More than a decade ago, Geralt of Rivia sat in the Pensive Dragon, sucking the juicy meat from crayfish shells while engaging in a philosophical discussion with an interesting friend.
The knight who called himself Borch Three Jackdaws lightly tapped the table. "Chance! Exactly. You can't completely rule it out. Perhaps there really was a golden dragon somewhere in the world, a unique mutant produced by a singular mutation."
"If there was, it met the fate of all mutants." The witcher lowered his head and tore at the bright red crayfish shell with his teeth. "It was destined to remain unique. It could never reproduce because it was too different."
"You're denying the laws of nature, Geralt. Dorregaray of Vole believes every creature will continue to exist in one form or another. The end of one existence always means the birth of another. There are no limits, at least not in nature."
"That sorcerer friend of yours is hopelessly optimistic. I seem to remember him saying ghouls were useful too. His argument overlooks one factor, nature itself, or those who tamper with its laws, sometimes make mistakes.
"Golden dragons and every other mutant creature, even if they truly existed, could never reproduce. An innate limitation would prevent them from enduring."
"Forgive me, but I'd like to know exactly what limitation you mean."
"Mutants..." Geralt's jaw tightened. "Borch, mutants are sterile. Only legends permit what nature condemns. Only myths can ignore the limits of possibility."
In the blink of an eye, more than ten years had passed since that conversation. It had long since faded like smoke in the wind, and perhaps neither of the men involved even remembered it anymore.
...
"Welcome back! How did things go with Saskia?" Iorveth stood atop the battlements, grabbed Victor's hand, and hauled him onto the wall.
Once his feet were firmly on solid ground, Victor released the rope and smiled. "Don't worry. Philippa Eilhart's dagger worked perfectly. The Dragonslayer... no, the Dragon Maiden is awake now. The sorceress no longer has any influence over her."
Satisfied with the answer, the one-eyed elf happily embraced the young man. "Well done! Thank you, I know it couldn't have been easy! Victor, you are the noblest human I know! You must have sacrificed a great deal for Saskia!"
"Uh... ahem."
Iorveth meant nothing by it, but Victor certainly heard more than intended. He really had sacrificed quite a lot. Both his body and his purse had been thoroughly drained dry, so he coughed twice to conceal his embarrassment.
"How is she holding up? She must be disappointed by how everything turned out..."
"She is. We spoke briefly after I saved her. Saskia understands that Vergen's cause is beyond saving now, so she chose to fly deep into the Blue Mountains to recover from her wounds. She asked me to apologize to everyone who supported her."
"I see..." Iorveth nodded repeatedly before letting out a long breath. "Good. Recovering is good. As long as she's alive, that's enough. I don't blame her in the slightest. Everything that happened was the sorceress's fault!"
That sincere, resolute smile, that utterly genuine trust.
Simping level, off the charts!
The sheer force of it hit Victor head-on, and damn, it was overwhelming!
Victor rubbed his nose speechlessly. Though Saskia Saesenthessis certainly possessed extraordinary charm... she might well have been the strongest opponent he had encountered so far.
"What's going on inside the city? Why are the gates closed? And where did the Order of the Flaming Rose go?" Not wanting to continue discussing the Dragon Maiden, the witcher naturally changed the subject.
He gazed toward the setting sun. Violet clouds stretched across a blood-red horizon, while columns of smoke rose from within Loc Muinne. Something seemed to be burning.
The elven commander gestured ahead. "I'll explain while we walk... Someone's waiting for you. For your sake, I resisted the urge to have him riddled with arrows. Gods know how difficult that was!"
"Who? Síle de Tansarville or Philippa Eilhart?"
"Neither! I wouldn't be able to tolerate either of them for even a second. It's Letho, the Kingslayer. Letho of Gulet. He's waiting for you in the old Temerian camp."
"Oh... Is that all? Is my reputation really worth that much?"
Iorveth's footsteps slowed slightly.
"Fine. When the chaos first began, a few rogue soldiers did rush our camp. That was when Letho appeared and helped us out."
"I see."
Hearing the answer, Victor blinked and followed Iorveth with a smile.
"So what about Síle de Tansarville? Weren't you chasing her? Did she escape?"
"No! I caught up with her, but you'll never believe who I ran into!"
"Geralt of Rivia?"
"Damn it, how did you know?"
"Of course I knew. Guided by the stars above, the Winter Maiden lifted her skirts before me and revealed the mysteries of the ether. I'm a prophet, remember?"
Iorveth chose to ignore his nonsense.
"Anyway, the White Wolf wasn't in the camp. And when I reached the mage's tower, he actually chose to let Síle de Tansarville go, Philippa Eilhart's accomplice. Again, I let it slide because of you. Otherwise I would've fallen out with him on the spot."
Victor wasn't surprised by Geralt's decision. His moral standards were simply too "noble" for the age he lived in. Nor was Victor surprised that Geralt always seemed to appear whenever something important happened. Such was the fate of the "Sword of Destiny."
...
After descending from the wall to the streets below, they were immediately hit by the smell of blood and burning corpses, which the wind had not yet had time to disperse. Victor's superhuman sense of smell caught every trace of it.
He frowned. "A massacre... right? Tell me how it started."
Unsurprised by the witcher's sharp senses, Iorveth shrugged. "While you were fighting Saskia, the city was putting on its own bloody performance."
"Who were the actors?"
"Everyone in Loc Muinne participated enthusiastically! First, the armies began arresting traitors connected to the sorceresses. Then that turned into a full-scale hunt for mages. Along the way, there were also a few minor clashes between Kaedweni, Redanian, and Temerian troops.
