Chapter 31: The Butcher of Blaviken
POV: Adam
Blaviken crouched beside its river like a town that had learned to apologize for existing, its timber buildings huddled together with the nervous energy of people who'd witnessed events they couldn't forget and couldn't forgive. The very air seemed heavier here, charged with history that had settled into the stones like blood that no amount of scrubbing could remove.
Something happened here. Something that still casts shadows.
Adam and Ciri approached the town's edge with careful steps, noting how conversations died when strangers appeared and how eyes tracked their movement with suspicious attention that went beyond normal wariness. This was a place where people had learned that unexpected visitors often brought unwelcome complications.
Unfriendly. More than unfriendly—actively hostile.
The inn's common room fell silent when they entered, dozens of pairs of eyes studying them with intensity that made Adam's hand move instinctively toward his sword hilt. These weren't the curious glances of people interested in travelers' tales—these were the calculating stares of people evaluating potential threats.
What kind of reputation does this place have that makes everyone so paranoid?
"We're looking for information about Geralt of Rivia," Adam said to the innkeeper, whose weathered face bore the expression of someone who'd heard that name more often than he preferred.
"The butcher?" The innkeeper's voice carried bitter amusement that made the common room's atmosphere feel even more oppressive. "Yeah, he's here. In the marketplace."
Butcher? What kind of nickname is that for a witcher?
"Butcher?" Adam asked, though part of him suspected he didn't want to know the answer.
The innkeeper's smile revealed teeth stained by years of cheap ale and cheaper decisions. "That's what we call him here. After what happened fifteen years back. Killed seven men in broad daylight, right in the town square. Claimed they were bandits, but they looked like merchants to most folks."
Seven men. In broad daylight. That's not monster hunting—that's something else entirely.
The explanation that followed painted a picture of violence that had shocked a community and transformed a witcher's reputation from monster hunter into something darker and more complicated. Geralt's infamous incident in Blaviken had earned him a nickname that would follow him for the rest of his career.
The Butcher of Blaviken. No wonder people here treat strangers with suspicion.
They found him in the marketplace, exactly where the innkeeper had promised. A crowd had gathered around a figure whose white hair caught afternoon sunlight like silver wire, their attention focused on whatever business had brought the infamous Butcher back to the scene of his notoriety.
There. Finally. After weeks of pursuit, there he is.
Geralt of Rivia proved to be exactly what Adam had expected from television memories—tall, lean, with the predatory stillness of someone who'd learned to evaluate every situation as potential combat. His golden cat eyes studied a parchment contract with professional attention while the crowd maintained careful distance that spoke of respect mixed with wariness.
Griffin contract. He's examining a griffin contract.
Adam approached with steps that carried more confidence than he felt, Ciri beside him radiating nervous energy that suggested she was finally understanding the magnitude of what they'd been seeking.
This is it. This is where everything changes.
"Geralt of Rivia?" Adam said, his voice carrying across the marketplace with clarity that made conversations pause and heads turn.
The witcher's attention shifted from the contract to Adam's face, golden eyes studying him with intensity that felt like being examined by a predator determining threat level. When that gaze moved to Ciri, something shifted in Geralt's expression—recognition mixed with something that might have been resignation.
He knows. He knows who she is.
"Who's asking?" Geralt said, his voice carrying the gravelly tone of someone who'd learned that most questions led to complications he'd rather avoid.
"My name's Adam. This is—"
"Cirilla of Cintra." Geralt's voice cut through Adam's introduction with finality that left no room for deception or evasion.
He knows. Of course he knows. That's not coincidence—that's destiny.
Ciri's startled intake of breath spoke of someone discovering that her careful disguise had been inadequate against eyes trained to see past surface appearances. "How do you know?"
"I know your grandmother. And I know someone's been hunting you."
Hunting. He knows about the pursuit. How much does he know?
The crowd's attention had sharpened, drawn by conversation that carried implications they couldn't fully understand but recognized as significant. Adam felt the weight of public scrutiny like physical pressure against his shoulders.
