"Grab my cloak."
John gave a low command, lifting his left hand to fling the blood cat's body aside.
His pupils narrowed into slits, and in the darkness came two sharp, infant-like cries.
He cast a heightened sensory spell, trying to locate the remaining blood cats.
Creatures like these couldn't be heard unless seen with the naked eye.
"Their fur can even block detection."
John narrowed his eyes. The one that attacked earlier had revealed itself only because its tail brushed against the reeds.
Ciri clutched the hem of his coat, keeping close behind him.
"Looks like I made a mistake," John said quietly. "I should've sent you away."
"Don't underestimate me," Ciri shot back.
John unfastened his bearskin cloak and threw it over her shoulders.
"This cloak has some defensive enchantments. It won't keep you from dying outright, but it'll stop you from being burned."
"Burned?" Ciri froze for a moment.
John's gaze swept quickly through the reeds. Since he couldn't find them, he'd simply force them out.
He drew his wand. "Incendio!"
The ancient incantation rolled off his tongue, making Ciri freeze for a moment—something about it stirred an inexplicable sense of familiarity.
Then she understood why John had said she wouldn't be burned.
Flames streamed from the wand's tip, spreading through the reeds until the whole field became a sea of fire.
The reeds, being highly flammable, caught instantly, blazing out of control.
From within the inferno came another round of piercing, agonized screeches.
John immediately locked onto the sound.
He raised his left hand—an invisible shockwave burst forward, obliterating every obstruction in front of them.
A blood-red cat, its fur mottled brown and crimson, was exposed. Purple light flared along the engraved patterns of John's boots.
Before Ciri could react, John vanished. The next second, an ear-splitting, infant-like wail tore through the air.
John's kick shattered the creature's bones; his sword followed, slicing clean through its head.
The second blood cat fell.
Ciri's face lit up with relief—but before she could even breathe out, she felt a deadly chill rise from behind her.
Just as the chill of death closed in, Ciri instinctively stepped forward—only to gasp in pain as heat seared through her back.
A deep claw mark had torn across the bearskin cloak.
She turned sharply and saw a blood cat, its entire body wreathed in flames, hissing in fury.
Before it could lunge again, a streak of silver flashed through the air.
The silver sword pierced straight through its neck, pinning both the creature and the flame to the ground.
John strode over and lifted the edge of Ciri's cloak.
The claws hadn't penetrated the bearskin, but the force of the blow had shredded the back of her clothes.
"It's fine," John said, pulling her to her feet. "Your clothes just took some damage."
Ciri hurriedly reached back, feeling the torn fabric with trembling fingers. Her face fell.
It was the same outfit she'd worn when she escaped from Cintra—one of the last things that still connected her to her home.
"Reparo."
Ciri looked up in surprise at the soft murmur.
Where John's wand pointed, the shredded fabric began knitting itself back together, good as new.
It was a kind of magic she had never seen before—not even from the court mages.
After repairing her clothes, John cast a sensory charm to make sure no more monsters were nearby, then extended his hand toward Ciri.
Ciri blinked in confusion.
"My cloak," John said, gesturing for her to return it.
Ciri took a deep breath. For some reason, she suddenly found him irritating.
The gratitude she'd felt a moment ago vanished without a trace.
By the time the blood cats were dealt with, night had fully fallen.
John had successfully lit the seventh rune.
He started back toward the house with Ciri—there was no way he would let her walk alone in the dark.
This time, though, he didn't mount the horse. Instead, he let Ciri ride while he led the way on foot.
"What's your name?" Ciri asked after a moment, curiosity getting the better of her.
"And why do you go around killing monsters?"
"It's… a kind of mission," John replied casually, leading the horse along the narrow path. "My name is Yadani."
"Yadani?" Ciri repeated, frowning slightly. The name sounded oddly familiar.
Though night had fallen, John moved as if it made no difference to him at all.
The two of them made their way toward Ciri's foster mother's house.
A sudden wolf's howl—"Awooo—!"—made John stop in his tracks.
He looked up. Under the moonlight, a white wolf stood in the distance, its fur glimmering faintly with silver light as it gazed in their direction.
"What is that?" Ciri asked, eyes wide.
"A kind of sign," John said quietly. He could feel it—somehow, his time here might be coming to an end.
Ciri didn't understand what he meant by "sign," and the white wolf vanished soon after.
When they arrived back at her foster mother's home, Cristida finally let out the breath she'd been holding upon seeing Ciri safe.
