John stood upon the burning earth.
The golden flames would not fade—the forest would burn without end.
The tenth rune lit up. He had completed his final trial.
That meant everything was finished.
And yet, there was still no sign of his return.
A force pulled at him, trying to take him away—but another held him fast, refusing to let him go.
The White Wolf appeared once more, walking through the fire unharmed, untouched even by the eternal flames.
John met the wolf's gaze.
Then suddenly—Shing!
He raised the sword in his hand.
The Silver Wick sword plunged into the ground.
In that instant, the eternal fire pouring through the forest surged toward the blade.
The burning woods fell into darkness.
The golden flames swirled into a vortex, consuming themselves—until the fire was no more.
John drew his wand and pointed it toward the sky.
Golden scales spread across his body, and the power of the stars turned into a shimmering, ethereal blue that descended over the forest.
He looked up at the White Wolf, a mysterious smile curving his lips.
"Do you know the origin of the monoliths?"
Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "When worlds overlap and celestial spheres converge, the traces they leave behind form monoliths—gateways capable of traversing worlds."
The starlight pressed downward, its power merging with the eternal fire below, painting the land in a surreal blend of gold and spectral blue.
As the two forces were drawn in, John seized the Silver Wick sword.
Magic surged into the blade, making it tremble violently.
He raised the silver sword and pointed it at the ground.
Lines and circles emerged, rising from the earth to form a massive magic circle.
He was forging...
—forging a monolith!
"My blood belongs to another world," he said. "With it as the guide, show me the way."
John sliced open his palm, and his blood splattered into the air, condensing into a ruby.
He lifted his hand, and the gem slowly floated into the center of the magic circle.
From the ground, stones began to rise one after another, stacking and fusing together—within a few breaths, a tall, prism-shaped monolith stood towering above the earth.
||Blood Trace.||
John drew his wand, using his own blood as the guide.
The monolith released a pulse of energy.
Centered on it, the wave spread outward for hundreds of meters.
Everything it touched—trees burned to ash, corpses strewn across the ground—was crushed into dust.
The White Wolf began walking toward John.
"Kill it."
A voice echoed in John's mind, coaxing him, urging him to slay the wolf.
But John had already seen through the truth.
He looked at the White Wolf, and a golden ribbon of light gathered at the tip of his wand.
"Even calamity," he said softly, "cannot transcend time."
The golden ribbon formed from drifting sand, its ends joining to create a Möbius loop.
A matching golden Möbius mark appeared on the White Wolf's body.
It kept taking step after step, repeating the motion endlessly—yet it never moved from its place.
The monolith was complete, and the other force tugging at John's body began to overpower the one holding him here.
He stepped toward the monolith—the briefly formed gateway connecting him back to his original world.
But just as he was about to enter, an ancient, indescribable voice echoed deep within his mind.
"₣ł₳₮ ₥łⱧł"
It spoke in a language long forgotten, one nearly incomprehensible—yet John understood its meaning.
It came from within the monolith itself.
Something else was trying to use the gateway—something that did not belong to this world—seeking passage through.
John knew that if he allowed it to cross over, this world would face an irreversible catastrophe.
"₳₱ɆⱤł ₱ØⱤ₮₳₥"
The voice tried to seize his mind, urging him to open the gate.
But John forced it down with sheer will.
Sweat beaded on his brow as he muttered to himself, "So this… is this world's god?"
His expression shifted again and again, caught between conflict and resolve.
John, who had once dealt with Death itself, now felt the presence of another god.
Just like the one that dwelled within the Frozen Casket, the god that ruled here must also possess unimaginable power.
The White Wolf was still trapped within the loop of time, endlessly repeating its futile steps. Before John, the monolith began to twist and distort—its surface turning into the gaping maw of some ancient beast.
"Trying to make me afraid?" John steadied his mind, his voice calm.
But the whispering did not stop. A restless irritation began to stir deep in his heart.
"Let the stars guide my path."
His gaze hardened with determination.
Then, from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a familiar face.
"? Ambro–…"
Before he could finish the name, the monolith's passage pulled him in.
The young man left behind frowned, muttering to himself, "A world between dream and reality… I've taken the wrong path."
Shaking his head, he wandered away from the scorched wasteland.
Another Merlin.
...
With John's disappearance, the White Wolf's body slowly faded into translucence—until it, too, vanished completely.
The monolith collapsed with a thunderous crash.
The voices that had tried to force their way through were buried beneath the rubble.
All returned to dust.
Amid the charred forest, a golden-haired woman led her subordinates to the site where the monolith had fallen.
"Where are you, Yadani?"
