The Witcher World: The Path to Domination Begins in Velen

As the baron spoke, his eyes suddenly lit up, as if he had thought of something even better.

"Speaking of chickens, I remember, at the Vijma ball, I'm telling you, it was a whole turkey, stuffed with chestnuts and apples, with its skin roasted to a caramel color. The ball went on until almost dawn that day, and the band played all night long."

He stood up, grabbed an old woman sweeping the floor nearby, and dragged her around on the stone pavement, muttering to himself as he did so.

"At the ball in Vijma back then, Anna wore that green dress, I'm telling you, that dress..."

The officer took a step back, a look of disgust and helplessness on his face, as if he were looking at a drunken madman, but he couldn't just draw his sword and kill him, because this madman was also the nominal lord of Velen.

He rolled up the documents and tucked them under his arm: "Since the Baron is not currently willing to cooperate with the investigation, we can talk another day. Please be prepared then, as we have more questions to ask."

He turned and strode towards the door, his military boots clicking on the stone floor, each step carrying the barely suppressed anger of being humiliated.

The garden quieted down again. The baron released the old woman, who simply dusted herself off and continued sweeping, muttering, "Here we go again."

The baron stood there, the exaggerated excitement on his face completely gone, leaving behind a face soaked in alcohol but still shrewd. He reached out and wiped his face, glancing towards the door to confirm that the officer was gone.

Then he waved to Ron: "Come here."

Inside the main hall, his gaze fell on Geralt, not out of hostility, but as an assessment. The Baron could guess Geralt's identity and purpose from the appearance of a Witcher in Raven's Den.

After Geralt explained his purpose, the Baron waved for the guards to leave. He placed the wine jug on the table, looked at Geralt, then at Ron, and began to speak.

How were Ciri and Gretka rescued from the forest by Ron? How did they work together to kill the werewolves? How did Ron treat Ciri so warmly while she was recuperating in Raven's Den?

He picked up the flask, took a swig, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and looked at Geralt. His eyes were still bloodshot, but his gaze was clear and sharp, the kind of sharpness an old fox has when he's scheming.

"And then?" Geralt's voice was as calm as if he had suddenly lost all emotion.

The baron put down his wine jug: "We'll talk about the rest later, Witcher. Information doesn't come for free."

What do you want?

"I sympathize with your situation, but don't forget, my wife and daughter are also missing." His voice turned somber.

"I sent men to search all over Velen, but they couldn't find a single hair. I need someone to help me find them."

He paused, his hand holding the flask trembling for a moment. "Help me find them, and I'll tell you everything I know about Ciri."

Geralt paused for a moment. "What if your family members are already dead?"

"Then bring their remains back. I need to know what happened to them."

By the fireplace, Ron remained in the same position. He had previously received orders from the Baron to search for Anna and Tamara, and had sent out scouts, but the depths of the swamp were not terrain that soldiers were good at searching.

The Baron has now handed the task over to the Witcher, which is not Ron's forte, but it is not a problem for the Witcher with his extraordinary senses.

He simply stood there, watching the two men conduct a silent transaction in the firelight.

Gerald nodded: "Deal, but I need to meet the little girl who was with Ciri first."

The Baron loosened the flask, leaned back in his chair, and his shoulders visibly relaxed.

"Oh, you'd have to ask my sergeant major. He's adopted the girl now."

Geralt turned his head, his gaze shifting from the Baron to the giant standing by the fireplace.

Ron met his gaze without speaking, only nodding. Geralt didn't say anything either. The two people, who didn't like to waste words, completed their first acquaintance in silent nods.

The next day, Geralt and Ron rode away from Raven's Nest, heading southeast side by side.

The morning mist had not yet completely dissipated, and a layer of white vapor floated on the swamp, but the horse's hooves trod the road steadily with each step.

After walking for half a day, the reeds receded to both sides, the view widened, and the swamp ahead was no longer in front. After turning a bend in the river, stone walls and watchtowers appeared, and the purple lion flag fluttered in the morning breeze.

The crossbowman on the watchtower saw the approaching figure and shouted down. The heavy oak door was pushed open from the inside, the hinges making a dry, grinding sound.

Ron's horse didn't stop; the two horses passed through the gate one after the other, with Geralt following behind, and entered Calradic Manor.

Inside the gate was a gravel road, crowded with people on both sides, with several farmers squatting by the roadside spreading out burlap sacks.

The bag contained freshly harvested radishes and cabbages. A woman in an apron was bending over, picking through them, pinching the leaves between her fingers to check for wormholes on the back.

Under the wooden shed next door, a leather craftsman was pulling freshly tanned cowhide off the mold. The edges of the leather were still steaming, and the air was filled with the pungent, sour smell of tanning agents.

Several children chased after a tabby cat from behind the tanner's shed. The cat darted behind a pile of wooden crates and disappeared. The little boy who was leading the group bumped his head into the leg of a soldier wearing a purple robe.

The soldier was jolted by the impact. He cursed, bent down, grabbed the boy by the back of his collar, and dragged him to the side of the road. "Don't run around here. Go to the square." The little boy stuck his tongue out at him, then turned and chased after the cat again.

The clanging of hammers striking anvils came from the direction of the river, interspersed with the low hum of waterwheels turning; the commands and the sounds of weapons clashing from the training ground were muffled by the walls, echoing in a buzzing manner.

Beside the open-air stall, several soldiers who had just come down from the training ground were shouting loudly while holding up wooden wine cups. The cups clinked together, and the ale spilled from the rims onto the table.

The Witcher had seen the prosperity of Novigrad and the cleanliness of Orsenfort, cities protected by walls; but this was Velen, a desolate land filled with swamps, monsters, bandits, and war. He gripped the reins, suppressing the inexplicable sense of absurdity.

Geralt turned his gaze toward the river, where the waterwheel's blades were slowly turning, propelled by the current. A cam on the main shaft lifted a crossbar, causing a forging hammer to fall.

In the workshop, a dozen apprentices were busy at their respective positions. Some were feeding red-hot iron billets to the forging hammer, while others were carrying a basket of spearheads onto a cart at the door.

Geralt looked at the weapons neatly stacked on the cart at the workshop entrance, enough to arm all the Raven's Nest soldiers he had ever seen.

As we passed the small church, the sound of children reading aloud came from inside, and a gentle female voice was guiding the children to identify herbs.

The laboratory window appeared ahead. The stone house and the herb garden were separated only by a stone path. Soft blue light shone through the window. Ron dismounted, pushed open the door, and stepped aside slightly to let Geralt see what was inside.

In the laboratory, a crucible is being heated, and the reagent is bubbling away.

Kayla Metz sat in a chair near the crucible, her posture still elegant as she held her teacup, but her expression revealed the look of someone who had given up after being relentlessly questioned for hours about why.