The room buzzed with a medley of perfumes, like a garden too dense to pick out any single bloom.
Downstairs, the brawl grew louder, punctuated by Dandelion's cheers egging Geralt on.
The sorceresses awaited Su Ming's explanation. His cryptic answer didn't cut it.
"Words alone won't make it clear. Let me show you the power of science and industry," Su Ming said, grabbing his helmet from a silk cushion and snapping it on. His voice turned raspy through the modulator. "Who can open a portal to the Dragon Mountains?"
The Dragon Mountains, far north, were a frozen wasteland at the continent's edge.
Endless snow stretched into the unknown, too harsh for crops, fire, or survival. Water froze instantly, breath turned to mist, and jagged peaks stood like a forest of swords.
Legends spoke of dragons living there.
Yes, dragons—beasts even Geralt hadn't slain. They supposedly roamed the Dragon Mountains.
In witcher history, only George, the Griffin School's "Dragonslayer," killed a green dragon.
Records described it as over fifteen meters long, three meters at the shoulder, its lung gases burning for fifteen minutes after death.
That dragon likely flew from the mountains to hunt humans in Velen's villages.
George perished with it, buried in a Velen cave with Griffin School gear schematics.
Years later, Geralt retrieved those schematics while handling a grave hag, crafting his own Griffin armor.
At Su Ming's request, all eyes turned to Triss, who had connections in Kovir.
"Fine. To Narok Kingdom. I'm friends with Princess Sylvina. We'll portal straight to the Dragon Mountains' base," Triss said, casting a golden wormhole and waving everyone through.
"No waiting for Geralt?" Su Ming asked, stepping in.
"He's got plenty of places to crash in Novigrad. Brothels, for one," Yennefer said flatly, walking off.
Narok, the northernmost kingdom, was vast but sparsely populated, its growth stunted despite rich resources.
They emerged in a cave outside a village. Triss had been here before, setting up a teleportation circle. The night was chilly, and the sorceresses cast protective spells.
Su Ming pulled his adamantine Gauss rifle from his pack, chambering a round with a crisp click. The glowing weapon gleamed.
He slung it over his shoulder, turning to Ciri. "If Geralt knew I took you dragon-hunting tonight, he'd think we're nuts."
"Wait, dragon-hunting?" Triss tilted her head, as if she'd misheard.
Su Ming nodded, stepping out to gaze at the black, windy sky—a perfect night. "Naturally. Came to the Dragon Mountains for dragons. Later, I'll show you watches, phones, lighters."
The sorceresses exchanged looks, unsure what to say. Dragons were beyond human reach.
And in these sprawling mountains, stretching thousands of kilometers, where would you even find one?
Su Ming answered with action. He removed his cloak and spoke to it. "Head to the northern peaks. Find me a dragon."
The cloak zipped off.
"That's magic, but not chaos energy," Yennefer said, watching it vanish faster than anything she'd seen.
"Magic's a long story. If there's a dragon, the cloak will drag it back. Let's wait. More wine?" Su Ming said, eyeing the sky. Dragons were like groundhogs—cave-dwellers.
"Crazy," Fringilla voiced the group's thoughts.
Su Ming chuckled, passing out bottles. "Crazier's coming."
Sure enough, before they finished two rounds, a dragon came hurtling backward through the sky.
Its tail was tangled in a small cloth—the cloak—dragging the massive beast.
Even a dragon's strength couldn't match the cloak, a mystic relic even the Sorcerer Supreme couldn't trace.
"ROAR!"
Its cry echoed through the peaks, shaking the heavens.
Avalanches rumbled, and village lights flickered as people woke in panic.
The dragon flapped desperately, trying to break free, but in an aerial tug-of-war, the cloak reigned supreme.
Its wails were heartbreaking, enough to make listeners weep.
Su Ming wiped a mock tear, grinning sadly under his helmet.
Witcher-world dragons paled compared to Azeroth or Faerûn's. No dragon-tongue magic—just big beasts.
But Su Ming had never tasted dragon meat.
Killing one just for himself? Too wasteful.
With a crowd, he could cook, share, and let the sorceresses pack leftovers—building rapport in one swoop.
He raised his rifle. A golden arc of energy tore through the night, like a gold thread on black velvet.
The cloak delivered the dragon's corpse. The precise shot pierced its skull, shattered half its spine, and exited its tail.
In an instant, the beast was dead, its slit eyes dazed, as if wondering why its strength vanished.
"Bigger than I thought. Roast it, and it's dinner," Su Ming said.
The sorceresses were speechless, struggling to process the instant kill. The weapon left no time for reaction.
Su Ming lit a fire with his lighter, seasoning dragon meat and using Godslayer to carve its thick hide.
"Anyone got a monarch? Sell the valuable bits. Tell fools dragon meat makes you strong," he said.
"Assuming it's not toxic," Yennefer said, testing dragon blood. She pointed at the lighter. "This tech too?"
Su Ming tossed it to her as a gift. "Sort of. But greenhouses and hydroponics are what you need. Survive deep underground, warm and safe. White Frost's no issue."
"Fuel?" Yennefer asked.
"Nuclear energy. A friend's about to invent it."
"'About to'? Odd phrasing."
"Point is, Ciri can learn enough at my school to survive doomsday—if she wants," Su Ming said, slicing valuable dragon parts while fielding questions.
Keira used illusions to shoo away curious locals, and the dragon feast began.
Surprisingly, the sorceresses had a plan to follow Ciri.
Yennefer could mark Ciri to track her Elder Blood across universes. After Ciri crossed, they'd pool their power to mimic a Conjunction, opening a wormhole for all.
Yennefer insisted on seeing the school first. For tech knowledge, bookish sorceresses were better suited than Ciri.
"Bit much, no?" Su Ming dropped a dragon rib. Too many people could be hard to manage, and Geralt was out of the loop.
"No issue. Coral stays here. We've traveled worlds before," Yennefer said, glancing at the group, who'd silently agreed.
"Fine, but I'm not sure your magic works in my world or if you can return," Su Ming said, standing and clapping his hands. His medieval tour was over—it was time to go home.
Philippa answered. Their magic tapped world elements—fire from the earth's core, water from seas, wind from peaks.
Magic was a scythe through a field, flowing blood, life, and spirit's power.
Su Ming got it. They weren't mages—they were shamans.
Calling on elements, not arcane or deals.
Marvel had earth, fire, water, air. They'd adapt and channel elements there.
"But what do I get? You're saving your world, and I'm helping. This was just for Ciri. All of you studying—what's the tuition?" Su Ming asked.
"Our world's unique alchemy, magic knowledge, and the Lodge's friendship," Triss said, pocketing dragon meat. "And us going is Ciri's condition for leaving."
"Fair. I'll draw Ciri the school's gate. She just needs to picture it and think to teleport," Su Ming said, sketching it exactly as he'd left it to avoid timeline errors.
"We'll brief our apprentices. Three days, then we move. We'll sell the dragon meat. You need coin?" Yennefer asked.
"Gold, coins—anything. Need 20,000 for supplies. Orens, crowns, whatever."
"Twenty thousand orens? Enough for a mercenary army," Yennefer mused. With no duties beyond the Lodge, she could handle it.
"Just want a bag," Su Ming said.