"Have you forgotten, stranger? I told you…"
"Soon! Soon! Very soon!"
"Soon… we'll meet again…"
Within the flames, Renakins's flesh burned and carbonized.
Even the blackened throat bones were exposed, yet it didn't stop Eredin Bréacc Glas's wild, unrestrained laughter from echoing across the sky.
When Allen heard the voice of Eredin Bréacc Glas, he was startled—but not truly surprised.
After all, this wasn't the first time Eredin Bréacc Glas had appeared.
In the Passolon Forest, there was a Wild Hunt member named Parnoys, who went mad because of the tragic death of his companion (and lover). At the final moment of his life, he had also summoned the King of the Wild Hunt.
The King of the Wild Hunt rebuked Parnoys for his recklessness, ordering him to focus on his mission, and then sent a message to the sorcerers of Ban Ard: "The Red Riders are quite 'satisfied' with your hospitality. After our souls are reborn twice, we shall visit again—with generous gifts—to reclaim our greatest treasure."
Moreover, in The Witcher 1 game, Eredin Bréacc Glas also appeared because of the death of the final boss, Jacques de Aldersberg—who, like Ciri, was also a bearer of the Elder Blood. The King of the Wild Hunt had come to claim his soul.
Therefore, Allen wasn't exactly unprepared for Eredin Bréacc Glas's appearance—even if not entirely expected, he had at least made some mental preparation.
What truly shook Allen's mind wasn't Eredin Bréacc Glas himself, but the words spoken through Renakins's mouth at the moment he appeared—
"Soon… we'll meet again…"
The witcher frowned.
"Eredin should be meeting me for the first time…"
His thoughts froze abruptly. A chill gripped him—his scalp tingled, as if bitten by a venomous snake.
"The Eredin Bréacc Glas of this world—the Witcher's world—should indeed be meeting me for the first time, unless…"
"Unless that wasn't the Eredin Bréacc Glas of this world!"
Yes—he remembered now.
Eredin Bréacc Glas had indeed said those words—that they would meet again—but that had been the Eredin from Ciri's world!
Even if it were a different timeline from the same world, Ciri's timeline should be nearly a hundred years in the future from now…
By any measure, Eredin shouldn't know of his existence.
Allen went numb.
A wave of absolute terror enveloped him. Even though he was sitting firmly on the black dragon's hard, rugged back, he felt as if he were sinking into an endless, frozen abyss.
What did this mean?
It was as if a man who had traveled to the future and killed someone there suddenly returned to his own time—only for the person he'd killed to appear before him, coldly asking why he had done it.
That was utter, complete loss of control.
Butterfly effect, time-space causality, wormhole theory, relativity… countless terms related—or unrelated—to time travel flooded his mind, rustling and gnawing away at his sanity.
But none of them could explain what was happening.
How could they?
Could someone from the past truly foresee the changes that would occur to them in the future?
Or could a person's consciousness actually merge with that of their counterpart in a parallel world?
In the world of the witchers, the expression of ultimate awe and disbelief was often:
"That's something only Melitele, Kreve, or Freya could do."
Meaning—it was impossible.
Only the gods could do such things; mortals certainly could not.
But what Eredin Bréacc Glas had done—what god could compare?
Even Melitele, nearly devoured by the creeping White Frost, had almost faded into obscurity. If even she could perceive the future or parallel worlds, how could she have almost shared the fate of the mountain gods who perished in silence?
"How did Eredin Bréacc Glas do it…?"
The witcher's mind was in chaos. He had already greatly overestimated Eredin Bréacc Glas—but even that was still far from enough.
But…
If Eredin Bréacc Glas was truly that powerful, then why had he appeared so weak back in the Passolon Forest?
A king of the Wild Hunt who could foresee the future and connect to parallel worlds—could such a being truly be stopped by mere distance across space and time, unable even to save his own subordinate?
That contradiction of being both overwhelming and fragile filled the witcher with deep unease—so much so that it almost made him physically sick.
And at that very moment…
The black dragon's flames still burned against Renakins's body. Even as his skin, organs, and flesh completely melted into fat and ash, peeling away from him, his pale white bones remained—protected, it seemed, by some unknown power.
The Wild Hunt rider named Renakins—save for the lack of his skeletal horse—had now truly become the legendary skeleton knight.
"Oh, child of the Elder Blood! You seem quite delighted by my arrival!"
The King of the Wild Hunt burst into wild, terrifying laughter.
