Chapter 76: Geralt Deepening - Shared Contract
The Member Locator had pinged Geralt's presence in Kaedwen three days ago.
Not technically a guild member—he'd refused formal oath—but his Witcher alliance with our organization meant the system tracked him as affiliate. The ping showed him moving through forested territory northeast of Ard Carraigh, where villages had reported monster problems for weeks.
I teleported to our regional outpost, then traveled by horse toward the area. Not interception—opportunity. If Geralt was hunting something significant, working alongside him could build relationship that diplomatic letters hadn't managed.
The village of Blackthorn was easier to find by smell than by map—smoke from recent fires, the acrid tang of fear hanging in the air. Thatched roofs showed burn damage, livestock pens stood empty, and the handful of residents who emerged watched my approach with the hollow expressions of people who'd lost too much to hope.
"The Witcher?" I asked the elder who served as reluctant spokesperson.
"In the forest. The creature... it killed three more yesterday. The white-haired one said he'd handle it." The elder's voice carried doubt that experience had earned. "We've heard that before."
"Then you'll have two hunters instead of one."
The forest grew wrong.
Trees twisted at angles that defied natural growth patterns, their bark bearing symbols I recognized from meta-knowledge I shouldn't possess. Leshen territory. The ancient forest spirit had claimed this land, and everything within its domain bent to its will.
Geralt crouched beside a totem pole—carved wood stained with old blood, radiating malevolent energy that my Danger Sense registered as constant low-level threat.
"Following me?" His voice carried no greeting, just the flat observation of someone who'd noticed my approach long before I reached speaking distance.
"Happy coincidence. The guild received reports of monster activity in this region. I came to assess." The partial truth that explained presence without revealing the tracking. "Leshen?"
"Old one. Been here for centuries, probably. Something disturbed it recently—made it aggressive, territorial. Three villages have lost people in the past month."
"And you're hunting it alone?"
"I've killed leshen before."
"This one seems... established." The twisted trees extended in every direction, the corruption deep enough that even the air felt wrong. "How many totems have you found?"
"Four. Destroyed two, marked the others." He stood, studying me with the evaluation I'd come to recognize. "You know leshen?"
"I know research. They draw power from totems—destroy the anchors, weaken the spirit." I gestured toward the remaining carved pole. "This one's network seems extensive."
"It is." He hesitated—not from uncertainty, but from the calculation of whether accepting help served his purposes. "You fight?"
"I fight. Not Witcher-level, but I won't be liability."
"Hmm." The noncommittal sound that could mean anything. Then: "Take the totem on the eastern ridge. I'll handle the one near the stream. We meet at the clearing afterward."
"The clearing?"
"Where it nests. Where we kill it."
The eastern ridge totem was guarded by corrupted wolves.
Three of them emerged from the twisted undergrowth as I approached—larger than normal, their eyes reflecting unnatural green light, their movements carrying the coordinated precision of creatures controlled by single intelligence.
[DANGER SENSE: ACTIVE THREAT]
[Entities: 3 (corrupted wolves, leshen-bound)]
[Threat Level: MODERATE]
The first wolf lunged. Shadow Step carried me sideways before its jaws closed.
[ENERGY: 4,800/5,000]
The Ethereal Blade manifested in my hand—sword form, translucent edge gleaming with supernatural light. The wolf's return attack met the blade and discovered that spiritual weapons cut corrupted flesh as easily as natural.
[COMBAT LOG: 1 WOLF ELIMINATED]
The second and third attacked together. I stepped through their coordination using the Swift Dodge timing Darek had demonstrated during training sessions, finding gaps in their assault pattern that shouldn't have existed but did.
The blade claimed both within seconds. The corruption in their bodies dissipated as they fell, returning to normal wolves whose final expressions held something like relief.
"The leshen's control released. They weren't evil—just enslaved."
The totem stood at the ridge's crest, its carved surface depicting scenes I didn't want to examine closely. The Ethereal Blade—extended into spear form for reach—shattered the ancient wood with three precise strikes.
[TOTEM DESTROYED: 3/4]
[Leshen Power: Weakening]
[ENERGY: 4,500/5,000]
The forest screamed.
Not metaphorically—the trees themselves voiced the leshen's rage, a sound that made my bones vibrate and my Danger Sense flare with warning about threats in every direction.
"It knows we're coming."
Geralt waited at the leshen's nest, having dealt with his own totem and whatever guardians it possessed.
"Your half?"
"Destroyed. Three corrupted wolves."
"Mine had crows." His tone suggested the crows had been worse. "The spirit is weakened. Should be manageable now."
"Should be?"
"Leshen don't die easily. Even weakened, it'll fight with everything it has." He drew his silver sword—the blade gleaming with oils I could smell from three paces away. "Stay mobile. Don't let it pin you. If it starts summoning, destroy whatever appears before it can reach us."
"Understood."
The clearing was a wound in the forest—dead center surrounded by living corruption, the contrast making the boundary visible. At the center stood the leshen itself.
Taller than I'd expected—eight feet of twisted wood and bone, its skull-face crowned with antlers that had claimed human remains. Its body was forest given malevolent form, branches and roots and vines woven into something that shouldn't walk but did.
