Knowing the risks, Wayne and Triss opted for a quick rest. Their horses were entrusted to Allen's care; their presence would only hinder their movements in the dense undergrowth. With the villagers' wounds stabilized, the witcher and sorceress set off deeper into the forest's heart.
Years at the academy hadn't prepared Triss for the harsh realities outside the city walls. This desolate wilderness, teeming with unseen dangers and desperate choices, was a far cry from her usual life. "Wayne," she began, her voice barely a whisper above the rustling leaves, "what if the Leshen uses the children as a shield? Threatens to harm them if we attack?"
Wayne paused, his witcher senses alert for any lurking threats. With a swift flick of his wrist, electric blade severed a poisonous serpent slithering down from a branch. "Our primary objective remains the Leshen's eradication," he stated, his voice firm. "It's a creature of malice, and leaving it alive will only bring further suffering."
Triss fell silent, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. After a tense beat, she lifted her head, her emerald eyes burning with determination. "Very well," she conceded. "Our priority becomes rescuing the children. But Wayne, if the opportunity arises, I intend to use my magic to neutralize the threat, not just eliminate it. Perhaps… perhaps there's another way."
Wayne offered a curt nod, the weight of Triss's words settling on him. They moved deeper into the ancient woods, silence broken only by the rustle of leaves and the snap of twigs under their foot. After a tense ten minutes, the dense canopy abruptly ended, revealing a jagged expanse of rocks. In the center, situated a grotesque totem, a stark contrast to the surrounding wilderness.
Before they could scrutinize the totem further, Wayne's ears twitched. "Trouble approaching," he growled, hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of electric blade. "Sounds like wolves and trolls. We need to backtrack – this terrain favors them, not us."
As they retreated to a more open area, a dozen feral wolves and two hulking trolls came into view.
Without wasting a breath, Wayne's hand darted into his pouch. Three bombs whizzed through the air, landing amidst the pack. A quick hiss, a burst of flame – Dragon's Dream ignited, transforming the bombs into a fiery inferno. The advancing beasts were caught off guard, the flames licking at their fur and hide.
The bombs and Dragon's Dream caused havoc. Half the wolves were burnt, their ferocity momentarily replaced by whimpers of pain. Only the trolls, their rocky hides offering some protection, emerged from the flames relatively unscathed. Their eyes, burning red embers, confirmed Wayne's grim assessment – these creatures were pure rage, incapable of reason.
Electric blade sang its deadly song as Wayne charged into the fray. His movements were a blur of steel and leather, a whirlwind focused on keeping the trolls at bay. These weren't mindless brutes; their attacks were deliberate, aimed at crushing bone and severing limbs.
Triss, ever the sorceress, unleashed a torrent of fire. A blazing spear erupted from her fingertips, searing a gaping wound into the chest of one troll. The second met a similar fate, its roar cut short by a second fiery lance. The remaining wolves, emboldened by the chaos, lunged. But electric blade became a whirlwind of blue electricity, cleaving through fur and flesh with sickening ease.
Less than five minutes passed from the first snarl to the final whimper. Yet, the victory felt hollow. The efficiency of the slaughter seemed to echo through the woods, reaching the Leshen. A guttural roar, laced with fury, reverberated from the direction of the totem.
Wiping the crimson blood from his blade, Wayne assessed his remaining bombs and muttered an incantation, reinforcing his Quen shield. "This thing's rattled," he said, his voice low. "We need to move fast. Don't give it time to brew another attack."
Triss nodded grimly, downing a vial of shimmering purple potion with a grimace. Witcher's curiosity burned in Wayne's eyes, but the urgency of the situation quelled his questions for now. He took the lead, Triss at his back, traversing the rocky terrain. Two more waves of monstrous guardians were dispatched with ruthless efficiency.
Finally, they reached the base of the towering totem. The air crackled with a malevolent energy, a palpable pressure that sapped at Wayne's strength. It felt like an invisible hand was squeezing his very soul, blurring the edges of his vision.
