The footprints on the ground were clear. Wayne and his companions, unconcerned with the burning village behind them, followed the trail into the swamp forest. Realizing Wayne lacked experience in swamp navigation, George took the lead, tracking the footprints while teaching him essential survival skills – how to avoid venomous snakes, locate water sources, and distinguish between mud traps and solid ground. Their progress was slow and deliberate. George, a seasoned witcher active for centuries, proved his expertise. Wayne absorbed a wealth of practical knowledge during this hands-on lesson.
Though footprints in a swamp are easily obscured, a witcher's senses surpass those of ordinary men. They could always discern the correct path from subtle clues. After roughly ten minutes, a section of ruins paved with hard stone slabs emerged before them.
"Elven ruins!" The architectural style and fragments of broken elven script allowed Wayne to instantly identify the origin. However, such remnants were hardly surprising. In this world, elven ruins were ubiquitous. This once-thriving civilization had left its mark across the land. While their civilization teetered on the brink of extinction, their legacy could still be found in untouched corners of the world.
The trio didn't linger outside. Following the trail of dry mud prints, they soon found the entrance to an underground passage within the ruins.
Before entering the underground ruins, Wayne's witcher senses picked up a cacophony of human voices emanating from below. Shouts like "Light the fire quickly!" and "The swamp's humidity is unbearable! Running here all night has left the children and elders shivering!" echoed through the damp stone. "I'm hungry, Mama! I'm hungry! Where are you, Papa?" came a young voice amidst the commotion.
Exchanging glances, Wayne and his companions descended first. The sight that greeted them was a throng of hundreds of plainly dressed civilians huddled within the damp underground ruins. In the center of the crowd, under the direction of a middle-aged, well-built man, several young and middle-aged men were feeding a fire with what appeared to be stacks of ancient tomes.
Startled, Wayne approached for a closer look. His sudden arrival drew immediate attention. A middle-aged man, seemingly a leader among the commoners, emerged from the crowd, ready to speak. Just then, Wayne seemed to make a startling discovery. He barked at those who were about to throw more books into the flames, "Stop! Don't burn those!"
Several young men hesitated at his words. However, the burly leader ignored Wayne, holding a stack of books poised to throw them into the fire. Unceremoniously, Wayne reached out and grabbed the man's collar. With a display of superhuman strength, he lifted the 1.8-meter-tall man like a ragdoll. The leader struggled in vain, unable to break free from Wayne's powerful grip.
"Did you hear me? Don't burn those! These books are valuable, not firewood!" Wayne's stern voice and imposing figure sent shivers down the villagers' spines, forcing them to back away from the fire. Thanks to his numerous enhancements, including potent holy water and genetic mutations, Wayne's physical strength might not be the absolute pinnacle among witchers, but it definitely placed him within the top three. His strength, speed, and physique far surpassed that of any ordinary human – four to five times stronger, in fact. Even unarmed, he could overpower dozens of peasants with his bare hands. Witnessing this display, some timid villagers immediately dropped the books they held and retreated further into the crowd.
The leading middle-aged man first assessed the armor and weapons of Wayne and George before hesitantly asking after a few tense seconds, "Sir, we're all villagers from Lower Velen. We fled here, desperate for food and shelter. Please don't harm us."
Wayne surveyed the man's flushed face, a consequence of being lifted off the ground, and then scanned the fearful or worried eyes of the surrounding civilians. Deciding not to further intimidate them, he shoved the man aside with his right hand, sending him sprawling two or three meters away.
George, frowning, approached Wayne and inquired softly, "What's wrong, Wayne? What happened?"
Wayne gestured towards the books scattered on the ground and the ashes in the fire, shaking his head slightly. "It's nothing major, but these manuscripts are likely elven in origin. I believe I just glimpsed illustrations of the Griffin School. It would be a terrible waste to let them burn."
George, surprised by Wayne's words, wasted no time questioning him. He immediately began collecting the scattered and damaged manuscripts from the ground. Wayne, currently disguised as a human, cut an imposing figure. Clad in excellent armor, with a gleaming sword hanging at his hip and flanked by two figures who appeared to be bodyguards, he commanded a natural respect from the villagers. They subconsciously assumed him to be a noble young master and dared not challenge him.
Seeing the subdued villagers, Wayne furrowed his brow and calmly addressed the leading man. "We came here specifically to deal with the green dragon that attacked your village. However, upon arrival, the beast was gone, and your village seemed eerily deserted. That's how we found ourselves here."
Hearing that Wayne and his companions weren't bandits but dragon slayers, the middle-aged man, Jeff, the village headman, felt a wave of relief. "My lord," he began with a smile, "I am Jeff, village head of Lower Velen. How can I be of service?"
Wayne, assuming an air of arrogance, remained impassive. He knew these simple folk's trusting nature could be exploited. Unnecessary kindness could be misconstrued as weakness. He raised his voice slightly, imitating the speech patterns of nobles in noble circles. "Tell me, villagers," he boomed, "how did you discover this hidden passage? And how did you manage to evacuate the village so swiftly? Additionally, why did the green dragon attack, and where might it have gone?"
Jeff, the village headman, stammered under Wayne's barrage of questions. Fearful of retaliation against his people, he responded with a troubled expression, "We have no answers, my lord. We don't understand why the green dragon targeted our village."
"Last night, after nightfall, a messenger from Lady Cintia suddenly arrived at my doorstep," the village headman explained. "He warned us to seek shelter immediately."
"We wouldn't dare disobey her word. So, following her instructions, we fled to these elven ruins for the night."
"As for the green dragon you mentioned, we only saw it from afar, burning our village as we escaped. Fearful for our lives, no one dared to look back for long. The last we saw, it was flying towards the swamp's depths."
Hearing that Lady Cintia notified the villagers beforehand, Wayne furrowed his brow. If true, then those three sorceresses clearly had foreknowledge of the green dragon's attack on Lower Velen Village. There's no smoke without fire, and these hags are likely the reason the dragon attacked.
Unfortunately, without anyone witnessing the dragon's exact flight path, the trail has gone cold. Wayne turned to George, the Griffin witcher, who had already gathered the manuscripts. He was examining one with a hint of excitement, presumably having found the diagram he had seen earlier.
"Village chief," Wayne addressed him, "these people will undoubtedly struggle without water, food, or proper shelter. Why don't you send a few villagers back with George? The green dragon has likely flown away, so it's unlikely to return soon."
"Once they return with supplies, we'll set off for the swamp's depths to search for clues about the dragon."
George glanced at Wayne and nodded in agreement. He placed the collected manuscripts beside Wayne and prepared to lead a group back to the village. Borch suddenly gave Wayne a wink, and then said:
"I'm coming too, Wayne," Borch declared. "Sitting here idle isn't my style. I'll scout ahead for the green dragon. If I find anything, I'll return with news."
Perhaps due to their shared draconic heritage, Borch might possess a better sense for tracking the beast. Wayne, considering this possibility, nodded in agreement.
Turning to the village elder, Jeff, Wayne assumed a serious demeanor. "The green dragon is our quarry. You and your people will follow our instructions and avoid any reckless actions. Now, gather all the elven books you find here. These might hold clues that could aid us in our investigation."