1061 New Era.
150 years before the birth of Geralt of Rivia.
Aedirn.
Several months later.
Merinelteratsin, also known as Merlin.
…Which had already begun.
Surprisingly fast for elves…
Aelirenn really is an incredible orator, knowing how to stir up the Aen Seidhe youth.
What pressure points to hit, when to say what…
“And that is why she must die,” I concluded in the rumbling sounds of the dragon tongue, flapping my sizable wings once more.
That half-baked nationalist…
She must not die because of humans, nor by any martyr’s death.
No good memory of her should remain.
Her name should be sprinkled with ash and forgotten…
Or not forgotten, but at least associated with stupidity and recklessness, not courage and the struggle for her people.
Because the elves, under the leadership of Simlas Findabair and the other Elders, are an extremely valuable asset.
In the Witcher world.
After all, I don’t want to give up the support of the long-eared ones; they’re too tempting a prize.
And I’m a greedy dragon, even if I haven’t gathered any gold yet…
Should I pay a visit to some human castles?
Maman mentioned that too.
I need to think…
At that moment, my stomach rumbled, informing me that a multi-ton machine like me should finally be fed.
The elves had gotten meat for me, even though most of them are vegetarians, but it was completely insufficient.
After all, in both elven and dragon form, I needed the same amount of food to sustain myself.
So…
hunting, while not as frequent as before, was still necessary.
Especially after flights, which burned a huge number of calories.
But they also strengthened muscles, and the more a dragon flies, the faster and longer it can do so.
In short, in this regard, dragons aren’t different from humans…
I just need to invent dragon exercise equipment and start working out.
After all, a trained dragon body can do as much more as a hypothetical Olympic athlete surpasses an ordinary person.
…A few minutes later, I licked my mouth contentedly, spotting a herd of sheep.
“Oooh…” I drawled, squinting at the white-wooled animals.
They undoubtedly belonged to some human shepherd, but…
I’m currently flying over elven territories I’m cooperating with, which means I have every right to devour this herd.
And if a human shepherd wandered all the way here for good grass for his animals, he might well get a legitimate elven arrow in the leg.
So a dragon eating part of his sheep is still fa-a-ar from the worst option.
Changing the position of my tail and wings, and tucking all four legs slightly closer to my body, I dove down.
Noticing the figure of a man sleeping by a tree, I accelerated even more and, mid-flight, caught four bleating sheep with all four paws at once.
“Huh?!” came the barely audible voice of the awakened man through the air currents, but the huge mass that was me was already gaining altitude.
Now all he could do was watch as a huge black dragon devoured part of his herd.
Yes, black, because since the start of the confrontation between the elven youth and the local human lords, I’ve been masquerading as a different fire-breathing reptile.
Golden dragons are supposed to look like friends of humans, or at least like creatures favorable to them…
But black ones are like their worst enemies.
For this, I even convinced Nimue to use black as a disguise instead of red scales.
All so that the state of affairs I desired would be established faster, while confusing the humans — with medieval methods of information delivery, no one will even believe there are two dragons.
We’re far too rare creatures.
They’ll more likely think one creature is moving very quickly.
…I was thinking about all this as I tossed another sheep into my mouth.
I didn’t like eating them alive, so I killed the animals with my clawed paws first, then ate them.
Bones weren’t a problem either, since I simply released a little flame and made them brittle.
“Howe?” I bared my teeth in bewilderment, chewing the third of four sheep.
An arrow clinked against my scales…
And then another, which made a hole in the membrane of my right wing, which is a multi-layered, composite scale riddled with tendons.
One hole wouldn’t create a problem for flight, but I had to react.
Pressing my wings a little closer to my body, I spun sharply around my longitudinal axis, letting a new arrow strike my scales instead of piercing my wings again.
Actively using my tail and spreading my wings again, I performed almost a police turn in the air, searching with my narrowed eyes for my opponent.
Oh?
Seriously, the shepherd had shed his baggy clothes and was wearing some unusual black armor?
