rather than following up with another swing of Hav'caaren, which I’d have easily avoided or blocked, Eredin grabbed my shirt-collar and head-butted me instead.

I stumbled back, Invictus still resting firmly in my grasp. I’d be honest, I hadn’t expected that.

All the enemies I had faced so far, they rarely fought dirty, and if they did, those attacks would be incredibly obvious. Eredin, on the other hand, hid his true intention by putting more weight on his sword, tricking me into thinking he wad going for a horizontal attack.

I smirked, I should be angry.

Livid that he would use something so honorless, but…

For all my infatuation with Artoria Pendragon, I wasn’t knightly materials.

That’s why I was infatuated with her in the first place, she represented someone, an ideal I could never reach.

I was petty, resentful and more than willing to use dirty tricks as long as I won, I had always been like that for the longest time, it was only due to a decade of disappointments and failures that I lost that… That edge. Hopefully, fighting Eredin would bring it back again, I had a feeling I’d need it later on.

And so, our battle continued.

The strikes I did not avoid, I blocked.

The ones Eredin could not block, he purposefully retreated to weaken the impact.

I could say our battle was graceful, beautiful...

But, that would be lying.

There’s nothing beautiful about this, nothing graceful, just sheer fucking efficiency.

Each strike was aimed to maim and murder, each dodge was calculated and planned out so we could follow up with a counter-attack.

It was fun, more fun than I had initially expected.

Sadly, all good things must come to an end,

And Eredin’s story had reached its conclusion.

Invictus dug into the Elven King’s stomach, leaving him gasping for breaths as he keeled over.

I yanked my blade out, before slicing his armor and stomach wide-open. “Y- You fought well… What- What did you say y- your name was?”

“I haven’t… But, if you want to know, I’m Leonis Magnum of Earth.” Eredin laughed, clutching his bleeding wound. “Ha– To think I’d- I’d die now, when the salvation of my people is so close–”

He looked at me, not an ounce of hatred or resentment in his features, just pure sadness. “The White Frost... You must stop it, the S- *Gasp*– Sages, they should have never messed with it. They brought it into existence, an insatiable Force that can neither be understood nor reasoned with.”

Eredin stared at me, eyes clear. “You must stop it, you or the Zireael. It will not stop until it has consumed all in its wake, stop it before it consumes your planet and those beyond, promise me!”

Those who hadn’t read the books wouldn’t know, but Eredin was not simply a moustache-twirling villain. Most thought he killed his predecessor for the Throne, yet they could not be more wrong. King Auberon was old, like fucking ancient, and when they captured Ciri, he wasn’t willing to let the Elder Blood fall into another’s hands, so he tried to make her bear his children.

Sadly… The Spirit was willing, but the Vessel was not.

In order to get his wrinkly old thing up and working, Auberon overdosed on aphrodisiac, dying without a legitimate Heir, leaving the Throne vacant, and seeing an opportunity to save his people, Eredin took it for himself. He was not a villain in the truest sense, he wasn’t aiming to kill, slaughter and enslave just for fun.

If anything, I’d say he’s also a victim of his circumstances and environment. “I can’t promise you I’ll stop the White Frost–”

That role was Ciri’s after all. “But I can promise you, it will be stopped.”

The dying Elven King smiled, as though having been released of all his burdens. “Thank you, I- I can die in peace now.”

Then, the forces and responsibilities that had kept his body working until this moment seemed to lose hold.

Eredin slumped over, falling to the ground.

Yet, I did not allow it, stopping his lifeless body from dropping face-first on the shattered floor.

Instead, I gently put him on his back, hands settled on his chest. “You’re not a good man, Eredin. Not that I can judge you, but still…”

I sighed. “Rest well, know that the White Frost will be stopped and your people saved.”

I took to my feet, jumping down from the balcony. The entire castle was under a Bounded Field blocking the usage of the Elder Blood, I must leave its boundary first in order to return to Novigrad.

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