After hearing the news, Wayne didn't appear particularly surprised.
It aligned with what he recalled from the lore—heroes who saved worlds were often not immune to the corrupting influence of demonic power, sometimes succumbing and becoming the very evil they once fought. A Supreme Council member falling to such corruption was far from unexpected.
One small relief was Francesca's absence. She hadn't participated in this Kaedwen event due to the tensions between elves and humans. This meant she was safely removed from the current danger.
Among the remaining Council members, Tissaia de Vries, the former headmistress of Aretuza, was highly regarded, while Philippa Eilhart, a legendary mage, was also a member of note. Wayne knew little about the other Council members, nor did he care much about their survival.
"So, Margarita, what's the plan?" Wayne asked, his tone measured. "Have you discussed this with Keira and the others? Are you planning to abandon the mission and leave, or do you intend to push forward?"
Margarita shook her head, though her voice remained resolute. "Regardless of what Keira decides, I must leave and report this information to the Brotherhood of Sorcerers and the Supreme Council."
"This situation concerns more than just the Brotherhood—it's a crisis that could affect the entire North and possibly the world. It cannot be ignored."
Wayne nodded, respecting Margarita's sense of responsibility. Despite her carefree demeanor and eccentric habits, as the current headmistress of Aretuza, her status in the magical community carried weight. With that status came heavy responsibilities she couldn't evade.
As they spoke, Keira approached. Her face was pale, her usual composure tempered by the physical and magical strain of the recent battle. She, like Kalkstein, had suffered from the backlash of her magic during the skirmish, leaving her visibly worn.
"I heard what you said, Wayne," Keira said as she drew near. "I'll defer to the group's decision on this matter. No commission is worth risking lives over."
Wayne gave a slight nod. Kalkstein had undoubtedly been advocating for retreat, and now that Keira, as their employer, was open to the idea, Wayne had no reason to object.
When the news of retreat spread through the group, the remaining mercenaries visibly relaxed. Their relief was palpable after enduring so much carnage. Kalkstein, too, was eager to leave the fog-laden battlefield. Letho and the other Witchers from the Viper School, though hardened by their profession, had no objections either—while they made their living risking their lives, no one relished fighting in a cursed land like this.
With a unanimous agreement, the group began their return journey.
Despite Wayne's impressive abilities, including teleportation and summoning skeletal minions, no one in the group openly questioned his skills or artifacts. Letho and his fellow Witchers respected Wayne's privacy, while Kalkstein and the mercenaries, hardened by fear and pragmatism, knew better than to probe into a powerful man's secrets, especially in such perilous circumstances.
Perhaps their strength intimidated potential enemies, or luck was on their side, but the journey back proved relatively uneventful. They encountered scattered undead and mutated creatures but no organized fallen forces.
By evening on the second day, the group neared the Brotherhood's outpost town. However, their progress was interrupted by the distant sounds of frantic cries for help, the thunder of hooves, and the shouts of fleeing individuals.
Kalkstein immediately voiced his objections. "We're barely holding ourselves together as it is. Let's not get involved," he urged, his voice edged with desperation.
The mercenaries, whose numbers had dwindled from a hundred to a mere handful, quickly agreed. Their losses had hardened their resolve to prioritize survival over valor.
Keira hesitated, torn between her pragmatic instincts and a flicker of moral conflict. While not inherently altruistic, her position as a sorceress gave her some sense of responsibility, though her self-preservation instincts were strong.
Margarita, the most experienced and long-lived member of the group, still harbored a kind heart despite her years of witnessing the cruelty of the world. The headmistress turned to Wayne with a serious expression, her tone carrying a hint of pleading.
"Perhaps we should check it out, Wayne," she said. "There's a chance the person in trouble could be another sorcerer or someone we know. If we save them, it might make the rest of our journey safer."
Wayne had already been considering stepping in. Truthfully, if he didn't need to protect the others in his group, the dangers of the fog wouldn't pose much of a threat to him. Whether it was the fallen, the undead, or mutated monsters, none were a match for him. Even if he couldn't confront them head-on due to sheer numbers, his blood gave him the means to escape with ease.
Noticing the uncertain glances from the rest of the group, Wayne made a quick decision. "I'll go alone to check it out. Stay here and be on guard. I'll return soon."
After ensuring the group was on alert, Wayne set off in the direction of the distress calls, blending into the shadows as he moved swiftly.
