Chapter 9: The Drowner Incident Redux
POV: Viktor
The stream looked exactly the same as it had two weeks ago—dark water moving sluggishly between moss-covered rocks, the air thick with the smell of decay and old secrets. Viktor knelt by the bank, cupping water in his hands and trying not to think about the cosmic irony of returning to the place where his nightmare had begun.
His MP was sitting at a big fat zero, his plans were in ruins, and in less than twelve hours, the marketplace of Blaviken would become a charnel house. Perfect time for a meditation session by the very stream where he'd nearly died on his first day in this world.
"Five percent per hour," he muttered, settling into the cross-legged position that had become disturbingly familiar. "Ten hours to full MP. Assuming nothing tries to kill me first."
He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, trying to achieve the kind of spiritual transcendence that would regenerate his mana pool. The forest around him was quiet—not the peaceful quiet of nature at rest, but the ominous quiet that meant something with teeth was nearby.
Viktor's eyes snapped open just as his Premonition Sense exploded into urgent warning.
[PREMONITION SENSE ACTIVATED]
[MULTIPLE THREATS DETECTED]
[ESTIMATED TIME TO CONTACT: IMMEDIATE]
[RECOMMENDED ACTION: IMMEDIATE EVASION]
Three shapes rose from the water like nightmares given form. Drowners—different ones from his first encounter, but equally dedicated to the ancient art of drowning unsuspecting humans. Gray-green skin hung in tatters from their frames, and their milky eyes fixed on Viktor with predatory hunger.
"Oh, come on!" Viktor scrambled backward, his meditation session ending about as abruptly as meditation sessions could end. "This is like some kind of cosmic joke!"
The first drowner lunged at him with webbed claws extended. Viktor threw himself sideways, his enhanced reflexes barely fast enough to avoid becoming aquatic monster food. The creature hit the ground where he'd been sitting, rolled, and came up in a crouch that spoke of far too much practice at this sort of thing.
The second drowner was already moving, cutting off Viktor's retreat toward town. The third circled around to flank him, completing a triangle of death that left Viktor with exactly one escape route.
Up.
Viktor spun toward the nearest tree—a sturdy oak that had probably been watching humans make bad decisions for the last century—and leaped for the lowest branch. His hands closed around bark, his feet scrabbled for purchase, and for one terrifying moment he hung suspended between safety and becoming the latest entry in the drowners' dining journal.
Below him, jaws snapped closed on empty air with sounds like steel traps slamming shut.
Viktor hauled himself up onto the branch, gasping and shaking and experiencing a profound sense of déjà vu. Here he was again, treed by monsters, armed with nothing but his wits and a complete inability to fight anything larger than his own anxiety.
"This is my life now," he panted, watching the drowners arrange themselves around the base of the tree. "Professional tree climber. Viktor the Elevated. Viktor the Consistently Vertical."
The drowners were not amused by his career change. They paced around the tree, occasionally looking up at him with the kind of patient professionalism that suggested they'd done this before. Unlike the wolves, these creatures were aquatic—they had all the time in the world.
Viktor checked his pockets, looking for anything he could use as a weapon or distraction. His fingers closed around the coins he'd accidentally earned during his meditation marathon—five copper pieces that represented his total worldly wealth.
An idea began to form. A stupid idea. An idea that was based entirely on half-remembered nature documentaries and the desperate hope that drowners were as cognitively sophisticated as particularly aggressive fish.
Viktor pulled out one of the copper coins and held it up so it caught the morning sunlight. The metal gleamed like a tiny star, casting reflections that danced across the water and the surrounding trees.
The drowners' heads turned toward the light like sunflowers following the sun.
"Magpie syndrome," Viktor whispered. "Please let them have magpie syndrome."
He threw the coin as hard as he could, sending it arcing through the air to land with a splash in the deeper part of the stream. All three drowners immediately abandoned their vigil and dove after the shiny object, disappearing beneath the surface in a chaos of splashing and what might have been aquatic profanity.
Viktor didn't wait to see if they'd find the coin. He scrambled down from the tree and ran, crashing through the underbrush like a particularly panicked deer. Behind him, he could hear splashing as the drowners emerged from their treasure hunt, probably wondering where their prey had gone.
He made it perhaps fifty yards before running directly into Geralt of Rivia.
The collision sent Viktor sprawling backward into a bush that seemed designed specifically to be as uncomfortable as possible. Thorns caught at his clothes, branches poked him in places that branches had no business poking, and somewhere in the chaos of flailing limbs and vegetation, Viktor's dignity abandoned him entirely.
Geralt stood over him like judgment incarnate, amber eyes taking in Viktor's disheveled state with what might have been amusement.
"Running from drowners. Again."
"I wasn't running. I was making a tactical retreat."
"While they were distracted by shiny objects."
Viktor extracted himself from the bush with as much dignity as he could muster, which was approximately none. "It worked, didn't it?"
Geralt's response was to raise his hand and speak a single word that sounded like controlled violence given voice. "Igni."
Fire erupted from the Witcher's palm, a controlled stream of flame that turned the air itself into a weapon. Viktor heard screaming from the direction of the stream—wet, gurgling screams that cut off abruptly as the drowners discovered what happened when aquatic monsters met Witcher signs.
