This young man possessed not only an unfathomable power that clearly did not belong to any known magical system, but also the ability to construct extremely efficient spells capable of blocking even advanced mental detection.
Who exactly was he?
Karl silently pondered this question as his gaze moved between Geralt and Natasha. The atmosphere around the two of them was so dense with intimacy that it seemed almost visible—soft, cloying, and filled with an unspoken warmth that made Karl instinctively curl his lip in mild discomfort.
He cleared his throat deliberately, the sound cutting through the overly "harmonious" mood like a blade. His dark eyes settled primarily on Natasha.
"Natasha," Karl said calmly, his voice even but firm, "quarrels are often nothing more than the result of poor communication."
He paused briefly, then continued, his tone carrying a subtle weight of authority. "I hope you can treat each other with sincerity, instead of constantly relying on spells to 'persuade' Geralt."
The word persuade was spoken with deliberate emphasis.
Karl's eyes narrowed slightly, a faint but unmistakable warning glinting within them. "He is my friend."
The implication was obvious.
If Geralt ever felt genuinely troubled by her behavior and chose to ask for help, Karl would not hesitate to intervene. As a friend, he would never stand by and watch in silence. And if Natasha were to suffer consequences because of that intervention, she would have no one to blame but herself.
Natasha's violet eyes flickered almost imperceptibly. A smile appeared on her lips, graceful yet somewhat forced.
She was accustomed to being in control—whether through magic, charm, or sheer force of will. Few dared to challenge her dominance in personal relationships, let alone openly criticize her methods.
But Karl was different.
He did not follow conventional rules, and more importantly, his strength was terrifyingly real. Faced with someone like him, Natasha knew better than to let her arrogance run unchecked.
"Your Excellency," she replied smoothly, though her voice carried a trace of tension, "I believe you may have misunderstood. I—I hardly ever use spells to threaten Geralt."
She hesitated, as if carefully weighing her next words, then added with a hint of self-mockery, "If the occasional mind-reading doesn't count, that is."
Karl did not respond immediately.
Instead, he shifted his gaze to Geralt, who had remained silent throughout the exchange. Karl searched his friend's expression, seeking confirmation rather than confrontation.
Geralt's face was as impassive as ever, but he gave a nearly imperceptible nod.
That small movement was enough.
It confirmed just how much the word hardly was meant to conceal.
Only then did Karl allow a faint smile to surface. "I hope so, Lady Natasha."
His tone suggested acceptance of her explanation, yet the warning beneath it remained undiminished, lingering in the air like an unspoken threat.
Karl turned to Geralt, smoothly shifting the topic. His demeanor relaxed, becoming noticeably more casual. "By the way, Geralt, how long do you plan to stay in Terra?"
"If you'd like," he added, "I can ask Hans and the others to show you around. Terra has changed quite a bit since your last visit."
Geralt glanced down at Natasha, who was still leaning against him. Her arms were wrapped around his, but her eyes reflected complicated emotions stirred by the previous exchange.
He shook his head. "There's no need, Karl."
"You are the Lord of Terra. They should be assisting you with the affairs of the territory, not accompanying us on a casual stroll."
At his words, Natasha's grip on his arm tightened slightly.
Geralt lowered his voice and added, "Besides… Natasha and I need to talk."
Natasha let out a soft, ambiguous hum. She neither openly agreed nor immediately mocked the idea, which in itself was unusual for her.
Karl nodded, satisfied. He said nothing further on the matter.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a gleaming silver coin and casually tossed it onto the counter, which was still in disarray from the earlier conflict.
"Compensation for the chairs," he said simply.
With that, he turned and walked out of the inn, his footsteps steady and unhurried.
Only after Karl's figure completely disappeared into the bustling street outside did Natasha feel an invisible weight lift from her chest. She released a quiet sigh.
Turning back to Geralt, she crossed her arms beneath her chest and resumed her familiar, scrutinizing posture. Her expression once again carried teasing confidence, though deep within her eyes lingered a trace of caution that had not been there before.
"Geralt," she said with a half-smile, "this friend of yours is truly impressive."
"He doesn't look older than that bard of yours who sings off-key love songs all day, yet he feels far more mature—and far more dangerous."
She tilted her head slightly, mischief dancing in her gaze. "It's a good thing he isn't a witcher."
"Otherwise, back in Kaer Morhen, even that foul-mouthed Lambert would probably rank above you. You'd only be third at best."
Before Geralt could respond, Natasha suddenly grabbed his arm with surprising force. She spun around and began pulling him toward the staircase leading to the inn's second floor.
Geralt stumbled slightly. "Natasha, what are you doing?"
She glanced back at him, one eyebrow raised. A smile bloomed across her face—equal parts temptation, provocation, and lingering resentment.
"What am I doing?" she echoed lightly. "Didn't your dear friend Karl say you mutter about loving me even in your dreams?"
Her voice turned deliberately sweet. "That life holds no meaning without me?"
"Then," she whispered, "let me see just how passionate that love truly is."
Unbeknownst to her, Karl—who had only just walked a short distance from the inn—had placed a discreet voice marker on Natasha earlier. Her words were captured clearly.
His step faltered mid-stride.
Karl's expression twitched, and for a rare moment, he was rendered speechless.
"…These two," he muttered to himself, shaking his head, "are truly made for each other. They should just stay locked together."
He couldn't help but feel that his role in the earlier confrontation had been somewhat unnecessary.
If he hadn't intervened, Geralt probably wouldn't have faced any real danger. At worst, under Natasha's uniquely intense 'education of love,' his body—or soul—might ache for ten days or half a month.
And perhaps that was simply their own private form of intimacy, something outsiders could never fully understand.
Shaking off these distracting thoughts, Karl quickened his pace and returned to the lord's residence behind the temple. From there, he made his way into his private meditation room.
Once inside, Karl settled down and began to organize his perceptions, focusing on the Power of Faith that had recently gathered.
As his consciousness sank inward, streams of multicolored faith energy slowly unfolded before him. Each strand carried emotions of awe, reverence, and prayer.
He carefully distinguished their sources and quality, and what he found surprised him.
The number of potential believers in Terra who could provide stable Power of Faith was far greater than he had anticipated.
Moreover, this was not the shallow devotion of casual believers—those who merely claimed belief in words and forgot their prayers soon after. These people genuinely regarded him as a sun god or divine protector.
They attended prayer ceremonies at the temple, offered worship during festivals, and silently called upon him during moments of hardship in their daily lives.
Yet even as Karl acknowledged this growing foundation of faith, he remained acutely aware of the difference.
Compared to Geral—the first and most devout of his believers—the quality of faith from the others still fell far short.
The gap between believers was real, vast, and something Karl would need to address carefully in the future.
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