Chapter 80: An Encounter with Geralt
Looking at the shifty-eyed elf, Red-Kite was momentarily lost in the memory of the abuse and humiliation the elves had subjected her to earlier that day. Her eyes hardened. She snatched the bow and arrow from her back and aimed it at Toruviel.
"What are you doing?!" The female elf thudded as she fell from the wagon bed to the ground, desperately twisting her body, trying to dodge the incoming arrow.
Just as Red-Kite was about to commit, a flash of insight struck Toruviel, and she shouted:
"They didn't use fire! I can vouch for that!"
"Didn't use fire?" A flicker of confusion crossed Red-Kite's eyes, and her hand froze. She allowed Arthur to gently press the bow down, and she asked: "How did you boil this hot soup?"
Arthur proudly thumped his chest: "Who says you need fire to boil soup? I used electricity! Watch!"
With that, he squatted down again, his hands hovering beneath the helmet, and the water immediately began to boil once more.
Red-Kite let out a long, shaky breath, leaning against the tree trunk as she sat down: "That's wonderful. I was actually worried you wouldn't be used to eating raw meat…"
Zoltan wiped the corner of his mouth, quickly dumping the prepared chunks of rabbit meat into the helmet: "Heh heh, don't you worry. We're the most disciplined bunch. It's best for everyone, right?"
As a typical Dwarf, Zoltan harbored a considerable pursuit of culinary excellence. This was evident in the fact that even when they abandoned most of their luggage while chasing the elves, he stubbornly kept his jars and bottles full of seasonings.
And now, that small stubbornness was paying rich dividends. Before it was even fully dark, a rich aroma was wafting from the helmet.
Just as they gathered in a circle, ready to enjoy the savory broth, a few voices drifted over from the distance:
"That smells good! Who's cooking?" A young girl's voice.
"Who dares to light a fire in Brokilon?"
Immediately, a young woman's sharp reprimand rushed closer amid hasty footsteps, followed by a man's shout: "Calm down, Braenn! Don't be rash!"
The branches at the edge of the camp suddenly shook, and a dryad burst into the clearing. Her skin was as vividly green as summer leaves, and her hair was braided into many thin locks that bounced up and down as she ran, looking like countless small snakes.
Seeing the steaming helmet among the group, her eyes instantly flared with rage. She angrily drew her longbow and aimed it at Arthur.
"Braenn, it's me! Don't be hasty!" Red-Kite spread her arms, trying to block the dryad, but the dryad merely gave her a cold glance and released the bowstring without hesitation.
Red-Kite desperately lunged toward Arthur, trying to shield him from the arrow. But how could a human's movement be faster than an arrow?
The arrow let out only a short shriek, grazing past Red-Kite a foot away, driving straight for Arthur's eye socket!
Boom! Seeing the arrow approach, Arthur's left hand shot up like lightning. A shockwave was activated without any warning, tearing the arrow to shreds and knocking the attacking dryad off her feet.
The instinctive casting of a [Battlefield Caster] was proving useful.
The dryad rolled on the ground. When she tried to draw her bow to shoot again, a large foot swung out and kicked her directly in the face, sending her slender body flying through the air until she hit a large tree and stopped.
Arthur pinned the dryad's arm with one foot, signaling Zoltan behind him to hold his horses and keep an eye on Red-Kite.
The dryad snorted coldly, turning her head away, looking unyielding.
Arthur scoffed, picking up her fallen longbow, and made a show of snapping it: "If you don't speak, I'm going to break this."
The threat worked. The dryad, named Braenn, struggled, trying to snatch back her bow:
Looking at the shifty-eyed elf, Red-Kite was momentarily lost in the memory of the abuse and humiliation the elves had subjected her to earlier that day. Her eyes hardened. She snatched the bow and arrow from her back and aimed it at Toruviel.
"What are you doing?!" The female elf thudded as she fell from the wagon bed to the ground, desperately twisting her body, trying to dodge the incoming arrow.
Just as Red-Kite was about to commit, a flash of insight struck Toruviel, and she shouted:
"They didn't use fire! I can vouch for that!"
"Didn't use fire?" A flicker of confusion crossed Red-Kite's eyes, and her hand froze. She allowed Arthur to gently press the bow down, and she asked: "How did you boil this hot soup?"
Arthur proudly thumped his chest: "Who says you need fire to boil soup? I used electricity! Watch!"
With that, he squatted down again, his hands hovering beneath the helmet, and the water immediately began to boil once more.
Red-Kite let out a long, shaky breath, leaning against the tree trunk as she sat down: "That's wonderful. I was actually worried you wouldn't be used to eating raw meat…"
Zoltan wiped the corner of his mouth, quickly dumping the prepared chunks of rabbit meat into the helmet: "Heh heh, don't you worry. We're the most disciplined bunch. It's best for everyone, right?"
As a typical Dwarf, Zoltan harbored a considerable pursuit of culinary excellence. This was evident in the fact that even when they abandoned most of their luggage while chasing the elves, he stubbornly kept his jars and bottles full of seasonings.
And now, that small stubbornness was paying rich dividends. Before it was even fully dark, a rich aroma was wafting from the helmet.