"There," Geralt said, lowering his hand. "Problem solved."
"You didn't have to kill them. They were just—"
"They were hunting you. Again." Geralt's eyes narrowed. "Why are you here, Viktor? Why are you following me?"
The use of his name sent ice water through Viktor's veins. He hadn't told Geralt his name. The only people who knew it were Marilka and Stregobor, and neither of them had any reason to share that information.
"You know my name."
"I know a lot of things. I know you've been asking questions about Renfri. I know you tried to convince Stregobor that his prophecies were false. I know you followed me to the woods and heard things you shouldn't have heard."
Viktor's mouth went dry. Geralt hadn't just dismissed him as a harmless madman—the Witcher had been tracking him, investigating him, treating him as a potential threat.
"I'm trying to save her life."
"Whose life?"
"Renfri's. She's going to die tomorrow, and you're going to be the one who kills her."
Geralt's expression didn't change, but Viktor caught something flickering behind those amber eyes—surprise, maybe, or recognition.
"She's already dead," the Witcher said quietly. "The moment she decided to come to Blaviken, she sealed her fate. You can't choose for her. You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved."
"I can try."
"You can try. You can fail. You can get yourself killed in the process. But you can't change what's coming."
"You don't know that."
"I know enough." Geralt stepped closer, and Viktor felt the weight of enhanced senses studying him like a specimen under a microscope. "I know you're not what you pretend to be. I know my medallion reacts to you like you're some kind of magical anomaly. I know you speak of things that haven't happened yet with the certainty of someone who's lived through them."
Viktor's heart hammered against his ribs. Geralt was getting too close to the truth, asking questions that Viktor couldn't answer without revealing the system.
"I see things. Visions. Possible futures."
"And what do these visions tell you about tomorrow?"
"Blood. So much blood. You standing in a marketplace painted red, earning a title you'll carry for the rest of your life. The Butcher of Blaviken."
For the first time since Viktor had met him, Geralt's composure cracked. Just slightly, just for a moment, but enough to reveal the man behind the mutations.
"You can't choose," Geralt said again, but this time it sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as Viktor. "No one can."
The Witcher turned and walked away, leaving Viktor alone by the stream with the smell of burned drowner and the weight of impending tragedy.
Viktor watched him go, then sank to the ground and put his head in his hands. Geralt knew more than he was letting on. The Witcher suspected something, was investigating him, was probably three steps ahead of every plan Viktor might make.
But that didn't change what was coming. Tomorrow, the marketplace would run red. Tomorrow, innocent people would die because Viktor hadn't been smart enough, fast enough, or convincing enough to prevent it.
Unless he changed the game entirely.
Viktor pulled himself to his feet and began walking back toward Blaviken, his mind working on a plan that was probably illegal, definitely immoral, and absolutely necessary. He couldn't save Renfri. He couldn't stop Geralt. He couldn't prevent the massacre.
But maybe he could save one person. Maybe he could pull one innocent life out of the path of destiny's grinding wheels.
He spent the rest of the day in meditation, sitting in his usual alley and regenerating MP while the town went about its business around him. Vendors hawked their wares. Children played in the streets. Life continued its inexorable march toward tomorrow's tragedy.
By evening, Viktor had reached 60 MP. Not enough for Temporal Sense, but enough to use his other abilities. He made his way to the System Store, spending his last 25 SP on a second Minor Mana Potion.
[PURCHASE COMPLETE]
[MINOR MANA POTION x1 ADDED TO INVENTORY]
[CURRENT INVENTORY: MINOR HEALTH POTION x1, MINOR MANA POTION x2]
[SYSTEM POINTS: 65 → 0]
[CURRENT MANA: 60/100]
Viktor stared at his depleted resources and felt something that might have been grim satisfaction. He was broke, exhausted, and probably about to commit kidnapping. But he had a plan, and for the first time since arriving in this nightmare, he felt like he might actually be able to change something.
He meditated through the night, watching his MP crawl toward 100 while the town slept around him. By dawn, he would be ready. By dawn, he would have enough power to use Temporal Sense, enough resources to survive whatever came next.
As the first light of morning painted the sky in shades of blood and gold, Viktor opened his eyes and checked his status one final time.
[CURRENT MANA: 100/100]
[TEMPORAL SENSE AVAILABLE]
[ESTIMATED TIME TO MARKET OPENING: 3 HOURS]
Viktor stood up, his joints protesting after a night of sitting in the same position. Around him, Blaviken was beginning to wake up. Vendors were setting up their stalls. Guards were changing shifts. Normal life was beginning another day, unaware that this would be the last normal day some of them would ever see.
"Market opens in three hours," Viktor whispered to the dawn. "Time to rewrite fate."
Behind him, the system interface glowed softly in his peripheral vision, patient as always. Waiting to see if its host would live long enough to be useful, or if it would need to find someone else to carry its burden.
Viktor took a deep breath, tasted the morning air that still smelled of smoke and burned drowner, and began walking toward Marilka's house.
The game was about to begin.
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