The Witcher World: The Path to Domination Begins in Velen

After passing through the stone path, the space suddenly brightened, and a familiar figure stood at the other end of the hall. Geralt was leaning against a stone pillar, adjusting the straps of his gloves.

He heard footsteps and looked up to see Ron emerge from the shadows of the stone path, with Keira close behind. Geralt's gaze lingered on the two for a moment before turning back to the front.

"Let's go," the Witcher said, his voice as indifferent as ever, before turning and walking deeper into the ruins.

Passing through the rift, the three could see in the distance on the opposite platform that a squad of Wild Hunt warriors were evacuating through another portal.

Their armor outlines were faintly visible in the light, their faces covered by skull masks. Geralt urged them on, quickening his pace to catch up with the Wild Hunt.

As the three rushed toward the opposite platform, the main force had already disappeared, but the energy left behind by the Wild Hunt before its departure tore open a crack.

A biting chill, carrying ice shards, gushed out from the cracks, instantly forming a thick layer of frost on the ground, and the temperature plummeted.

Wild hounds, larger than ordinary wolves, kept bursting out of the rift. Their bodies were covered in icy manes, and they breathed out corrosive white mist as they pounced on the three of them.

Keira raised a shield to resist the chill, while Geralt's sign sent the hound flying.

Ron swung his sword down at the charging hounds. The shards of the greatsword rolled around at his feet and landed at the edge of the shield. The frost rift finally closed, and the corpse of the last hound turned into ice shards and dissipated.

As the last ripples of the shield dissipated, a heavily armored Berserker warrior burst forth from the shadows of the ruins.

His armor was heavy and menacing, and the eye sockets on his skull mask faintly glowed. His two-handed swords slashed towards Kayla with a whooshing sound.

Geralt's Aard sign struck the Wild Hunt's breastplate first, the impact causing the warrior to lose his balance and forcibly deflect the trajectory of his slash, slamming him into the ground.

Ron thrust forward, his greatsword piercing straight through the Wild Hunt's abdomen, using the remaining force to lift his entire body up with the blade.

Suddenly hurled at the stone pillar beside him, the Wild Hunt warrior's massive body smashed the entire pillar, and the stone statue next to it also collapsed and fell to the ground under the impact.

The magic that had been gathering in Kayla's palm dissipated silently. She watched as Ron pulled the sword from the Wild Hunt's corpse, wiped the blade clean on the gravel, and seemed lost in thought.

After the Wild Hunt's battle cries dissipated, a layer of extremely faint light dust seeped from the platform deep in the hall, slowly gathering into a blurry humanoid outline. The projection of the masked elven mage was tall and slender.

His gaze, hidden beneath the mask, seemed to pierce through the three people before him. His voice was deep and steady as he spoke.

The gist of it was that this place was no longer safe, and Ciri was warned to be careful of the hunchbacked old witch in the swamp. He then pointed her to an old place whose location only he and she knew, and Geralt memorized all the details.

As the projection faded, the elf's voice echoed for a final moment before returning to silence. Kayla picked up the magic lamp she had just received, glanced at it, and turned to Geralt.

Kayla added, "I've never seen the old witches, but I had the same dream every night when I first arrived in Velen."

A voice kept calling me to the Hunchbacked Swamp, not as an invitation, but as an order. Later, I decided to enter the dream and confront the owner of this voice, and it disappeared.

She raised one eyebrow, her tone regaining some of its usual sharpness. "Too bad, I'd really like to see who's got the guts."

Upon hearing this, Ron glanced at her.

As she left the ruins, Kayla patted the dust off her sleeves, pulled up her collar, and complained with disdain that the ruins had dirtied her dress.

She kept asking when the estate could start making wine, complaining that the ale was too sour, but Ron ignored her rambling and simply walked silently to her left.

She glanced at Ron out of the corner of her eye as she walked, and it was already evening when she returned to the manor.

Kayla hung the lamp on the stand on the lab bench, breathed a sigh of relief, put her feet on the old straw mat on the stone bench, and gently bounced her still slightly numb toes.

In the Crow's Nest, rain dripped from the sky. The weather in Velen was always unpredictable. The wooden bridge at the entrance of the village was washed clean by the rain. Ron and Geralt crossed the bridge, their horses' hooves creaking on the wooden planks.

In the castle hall, the Baron sat in the high-backed oak chair, a tin goblet in front of him, the wine inside untouched.

"Tamara is safe," Ron said, standing in the hall without sitting down.

"She's in Cowburg, joined the Witch Hunters of Eternal Flame, and said she's going to find her mother in the swamp by herself and won't go back to Raven's Den with you."

The baron didn't speak. He picked up the glass, slowly traced his finger along the rim, and placed it back on the table. The bottom of the glass tapped softly against the wood.

Did she accept the doll?

"I've accepted it," Geralt replied.

The baron leaned back in his chair, then vigorously wiped his face and looked up. "Any news of Anna?"

"Soon," Ron said, glancing towards the door to indicate that what he was about to say was not appropriate to do there.

The baron stood up and followed the two men to the central garden. In the distance, the sound of soldiers drawing their bows could be heard, and a troop of regular troops was patrolling, their footsteps overlapping.

Geralt briefly recounted all his discoveries, including the details of Anna being captured by the monster, and everything about the hunchbacked swamp and the old witch.

Ron added that after obtaining this intelligence, the scouts and informants he sent out gathered information that currently, two locations can be confirmed to be related to the old witch: Snack Trail and Lower Varen.

Through his connections at the College, Erwin obtained a book called "The Lady of the Woods," which recorded the legends of the old witch in Velen and the terrain of the swamp.

Kayla, through the old communication channels of the sorcerer's meeting place, found another book, "The All-Knowing She." The two books pieced together parts of the old witch's background from different perspectives.

"The Snack Trail is the route leading into the heart of the swamp, and Lower Valen is the village closest to the swamp."

The baron stood there, pondering for a moment, "How many men do you plan to bring?"

"Thirty, I'll send someone to let you know if you need support."

The baron nodded, not asking why he should bring more or less, but simply turned and walked towards the main building.

As they passed the stables, the figure standing at the barracks entrance stirred slightly; it was the Baron's adjutant, Sergeant Odal.

He crossed his arms and watched quietly as Ron rallied the soldiers, rearranged the ranks, and distributed weapons, without uttering a word.

He just stared at each soldier whose name Ron called on, as if he were counting heads, or as if he were confirming something.

His lips were pressed into a thin line. When Ron turned around, his eyes met his for a moment. The sergeant did not look away or greet him, but simply turned and walked back into the shadows of the barracks.

Crossing the path along the edge of the swamp towards Lower Valen, Ron led the group, his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword on his horse's side, the leather pouch for throwing spears swaying gently behind him.

Thirty soldiers followed in a marching formation, fully armed with spears, swords, armor, and shields, and their crossbows were loaded and ready to fire at any time.

Lower Walen appeared at the edge of the afternoon sun, and several old women shelling beans at the village entrance looked up.

When they saw groups of armored soldiers pressing down from the hillside, the bean pods in their hands fell onto their aprons. The villagers quickly scattered, while the women and the elderly stood under the eaves watching anxiously. No one dared to go forward and greet them.