Chapter 145: A Message from the Great Dragon
"Shadow Crossing!"
Hearing Borch's description, Arthur was finally certain: Corve was Rience's master, the mastermind behind the Temerian treason, and the high-ranking archmage Triss had spoken of with such gravity.
The realization that he had once stood face-to-face with the architect of all these conspiracies made Arthur strike his palm in a fit of regret. "Why didn't I just cut him down? If I had killed him right then and there, none of this would be happening!"
Borch patted Arthur on the shoulder, his tone consoling. "In life, things rarely go as we intend. If the opportunity arises again, I'll help you take his head."
Arthur gripped the Golden Dragon's hand in gratitude. "Corve can use magic to influence the mind. There are plenty of people in Brugge right now under his control. Currently, I only have a way to detect the influence, but no way to break it. If we can solve that, dealing with him will be far less troublesome."
Borch blinked, asking a few clarifying questions about the symptoms of the mind control. He fell into a pensive silence before speaking. "Years ago, among those 'knights-errant' I slew, some seemed to exhibit the very phenomena you describe."
He paused, then added, "Tell you what—if you find another victim under his sway, try to bring them back alive. We can study them together and figure out how to counter the spell."
As he said this, Borch's voice remained flat, devoid of any guilt like 'Oh dear, I killed people I shouldn't have.'
In fact, Arthur didn't find anything wrong with it either.
The lingering morality of his past life made him hope to save as many of the influenced as possible. However, his brutal experiences in this world had taught him a harsh lesson: when faced with a mob of armed men, even if you know they are being controlled, you have to cut them down first and ask questions later.
Thus, Arthur could only say, "I appreciate it."
Borch waved a hand as if to say it was no trouble, then turned to Geralt. "By the way... have you found the bounds of possibility yet? Is Yennefer still refusing to give up?"
The air suddenly turned stagnant. Geralt remained frozen in his last movement, looking for all the world like a man turned to stone.
Borch sighed and whispered a soft, "I see," as if he understood everything.
Just as Arthur felt the suffocating awkwardness was about to drive him to bolt for the door, the floorboards vibrated beneath his feet—a roar of thunderous applause from the main hall downstairs.
Geralt jumped to his feet. "We should head down. Dandelion must have finished his performance."
Borch nodded. "One shouldn't keep friends waiting too long. Let's go."
The three of them fled the guest room like fugitives, but they didn't make it to the first floor. Saskia stood at the turn of the stairs, her arms tightly crossed and her face etched with worry.
When she saw the three of them walking out so casually, the tension on her face vanished instantly. She stepped forward quickly. "How did it go? Dandelion told me everything was just a misunderstanding..."
"It was, and we've settled the matter completely." Borch began vigorously ruffing the girl's hair, threatening to turn her cascading locks into a bird's nest. "And we had a bit of an unexpected discovery—this young man is the Arthur Dayne you've been looking for. We simply forgot to ask his name earlier."
"You're joking!"
Saskia took a half-step back, her eyes going wide as she stared at Arthur.
"You're Arthur Dayne? The Arthur Dayne who passed through Blackbough?"
As Arthur nodded in confirmation, he studied the girl with a growing sense of puzzlement. Her tone when mentioning Blackbough was odd—almost as if Borch had implied that had they known his name earlier, all this hostility could have been avoided.
But who in Blackbough possessed such influence? Niellen, the werewolf?
"There was a mysterious monster in Blackbough. What was it?"
Arthur was amused by the bluntness of her stare. The girl is cautious, I'll give her that.
"It was a werewolf. Though, I never traded blows with him; I only caught a glimpse of him from afar before he bolted."
Unsure why she was pressing for details, Arthur chose to stick to the cover story he'd crafted: "I'd intended to sniff out his human identity, but the next morning I heard the only man who knew the truth—the village ealdorman—perished when his stove caught fire."
A flicker of doubt crossed Saskia's pretty face, followed by sudden realization. She reached into her tunic and produced a letter, offering it with both hands.
"I was bathing in the wilds when I encountered a hunter named Niellen. Instead of running away, he heard I was planning to travel and entrusted me with a letter for you. He said... to tell you that he's doing well."
As she spoke of being seen bathing, Saskia's face remained entirely devoid of embarrassment. The image of a dragon simply not caring about human modesty flashed through Arthur's mind. Still, he marveled at how "good-tempered" this girl must be if a fugitive like Niellen felt bold enough to approach her.
His impression of her softened considerably. Offering a word of thanks, he hurriedly unfurled the parchment. The hunter's crooked, sprawling handwriting filled the entire page:
Respected Knight,
After we parted ways, I learned the hard way that every unclaimed woodland in this world already has a master. I nearly met my end because of it. Fortunately, I managed to reclaim my former strength. Though the path is arduous, I no longer have to worry about an empty belly.
I am faring well now, though I am ashamed to have wasted the great effort you spent on my behalf. After much thought, the only thing I can offer is a vow: I shall never hunt humans. I hope this serves to ease the burden I have added to your mind.
— The Hunter
"Absolute rubbish..."
Arthur muttered under his breath, crumpling the letter into a ball and incinerating it with a spark of Chaos.
"What's wrong? What did the hunter say?"
Saskia's voice pulled him back. Only then did Arthur realize his brow was furrowed into a deep, jagged knot.
"It's nothing. He simply informed me of his choice," Arthur said tonelessly. Claiming a sudden bout of fatigue, he excused himself and retreated to his room.
Though he lay upon a bed of soft, luxurious down, a bitter taste lingered in his mouth.
"My love? What is it? Why so somber?"
In the midst of his dark thoughts, the door clicked shut. Maria sat beside him, bringing with her the crisp, clean scent of the forest.
"I once helped a werewolf lift his curse," Arthur said gloomily. "I just received word from him. He chose to become a werewolf again."
He felt a heavy weight in his chest. He had read Rience's notes; becoming a werewolf was no trivial feat. The process was arguably as lethal and agonizing as a witcher's Trial of the Grasses. What could Niellen have possibly encountered out there that made him choose to crawl back into that skin?
Hearing his confession, Maria placed a gentle hand on his forehead.
"You demand too much of yourself. Try looking at it differently," she whispered. "He may still be a werewolf, but because of what you did, he is no longer a man forced to kill against his will. If he is careful, he might live many more years—perhaps even find a place to hide away in peace."
She leaned in, her voice a soft comfort. "You aren't a god, Arthur. You cannot carry the world on your shoulders."
.............
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