"Since you are so delighted—why not join us immediately?"
"Join our ranks! Join our hunt! We will ride together, galloping toward the world's end, toward eternity, toward the end of existence itself!"
"Oh, lost child of the Elder Blood among the Alder Folk—you are ours! Join us, and revel in the ecstasy of the hunt! You belong to us. You are one of us! We are your true home!"
Child of the Elder Blood? Not child of the miracle?
Allen froze for a moment at those words—his chaotic thoughts snapping into focus, but he had no time to think further.
Buzz! Buzz!
Beneath the armor of warlord, the wolf medallion throbbed violently.
The witcher immediately tried to steer the black dragon away—but then he realized it wasn't the medallion that was pulsing.
Or rather, it wasn't just the medallion—it was the Armor of the Wild Hunt itself.
The rusted armor trembled, releasing a powerful surge of magic that began to pull at the witcher, dragging him toward some unknown void.
Allen instantly understood what was happening—and his face turned pale.
[Name: Wild Hunt's Warlord Armor]
…
Set Effect:
…
2. Rebirth: Upon receiving a fatal blow, the armor can be sacrificed, either actively or passively, to transport the wearer to a predetermined location via the Spiral. Current saved location: Tir ná Lia.]
Eredin Bréacc Glas was actually controlling the Warlord Armor—he was actively triggering its special effect "Rebirth," even though his own life wasn't in danger, nor had he willingly sacrificed the armor.
Eredin Bréacc Glas wanted to teleport it straight to the Alder Folk's stronghold—Tir ná Lia!
"Vmmm—"
The trembling of the Warlord Armor grew more intense, startling Allen awake.
Of course! The Warlord Armor of the Wild Hunt was standard issue for them—if there were any hidden backdoors, Eredin Bréacc Glas would certainly know them.
Then…
Allen realized that his control over the armor was rapidly weakening.
Without time to think further, he willed the Warlord Armor back into his Witcher Journal.
Fortunately, the armor had been obtained as a Hunt reward—from a loot chest—otherwise, even with a storage space, he wouldn't have been able to instantly retrieve the helmet, chestplate, gauntlets, pauldrons, greaves, and boots. He would have had to remove them piece by piece.
If that had been the case, he'd probably have been teleported to Tir ná Lia long ago—for a "fan meeting" with perhaps the strongest figures in the Witcher world: Eredin Bréacc Glas, Avallac'h, and Auberon Muircetach.
Allen had indeed once planned to visit Tir ná Lia, but definitely not now—and certainly not like this.
"Hm?"
Once the Warlord Armor vanished from Allen's body, Eredin Bréacc Glas let out a puzzled hum.
He found that he could no longer sense the armor's location at all.
That shouldn't have been possible. The Warlord Armor was standard equipment for the Red Riders—so long as it remained in the same world, no matter the distance, Eredin could still faintly sense its position.
This was because, when the Red Riders invaded other worlds, unstable spirals or spatial rifts often scattered them, leaving some stranded and unable to return.
Only by sensing the location of every Warlord Armor could they regroup quickly.
After all, every Red Rider was a precious asset of the Alder Folk.
Falling in battle was acceptable—vanishing was not.
"How interesting…"
In the hollow white sockets of Renakins' skull, a gray-blue flame flickered to life. He looked at the Witcher with eerie amusement.
Allen felt as if a venomous serpent slithered beneath his skin, its forked tongue brushing his spine. A cold chill ran down his back.
"I can't stay here…" the Witcher decided at once.
Renakins' condition clearly looked beyond saving—he was merely a disposable vessel for Eredin Bréacc Glas's intrusion into this world.
Even if Renakins somehow survived, Allen would never dare bring him back to Kaer Morhen.
Having made up his mind, the Witcher ignored Ortolan and his Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization below, steering the black dragon with all his strength toward the outskirts of Ban Ard.
"Whu—shhh—whu—shhh—"
The black dragon's wings rose and fell unevenly. Though Allen hadn't fought intensely, his breath came hard and heavy, gasping like one suffocating from lack of air.
At full flight speed, the black dragon soon left Ban Ard's boundaries without encountering any obstacles.
Allen couldn't help glancing back.
Eredin Bréacc Glas hadn't followed. The dragonfire had died out, yet Renakins' small figure remained visible.
It was as if he stood upon some invisible solid plane, suspended in midair, gray-blue ghostfire glowing in his sockets, staring wordlessly at the departing Witcher.
