Chapter 7: The Mad Prophet
POV: Viktor
Dawn crept through Blaviken's streets like a guilty secret, painting the cobblestones in shades of gray that reminded Viktor uncomfortably of his visions. He'd spent the night in an alley behind the inn, too broke to afford a room and too wired to sleep anyway. His MP had regenerated to a pathetic 20 points—enough for one Success Rate Analysis, maybe two if he was lucky.
He had to make them count.
Viktor positioned himself near the fountain where Marilka would pass on her way to the market. According to his visions, the girl would be running errands for her father before the day's real business began. She was his only way into Stregobor's tower, his only chance to confront the wizard before events spiraled completely out of control.
"Success Rate Analysis: Will Marilka trust me if I claim to be a seer?"
[MANA DECREASED: 20 → 0]
[SUCCESS RATE: 60% IF SPECIFIC KNOWLEDGE DEMONSTRATED]
[PRIMARY FACTORS: CHILD'S NATURAL CURIOSITY, STREGOBOR'S ESTABLISHED REPUTATION FOR PROPHECY]
[RISK FACTORS: STRANGER DANGER, PARENTAL WARNINGS ABOUT TALKING TO UNKNOWN ADULTS]
[RECOMMENDATION: USE VERIFIABLE INFORMATION TO ESTABLISH CREDIBILITY]
Sixty percent. Better odds than he'd had with anyone else so far. Viktor just had to hope his meta-knowledge was accurate enough to convince a ten-year-old that he was more than just another madman.
Marilka appeared around the corner exactly when Viktor's enhanced pattern recognition had predicted she would. She moved with the kind of purposeful determination that belonged to children with chores to complete, her dark hair braided back and her simple dress marking her as solidly middle-class. The daughter of Blaviken's alderman, old enough to be trusted with errands but young enough to still believe in magic.
Perfect.
"Marilka."
The girl stopped, her head turning toward Viktor with the cautious curiosity of a child who'd been warned about strangers but hadn't quite learned to be properly afraid yet.
"Do I know you?"
"Not yet. But I know you. I know about the tower, about the wizard who lives there. About the princess who's coming."
Marilka's eyes widened. Viktor could see the gears turning behind them, the kind of rapid calculation that children made when deciding whether something was interesting enough to risk getting in trouble.
"What princess?"
"Princess Renfri of Creyden. The Black Sun. She's here, in Blaviken, and she's going to try to kill Stregobor."
The girl took a step backward, but Viktor could see he had her attention now. The words "Black Sun" and "princess" carried enough weight to cut through childhood skepticism.
"How do you know about the Black Sun?"
"Because I'm a seer. I see things. Futures, pasts, the threads that connect them all. And I see terrible things coming for this town if the wizard doesn't listen to reason."
Viktor was amazed at how easily the lies came. Maybe it was because they weren't entirely lies—he did see the future, just not in the way Marilka would understand. The system made him a kind of prophet, even if his prophecies came from meta-knowledge rather than divine inspiration.
"Stregobor doesn't like seers," Marilka said carefully. "He says most of them are charlatans."
"Then it's a good thing I'm not most seers. Tell me, does he still talk about Lilit? About the girl he failed to save?"
Marilka's face went pale. Bingo. Viktor had hit something, some piece of information that a random stranger shouldn't know. The wizard's past failures were clearly not common knowledge.
"You really are a seer."
"I am. And I need to speak with Stregobor immediately. Lives depend on it. Will you take me to him?"
The girl bit her lip, clearly torn between curiosity and caution. But Viktor had played his cards right—she was ten years old, she'd just met someone who claimed to have magical powers, and he'd proven his credentials by knowing things he shouldn't know.
"Follow me. But if you're lying, if you hurt him, my father will have you hanged."
"I'm not going to hurt anyone. I'm trying to prevent people from getting hurt."
Marilka led him through Blaviken's winding streets toward the tower that loomed over the town like a stone accusation. Viktor followed, his heart hammering against his ribs as he considered what he was about to attempt. Confronting Stregobor directly, with no MP and no backup plan beyond desperate improvisation.
"This is insane," he told himself. "I'm about to walk into a wizard's tower and call him a liar to his face. This is how people die in this world."
But it was also the only chance he had left.
The tower's base was unremarkable—just a heavy wooden door set into ancient stone. Marilka knocked with the confidence of someone who'd done this many times before.
"Master Stregobor? I've brought someone to see you. He says he's a seer."
The door opened to reveal a man who looked exactly like Viktor remembered from the show, but somehow more real, more present. Stregobor appeared to be in his sixties, with the kind of ageless quality that came from magical preservation. His robes were simple but well-made, and his eyes held the calculating intelligence of someone who'd spent centuries playing political games.
"A seer? How interesting. And what does this seer wish to discuss?"
"Princess Renfri," Viktor said without preamble. "The Black Sun prophecy. The lies you've been telling yourself for forty years."