[ENTITY SCAN: ANCIENT LESHEN]
[Age: 300+ years]
[Power Level: SIGNIFICANT (reduced by totem destruction)]
[Capabilities: Forest manipulation, summoning, root attacks, corruption spread]
[Vulnerability: Silver, fire, sustained damage to core]
The leshen turned toward us. Its eye sockets burned with green fire that carried centuries of territorial rage.
"Now," Geralt said, and charged.
The fight was nothing like contracts I'd handled alone.
Geralt moved with speed and precision that made my enhanced capabilities seem clumsy. His sword traced patterns I barely tracked, each cut precise, each dodge perfectly timed. The silver blade carved wounds in the leshen's wooden flesh that smoked and hissed.
But the leshen was ancient, and ancient meant powerful. Roots erupted from the ground, seeking to entangle. Corrupted crows descended in clouds, their beaks and talons targeting eyes. The forest itself attacked—branches swinging like clubs, vines constricting like snakes.
I played support.
Shadow Step kept me mobile, appearing behind summoned crows to scatter their formations before they could overwhelm Geralt.
[ENERGY: 4,200/5,000]
Ethereal Blade—dual daggers now, sacrificing reach for speed—cut through roots that threatened to trap the Witcher.
[ENERGY: 4,000/5,000]
When the leshen's counterattack opened a wound on Geralt's shoulder, I threw him a healing potion from my inventory without breaking stride.
"Drink. I'll cover."
He caught the potion, drank while I engaged the leshen directly—not trying to kill it, just distracting while the healing took effect. The creature's attention shifted to me, ancient intelligence recognizing that the smaller predator had become primary annoyance.
A root strike caught my leg, slamming me sideways. Pain flared, but the regeneration was already working, damage fading before it fully registered.
[HEALTH: 87% (regenerating)]
Geralt returned to the fight, his wounds closed, his assault renewed with fresh intensity. The silver sword found the leshen's core—the knotted mass of wood that served as its heart—and began cutting.
The creature screamed again. The forest screamed with it. Everything screamed.
I Shadow Stepped behind the leshen's back, manifesting the Ethereal Blade as a spear. The thrust went through spiritual wood like the blade wasn't there—because on some level, it wasn't. The spear pierced the core from behind while Geralt's silver carved from the front.
[ENERGY: 3,600/5,000]
[LESHEN: CRITICAL DAMAGE]
The ancient spirit died slowly—green fire fading from eye sockets, wooden body collapsing into components that should have rotted centuries ago. The corruption in the surrounding forest began receding immediately, trees straightening, wrongness dissipating.
"Hmm," Geralt said, examining the remains. "Not bad."
"Thank you. I think."
We made camp at the clearing's edge—the purified ground now safe enough for rest.
Geralt collected leshen materials while I built the fire, his professional attention cataloguing which parts had value. Alchemical components, trophy proof, the skull that some collectors would pay premium prices for.
"You fight differently," he said eventually, settling across the fire with methodical efficiency. "Not trained by any school I recognize. Not conventional sword techniques."
"Self-taught with research supplementation. I learn what works and discard what doesn't."
"The teleportation. The glowing blade. The healing that took effect faster than any potion I've seen." His yellow eyes caught firelight, reflecting with unsettling intensity. "Those aren't conventional either."
"I have... advantages. Resources most people don't have access to."
"You keep saying that. 'Resources.' 'Knowledge.' 'Advantages.'" He pulled out a whetstone, beginning the ritualistic maintenance that Witchers performed after every fight. "What are you really doing, Colen? The guild, the Witcher alliance, showing up everywhere I go. What's your angle?"
"Honesty. Partial honesty. The kind that sounds truthful without revealing impossible truths."
"Building something that survives what's coming. The world has threats it doesn't know about yet. I'm trying to make sure enough people are ready when they arrive."
"What threats?"
"Time will tell. But I'd rather be paranoid and prepared than right and dead."
Geralt was quiet for a long moment, the whetstone scraping against silver in steady rhythm.
"You know things you shouldn't know. About monsters, about politics, about... people."
"I research extensively."
"Research doesn't explain recognizing leshen behavior patterns without being told. Doesn't explain knowing about Ciri."
My hands stilled over the fire I'd been feeding.
"What about Ciri?"
"You sought her out. Gave her gifts. Built relationship with a princess you had no obvious reason to approach." His voice carried no accusation, just observation. "You've met her twice that I know of. Probably planned to meet her again."
"Ciri is important. Anyone who pays attention can see that."
"Important how?"
"Important enough that her survival might determine whether this continent exists in ten years. Important enough that I've arranged everything I've built to protect her when the time comes."
"Important in ways I can't fully explain without sounding mad." The honest answer that revealed nothing specific. "Let's say I have good instincts about people who'll matter to history."
"And you want to matter to her?"
"I want to help her when she needs help. Beyond that..." I shrugged, feeding more wood to the fire. "We'll see what develops."
Geralt finished with his sword, sheathing it with practiced motion. His expression had shifted during the conversation—still suspicious, but something else beneath it. Something like recognition of shared purpose even without understanding its source.
"You're not what you seem."
"No one is."
"Hmm." The familiar sound. Then: "You fought well. Not many people can keep up with a Witcher."
It was close to approval as Witchers got. I took it as victory.
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