Too many ears. Too many eyes. This conversation needs privacy.
"Perhaps we could speak somewhere more private?" Adam suggested, his voice carrying urgency that he hoped would penetrate whatever evaluation Geralt was conducting.
The witcher's nod was curt, professional. "The inn. Private room."
The inn's upper chamber provided sanctuary from curious ears and prying eyes, its sparse furnishings speaking of accommodation designed for function rather than comfort. Geralt settled into a chair with movements that suggested controlled relaxation—ready to become lethal at a moment's notice, but not currently anticipating immediate threat.
Evaluation. He's evaluating us. Deciding if we're worth his time.
"How did you escape Cintra?" Geralt asked, his golden eyes fixed on Adam with attention that suggested he was listening for lies rather than simply gathering information.
Truth. As much truth as I can give without revealing impossible knowledge.
Adam explained their escape from Cintra's fall, omitting references to foreknowledge while focusing on practical details that demonstrated competence rather than luck. He spoke of air magic in terms that suggested natural talent rather than supernatural systems, describing techniques without revealing their systematic nature.
Keep it simple. Airbending as unusual magic, nothing more.
"Your magic is strange," Geralt said when Adam finished his account. "Show me."
Demonstration. He wants to see what I can do.
Adam triggered Wind Barrier, the defensive technique manifesting as visible distortion that surrounded him in protective force. The ability held for thirty seconds before he allowed it to dissipate, leaving him slightly drained but confident he'd demonstrated useful capability.
Impressed? Concerned? His expression doesn't reveal much.
"Hmm." Geralt's response was characteristically noncommittal. "Not a mage. Not a witcher. What are you?"
Someone trying to keep her alive. Someone who's been thrown into circumstances beyond his understanding.
"Someone trying to keep her alive," Adam said, meaning every word with desperate intensity.
Geralt's study of Ciri carried different weight—recognition mixed with something that looked like reluctant acceptance. When he spoke, his words carried the authority of someone stating facts rather than opinions.
"I'm bound to her by destiny. Law of Surprise."
Law of Surprise. The magical contract that ties witchers to their unexpected children.
The explanation that followed painted a picture of obligation that transcended personal choice, supernatural forces that bound people together through circumstances they couldn't control or fully understand. Geralt spoke of claiming Child Surprise from Duny years ago, never expecting to actually encounter the payment destiny demanded.
Child Surprise. Ciri is Geralt's Child Surprise. His destiny.
"So you're... what? My guardian?" Ciri asked, her voice carrying confusion that mixed with curiosity about purposes larger than individual will.
"Something like that. Didn't expect to actually claim you."
Relief. Finally, someone else who understands the scope of what we're dealing with.
But alongside relief came something darker—jealousy that Adam didn't want to acknowledge but couldn't entirely suppress. Geralt represented Ciri's true destiny, the path that prophecy and supernatural forces had chosen for her. Adam was just someone who'd happened to be in the right place when everything fell apart.
He's her real protector. I'm just... what? A temporary guardian until destiny takes over?
Ciri's hand found his, squeezing with pressure that suggested she could sense his emotional turmoil through whatever bond connected them. The gesture was small but profound, acknowledgment that some connections transcended destiny and prophecy.
She chose to comfort me. Whatever destiny says, she chose to reach for me.
[Relationship Established: Geralt of Rivia]
Status: Uneasy Allies
Points: 10/100
Note: Tension regarding Ciri's protection and future
"We should discuss what comes next," Geralt said, his voice carrying the practical authority of someone accustomed to making decisions that determined other people's survival.
What comes next. Training, probably. Learning to be a proper witcher's ward instead of a refugee who got lucky.
But looking at Ciri's face—seeing determination mixed with uncertainty as she processed revelations about destiny and obligation—Adam understood that whatever came next would require all of them to become something more than they'd been before.
Together. Whatever form it takes, we face it together.
The afternoon light slanted through the inn's small window, painting the room in shades of gold that promised answers while warning that some answers came with prices that couldn't be calculated in advance.
Found him. Finally found him. Now we discover what that actually means.
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