Stregobor's expression didn't change, but Viktor caught a flicker of something—surprise, maybe, or recognition—in the wizard's eyes.
"Come in. Both of you."
The tower's interior was a study in controlled chaos. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling, scrolls covered every available surface, and the air hummed with the kind of barely contained energy that spoke of serious magical work. Mirrors hung at odd angles, reflecting light in patterns that hurt to look at directly.
"Now then," Stregobor said, settling into a chair that looked like it had been carved from a single piece of obsidian. "What exactly do you think you know about the Black Sun?"
"I know it was a false eclipse. I know you murdered children based on a prophecy that was never real. I know you've spent four decades trying to justify the unjustifiable."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Stregobor's eyes narrowed, and Viktor felt the weight of magical attention settling on him like a lead blanket.
"Who sent you? Vilgefortz? The Lodge?"
Viktor blinked. Those were names from much later in the timeline, organizations and individuals who shouldn't be relevant for years. Why would Stregobor immediately assume political conspiracy?
"No one sent me. I'm here because I see what's coming. Renfri is going to take hostages in the marketplace. She's going to force you to face her. And Geralt—"
"The Witcher." Stregobor's voice was flat, emotionless. "Yes, I've spoken with him. A useful tool, if properly motivated."
"He's not a tool. He's a person. And if you manipulate him into killing Renfri, you'll destroy him. They'll call him the Butcher of Blaviken for the rest of his life."
"Better that than allowing the Black Sun to fulfill her destiny."
Viktor felt rage building in his chest, the kind of white-hot anger that came from watching someone cling to a lie that was killing people.
"There is no destiny! There was no Black Sun! You created a monster by treating an innocent girl like one, and now you're going to compound that crime by destroying the one person who might actually be able to stop her!"
Stregobor stood up, his robes rustling with barely contained magical energy. The mirrors around the room began to vibrate, reflecting images that shifted and changed too quickly to follow.
"You speak of chronomancy," the wizard said softly. "Time magic. Forbidden arts. Who taught you to see the threads of fate?"
"I taught myself." Viktor was improvising now, desperately trying to stay ahead of questions he didn't understand. "Someone has to. Someone has to see the consequences of your choices."
"Chronomancy has been banned since the First Landing. The mages who practiced it nearly tore the Continent apart. If you truly possess such abilities..."
Stregobor raised his hand, and Viktor felt reality begin to twist around him. The air grew thick, viscous, like trying to breathe underwater. The wizard was casting something, some spell that would probably leave Viktor as a pile of ash or worse.
That's when Geralt kicked in the door.
The Witcher entered the tower like violence barely restrained, his amber eyes taking in the scene with predatory efficiency. Stregobor's spell collapsed as the wizard turned his attention to this new arrival.
"Geralt. How good of you to join us."
"I heard shouting." Geralt's gaze settled on Viktor, and Viktor felt like a rabbit that had just noticed a wolf staring at it. "What's going on here?"
"This young man claims to be a chronomancer. He's been ranting about prophecies and the threads of fate. Quite mad, really."
Viktor opened his mouth to protest, to try to explain, but Geralt cut him off with a gesture.
"You again. I told you to leave town."
"I'm trying to help! Renfri is going to—"
"Renfri is going to do what Renfri does. And you're going to stay out of it."
Geralt moved with the kind of casual efficiency that spoke of long practice in handling uncooperative civilians. Before Viktor could react, the Witcher had him by the arm and was propelling him toward the door.
"Wait! You don't understand! The lesser evil—"
"The lesser evil is none of your concern."
Geralt pushed Viktor out of the tower and into the street, then turned back to face him. His expression was carefully neutral, but Viktor could see something calculating behind those amber eyes.
"You're going to leave Blaviken. Now. Today. Before someone gets hurt."
"Someone's going to get hurt anyway! That's what I'm trying to—"
"That's what you're trying to prevent. I know." Geralt's voice was quiet, almost gentle. "But this isn't your fight. It was never your fight."
The Witcher turned and walked back into the tower, leaving Viktor standing alone in the street with his MP at zero and his credibility completely destroyed.
Viktor staggered to the nearest alley and collapsed against a wall, his whole body shaking with exhaustion and defeat. He'd had one chance to change things, one opportunity to make them listen, and he'd blown it completely.
[CURRENT MANA: 0/100]
[ESTIMATED REGENERATION TIME: 10 HOURS]
[RENFRI'S ARRIVAL: 6 HOURS]
[RECOMMENDED ACTION: STRATEGIC WITHDRAWAL]
Viktor stared at the system display, feeling something that might have been laughter building in his chest. Strategic withdrawal. Run away. Give up. Accept that some stories were too big for one person to change.
"I failed," he whispered to the empty alley. "Renfri arrives in six hours, and I failed."
But even as he said it, Viktor found himself thinking about alternatives. Words hadn't worked. Warnings had been ignored. Maybe it was time to try a different approach.
Maybe it was time to stop trying to prevent the tragedy and start trying to survive it.
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