Every story has a starting point.

The night breeze blew in the dark woods, the bonfire gave off a warm glow, and the belt buckles on the harness not far away, and the hilt of the sword that was slung to the saddle and wrapped around the belt, all shone red from the reflection of the firelight.

Temeria, the side of the road to Vigema.

The two men camping in the woods were both strong and tall, and both were dressed in leather armor and carried two long swords on their backs—

A relatively young man with a full head of gray hair and a beard full of majesty, and a very obvious scar on his left eye, it is impossible to imagine what kind of tragic injury left such a scar in the first place.

After all, it looked like it was a blow that went straight through the entire left eye, and it was a miracle that this man was still able to keep his left eye intact.

The other looked like a normal old man, but only by the same size, and both had amber eyes like felines, and apparently had good eyesight in the dark, as evidenced by this.

They weren't normal humans at all, they were witchers.

- Physical mutations from childhood, grass trials, and rigorous swordsmanship and spell training have created a superhuman monster killer.

However, because of long-standing prejudice, provocative behavior, and false rumors, the profession of demon hunter was feared by the world, and later hated. The resulting extreme persecution and massacre led to the extinction of the witchers, with only a handful of them surviving.

They still hold on to this particular job, coming and going from all corners of the world, killing monsters for a meager bounty, wandering around, looking for prey and quests, but always penniless and despised by those who have helped them......

This is the Witcher.

The firewood burning in the flames of the campfire occasionally crackled and spewed out a few sparks, illuminating the gray hair of the younger witcher.

He stretched out his hand and plucked the firewood, and his voice was as low as the night wind:

"At first, it was in the guest room of Kylemohan, I was comfortably taking a bath, and next to me was ......"

On the other side of the campfire, the old witcher narrowed his eyes slightly and stared at the white-haired man's expression, and asked tentatively, "Triss?" ”

"It's Yennefer." The white-haired man said, looking slightly sideways at the old witcher, "Strange, isn't it?" Because she's never been there, but it's so real in my dreams. ”

"Is she nagging something in your ear again?"

"Hmm."

"It was a very real dream." The old witcher turned his head to look at the sky that was beginning to glow in the distance, and with some perfunctory and disgusted looks, he said, "We will find her." ”

"In the dream, I went to find Ciri, and then we started training." The white-haired witcher continued, staring at the campfire in front of him, the flames blazing, radiating warmth, only warmth. But there was a hint of unease in his eyes, reflecting the fire.

The old witcher didn't see it, but just nodded and sighed:

"Those days...... That little naughty ghost. I've trained kids who are more agile and stronger than her, but her personality is unique. ”

“……”

“……”

Without a response, the old witcher looked at the white-haired witcher in some surprise, and after thinking about it, he probably felt that he understood a little: "Your dream ended badly, didn't it?" ”

"Yes. Later, the Wild Hunt appeared and attacked Ciri, and I couldn't move, so I could only stand helpless. ”

"It was just a dream." The old witcher comforted him.

After a long silence, the white-haired witcher looked up and stood up—

"It's almost dawn, it's time to go."

The two extinguished the bonfire, and then walked under the tree to their horses, and on the way the old witcher suddenly thought of something, and exclaimed, "Wait...... Show me Yennefer's letter, we may have missed the clues. ”

Standing in front of his horse, the white-haired witcher was stunned for a moment, then shook his head without looking back and said decisively: "I won't miss anything." We're going to Willobai Pier, she writes clearly, but there's an army that has burned down the whole village, and we can only track her tracks, so ......"

"Don't talk yet, give me the letter." The old witcher walked over and waved his hand impatiently, interrupting the other man's nonsense.

The relationship between the two is very good, they are not only friends, but also master and apprentice, more like father and son.

“……”

“……”

"Just as I thought! It does have hints of cloves and gooseberries. Taking the letter, his nose moved, and the old witcher said affirmatively.

"Faith is meant to be read, not smelled." The white-haired witcher's face stiffened slightly.

"We're going to meet soon," ...... "Willobay near Vegema...... Well, there are no other instructions. The old witcher read the letter carefully, then frowned, thinking that he might have found a hint of clue, "What is the note?" "I still have a unicorn?" ”

"That's a private matter...... Very private. The white-haired witcher's expression was still stiff, and he was worried that the other party would ask the question.

"Aha...... I see, I guess...... Still a little unclear...... But it's better not to understand......" The old witcher was also stunned for a moment, and then slapped the envelope on his lover's chest with a somewhat angry smile.

