Witcher: The Half Elf

After confirming that Vilgefortz had escaped, Wayne's interest in the battle waned. His thoughts shifted to how best to deal with this dangerous, albeit temporarily neutralized, foe once they left the castle.

Wayne had no obligation to ensure the castle's safety. Its halls were teeming with monsters and abominations. Let the summoned fire elemental and the castle's dark denizens tear each other apart. Whoever emerged victorious was irrelevant to him; either outcome would benefit the Continent.

As for the notion of exterminating all the monsters? That was a monumental task, even for him. Thousands of them swarmed the castle grounds, and wiping them out would take considerable time and effort. Unless the Kingdom of Verden was willing to pay handsomely for such a feat, Wayne saw no reason to bother.

However, the fire elemental—summoned from the elemental plane—posed a different problem. Ordinary soldiers could not contend with it. Only trained professionals, such as witchers or highly skilled sorcerers, could stand a chance. Neutralizing such a creature fell within the responsibilities of the witchers, albeit reluctantly.

These considerations flashed through Wayne's mind as he glanced at the enormous fire elemental now wreaking havoc on the castle's second floor. Deciding to deal with it later, he turned his attention to Princess Pavetta. Holding the unconscious princess carefully, Wayne stepped onto the top floor's window ledge and leaped out of the ancient structure.

During his descent, Wayne observed the distance to the ground and activated his ancient blood's blink ability. In an instant, he bridged the gap, shifting from several stories high to barely a meter above the ground. He landed gracefully, with Princess Pavetta secure in his arms, her position so steady that she remained undisturbed by the movement.

Although Wayne's enhanced physique could withstand a fall from such heights, it would still cause unnecessary strain. He preferred efficiency and minimizing risks, especially with the princess's precarious condition.

As soon as he landed, Wayne stopped his companions, who were armed and poised to storm the castle.

"Geralt, Yennefer—hold your positions," he commanded. "I've rescued the princess. The castle is crawling with monsters, and there's a powerful fire elemental tearing through them as we speak."

"It's not wise to engage right now. We'll retreat to a safe location and observe how things unfold."

Geralt and Yennefer exchanged startled glances, surprised at the speed with which Wayne had accomplished the rescue. They were even more astonished to hear about the fire elemental—a legendary entity rarely encountered, even by seasoned witchers.

"That's no mere monster," Geralt murmured, his expression darkening. "Fire elementals are forces of nature—some even consider them the avatars of the Flame God. Facing one without preparation is sheer folly."

Yennefer, however, had already shifted her focus to Princess Pavetta. As Wayne gently placed the unconscious woman on the ground, Yennefer knelt beside her, channeling healing magic to assess her condition. Her brow furrowed deeper with each passing moment.

After several tense minutes, distant roars and the crackle of breaking walls echoed from the castle. Occasionally, bursts of fire illuminated the windows, casting ominous shadows against the night.

Yennefer stood, her face grave. "Her body is in a critical state, Wayne," she said. "The child in her womb wasn't conceived naturally—it's been catalyzed by powerful dark magic."

"This... thing," she gestured at the princess's swollen abdomen, "is absorbing her life force at an alarming rate. Without immediate intervention, Pavetta's body won't survive long enough to give birth."

Her words cast a heavy silence over the group. Wayne and Geralt had anticipated complications after interrogating the fallen sorcerer Quitto, but hearing the grim reality from Yennefer brought a new urgency to the situation.

After a moment of contemplation, Wayne spoke decisively. "Yennefer, open a portal and take Princess Pavetta back to Cintra. Archdruid Mousesack is the best option for stabilizing her condition."

"Our mission ends here. Once she's safe in Mousesack's care, it's up to Queen Calanthe to decide how to proceed. We're outsiders—we have no right to interfere further."

"Return here at dawn tomorrow," he added. "We'll maintain our position and monitor the situation in the meantime."

Yennefer glanced at her companion, Geralt. Seeing the White Wolf give her a reassuring nod, she hesitated no longer. Carefully, she lifted the petite and unconscious Princess Pavetta from Wayne's arms. With a wave of her hand and a swirl of chaotic energy, a shimmering portal opened before her. Without further delay, she stepped through, taking the princess to safety.

Once the portal closed and only two witchers and their apprentices remained, Wayne turned to the trio, shrugging slightly. His tone was light, almost amused.

"Now comes your practical combat lesson. Midnight's just struck, and we have about six or seven hours until dawn."

"Geralt, you're the instructor tonight. Teach these two pups how to handle monsters in real combat. Let them understand what it means to face the darkness of the world."

"As for me," Wayne added, his voice turning serious, "I'll deal with the fire elemental."

"Once this is done, I expect Queen Calanthe will coordinate with the nobles of Verden to deal with whatever remains of this mess."

While Wayne and his companions grappled with the chaos left behind by Vilgefortz, the wounded wizard had already escaped. Through a powerful, original teleportation spell, he traversed hundreds of kilometers, fleeing to a secret stronghold hidden deep within the southern continent.

As he arrived, Vilgefortz collapsed onto the cold stone floor. Gritting his teeth, he began tearing away his blood-soaked robes, along with the melted flesh they had fused to. The process was agonizing, and with every piece of cloth removed, strips of skin came with it, exposing raw, red muscle beneath. Yet, despite the unbearable pain, his focus never wavered. Methodically, he began treating his injuries.

The eerie silence of the base was broken by a deep, hoarse voice reverberating through the chamber, causing Vilgefortz to frown.

"I warned you, mortal," the voice growled, low and menacing. "Your strength is far from unmatched in this world. There are beings stronger than you—your enemies."

"You're nothing but a fragile spellcaster. A single blade or a well-aimed bolt could end your pitiful existence. Were it not for my power, that crossbow bolt through your eye would have spelled your end. Your corpse would be rotting now."

Vilgefortz instinctively touched his ruined right eye, now a gaping, bloodied socket. His pride, nearly as wounded as his body, burned with fury and humiliation. That brief confrontation with Wayne had lasted mere moments, yet it had nearly cost him everything. Without the intervention of this so-called god, he would have perished.

Before, his relationship with this otherworldly entity—Hell Demon Lord Baal—was one of cautious cooperation. Each used the other for their own ends, with no trust between them. But now, Baal's power had seeped into Vilgefortz's very being, entwining with his soul. Escape was no longer an option.

Unless Vilgefortz could find a way to discard his mortal body, he was forever bound to Baal's influence. Over time, he feared he might devolve into a mindless puppet, much like the fallen warlocks who had succumbed to the demon lord's power.

But Vilgefortz was no ordinary sorcerer. He was proud, defiant. In his mind, gods were no more than beings who had claimed power. To him, even deities could fall before true mastery of magic.

"Do you wish to reclaim your full power, Vilgefortz?" Baal's voice was mocking, probing.

The wizard hesitated for a moment, then replied, his voice hoarse but steady: "What is your price, Baal?"

The demon lord's laughter echoed through the chamber, deep and sinister. It reverberated for several moments before fading.

"What I desire is simple," Baal said, his voice dripping with malice. "Create chaos and destruction. Ignite wars between nations. Let the Continent drown in blood and despair."

"I will lend you my servants, my armies. Spread war and suffering across this world. When every corner of this land is consumed by death, I will return in my true form."

"And you," Baal's voice softened, almost mockingly, "will become its ruler. The god of this world."