"The news of the witcher is good, but it's not precious."

"But that's no ordinary witcher, it's Lann of Sintra! [Hunter]! If it weren't for him, the refugees wouldn't have been able to escape from here. ”

Duckley struggled to get the attention of the information he provided.

But Duke Adal still said absent-mindedly.

"Okay, monster."

Monster?

What monster can stop five hundred members of the Nausicaa cavalry squad?

What kind of monster can withstand five hundred black infantry archers?

Or rather, what monster can match two thousand Nilfgaard infantry regiments?

Monster cut, as an excuse for the disadvantage of the war, this reason is really a bit convenient to ridiculous.

That's enough of these out-of-town mud legs. A pure Nilfgaard would not have been so incompetent, nor would he have been so brazen in justifying his failures.

Duke Adar Epp Darcy was already a little impatient.

Duckley was keenly aware of the emotion of the thigh he was hugging, and gave his final hole card.

"Lan of Sintra is certainly not worth mentioning in front of your soldiers, my lord. But."

"But what if there's a little girl with gray hair next to the witcher?"

In the dim candlelight, which had been refueled as much as possible, the Duke stood up with a 'bang'!

The armor on his body 'clanged', and the chair behind him was directly knocked down.

"You're saying you've found the person Your Majesty is looking for?"

The Duke's eyes widened with a light of surprise.

The Witcher is not important.

Lann of Sintra, this particular witcher is not very important.

But this combination of the witcher and the little girl with gray hair - very important!

The purpose of His Majesty Enshir ordering his intelligence officers to form a special unit is mainly this!

If it weren't for the fact that the commander of this special unit, Duckley, secretly pulled ties with him, then even Duke Adal would never have known about this top-secret information.

He didn't really know what the emperor was looking for this combination.

But he knows that whoever does this well will be greatly favored!

For the emperor's trust and favor, Duckley's intelligence is worth it!

"Are you sure? Duckley, I'm responsible for your intelligence! ”

"Of course, my lord."

With Duckley's affirmation, the Duke suddenly paced back and forth in the room excitedly.

"Aha! Good luck is coming! ”

The Duke muttered as he regained his composure and immediately began to mobilize his troops.

"How far do a group of refugees who don't even have horses want to run? Catch up! I'm going to find them! ”

"That," Duckley reminded at the right time, "Lanne of Sintra? ”

"Huh?" The Duke of Adar was puzzled at first, wondering why it was necessary for Duckley to ask this.

Then, he said nonchalantly, "A witcher, hey." A witcher who had better not cry out of fright when he saw my army and understood what it represented. ”

"Okay, stop talking nonsense, the whole army is out!"

——

And in the camp where the refugees tonight, no one sleeps.

But Lan En never expected that he and Gede would comfort each other at dusk, saying, 'As long as you send refugees on the last day, you will be considered to have fulfilled your heart'.

But in the evening, they will come across such a show.

Originally, everything was fine, people were whispering and laughing happily.

A family hugs each other, friends hugs each other and cries, all to celebrate that they will be free from suffering tomorrow.

It's the middle of the night, just a few hours away from the sunshine, and we continue walking until we reach a new country where there is no war raging.

Begin a new life after their suffering.

"This kind of old-fashioned drama can only happen in reality." Dandrion pointed to the touching scenes and said categorically.

"If I put this ending on my ballad, I will definitely be laughed at to death."

"That's right." Ciri sat next to Geralt, leaning against him. looked at this scene with stunned eyes, and whispered.

"I never watched this kind of show before, I just liked to watch fights and fights, until now"

Geralt didn't say much, just kept running his hand through Ciri's rat-gray hair.

A spark of longing for passion is born in a stable life, but when peace passes, this spark will yearn for peace again.

Ged sat a little lonely on the side, and Dandrien thought he was still haunted by the survivor's curses at dusk, so he took the initiative to joke with him.

"What's wrong, old bear? Do you still point to someone thanking the witcher? ”

The poet deliberately made an exaggerated expression.

"Geralt didn't have this kind of fantasy when we first met, how calm do you think he is now?"

"You're right." Gerd didn't refute anything, just smiled and nodded.

"What can a witcher desire? The bouquet of gratitude and the canonization ointment have never had anything to do with us. ”

Lan wanted to pat him on the shoulder as a comfort.

But before they could drop their hands, a small, shrill voice stopped them. A little girl with braided hair and freckles on her face chased after her. She was panting and holding a large bouquet of wildflowers in her hand.

"Thank you." She screamed, "Thank you for taking care of me and my brother, and my mother." Thank you for being so nice to us. I've picked some flowers for you. ”

She didn't look hungry, but she was still skinny, which was a lot of energy.

At her age, she is the most lacking in rest.

"Thank you." In everyone's stunned eyes, it was Ciri who took the handful of wildflowers. Or pretty weeds, after all, it's winter.

"You're good people." The little girl bit her braids and added.

"Demon hunters are good people, you are not monsters! It's just a little bit strong. ”

"And you, Uncle Dandrien, are not a fool of all nonsense. What Mom said wasn't true. ”

"It's really gratifying." Lan whispered, patting the little girl on the head. She bowed her head shyly. "Go back to your mother and brother, little miss. After today, it will be fine. ”

So the little girl jumped and left.

The witchers and their friends were visibly in a better mood after this.

But it didn't take long to get better.

For with the sound of the steel scepter clattering on the ground, the grinding of many armors followed to the edge of the witcher's tent.

"Please come out and talk, Demon Hunters."

In the past, Haxel would have called witchers 'masters', but today there is apparently no honorific title.

The former royal steward's tone was serious and full of justice.

"We should talk about your business."

(End of chapter)