"Don't digress...... How long are we from catching up with Yennefer? ”

"Two or three days, the marks on the road are still new, but it seems that it will go to the main road, and it will not be so clear when the time comes."

The white-haired witcher was also aware of this conclusion, and he was worried that if the person he was going to follow was walking through the inaccessible paths and fields, then the traces would be easily recognizable.

But if you get to the main road, there are people and cars, especially the army, which is basically accompanied by men and horses, all kinds of footprints and hoof prints are mixed, and the sensory ability of the demon hunter is basically the same.

They are only ordinary humans who have survived the grass trial and become demon hunters through genetic mutations in the structure and function of their bodies caused by drugs and magic. It can be said that it is not even a subhuman race, after all, all abilities are only promoted on the basis of humans.

Therefore, all kinds of abilities, including perception ability, they are only much stronger than ordinary people, but not to the point of incomprehension.

……

……

The sun has risen.

Two tall horses galloped through the fields and villages like a violent wind, and sped along the winding and rugged road, so that the knee-high weeds on the side of the road were bent over by the air currents.

Occasionally passing through some villages, they could see soldiers and villagers hanging from their houses burned down by the army or trees, and some poor women who had lost their families, their houses, their crops, and all their hopes were hiding their faces and weeping bitterly on the roadside.

“……”

“……”

The two witchers were expressionless, and they galloped through their horses without any pause.

Because they can't do anything, they can't protect themselves, they run around to earn some meager bounties, and they suffer from people's eyes.

In many cases, the witcher risked his life to hunt inhuman monsters, and when the task was completed, the villagers who sent the commission might suddenly turn their faces and deny the person, and it was just a trivial matter to cut the pre-agreed reward or not want to pay it, and some of the most vicious villagers even wanted to kill the witcher with them.

It can be said that they are born and die every day, and they dare not guarantee whether they will survive tomorrow, whether there will be the day after tomorrow, maybe half a month later, maybe a year later, they will also die like wild dogs somewhere, no one knows and no one cares.

If you can't even take care of yourself, how can you have the time to pay attention to the troubles of the world?

What's more, it was a war at the national level, and the tragic consequences for the local people - the war between Nilfgaard and the northern countries not only changed the shape of the national border, but also brought famine, pestilence, death and other elements of destruction.

The two witchers saw several villages along the way, not all of them burned, but there were always a few people hanging on the side of the road, or a large pile of corpses just like that in the scorching sun.

The bloodless heads were clenched with broken teeth, staring hollowly into nothingness, as if there was a soul standing behind the dark eye frame.

Passing through a ransacked village again, and not long after they were on the road, the two suddenly looked at each other, and their keen hearing caught the sound coming from a distance ahead, and the old witcher snorted:

"Do you want to go up?"

The white-haired witcher didn't answer, but his eyes sharpened and he snapped his legs around the horse's belly, and the horse immediately neighed and sped forward.

Passing through a forest, a wide glade suddenly appeared in front of me, where the road and a shallow river intersected, and the trees seemed to give way to form a relatively wide and flat river beach terrain.

Over there, there was an overturned truck, the boxes of goods had fallen into the river and sunk into the mud, the bags had been perforated and some grain had been dumped, and the shallow river was washed away, and a merchant was hiding under the truck, crying for help.

On the other side, not far away, a huge monster half eagle and half lion was confronting a tall and tall figure on the ground, and let out an extremely piercing scream.

Griffons!

The two witches looked at each other, turned over and dismounted, and slapped the horses on the buttocks by the way, causing the two horses to turn around and run away from the dangerous battlefield.

They moved almost identically, quickly drew their silver swords, and strode forward, splashing under their feet.

The griffon flapped its wings and flew high into the air, then swooped down with a dash of fire and unleashed a fatal blow. The white-haired demon hunter just caught up, raised the silver sword in his hand high, and swung it up with a sword instead of retreating.

A terrible hissing sound rang out, and a line of blood burst out from the belly of the half-eagle, half-lion monster, staining the river red! If it had just dived faster and more urgently, and had not had time to raise its position, it would have been directly disemboweled.

It hissed angrily, spun around the sky, and swooped down again.

This time, however, he grabbed a dead horse on the ground in the distance and flapped his wings to flee the scene.

"Damn, let it escape......" The white-haired witcher sighed a little unwillingly as he looked at the griffon's rapidly shrinking shadow.

Immediately after, he turned around and looked at the man beside him: "Are you okay?" ”