"Then the pious Order of the Flaming Rose took the lead in demonstrating their own unique form of knightly entertainment to the world, rape, looting, murder, the complete package. The regular soldiers were quick to follow their example.
"By the time the square was engulfed in flames, the kings had already departed with their personal troops. Naturally, the crimes taking place in the city had absolutely nothing to do with them."
Iorveth's account dripped with sarcasm, prejudice, and malice. Victor knew he had to take the elf's words with a grain of salt.
Still, the piles of corpses burning along the roadside definitely hadn't been made by the Scoia'tael.
"What about the Nilfgaardians?"
"They remained neutral. Which means they shot anyone stupid enough to approach their camp. They only withdrew a short while ago."
"Then who's keeping order in the city now?"
"You only need order where there are people. Loc Muinne doesn't need order anymore. There's hardly anyone left."
The witcher fell silent.
He had anticipated something like this, but anticipating it and seeing mountains of corpses with his own eyes were very different things.
...
Under the blood-red sky, a house stood not far ahead. Screams and sobbing could be heard from inside.
The door had been smashed open and left hanging ajar. Inside, a struggling woman was being pinned down by two soldiers, one holding her arms and the other her legs. A third man, apparently their squad leader, slapped her hard across the face and began undoing his trousers.
"Hehehe! Struggle all you want, bitch. There's nobody left in this city to save you!"
"Hehehehe! By the time we're finished with you, you'll be nothing but a sobbing piece of meat..."
Every word reached Victor's superhuman ears.
He drew his steel sword and walked toward the house.
Iorveth gave a mocking chuckle, drew his own sword, and followed.
"It's an elf and a freak! Kill the nonhumans!"
Ah! The brave Kaedweni soldiers launched their courageous charge.
"Ahhh! Have mercy! Please, no!"
"Igni!"
The vile witcher and the wicked Scoia'tael joined forces, mercilessly cutting down two soldiers. Finally, Victor seized the squad leader before the man could even pull his trousers back up.
Flames erupted from the Sign, burning him alive until Captain Firehead was all that remained.
Victor tossed the corpse aside, picked up a long dress, and handed it to the woman huddled in the corner. Judging from its pattern and style, she was a mage, though clearly not one specialized in combat.
"Are you all right?"
Her eyes remained fixed on Victor's every movement. Only after confirming that he had no intention of lunging at her did she cautiously reach out and take the clothes.
"Yes... thank you... Those damned animals! Sons of bitches!"
Victor turned his back to give her privacy while she dressed.
That was when he noticed another naked woman's corpse inside the room, both hands severed. Perhaps she had been this woman's sister. Her hands had probably been cut off to prevent her from casting spells.
And the reason she was naked was...
"Do you need me to help you get out of the city?" he asked.
The woman sobbed quietly.
"No... thank you. I'm sorry... Could you just leave me alone for a while?"
Iorveth patted Victor's arm. "Vic, let's go. This is madness. You humans have killed more of each other in a single afternoon than the Scoia'tael manage after an entire year of hard work."
Victor gave no response to the elf's assessment.
He quietly left the crying woman behind.
...
They walked through the once-familiar central square.
The roadside had once been packed with merchants and prostitutes. Now there were only heaps upon heaps of burning corpses.
Iorveth sighed. "I still don't believe you're a prophet, but after seeing this, I'll admit you're definitely a man with foresight. If you hadn't sent those two away this morning, they might be lying here now too."
Victor rubbed beneath his nose. He didn't want to discuss the subject.
"Let's get back to the White Wolf. He let Síle go... and then what? Don't tell me the Kingslayer showed up and Geralt didn't go after him?"
"Of course he did. Geralt refused to let anyone else come near and demanded to speak with Letho alone. I thought they were about to fight to the death. Instead, they talked for over an hour, drank a few glasses of vodka, and then Geralt left with Triss after she regained consciousness.
"By the way, your potion worked well. The sorceress has recovered nicely. Also, aren't you going to ask where Angoulême is?"
"The moment you told me Letho was waiting for me, I knew she was in the Temerian camp chatting with him."
"..."
...
When the two arrived at their destination, the one-eyed elf embraced the witcher in farewell.
"Vic, this is where we part ways. I don't want to see that bastard Letho again. Since you don't need my help killing him, I'm leaving."
"With Vergen's dream shattered, what are you planning to do next?"
Iorveth released the young man.
"I don't know yet. Haven't thought that far ahead. I'll head to Upper Aedirn and gather my men first. Don't worry about me losing my purpose in life. Humans are like rabbits, no matter how many you kill, there are always more."
"That rhetoric and hatred of yours are dangerous! You know perfectly well I don't approve of meaningless killing. Tell you what, Iorveth... let me give you a new purpose in life..."
Narrowing his lone eye, the elf gave him a mocking look.
"You? You think you can? Hahahahaha! Dear Vic, what possible purpose could you give me? And don't start talking that nonsense about going back to the Valley of Flowers to become a farmer, or I'll punch you! Even if I can't beat you anymore!"
"Tch! Don't be so irritable. Ever heard of eating your words? I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse!"
Victor Corion folded his arms across his chest, the corners of his mouth curling into a knowing smile.
That mysterious smile sent a chill down Iorveth's spine.
Could it be that he was standing at another turning point in history!?
...
After that day, one of the most prominent figures among the Northern Scoia'tael, the renowned "Vengeful Ghost" and "Woodland Fox," Iorveth, vanished completely from human sight.
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