It didn't take long—after advancing just a few dozen meters, a startling sight greeted him.
In the distance, about a hundred meters away, Wayne spotted a familiar figure. Jaskier, dressed in his characteristically flamboyant leather armor, was riding a tall black horse, shouting for help as he fled. Behind him, slumped on the back of the horse, was Geralt, his body bloodied, several arrows protruding from his armor. He appeared unconscious and dangerously close to death.
The sight filled Wayne with both shock and urgency. Jaskier's face was pale with terror, and the horse he rode was panting heavily, its gallop faltering as if it might collapse at any moment.
Without a second thought, Wayne activated his Blink ability, instantly appearing in front of Jaskier. The sudden appearance startled the bard so much that he almost fell off his horse.
"Wayne!" Jaskier exclaimed, his voice a mix of fear and relief. "Thank the gods you're here! Save us! Geralt is dying, and we're being chased!"
Wayne didn't waste time on questions. He immediately approached Geralt. The White Wolf looked pale, his breathing shallow. His master-crafted Wolf School armor was in tatters, blood seeping from multiple wounds. It was clear he had been through a brutal fight.
His weapons were missing—likely abandoned in haste during his retreat. The faint sound of his labored breathing was the only reassurance that he was still alive.
Wayne's jaw tightened, his fury barely contained. Geralt was more than just a fellow Witcher—he was a brother-in-arms, a friend Wayne trusted with his life. Seeing him in such a dire state ignited a rage deep within.
Wayne worked quickly. He retrieved a Holy Light Scroll from his bracelet, casting its restorative magic over Geralt's body. The spell neutralized the traces of dark energy within the Witcher's wounds while stabilizing his condition.
Next, he carefully opened Geralt's mouth and poured the potent healing potion inside, ensuring it went down smoothly. The potion would accelerate Geralt's recovery, healing his internal injuries and mending his torn flesh.
Wayne then pulled out a satchel of medical supplies and handed it to Jaskier, who had dismounted and stood nervously by. "Use these to patch up his minor wounds. Follow my instructions exactly," Wayne ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Jaskier nodded, his hands trembling as he fumbled with the bag.
Wayne turned his attention to the sound of thundering hooves coming from the fog behind them. Judging by the noise, there were at least ten riders in pursuit. He drew the Statik Blade from his waist, the weapon crackling with electrical energy as it came to life in his grip.
"You focus on bandaging Geralt; leave the enemies to me," Wayne instructed, his voice calm but brimming with an undercurrent of fury.
As his words settled, about ten heavily armored fallen knights emerged from the dense mist. Their demonic tattoos glowed faintly, and their twisted, fanatic laughter echoed ominously in the still air. They charged forward, their intent unmistakable—Wayne and Geralt were to be eliminated.
Wayne's anger flared. Before the knights could close the distance, he activated his Blink ability, disappearing from their sight and reappearing directly behind one of them. With precision honed from countless battles, Wayne swung his Blade. The weapon crackled with electric energy, and as it made contact, a brilliant arc of chain lightning illuminated the fog, leaping to nearby knights and eliciting their agonized screams.
The battle was brief but brutal. Wayne's flicker ability allowed him to weave seamlessly through the chaos, striking down each knight with ruthless efficiency. Within minutes, the battlefield was silent except for the crackle of lingering electricity and the faint clink of cooling armor. The ten fallen knights lay lifeless, their decapitated bodies pooling dark, foul-smelling blood that soaked the ground and splattered Wayne's armor.
Still seething, Wayne returned to Geralt. He knelt down beside the White Wolf, carefully inspecting his wounds. The arrows embedded in Geralt's body were removed with deliberate precision, each action executed with a steady hand despite the blood-soaked chaos around them.
Meanwhile, Jaskier had stripped off Geralt's damaged armor and was bandaging him with surprising skill. Though the bard's face still bore traces of panic, there was an air of relief in his expression as he worked.
Wayne's voice broke the tense silence. "What happened? How did it come to this?"
Before Jaskier could answer, Geralt's eyes fluttered open. His gaze was unfocused, his face pale and etched with pain. Yet, upon hearing Wayne's voice, he mustered the strength to reach out and grab Wayne's hand.
His voice was hoarse and weak, each word strained. "Wayne... go save Yennefer. She's been captured... by the enemy."
He tightened his grip momentarily, his desperation clear even in his weakened state. "Please… bring her back."
...
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