The Witcher World: The Path to Domination Begins in Velen

Anna loosened the railing, nodded vigorously, turned and went into the house, closing the door gently behind her.

Ron and Geralt led the five orphans out of the Snack Trail and to Lower Varen, where thirty soldiers were still stationed at the village entrance, their neat ranks unwavering, their spears forming a cold line in the setting sun.

The sheriff was still standing by the low wall at the village entrance when he saw Ron emerge from the direction of the swamp, accompanied by a group of children dressed in old linen clothes.

His face was covered in mud, but his eyes were bright. He stopped mid-sentence and watched the children board the soldiers' horses.

"Send six people to escort the children back to the manor and hand them over to Aina."

Miko nodded, turned around and began to call out names. Ron took two parchments from the side of the horse and quickly wrote two short messages on the saddle, one to the Baron and the other to Tamara.

The letter only mentioned one thing: Anna has been found; bring your men and equipment to meet us in Lower Valen for details.

He folded the letter, stamped it with his seal, and handed it to the soldier beside him. "Return to Crow's Den and deliver it to the Baron personally."

Turning to another soldier, he said, "Bullburg, give the address on the letter to Tamara herself." The two soldiers took the letter, mounted their horses, and rode off in different directions.

As the children were being helped onto the horses, one of the little boys, no more than seven or eight years old, turned to look at the swamp behind him. He didn't know where the soldiers were taking him, but the giant they called the sergeant had just nodded to him.

Ron confirmed the terrain in the direction of the swamp one last time, and the two set off for Whispering Hill.

After crossing the last ridge, a huge ancient oak tree rose from the horizon, its canopy covering half of the hillside.

The roots emerged from the soil, like countless twisted arms pulling out from the ground; the thing that had been imprisoned for hundreds of years had already sensed that someone was coming.

A low howl came from the oak thicket; it wasn't the wind.

A pair of gray-black claws suddenly emerged from the crevices of the bushes and rocks, and a huge werewolf crawled out from the roots.

Its body tore a gash in the cave wall. When it stood up completely, its head almost touched the cave ceiling. Its gray-black mane bristled, and its thick bones bulged menacingly beneath its skin.

Geralt's hand rested on his silver sword, but Ron reached out to stop him.

"I'll do it, I want to test it."

Geralt glanced at him, loosened his grip on the hilt of his sword, and took a half-step back. "Alright, then hurry up."

The werewolf circled Ron from the side on all fours, judging that such a cumbersome target must be slow, and wanted to use its speed advantage to get around to the side and launch an attack.

A howl accompanied the attack from the right; the werewolf's body became a gray-black afterimage. Ron subtly shifted his feet, dodging its continuous attacks.

The werewolf tried to speed up but still couldn't hit. Ron's every move predicted its attack timing. Every time, its claws grazed the breastplate and missed. After more than ten attacks, its claws only scratched the air each time, not even touching the edge of the armor.

Last time, that werewolf managed to hit Ron's chest armor even when he was on guard, but now that his agility has increased, this monster has no chance of touching him at all.

The werewolf instinctively sensed the danger. Unable to win, and with a white-haired witcher coldly watching it from the side, a hint of fear flashed in its narrow beast eyes. It turned and ran, its hind paws pushing off the ground. Just as its body had darted a short distance, Ron moved.

The figure seemed to transform into a hurricane, carrying mud and sand as it disappeared from its original spot. The wind pressure generated by its high-speed movement tore off the moss on the rocks on one side, and the fallen leaves and withered branches were swept up and entangled in mid-air.

The werewolf charged towards the bushes on all fours, but Ron had already leaped on its head. His greatsword pierced the werewolf's back from above, the immense weight of the blade driving it deep into the ground.

Black blood, mixed with splattered pebbles, slammed against the tree trunk with a crackling sound. The werewolf convulsed and howled one last time before its head fell silently to the ground.

Geralt sheathed his silver sword, stepped over the fallen branches and rubble, and walked over to the werewolf's corpse for a glance.

Ron drew his sword, flicked the sticky black blood off the blade, glanced back at him, and Gerald nodded without saying anything.

Following the roots forward, the entrance was right beneath the tree trunk. Ron bent down and stepped into the cave, Geralt following behind, his pupils slowly contracting in the darkness.

The cave is uneven, arched by the tangled tree roots. When you step on it, you can feel the roots slowly wriggling under your feet, as if the whole hill is breathing.

A massive spherical structure, formed from countless intertwined tree roots and flesh, is wrapped around the deepest part of the cave, like a heart buried in the mud contracting. The entire cave is buzzing and resonating, and the tree roots on the cave walls tighten around it.

The thing opened, but it wasn't a sound coming from its mouth; it was a resonant sound that squeezed outwards from within, bypassing the ears and seeping directly into the bones.

"Why have you come?" The voice echoed with a suppressed, muffled tone, like someone buried in the earth trying to breathe. "Have you come to take my life? Or to set me free?"

Ron didn't answer, but simply placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Wait! Don't be fooled by the old witch's wicked lies!" The voice became urgent, as if a survival instinct had been triggered.

"I was once a member of the Druids' Circle who protected Velen. I fought for the continuation of humanity and this land, but the evil old witch sealed me away in order to rule this land."

"Druid?" Ron took two steps closer, Geralt following beside him. The two looked at the heart of the tree, where they could vaguely see the already corrupted heart twitching again and again.

"A druid who created three old witches and was then suppressed by them?" Ron's voice was cold and calm, as if he were presenting a prepared intelligence report.

"What should I call you, the First Lady of the Woods? Or the Fairy Mother?"

Tree Heart remained silent for a few breaths before speaking again, no longer accusing or pleading, but with a calm tone, as if reassessing the bargaining chips.

"Now that you know who I am, let's talk about something practical."

"Sergeant Major of Velen, you have an army and your own fiefdom. You are opposing Nilfgaard, and beneath your calm face lies a surging ambition. But I can give you more."

The rotten grounds of the swamp will become fertile fields, countless monsters will be at your command, every forest in Velen will become your eyes and ears, and the power of this land will be at your disposal. As long as I return to the wilderness, it will all be yours.

After hearing this, Geralt didn't rush to respond. Instead, he turned to look at Ron. He knew these were promises to Ron. Witchers were nomadic and adhered to the principle of neutrality, so the other party didn't want to waste his breath on him.

He was waiting for Ron's reaction. The promise from the Treeheart was frank, direct, and extremely tempting, enough to sway any lord.

"Land, military strength, intelligence," Ron said, drawing his greatsword and slowly raising the blade. "These are all things I need."

Tree Heart lowered his voice slightly, "All of it. As long as the seal is broken, I will keep my promise."

The greatsword slashed down from above, its blade cutting into the top of the massive heart structure. Countless roots trembled violently at the same time, and the entire ancient oak tree shook.

Geralt quietly took a half step back, looking at Ron's profile, as if he had already anticipated this outcome.

"Power that cannot be controlled is not a bargaining chip, but merely a threat."

Ron raised his greatsword again, adjusted the angle, and prepared to plunge the final blow deep into the heart.