Gonz had already grasped the underlying scheme and made no effort to hide his displeasure at the Church's involvement. Yet before he could speak further, Father Richard's next words drew his attention elsewhere.
"Old friend," Richard began gravely, "I know you and the Noble Council maintain a certain understanding—but right now, there's a far more pressing issue you need to concern yourself with. There have been recent cases of disappearances in the city. Combined with the events in the Black Forest, I'm certain of one thing—a cult of Chaos has already taken root here."
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "And I suppose you haven't yet received this piece of news—Kaer Morhen recently organized another expedition. They dared to venture directly into the Gate of Chaos itself!"
"What?!" Gonz's eyes widened in disbelief. "They actually did that?"
Richard nodded grimly. "The death rate among your witcher trials is far too high. Sixty years ago, most of your order agreed not to train new recruits on a large scale anymore. But it seems some within Kaer Morhen couldn't accept that. They must have wanted to make one final gamble… but, as you might expect, it didn't end well."
"What happened?" Gonz pressed, unable to maintain his usual stoic composure.
"Eight are dead," Richard said heavily. "We still don't know all their names. The survivors who returned from the Chaos Gate were… not themselves. Before anyone could react, they slaughtered the guards at Kaer Morhen and fled. Thirteen in total vanished without a trace. Every witcher stationed along the Old World is now tracking them down. All organizations bound by the Flamebearer Pact have received the warning. I'm truly sorry, old friend."
Gonz's face darkened, his tone turning grim. "When did this happen? I barely escaped from the Black Forest myself not long ago. There's a greenskin shaman among the orc tribes there—its power is… unnatural. Even my physique couldn't withstand its paralytic toxin. Tell your people to be wary of it."
"I will. I'll pass that information along," Richard replied with a nod. "As for the Kaer Morhen incident—it happened a month ago. I'm afraid it's already too late for us to intervene."
He handed Gonz a piece of parchment. On it was a list of names—the wanted traitors who had fled.
"Once I've cleansed this city of its Chaos filth," Gonz said quietly, lowering his head, "I'll return myself… and see with my own eyes who was foolish enough to propose such a suicidal idea."
…
Aldric and Vittoria followed a group led by a begrudging Rusk and his lackeys. After weaving through several twisting alleyways, they finally arrived at the warehouse where the goods were to be exchanged.
Unlike the ramshackle buildings of the slums, this place had clearly been built recently. Its massive stone and timber structure stood solidly at the street corner. Workers bustled between the warehouse and a line of horse-drawn carts, loading and unloading boxes of cargo that were stacked neatly by the entrance.
Not far away, a group of well-armed guards watched over them, weapons in hand, barking orders and hurling insults at the laborers whenever they slowed down.
"Those men," Aldric asked, pointing at the armed group, "they're with the Blood Howl Gang, right?"
Earlier on the way there, several of Rusk's men had tried to split up and escape. Aldric had easily hunted each of them down one by one—his speed far beyond that of any normal human. Afterwards, Vittoria had personally "educated" them with her own brand of encouragement. It didn't take long before the gang realized they were nothing more than fish on the chopping block—completely powerless.
"Y-yes… I think so," Rusk stammered, his face swollen and bruised. "The Blood Howl Gang has three real masters—transcendents, like you two. We usually keep our distance from them. We're… not exactly on familiar terms."
So, in other words, you're just a bunch of petty thugs—too weak to even speak to the real power players.
"And those workers?" Aldric asked again, glancing at the laborers moving crates. His tone dripped with disdain.
"They're locals," Rusk explained submissively. "In the slums, people work for whoever pays. That's how everyone earns their bread."
Aldric turned to Vittoria. "I don't think we need to bother sneaking around anymore. Time's running short. We'll use loudstealth and head in directly. Ignore the workers—they're not our concern. Just remember to leave a few of the Blood Howl alive. I need to interrogate them."
The warrior woman drew her massive flail and grinned. "No problem. I've been itching for some action!"
As the two heavily armed strangers emerged from around the corner, the Blood Howl guards froze. It was rare for anyone to come looking for trouble with their gang—especially here, in their own territory.
Unlike the Old World region, where mercenaries and adventurers roamed in droves, the Far South were relatively peaceful. The gangs here lived comfortably enough. Aside from the occasional small turf war, they rarely faced real combat. Most capable fighters had long since left the city to carve out a future in the wild frontier. The ones who remained were the dregs—the ones too weak or too cowardly to survive elsewhere.
So, when these guards saw Aldric and Vittoria, they hesitated—and that hesitation cost them dearly.
The men at the front shouted loudly, warning them not to approach, claiming this was Blood Howl territory. But the nearby laborers sensed danger. One by one, they dropped what they were carrying and began backing away.
Then came the sound—whump! Vittoria swung the flail from her back, its spiked head glinting menacingly in the sunlight. The Blood Howl thugs finally realized the two newcomers were here to fight.
But by then, it was already far too late.
Vittoria charged in first, shield raised, and slammed straight into the nearest gangster. The man flew backward, his skull cracking against the wall before he crumpled unconscious. Another one—slower to react—was less fortunate; her flail brushed against him mid-swing, the blow instantly fatal.
The sudden outbreak of violence sent the nearby workers fleeing in panic. Only a few better-equipped gang members turned and ran deeper into the warehouse. Most of the others—despite carrying weapons—scattered without even looking back.
Aldric exchanged a knowing glance with Vittoria. Neither bothered chasing the terrified workers or the cowards fleeing in all directions. Instead, they followed the group of armed elites straight into the warehouse.
The moment they stepped inside, darkness swallowed them whole. The light from outside vanished, and Aldric's instincts immediately screamed danger. The enclosed space and heavy shadows reminded him all too much of the assassin he'd been wary of since his arrival.
Narrowing his eyes, he quickly surveyed the interior. The warehouse had two levels—an open ground floor and a wooden platform above. On that second level, several crossbowmen were already drawing back their strings and loading bolts, aiming directly at the intruders.
"Twelve o'clock—ranged attack!" Aldric shouted, diving behind the female warrior. Vittoria reacted instantly, raising her shield to intercept the incoming barrage. The bolts slammed against it with heavy thuds.
"Careful!" she warned. "These aren't civilian-made weapons!" The weight behind the impacts told her as much—these were military-grade crossbows.
Aldric's expression hardened. "Then we've definitely caught something big," he said, raising his voice as more figures emerged from the shadows of the warehouse. "These people aren't just thugs—they're Chaos cultist!"
(End of Chapter)