Just when Wayne thought the villagers of Lower Velen would be obedient, the middle-aged man he'd grabbed moments ago stood up to his feet and roared, "Who do you think you are? You barge in and assault us without reason! We won't submit to your tyranny!"
"Even if you cut me down, I won't follow your orders!" He puffed out his chest in a display that was more comical than intimidating.
Wayne, surprised by the man's resistance, glanced at the others. Didn't they see his companions, all heavily armed and ready for a fight? Their audacity was admirable, almost.
He turned to the village elder, Jeff, hoping to see if he too would resist. If so, Wayne might abandon any pretense of mercy for these troublesome villagers.
Sensing Wayne's scrutiny, Jeff appeared flustered. He barked at a few bystanders to haul the middle-aged man away, then spoke in a flustered tone, "My lord, forgive him. He attended a feast on a Bald Mountain as a child, with his parents. They... never returned."
"Because he didn't have parents to take care of him, he broke his brain later. Although he looks normal now, he always does some weird things."
The feast on Bald Mountain... of course. It was a banquet held by the Ladies of the Wood, a monstrous coven known to devour men. No human who attended that night ever walked free.
Seeing the Village Elder's reasonable demeanor, Wayne maintained a stern expression and boomed, "Out of knightly honor, we offer our assistance. However, if cooperation is unwelcome, I will not force the matter. We shall depart now."
Jeff waved his hands rapidly in a display of gratitude. He then addressed some young villagers, instructing them to follow Wayne's lead and return to the village to move supplies.
He attempted to persuade Wayne to stay, stammering, "No, no, my lord, our deepest thanks for your aid! We will follow your every instruction."
These refugees, a mix of young and old, had fled hastily, leaving them with meager supplies and virtually no proper weapons. With no end to their plight in sight, how could they refuse the assistance of formidable warriors.
Roughly two hours later, the midday sun cast its rays upon the land, dispelling the morning chill. Wayne, accompanied by the young villagers, returned with a substantial amount of supplies from the village, alleviating the refugees' most pressing needs. However, Wayne reported that many village houses had been burned nearly to the ground. Even if this crisis were to pass, some villagers who lost their homes would undoubtedly face hardship.
Yet, such tragedies occurred all too frequently, across kingdoms and continents. Wars, natural disasters, monstrous attacks – these calamities consistently displaced civilians, condemning many to a wretched fate. They were witchers, not monarchs or lords; they possessed no power to control such widespread suffering, nor did they desire it.
Though Wayne skimmed the contents, the manuscripts were a jumbled mess. Forging recipes, potion formulas, historical anecdotes, and even magical knowledge – a personal collection of a hedge wizard. Just like the Griffin School armor schematics Wayne found, this collection was likely abandoned during a raid on the Griffin School's Kaer Seren stronghold. How it ended up here remained a mystery.
Furthermore, considering the swamp's humid environment, these specially treated books wouldn't have survived for millennia without magical protection. After discussing it, they concluded this elven ruin must have been a secret mage's holdout or hidden laboratory. These manuscripts were likely the mage's personal collection. Perhaps they perished in an accident decades ago, leaving the ruins vulnerable and open to anyone bold enough to enter.
As spoils of this venture, Wayne decided to keep the originals, while George could copy or transcribe a few and share the spoils. Of course, despite his wealth, Wayne wasn't stingy. He produced a hundred orens and presented them to Jeff, the village elder of Lower Velen, asking him to arrange compensation for the villagers.
The reason for the limited sum wasn't just discretion – excessive wealth attracts unwanted attention. More importantly, these manuscripts weren't the villagers' property. To them, they were just firewood. A hundred orens were enough to buy firewood for a year.
A cruel lord might not only refuse payment but also silence these villagers to keep the discovery hidden. Unsurprisingly, neither Jeff nor the villagers were scholars. They were ecstatic to trade a hundred orens for what they considered kindling and even expressed gratitude.
Jeff, taking the initiative, generously donated a significant amount of straw rope for binding the manuscripts and even assisted Wayne in packing them all. After another hour or so, as the villagers of Lower Velen began to light fires and cook within the ruins, Wayne heard a familiar draconic roar echoing from outside. It was the unmistakable call of Villentretenmerth.
The villagers trembled in fear at the dragon's cry, but Wayne simply winked at George and exited the ruins together. No sooner had they stepped out than, before they could even see the golden dragon, Borch's voice resonated telepathically in their minds. "I've located the green dragon - it's miles away in a valley, but something seems amiss. I'll take you there." With that, Borch's golden form emerged from behind a large rock.
Without hesitation, Wayne and George mounted the golden dragon's back, and they soared into the sky amidst the thunderous beating of wings. During the flight, Borch elaborated on the details he'd gleaned. It turned out that upon leaving the ruins, Borch transformed into his golden dragon form and scoured the swamp from the air for signs of the green dragon.
Initially, his search yielded no results, but persistence paid off. After hours of relentless searching, he picked up the sounds of battle emanating from a valley. Upon flying over, he witnessed a green dragon under siege by a pack of monstrous harpy birds nesting in the valley.
However, the situation was peculiar. A powerful dragon shouldn't fear such lesser creatures – their talons wouldn't even breach the dragon's hide. Yet, this green dragon exhibited unusual behavior under attack.
The green dragon seemed strangely blind, its attacks missing their mark by a wide margin. It offered no resistance, opting for a bewildering passive defense. This odd behavior prompted Borch to return to the ruins and seek Wayne and George.
Neither George nor Wayne could explain the situation. They decided to fly to the scene first-hand to assess the situation. Borch's flight was swift. Within twenty minutes of setting their course, they arrived at the valley he described.
However, the scene that unfolded before them differed significantly from Borch's account. The green dragon, roughly ten meters long, while smaller than Borch's golden form, was considerably larger than his mate. Its physical characteristics indicated it was a male. Most of the harpy harassers lay dead or injured, leaving only seven or eight circling the green dragon, occasionally interfering with its aerial maneuvers.
The green dragon's current adversary was a hulking, six-meter-tall gray giant clad in unknown bone armor. The giant wielded a massive, polished log, swinging it to deflect the green dragon's airborne attacks. When the dragon gained distance, the giant hurled stones like a crude trebuchet, pummeling the dragon's already scarred body. The battle had clearly been raging for some time. Both the dragon and the giant bore fresh wounds, their bodies slick with crimson blood.
Witnessing this spectacle, Wayne stroked his chin, a frown creasing his brow. "What in the name of Melitele is happening? Why are the dragon and the giant locked in combat? Is there some ancient grudge?"
Wayne, equally perplexed, considered the situation. Both the green dragon and the giant were formidable monsters, possessing intelligence and territorial instincts. Under normal circumstances, they wouldn't engage in combat without significant provocation.
As they neared the valley, the gray giant seized an opportunity. As the green dragon swooped past, the giant's meaty hand clamped onto its tail. Before the dragon could react, the giant snatched a jagged rock and plunged it savagely into the dragon's underbelly.
Witnessing this brutal act, Borch roared in alarm, "The green dragon is on the verge of defeat! We must intervene before it's too late!