"Of course, whether you choose to respond to his request is entirely up to you. It depends on your own principles and judgment."
At those words, Karl's slightly furrowed brows eased. A faint flicker of surprise crossed his eyes as he took a second look at the woman before him—now no longer Yennefer, but Natasha.
It had to be acknowledged: although Natasha could sometimes appear proud, even sharp-edged, she was far from foolish. She understood power—how it functioned, how it influenced people, and, more importantly, how to navigate it.
Having learned from past encounters, she adjusted her demeanor with remarkable speed. Her tone softened, her posture became measured, and her words gained a calculated precision. She did not fully understand the significance of the temple to Karl, but through observation alone, she had deduced that it held considerable weight in his world.
More impressively, she leveraged Niedamir's reverence and dependence with subtlety, securing tangible advantages without appearing overtly manipulative. At the same time, she demonstrated restraint. She recognized that Karl might not appreciate being entangled in mundane political affairs, so she deliberately positioned herself as an intermediary.
This achieved multiple objectives at once.
It provided Niedamir with a sense of security—an indirect connection to something greater—while sparing Karl from unnecessary disturbances. Natasha absorbed the burden of communication, filtering out trivial matters while preserving the essence of what truly mattered.
Such foresight was rare.
Many sorceresses possessed immense magical ability, yet lacked the social acuity required to navigate power structures. Natasha, however, displayed a blend of intelligence, restraint, and strategic awareness that set her apart.
Aside from Triss, she was one of the few individuals who could make Karl feel genuinely at ease.
As for her ambitions, Karl understood them well. Natasha did not crave authority in the traditional sense. She had rejected prestigious positions—court advisor, royal consultant—not out of arrogance, but out of a desire for independence.
Her motivations were more nuanced.
She valued connections, alliances, and the subtle influence that came from being indispensable yet unbound. And perhaps, just perhaps, there was also a personal element—an inclination to look after Geralt's associates.
Since she was both intelligent and, in a sense, part of his extended circle, Karl did not mind revealing small fragments of his truth to her. Trust, after all, was built through controlled disclosure.
He gave a light cough, his expression softening into a faint smile.
"Ms. Natasha," he said, "your insight and handling of the situation are commendable."
Then, as if shifting gears, his smile turned slightly enigmatic.
"However… there may be no need for such a complicated arrangement."
Natasha's brows knit together in confusion.
Karl continued calmly, "As long as Niedamir—or anyone within his domain—is sincerely praying to me…"
He paused briefly, letting the weight of his words settle.
"…I can hear them."
For a moment, time seemed to stop.
Natasha's expression froze. Her eyes widened, filled with disbelief and something bordering on fear. She stared at him as if trying to determine whether he was joking.
Hearing prayers?
That was not magic.
That was something else entirely.
That was the domain of gods.
Her mind raced, trying to reconcile what she had just heard with everything she knew about the world. Magic had limits. Even the most powerful spells required structure, energy, and intention.
But this… this transcended all of that.
Karl offered no further explanation. He simply smiled—a quiet, knowing smile—and turned away.
With a single step, he passed through the portal and vanished.
Natasha remained where she stood, her thoughts in turmoil. Doubt, curiosity, and an unshakable urge to understand burned within her.
Only when Geralt's voice called from the other side did she finally stir.
She cast one last lingering glance at the dragon's cave before stepping through the portal.
The moment her feet touched the ground of Terra, the energy sustaining the portal collapsed. The shimmering sparks faded, dissolving into golden particles that scattered into the air.
Within seconds, the portal was gone.
It was as if it had never existed.
Only the faint residual energy lingering in the atmosphere served as proof that what had just occurred was real.
—
Back in Terra, the group dispersed.
Geralt and Natasha retreated almost immediately, their unresolved tension evident to anyone paying attention. The atmosphere between them was charged—dense enough that even casual observers could sense it.
The Tia sisters, perceptive as ever, exchanged a glance and chose not to interfere.
Dandelion, on the other hand, wasted no time. He rushed straight into a tavern, brimming with excitement. His mind was already crafting verses, embellishing every detail of the dragon hunt into something grander, more poetic.
Before long, songs of "Arnfatti" battling the golden dragon would echo across the Northern lands.
Karl, meanwhile, focused on more practical matters.
He personally guided Borch and Milgatabrek in selecting a suitable place to reside within Terra. After careful consideration, they chose a remote mountain peak.
The location was ideal.
It was far from major settlements, ensuring privacy, yet elevated enough to provide a wide vantage point. The terrain was steep and naturally fortified, with caves that offered shelter and concealment.
For creatures like dragons, it was perfect.
Karl set clear boundaries. Hunting livestock was strictly forbidden. However, given the vast wilderness of Terra—its forests teeming with wildlife and distant mountains rich with prey—there would be no shortage of food.
Borch, experienced in human society and capable of assuming human form, would serve as a guide. With his assistance, Milgatabrek would adapt quickly, minimizing the risk of conflict with nearby populations.
With these arrangements in place, Karl withdrew.
His attention shifted entirely to what mattered most: growth.
Power.
The mere thought of the Cthulhu gods was enough to unsettle him.
Their existence defied logic. Their power was immense, alien, and deeply disturbing. Even recalling the fleeting glimpse of Dagon—seen through the water's surface—sent a sharp discomfort through his mind.
It wasn't just fear.
It was contamination.
Their presence carried a kind of madness, something corrosive that gnawed at the psyche. Even a fragment—a mere projection—was overwhelming.
If such beings were to be encountered again, the battle would not be simple.
Karl exhaled slowly, forcing those thoughts aside.
There was no value in dwelling on what could not yet be faced.
He closed his eyes.
His breathing steadied.
His consciousness turned inward.
Gradually, he began to gather and refine the divine energy within him.
Days passed.
Then weeks.
Time lost its meaning as he immersed himself completely in cultivation.
High above the ground, where Karl remained suspended, an unusual phenomenon began to take shape.
The sunlight itself seemed to bend.
Rays converged, drawn toward a single point as if guided by an unseen force. The light grew denser, brighter—forming a radiant sphere that stood apart from the surrounding sky.
Within this luminous domain, tiny golden specks began to appear.
They were almost invisible.
Minute. Fleeting.
Like fireflies, they flickered into existence, drifting aimlessly before fading away.
But their numbers increased.
And their behavior began to change.
At first, they moved randomly.
Then, subtly, they started to align.
Karl's eyes opened.
A flash of gold shimmered within them.
In that instant, the drifting particles froze.
It was as though a silent command had been issued.
Every speck of light turned in unison.
Then, like a swarm responding to a signal, they surged toward him.
Streams of golden energy flowed into his body, merging seamlessly with his being.
Karl raised his hand slowly.
His palm faced upward.
There, hovering just above it, was something extraordinary.
A droplet.
It was no larger than the tip of a child's finger.
Perfectly round.
Flawless.
Its surface shimmered with a pure, radiant gold—dense with power, yet calm, almost serene.
It was a condensation of divine energy.
A single, concentrated unit of something far greater than mere magic.
Karl studied it in silence.
This… was the result of weeks of effort.
And only the beginning.
The droplet hovered steadily, unaffected by gravity, as though it existed under an entirely different set of laws.
Karl's gaze hardened slightly.
If one droplet could be formed…
Then more would follow.
And with each one, he would move closer to something beyond mortal comprehension.
Something divine.
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