A red mark stained the woman's neck.
She called out the name of the witcher.
Renfri.
She had not died.
She had escaped the gears of predetermined fate—only to fall into another relentless pursuit.
The shrike searched for the trail of the Black Witcher.
The Northern Kingdoms had triumphed over Nilfgaard.
...
At dawn's first light, a merchant was pulling a white-haired witcher along, their wagon swaying as it rolled toward a distant house.
Yurga was saved by the white-haired witcher. To repay the debt, he invoked the Law of Surprise.
He took the injured witcher back to his home.
When Yurga arrived, his wife, Cristidae, came running out—her voice trembling with relief as she spoke of how much she had missed him, of their adopted daughter, and of a strange traveler who had stayed with them.
"Something you already have, but do not yet know."
Geralt hadn't cared much about the Law of Surprise at first. He told Yurga that a cup of malt beer would be enough.
But when he heard that the adopted daughter had been found as an orphan on a battlefield, Geralt froze.
Then, like a man possessed, he ran into the forest.
And there, among the trees, he found the one he had searched for so long.
"Ciri."
His child of surprise.
Princess Cirilla of Cintra.
And Ciri, remembering her grandmother's words, had been seeking Geralt of Rivia.
In that moment, the gears of destiny began to turn once more.
Twice now, the Law of Surprise had bound their fates together.
Bringing Ciri back to Yurga's home, Geralt could see Cristidae's reluctance—yet the Law of Surprise had to be honored.
Ciri, too, felt guilty toward the woman who had shown her a mother's love.
In the end, she still chose to leave with Geralt.
Their destination was the battlefield.
During Geralt's recovery, he had heard Yennefer's name.
He was determined to find her.
When the two finally arrived at the battlefield... it was a vision of hell itself.
Countless corpses, soldiers crying in agony.
Ciri sat astride Geralt's horse, Roach.
Suddenly, Roach grew restless, stamping its hooves uneasily.
Ahead stood a brown horse, a white diamond-shaped mark gleaming on its face.
Ciri froze for a moment, then exclaimed in surprise and delight, "Boro?!!"
She immediately called out loudly for Boro—twice—before remembering that Boro was deaf.
Leaping off Roach's back, she ran toward the brown horse.
"Boro?" Geralt had spotted the horse as well.
Having spent a whole winter with John, he naturally recognized it.
But if Boro was here… where was his master?
Ciri reached the horse's side, smiling brightly, hoping to find Boro's owner.
She shouted, "Yadani—!"
"Yadani—!"
Both voices froze mid-cry.
Ciri turned toward the sound and saw a woman with golden hair standing amid the scorched earth—Renfri.
Geralt also noticed her, along with the band of mercenaries armed behind her.
Instinctively, he pulled Ciri behind him, his hand resting on the steel sword at his hip.
Renfri didn't make a move. She only gazed at Ciri, etching that small, delicate face deeply into her memory.
"There's no Yadani here. Let's go." Renfri turned and left with her men.
Geralt let out a quiet sigh of relief.
For some reason, though, a faint sense of guilt stirred in his chest whenever he thought of Renfri.
They had never met—of that he was certain.
So where did that guilt come from?
He couldn't understand it, but he did know one thing: this place was still dangerous.
"Do you know Yadani?" Geralt asked Ciri.
Ciri began recounting the incident with the blood cat, and Geralt's expression darkened.
If Boro was here, then his master might not have been so lucky.
"Stay on the horse. Don't get down."
He still had to look for Yennefer.
Ciri, however, seemed eager and hopeful. She patted Boro's head gently.
Even knowing the horse couldn't hear, she still liked whispering by its ear.
"Maybe Yadani doesn't know I'm here," she murmured softly.
She whispered softly to Boro.
Meanwhile, after searching for some time, Geralt and Ciri found no trace of the Black Witcher.
The mages were in the same situation—they could not locate John Wick, the wizard who could have turned the tide of battle.
Before the collapsed monolith, Yennefer furrowed her brow. She rubbed her right hand, and a faint mark flickered across the back of it.
Wegefotz, seeing that the wizard had vanished, let a strange glint flash in his eyes, then turned to console the others, securing this hard-won victory.
...
In the Jovonovich castle.
The spring suddenly erupted, forming a curtain of water.
Through the shimmering veil, the shape of a monolith could be faintly seen.
As John stepped out from within, the water curtain collapsed back into the spring.
The area was empty—his uncles had all disappeared as well.
Rubbing his throbbing head, John wondered: could it be that he was about to repeat the trial all over again?
Fortunately, the system's notification sounded just in time.
[Ding…]
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