"I see," Allen exhaled lightly, "this world follows the law of energy conservation as well."
"For Eredin to manifest here through Renakins must've consumed an immense amount of power—especially when he also tried to wrest control of the Warlord Armor from me and activate its set effect…"
"And Renakins was already gravely wounded, then burned by dragonfire until only bones remained. How much energy could possibly be left for Eredin to spend?"
The more he reasoned it out, the more Allen relaxed.
Still, he didn't lower his guard. He kept the black dragon under control, flying westward at full speed.
West of Ban Ard was, of course, not toward Kaer Morhen. Allen feared Eredin might remember the direction of his escape, so flying straight north was out of the question.
Compared to Aedirn, where he had some connections, and Temeria, where his ties ran deep, Redania—with its lingering grudges—was the better choice.
By the time the black dragon completely left Ban Ard's territory, Eredin was reduced to only a faint, flickering gray-blue light in the distance—confirming Allen's suspicions.
The King of the Wild Hunt truly had no energy left.
Once he was sure of safety, the Witcher had enough presence of mind to think as he flew.
"'Child of the Elder Blood'…" he murmured, recalling every word Eredin Bréacc Glas had spoken upon appearing. "That's Ciri's title—her gift, her bloodline. No one has ever called me that."
"Even though my mystical attributes have improved, balancing my elemental affinities and letting me manipulate primal power—that only means I resonate more with the source, not that I possess Elder Blood."
"I have never been of the Elder Blood. I am the Child of Miracles."
"They are completely different."
"Eredin's judgment must come from the time-space where Ciri exists. He's not as all-powerful as I imagined—otherwise, he wouldn't have mistaken me for her…"
Once calm, Allen gleaned much from the flaws in Eredin's words—and finally breathed a full sigh of relief.
"Good… it's not that kind of despairing, unbeatable power."
He truly couldn't imagine how one could ever fight back against an Eredin Bréacc Glas who could freely manipulate both the future and parallel worlds.
And if Eredin Bréacc Glas was truly that powerful, then what kind of concept would the White Frost be—the very thing that even drove the Alder Folk to despair and hide in fear?
He feared that even with the Witcher Journal in hand, he would lose all will to resist.
Once he returned to Kaer Morhen, he might not care anymore about Hen Gedymdeith, or the Chief, or the Witcher Corps, or even the future of the School of the Wolf…
He would just do as Vera had once planned—buy an estate covered in grapevines in Toussaint, completely give up, and live out his days in leisure until the White Frost arrived.
"Besides…"
The Witcher frowned, another thought crossing his mind.
"Renakins always called me a thief—a thief who stole the power of the Ard Gaeth Gate. But the Elder Blood belonged to the Alder Folk. Eredin and Avallac'h had created it as their most successful research result, meant to solve the problem of their declining bloodline and the gradual loss of their ability to travel through time and space."
"In the future, the Alder Folk's method of dealing with Ciri, the Child of the Elder Blood, was breeding—to have her mate with the King of the Alders, Auberon Muircetach—so that the Elder Blood might return to the veins of their kind."
"But Renakins always attacked on sight, never showing mercy."
"The reason he came to this world was for the fragments and guidance stone of the Ard Gaeth Gate that the Wild Hunt lost in the Forest of Passolon."
"So Renakins came to reclaim those fragments and the guidance stone. Catching me would be ideal, but killing me would be fine too."
"Clearly, Eredin and Renakins have very different attitudes—extremely different ones…"
Allen paused in thought, feeling a bit confused.
"Could it be that their information isn't shared?"
"Then why was Renakins able to locate me through the conjunction of the spheres, and later even track me directly?"
"Could it be that it wasn't Eredin who helped him?"
"Or perhaps the information isn't completely disconnected, only partially shared?"
-----------------------------------
A web of doubts flickered through the Witcher's mind, and in his distraction, he didn't notice that the gray-blue glow of Eredin Bréacc Glas suddenly flickered once—then vanished.
When he finally noticed, he simply sighed in relief, not thinking much of it.
"So, his energy's finally run out… he's gone?"
But just then—
The black dragon beneath him suddenly dipped. Allen froze for an instant, then his expression changed drastically.
"Of course not, Child of the Elder Blood…"
"How could I possibly leave like this?"
"I merely dislike having a third party intrude upon the story between us…"
A hoarse, low voice—accompanied by the stench of burnt flesh—drifted toward the Witcher from behind.
.......
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