Sebastian didn't think, the moment he read the content of that parchment settled, something in him snapped, he turned and was in the saddle before the stable boy of the inn could even react.
Seb kicked the horse forward. "Why…" he muttered under his breath, the word almost lost to the rush of wind.
The streets blurred and people shouted as he tore through them, carts rattling as he clipped past them too close for comfort.
"Watch where you're going, you bastard!"
A man barely jumped out of the way, cursing after him, but Sebastian didn't slow. Didn't even look back, his grip tightened on the reins.
And rode even faster.
The city gates came into view, and he didn't stop, just rode straight through, guards shouting something he didn't bother to hear.
The road stretched ahead, cutting through the outskirts.
And in the distance, he could see it
Smoke thick and dark.
"…No," he breathed, though he already knew.
The horse surged forward beneath him, driven harder now, hooves pounding against dirt and stone until the estate of Count Wilfrid came into full view,
And it was already lost, flames devoured it.
What had once been manicured gardens and stone elegance was now a roaring inferno, fire spilling from windows, crawling along the rooftops, consuming everything it touched. The crackle of burning wood loud enough to drown out the distant murmurs of the gathered crowd.
People had come to watch.
To whisper and to stare.
Sebastian slowed only when he had to, pulling the horse to a halt at the edge of the chaos before dismounting slowly.
He barely registered the faces around him as he pushed through them, curious, horrified, some even… entertained.
"... so I heard he lost his mind.."
"He killed her himself..."
"...hung in his own garden, they said."
Their voices blurred together.
He found the guards, the same ones he met, still standing there at the gates, still breathing.
Sebastian's hand shot out, grabbing one of them by the breastplate and yanking him forward hard enough that the man stumbled.
"What the fuck happened!"
There was no trace of calm in his voice.
And no patience, just anger.
The guard's eyes widened in recognition.
"M-Master Witcher!"
"We...we didn't.." he stammered.
The other guard stepped in quickly, words spilling out in a rush.
"It happened after you left Master Witcher," he said, voice tight. "During the night. The Count...he dismissed the servants, all of them. Said their services were no longer needed. Paid them extra, told them to leave the grounds before dusk."
Sebastian's grip tightened.
The guard swallowed and continued.
"He seemed… relieved," he said. "Calm, even. Said his wife was cured. That everything was finally as it should be."
A bitter, disbelieving huff escaped him.
"We believed him..."
The first guard found his voice again, desperation creeping into it.
"He dismissed us too," he said quickly. "Gave us coin, told us to go enjoy ourselves in the city. Said there was no more need for guards tonight, since all is well..."
His eyes flickered toward the burning estate.
"We were happy for him," he added, quieter now. "Thought the nightmare was over."
Sebastian said nothing.
The second guard continued, lowering his voice.
"By the time we came back… it was already burning.. and his wife..."
He hesitated.
"…dead," he finished. "Inside. Killed before the fire took the place."
Sebastian's jaw tightened.
"And the Count?" he asked, though he already knew.
The guard swallowed.
"In the garden," he said. "Hanged himself."
Then Sebastian moved, shoving the first guard away. The man stumbled back, losing his footing and dropping hard onto the ground, armor clanking against stone.
"You're telling me," Sebastian said, his voice sharper now, even colder, "he did all of that… and you just let him?"
The guard on the ground shook his head frantically.
"He locked the gates!" he said. "From the inside! We couldn't get in, not without breaking them down, and by the time we realized..."
"We were too late," the other finished, his voice hollow.
The flames roared behind them.
Sebastian stared at them for a moment longer, then he let go.
The anger didn't vanish and he turned and faced the estate.
The fire painted everything in shades of orange and gold, reflections dancing across his Witcher eyes as he watched it burn.
"…Damn it all," he muttered.
His voice was quieter now, Not for them, this was for himself.
"I had a bad feeling," he said, almost to the flames. "But not this."
The heat brushed against his face, but he didn't move or feel it.
"Why did you do it…" he went on, his tone tightening. "There were other ways. There were choices."
His gaze dropped slightly, unfocused.
"Yes… she deserved punishment," he admitted. "Maybe even death."
"But this…"
The fire cracked, a beam collapsing somewhere within the estate.
Sebastian closed his eyes.
Just for a moment.
"…This wasn't justice, you just let everything crumble by doing this."
The words felt hollow, and he knew it.
A breath left him slowly.
"…I hate that he's always right."
His eyes opened again, the flames still reflected there, but something else beneath them now. Because part of him knew exactly what the Count had done.
Cut away the rot and burned it all.
Left nothing behind.
Sebastian turned away and didn't look back.
The murmurs of the crowd followed him as he walked, distant, meaningless.
He reached his horse, mounted without a word, and pulled the reins.
The animal shifted beneath him, and for a second, he hesitated.
Then he rode away from the flames, away from the estate.
Away from the man who had chosen fire and death over living with what remained.
.
.
.
THREE WEEKS LATER – TEMERIA
The corpse hit the ground with a wet, final thud and Geralt didn't lower his sword right away.
He stood there, still as stone, silver blade angled slightly downward, watching the creature as if expecting it to rise again out of sheer spite. Only when the silence settled, real silence, did he exhale and wipe the blade clean in one smooth move.
The lesser vampire, the Fleder was done. It was different here. Temeria wasn't Kaedwen. The woods were greener, fuller.
Ciri stepped forward, brushing a loose strand of ashen hair from her face, her sword still in hand though lowered now. Her boots pressed into the damp earth as she circled the corpse.
"…Ugly thing," she muttered.
Geralt sheathed his sword.
"They usually are."
Ciri glanced at him, then back at the monster.
"You made that look easy."
Geralt's lips twitched faintly.
"It wasn't."
She huffed softly, unconvinced, instead, she wiped her blade and slid it back into its scabbard, rolling her shoulder slightly.
A breeze passed through the trees, carrying away some of the stench.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
"It's been a few days since we got here," Ciri said, "Are we really going to meet this friend of yours soon?"
Geralt adjusted the straps on his gauntlet, gaze drifting briefly toward the path ahead.
"Yeah," he said. "He should've received my letter by now, we'll meet in Vizima."
Ciri raised an eyebrow.
"The capital," she said. "That's… reassuring."
Geralt glanced at her.
"They've got good intel there, Temeria is not in good terms with Nilfgaard afterall."
Ciri folded her arms loosely, looking out through the trees as if she could already see the city beyond them.
"I hope that's true," she said.
Geralt stepped past the corpse, boots quiet against the forest floor.
"It is."
/-\
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