A deafening rustle of wings and caws exploded across the sky as the black cloud of birds took flight, circling the town and casting a dark shroud that blotted out the already dim moonlight.
Suddenly, Coën caught the unmistakable scent of strong herbs—sage, mint, and musk.
"Screeee—!"
The Chimera that had been streaking through the night sky let out another cry—but this time, it was a scream of agony.
A humanoid shadow flashed across the heavens, closing in on the monster at double its speed. In the moonlight, one could just make out the batlike figure—its claws, each as long as a forearm, gleamed like polished steel. They sliced cleanly through the Chimera's neck like a hot knife through butter.
Blood sprayed into the air. The beast barely had time to wail before crashing to the ground, collapsing an entire building beneath its weight. The other monsters that had been converging on the bell tower instantly scattered in panic.
Suddenly, Coën felt a strange lightness in his body. Looking down, he realized the swarm of crows had caught him midair, preventing a dangerous fall from the tower.
When he looked again, there—calm and composed—stood Regis, his face once more gentle and composed.
"Are you hurt, Witcher?" Regis asked leisurely. "Or may I call you Coën? If we'll be working together in the future, I thought we might go with something a bit friendlier."
Coën turned to glance at the Chimera that had smashed into the earth, taking down a house with it. The gaping wound in its neck looked like a crimson fountain.
Well, he thought, Regis may be a giant bat himself, but he sure knows how to make an entrance—with a cloud of crows, no less.
The old bastard definitely had style.
Coën wasn't frightened—in fact, quite the opposite. Having such a powerful ally suddenly brought him an inexplicable sense of security.
So, in response to Regis's inquiry, he said, "Of course. If it's alright with you, I'd prefer to simply call you 'Regis'."
The higher vampire's bloodstained face broke into a gentle smile. "It would be my honor."
He was unbelievably polite.
With the pleasantries exchanged, the man and the vampire turned their attention back to hunting monsters and protecting the town.
In Coën's eyes, Regis's appearance began to distort. The bones that resembled human form grew smooth, his upright posture hunched forward, and the hands of the apothecary elongated into claws more terrifying than those of any beast.
"I've read about chimeras in some monster compendiums," Regis said, his voice now rougher. "But none of them ever described how to kill one. Coën, do you happen to know any weaknesses of chimeras? That would make my task a great deal easier."
Clearly, Regis was hoping for something like the Frightener's vulnerability to sonic attacks.
But Coën glanced at the chimera Regis had just knocked from the sky—its neck had gone from a 'fountain' to a 'babbling brook'.
"Forgive me for saying this… but I don't think you need to know its weaknesses anymore. If anything, they might just get in your way."
"Fair enough." Regis shrugged. The ravens circling around him flapped their wings and swooped closer, a few perching on his shoulders as if whispering to him.
Just as Regis was about to take flight again, Coën suddenly reached out and asked, as if remembering something important: "Have you seen Iris? I lost track of her when the chaos started. I'm a little worried…"
Regis's expression turned thoughtful. "Iris… ah, you mean the beautiful lady who exists as if by miracle?"
"I saw her a short while ago. She was in the air, possessing a chimera and forcing it to fight against its own kind. But then she seemed to notice something strange and immediately vanished into a wisp of ghost fire."
Coën frowned. "Something strange?"
…
Inside a hidden building, a few blurry figures peered cautiously out the door.
Had someone lit a candle, they would've seen unfamiliar faces—people never before seen in Brokilon.
They had entered the town alongside the monsters, though they had done so in secret.
"Damn it, what the hell are these things?! How does a backwater place like Brokilon have so much combat power?!"
Gray Owl cursed venomously. "Fine, having some town guards and a few witchers is expected—but what's with all these Skelligers and weird-ass monsters?"
"Were those three that rolled past just now trolls?"
"And what's the deal with the ravens flying overhead? Some kind of druidic magic?"
"These people could easily form another full battalion! Isn't Cintra's front line supposed to be at war? And they left this much firepower behind for a single princess?!"
Ever since leaving Nilfgaard, Gray Owl's emotions had been increasingly unstable. But given that this was a covert operation, no matter how furious he got, he still had to keep his voice down.
Which only made him feel even more stifled.
Behind him, nearly a hundred men were packed into the cramped room.
Though crowded, the place was hidden and safe—thanks to the effects of that long scroll of parchment given to them by Vilgefortz.
The bounty hunter Bonnard touched the three witcher medallions hanging from his chest, licking his lips impatiently. "Lucky that sorcerer gave us all those monsters—otherwise, even a hundred of us might not have been enough to take them down."
Then he chuckled darkly. "Gray Owl, so… what's our next move? Do we sneak in and go find our little lion cub?"
Gray Owl cast a dissatisfied glance at Bonnard, then turned to a nearby psionic, her eyes closed as she sensed the surroundings.
"Well? Is it safe to go out now?"
After a moment, Kenna relaxed her brow and withdrew her almost instinctive telepathy.
"The sorcerer chose a good spot for us. There's no one nearby—it's well hidden."
"Can you locate Ciri?"
"I don't know how her mind works. I can't pinpoint her," Kenna shook her head. "But if you can capture a few Cintrans, I might be able to read it from their minds."
Gray Owl nodded in satisfaction. "Excellent. Let's move out!"
A tense silence fell over the group, followed by a collective sigh of relief—finally, they were getting out of this cramped space.
"…Wait, I have a question!"
Gray Owl's hand was already on the door when a jarring voice interrupted from within the team.
Bonnard spoke up, "We don't actually know what the lion cub looks like."
"Idiot!" Gray Owl was clearly irritated by the lack of discipline. "Silver-gray hair! There's only one person like that in all of Cintra! And do you think a princess dresses like a commoner? You wouldn't recognize her?!"
Bonnard shrugged. "If I were a princess and the rear lines got attacked, I'd definitely try to disguise myself. Even if I didn't dye my hair, I'd at least change my clothes or something."
Surprisingly, that… made a bit of sense.
Gray Owl glared at him for a moment, then his eyes suddenly lit up.
He reached behind Bonnard and tore down a poster with a dramatic sweep. "This is Ciri. Memorize it!"
Bonnard glanced down at the item in his hands and let out an appreciative whistle. The oil painting technique was so vivid it looked almost lifelike—a half-body portrait of Ciri, accompanied by the slogan: "Make Cintra Great Again."
Next to the spot where the poster had hung was another in the same style, this one featuring a portrait of Lann with the words: "The Lion Leads Us to Victory."
It wasn't just this safehouse. Nearly every ten paces in Brokilon had one of these two posters plastered to the walls. Posters featuring the faction's leaders were a common sight in the rear lines of any major power—useful tools for strengthening morale and civilian unity.
Only, the artistry of these two portraits was… a bit too refined. Almost wasted on simple propaganda.
"I'm good now," Bonnard said, stuffing the poster into his coat. "Let's go."
This mercenary band—lavishly funded by Vilgefortz and mixed with a Nilfgaardian elite squad—quietly slipped out of their cramped hideout.
The entire city was ablaze with fighting and flames, yet their section remained eerily peaceful. All the monsters steered clear of them.
Gray Owl subconsciously touched the clay bottle nestled in his coat.
The Djinn truly was something else.
But none of them noticed—after they left, the eyes on the portrait of Lann hanging on the wall… shifted.
The painted gaze subtly tilted in the direction they had gone, as if watching them leave.
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