Wait a minute…
An arrow fired with considerable force, greater than before, interrupted my thoughts and forced me to jerk my head to the side, letting the dangerous object pass by my snout.
What if it hit my eye?
The pain would definitely send me crashing to the ground, and falling from this height would be very unpleasant…
“Rrrr…” I let out a displeased but relatively quiet roar, hovering in one spot in a semi-vertical, diagonal position, slowly flapping my wings.
A witcher…
Definitely a witcher.
As far as I remember, they existed as a single order before splitting into various schools…
My opponent, who seemed so small and insignificant from my position, didn’t give me time to think and recall information from my past life…
But he fired his arrows very accurately, with clearly superhuman strength, which could theoretically pierce my weak spots in the scale armor.
In some places, the scales were thinner to allow for movement.
However, I didn’t start trying to predict the direction of his next attack.
I just waited until one of the arrows pierced my right wing again, close to the previous hole, and opened my mouth.
If I had just tried to blast him with fire, I’d have gotten an arrow in the roof of my mouth.
But now…
Fshhhh!
A stream of flame with a deafening crackle of fire shot towards my target, who immediately started running to the side.
Flapping my wings and turning off my flamethrower for a moment, I rushed after him and covered the forest strip with a new blast of fire.
The forest itself ignited instantly, since it was already autumn and the leaves and tree trunks were dry enough that even a single spark could start a forest fire…
And if a real, living flamethrower passes through it, oooh…
The witcher definitely wouldn’t be having a good time, though I doubt I caught him with a direct blast.
Nevertheless, the colleagues of the yet-unborn Geralt are extremely resilient creatures, so I didn’t relax and kept maneuvering, making new and new firebreaks below.
The temperature and carbon monoxide should gradually knock out even a witcher, who, despite all his resilience, is still a living being.
Even ten minutes of unconsciousness would be enough for the dragon fire to consume him entirely.
Inhale…
A new wave of flame rushed towards the burning forest.
I’ll show you, you mountain bastard, how to set up ambushes on dragons.
* * *
Ksivalt of Kovir.
The man coughed heavily into his left fist, his short hair sweaty and matted, his eyes starting to water.
Even witchers had their limits, and Ksivalt believed he had long since reached his.
“Kha-ha-ha!” A new fit of coughing wracked the witcher, choked by smoke and soot.
A massive forest fire was raging around him, from which all sorts of creatures were fleeing.
From deer to ordinary insects.
Elixirs still flowed through his veins, but one of the students of the legendary Erland of Larvik, the founder of their School of the Griffin, could already feel the approaching shroud of death, its fiery and suffocating hands reaching for his throat.
In his already advanced age, this native of Kovir, a distant northern county of Redania that had gained almost independence this past year, had seen a fair number of monsters.
He had also killed many, and had once nearly been killed himself.
That higher vampire, though quite young, had more than enough strength to smash the witcher through a plank wall and nearly break the spinal bone running down a man’s back.
Fortunately, the local lord’s men had arrived in time, and the witcher managed to survive, though he spent a long time recovering afterwards.
And now…
a dragon…
Four legs, two wings…
Definitely a dragon.
…A loud flap of wings rang out, and an air wave followed, pushing the wind-driven flame even faster.
“Argh!” The monster hunter gritted his teeth, slapping the flames from his hair and the back of his head with his palm.
He finally managed to get rid of the clinging fire only by pouring a flask of water over his head and slapping the back of his head a few more times…
And was forced to drop his bow abruptly, jumping to the side, as another stream of flame rushed dangerously close.
Leaning on his elbow, Ksivalt looked up.
Up there, circling, was a huge black shadow with burning golden eyes, standing out against the black scales.
“Khaa… This chapter is updated first at novelping.com.
Damn you…” the witcher cursed, getting to his feet, shaking his head and remembering how it all started.
The contract had been received from the royal family of Kaedwen, of the Unicorn surname-nickname, for the destruction of a golden flying creature.
According to the rumors the witcher had gathered, it had interfered with some intrigue, destroying someone’s forces.