Just as they gathered in a circle, ready to enjoy the savory broth, a few voices drifted over from the distance:
"That smells good! Who's cooking?" A young girl's voice.
"Who dares to light a fire in Brokilon?"
Immediately, a young woman's sharp reprimand rushed closer amid hasty footsteps, followed by a man's shout: "Calm down, Braenn! Don't be rash!"
The branches at the edge of the camp suddenly shook, and a dryad burst into the clearing. Her skin was as vividly green as summer leaves, and her hair was braided into many thin locks that bounced up and down as she ran, looking like countless small snakes.
Seeing the steaming helmet among the group, her eyes instantly flared with rage. She angrily drew her longbow and aimed it at Arthur.
"Braenn, it's me! Don't be hasty!" Red-Kite spread her arms, trying to block the dryad, but the dryad merely gave her a cold glance and released the bowstring without hesitation.
Red-Kite desperately lunged toward Arthur, trying to shield him from the arrow. But how could a human's movement be faster than an arrow?
The arrow let out only a short shriek, grazing past Red-Kite a foot away, driving straight for Arthur's eye socket!
Boom! Seeing the arrow approach, Arthur's left hand shot up like lightning. A shockwave was activated without any warning, tearing the arrow to shreds and knocking the attacking dryad off her feet.
The instinctive casting of a [Battlefield Caster] was proving useful.
The dryad rolled on the ground. When she tried to draw her bow to shoot again, a large foot swung out and kicked her directly in the face, sending her slender body flying through the air until she hit a large tree and stopped.
Arthur pinned the dryad's arm with one foot, signaling Zoltan behind him to hold his horses and keep an eye on Red-Kite.
The dryad snorted coldly, turning her head away, looking unyielding.
Arthur scoffed, picking up her fallen longbow, and made a show of snapping it: "If you don't speak, I'm going to break this."
The threat worked. The dryad, named Braenn, struggled, trying to snatch back her bow: "You lit a fire in our territory, and you ask why—"
Her voice suddenly caught in her throat. Beneath the helmet, which was giving off a savory meat aroma, there was no flame, not even a single piece of wood!
The dryad stopped struggling, her mind seized by confusion.
"Stop fighting! Let's talk this out!"
Fortunately, the man following them broke the awkward silence with a greeting. He didn't look old, but his hair was almost entirely white.
Arthur nodded at him, handed Braenn's longbow to Red-Kite, and slowly lifted his foot.
Red-Kite quickly helped Braenn up, saying with a mix of warning and exasperation: "Next time you plan to shoot someone, you'd better look closely first. Mr. Arthur did not use fire in the forest."
Braenn coughed up a fleck of blood, hissing: "Humans are forbidden in Brokilon! By defending them, are you planning to betray the dryads?"
Red-Kite frowned slightly: "Arthur and his companions are heading to Duén Canell to see the Queen. They are from Temeria; their friend was offered as tribute to Duén Canell by the elves. I had the little birds spread this message this afternoon. Did you not hear, or do you simply not care? If bringing humans counts as betraying the dryads, then what about those two behind you?"
Ever since Eithné saved her, Red-Kite had considered herself a dryad, undertaking many dangerous tasks without complaint. Yet today, her identity had been challenged and criticized multiple times, leaving her full of pent-up anger. Her resentment now burst forth like a volley of arrows, every word striking Braenn to the core, rendering the young dryad utterly speechless.
"Kolgrim?" The white-haired man spoke first, breaking the awkward silence with a greeting: "I thought you'd returned to the south. I never expected to see you again in Brokilon."
Kolgrim also stepped forward, gently shaking the man's hand: "I didn't expect to run into the famous White Wolf in this place either." He turned, pointing to the others to introduce them: "This young human fellow is my new apprentice, Arthur Dane. And this is Zoltan, a good friend I met along the way."
Kolgrim turned his head, about to introduce the white-haired Witcher to Arthur and Zoltan, when the branches shook violently again. A small girl in a gray jacket popped out:
"Geralt! You promised to give me a piggyback ride!"
Immediately, her attention was drawn to the meat soup in the helmet: "Wow, that smells so good!"
He is Geralt?
Arthur sized up the white-haired man, his eyes also fixated on the gem-studded sword hilt on the man's back: "Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf! The genius Witcher of the Wolf School! The friend of nearly all non-human races! The Butcher of Blaviken! I've been wanting to meet you for ages! You must be hungry. Dinner will be ready soon, come eat with us!"
The conversation was so jumpy that Geralt was momentarily dazed. But the term 'Butcher of Blaviken' was used so skillfully that a small smile broke out on his face. He found himself sitting down next to the helmet: "They are just empty titles, mostly exaggerations from my friends."
Geralt gently restrained the little girl who couldn't wait for the soup to finish cooking, and asked: "Humans rarely venture into Brokilon. Is there something you need here?"
Kolgrim frowned. Geralt's question seemed casual, but his stance clearly favored the dryads. He intended to answer on Arthur's behalf, but Arthur was too quick:
"Dandelion was offered as tribute to the dryads by the elves. We have to rescue him."
"What?!"
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