Triss's voice cut through the oppressive aura. "Dark magic," she hissed, her brow furrowed. "A field cast by the totem. It weakens us the longer we stay here."
Wayne's gaze flicked to the grotesque totem. A knot of dread tightened in his stomach. At its base, bound by emerald vines, were five children, their faces pale and lifeless. The totem loomed above them, a precarious prison. Destroying it could very well crush or incinerate the children in the process.
Across from them, a young man with wild hair and bloodshot eyes clutched a glinting blade. He muttered incoherently, his gaze altering between them and the children. Was this Link, the creature's accomplice, or another pawn caught in the Leshen's web?
Wayne scanned the area, his witcher senses on high alert. No sign of the monstrous guardian, yet unease gnawed at him. "The Leshen plays a cunning game," he murmured to Triss. "It hides in the shadows, waiting for an opportune moment."
Triss gripped a glowing red orb in her hand, its light cutting through the encroaching darkness. They couldn't delay any longer. A choice loomed: attempt to free the children first, or risk their lives by destroying the totem immediately. Every passing second drained Wayne's strength; his witcher physique offered little defense against the dark magic's insidious pull.
Triss, despite her magical prowess, possessed little physical strength. Wayne couldn't risk further casualties. As they cautiously approached the totem, the disheveled young man materialized before them, his voice hoarse with desperation.
"Stay back," he rasped, brandishing the knife. "Witchers, sorceress – this doesn't concern you. Leave."
Wayne's hand dipped to his belt, a throwing axe appearing in his grip. "Are you Link?" he asked, voice devoid of emotion. "Your vengeance is complete. Why harm these children?"
A manic laugh escaped Link's lips. His head snapped back as he opened his mouth to speak, but the words died there.
The axe flew true, a sickening thud echoing through the air as it sank into Link's skull. The young man's eyes widened in disbelief, his planned speech cut short forever. A crimson blood began to stain his ragged clothes.
Triss, shaken, watched as Link crumpled to the ground, life extinguished in an instant. Wayne met her gaze, his own unreadable. "Whether he was a pawn or a monster," he said, voice low, "his actions spoke volumes. What he had to say doesn't matter now. Does regret grant forgiveness in the face of such deeds?"
The question hung heavy in the air. Wayne's swift brutality, while tactically sound, left a bitter taste in the mouth.
"Time is of the essence!" Wayne hissed, the dark magic a palpable weight on his chest. With a flick of his wrist, he drew his blade and began severing the emerald vines binding the children.
Suddenly, a piercing shriek tore through the air. Triss cried out, her body flung through the air by a vicious whip of thorny vines. Adrenaline surged through Wayne. He abandoned the children, his movements a blur as he launched himself towards Triss.
A monstrous hand, clawed and gnarled, erupted from the earth beside the totem. A colossal figure, nearly four meters tall, materialized before them. Its body was a grotesque tapestry of dead bark and bone, culminating in a massive stag's skull with two enormous antlers.
The Leshen. It lurked beneath the soil, its presence masked by the dark magic. Now, enraged by Wayne's interference, it lashed out with a second whip of vines, aiming for the unconscious Triss.
Without hesitation, Wayne slammed his palms together, a surge of power crackling around him. Quen, his protective shield, flared into existence, deflecting the blow. The force of the impact threatened to shatter the shield, but Wayne held firm, his years of training allowing him to channel his magic with ferocious intensity.
He finally had a clear view of the Leshen. It loomed over him, a creature of nightmare made flesh. Yet, a flicker of caution remained in its bestial eyes. It circled them, its whip-like vines coiling and uncoiling, searching for an opening.
"Triss! Are you alright?"
A groan escaped her lips. "My chest… it hurts… but I can fight."
Wayne gritted his teeth. "No arguments. You're injured. Get the children to safety. I'll handle this monstrosity."
A tense silence followed, broken only by the rasping breaths of the Leshen and the crackling of Wayne's Quen shield. Triss, her face pale with pain, nodded slowly.
"Be careful, Wayne," she rasped. "I'll join you as soon as I can."