Ksivalt had laughed heartily at the losers who had been unlucky enough to run into an intelligent monster during some important mission in those aristocratic intrigues, which the native of Kovir, like all members of the School of the Griffin, openly despised.
Their mentor and founder had taught them completely different principles.
At first, Ksivalt had blamed a wyvern or a giant slyzard that had grown larger than its kin.
After all, among humans, there were sometimes giants over three meters tall…
So why couldn’t there be such among monsters and beasts?
If artificial mutations exist, like those of the witchers themselves, there are also natural ones, when nature itself kicks up…
Doubts arose because it wasn’t clear whether the creature was fire-breathing or not.
If yes, it was an slyzard; if not, a wyvern…
There were also doubts about the number of flying creatures, and the survivors said there were two of them and they were the color of gold…
The last part was clearly a lie to attract fortune hunters ready to seek a golden beast…
But the rest…
He had seen the creature, probably the one that had attacked the royal family’s troops, far in the sky some time later.
Obviously, at that height, even a gifted archer like himself couldn’t reach the creature.
So he had to spend some money.
And buy a whole herd of sheep, which he hoped would attract the clearly predatory creature.
Grass wouldn’t let such creatures get fat, no…
They need meat.
Animal or human flesh.
He had to wait a long time, disguising his equipment and swords under a shepherd’s baggy cloak.
The witcher wasn’t a fool and understood that creatures can be smart and recognize the gleam of silvered swords as weapons more dangerous to them than anything else.
And some even recognize ordinary steel swords if they’ve encountered them before.
The creature that had fought the royal men must surely know the taste of swords on its own hide…
…And then, when he had dozed off a little, the creature dove.
Opening his eyes, the witcher cursed and saw only a departing tail of a truly…
huge creature.
He had never seen one like it, and by the four legs and two wings, he understood — this was not a wyvern or an slyzard…
No…
This was a more dangerous and mythical creature — a dragon.
And a black one, not a golden one, and such creatures breathe poison, as far as the witcher knew…
That’s why he decided to try to shoot this creature down.
At first, he took aim, and although the creature was hit twice, its scales proved strong, even deflecting arrows that could have done serious damage to an armored knight!..
But the wings of the black reptile proved less resistant to the silvered arrows fired from a trophy elven bow, which was stronger than human ones and could withstand all the force with which the witcher, enhanced by elixirs, drew the string.
Many of his brethren underestimate ranged weapons, preferring to use the strength and agility of their mutation-altered bodies…
But Ksivalt wasn’t a fool.
He understood that the farther he was from the dangerous claws and fangs of the next creature, the less chance he had of dying.
Considering how many witchers his age had ultimately died, while he had survived and even without serious wounds — the native of Kovir considered his tactics more than effective.
Until this moment.
Until, instead of the expected venom spits, which could be easily dodged under the same elixirs, a whole stream of the brightest flame descended upon him.
He had to run.
After all, it was unfortunately autumn, indifferent to poison but favorable to the flame actively blazing around the aging man.
And the black creature wasn’t about to stop!
It flew over him non-stop, pouring fire on him like from a bucket.
He had to dodge, run, stumble, but run as far as possible from the all-consuming flame that was nipping at his heels.
He needed to get to his horse as quickly as possible.
Only she, only she could help him break away from the vicious fire-breathing creature, which could well be considered one of the most terrible creatures in the entire history of the Order of Witchers, not just the School of the Griffin.
“Damn it…
Damn it…” the man cursed, squeezing the maximum out of his body.
There, in the distance, a restlessly twitching horse appeared, tied to one of the last trees in the forest…
And immediately vanished in a stream of furious flame that descended from the sky, which suddenly turned and headed towards the witcher.
The witcher, who took a step back and tried to dash to the right, but…
“Aaaaaah!” Ksivalt cried out, feeling his face literally start to burn.
It wasn’t so much painful, since under elixirs even an open fracture can go unnoticed, as it was extremely unpleasant and terrifying from the realization that his head was literally on fire!
The man threw himself face-first into the ground, trying to bury himself in the soil as deeply as possible…