"Traveler, why don't you stay the night here?" she offered warmly.
Grateful for the deer meat John had brought, Cristida insisted he rest for the night.
She was a kind woman—after all, she had taken in Ciri as her own.
John was about to refuse when he noticed Borro staring toward the stable.
Following his gaze, John saw freshly pulled carrots lying there.
"Alright, I'll pay for them." John pointed at the carrots. "One gold coin for the lot."
Cristida was about to refuse, but John had already set the coin down.
He placed the carrots in front of Borro, who began crunching away contentedly.
Cristida's son came out then, and when he saw John carrying a sword, his expression grew wary.
After Cristida told him about what John had done, he turned to Ciri, still skeptical.
"He really killed those three monster cats?"
Ciri nodded. Once he heard that, the boy's eyes filled with admiration.
He reached out, wanting to touch John's sword—but John simply advised, "Best not to."
The boy withdrew his hand reluctantly.
Cristida cooked the venison with red wine, turning it into a rich, savory dish.
The aroma filled the air, making everyone's mouths water—even Ciri, who hadn't eaten anything this good in days.
Watching the children devour the food so eagerly, Cristida felt a quiet pride.
John washed his face outside before coming back in, wiping away the dust of travel and revealing a youthful face beneath.
The three of them were momentarily stunned.
John's composure often made people forget just how young he was.
"How old are you?" Ciri couldn't help but ask.
"Fifteen." John wiped his hands, then used his fork to spear a piece of venison and pop it into his mouth.
Cristida instinctively glanced at her son—John was about the same age as him.
He really didn't act like an ordinary boy.
Chewing his food, John said vaguely, "I'll pay for the dinner as well."
Ciri found it strange—every word out of his mouth seemed to revolve around payment and transactions.
At the mention of money, Cristida's son's eyes lit up. "Do you need your horse washed?"
"That's a good idea," John said with a faint smile. "If your work satisfies me, I don't mind paying."
Cristida's husband had been a merchant, and their son had clearly inherited that business-minded streak.
He hurriedly wolfed down the rest of his venison and dashed out to the stable to fetch the cleaning tools.
Under his care, Borro snorted contentedly as the dust was washed off his coat.
Whatever resentment the boy had once held toward his mother for bringing home an orphan girl disappeared after that hearty meal.
He didn't dislike Ciri—he just hated the added burden she brought to the household.
After finishing his venison dinner, John wiped the corner of his mouth and, out of habit, took a gold coin from his satchel and set it down.
Cristida looked a little helpless. She tried to persuade him to take it back—after all, the venison had been his gift; she had only cooked it.
Ciri, meanwhile, found herself growing even more curious about him. John was unlike anyone she had ever met.
Outside, Cristida's son was still diligently washing Borro.
Just then, a blazing fireball streaked across the night sky like a falling star, crashing into a fortress in the distance.
The entire family froze, staring upward.
Cristida whispered softly, "Nilfgaard."
That fireball was the first signal—
—signifying that the war had officially begun.
John watched the fireball descend. Suddenly, his silver sword trembled faintly.
He drew it, seeing the runes along the blade flicker to life.
"War, huh?" he murmured under his breath.
Ciri noticed what was happening and, almost without thinking, asked softly, "You're leaving?"
John paused, then nodded.
He had a feeling—that this war might be the sign it was time for him to go.
Sheathing his silver sword, John pulled a pouch from his satchel.
It was heavy—a full bag of gold coins. He set it down on the table.
If his guess was right, he wouldn't be able to take these things back with him anyway.
Better to leave them behind for this family than let them vanish into nothing.
Cristida was stunned by the gesture, her eyes wide at the sight of so much gold.
"Let's just call it fate," John said with a small smile. He snapped his fingers, and from the stable, Borro came galloping out, slipping free of the boy's grip.
John raised his hand, and in an instant, the horse's damp coat dried completely. Then he swung himself onto the saddle.
He glanced at Ciri, a strange sense of familiarity tugging at him—as if the girl carried something special within her.
From his satchel, he tossed her a ring. "Use this to protect yourself and your family," he said with a faint smile.
And with that, he turned his horse and rode away.
Ciri instinctively caught the ring and ran after him, calling out, "Yadani!"
But John was already gone, leaving Ciri standing there, a quiet ache in her chest.
________
o(*￣▽￣*)ブSupport and Read 12 Chapters ahead: Patreon/Dragonel