Chapter 23: The Sylvan's Game
POV: Viktor
The tracks led deeper into the hills, weaving between stands of scrub oak and over rocky outcroppings that looked like they'd been placed by someone with a keen understanding of defensive terrain. Viktor's Premonition Sense had been humming with low-level warnings for the past hour—not the sharp alarm of immediate danger, but the persistent tingle that suggested they were being watched by something that viewed them as potential threats.
Or potential prey.
"The pattern's wrong," Viktor muttered, studying the hoofprints that seemed to disappear and reappear at intervals that defied normal animal behavior. "Sylvans are intelligent. These tracks are too obvious, too easy to follow."
"Agreed," Geralt said, his hand resting casually on his sword hilt as his amber eyes swept the surrounding terrain. "We're being led somewhere."
"Oh, wonderful!" Jaskier's voice carried the forced cheer of someone trying to convince himself that mortal peril was actually quite entertaining. "A trap! How delightfully dramatic!"
Viktor was about to respond when his enhanced instincts screamed a warning that made every hair on his body stand up at once.
[PREMONITION SENSE ACTIVATED]
[IMMEDIATE THREAT DETECTED]
[ESTIMATED TIME TO CONTACT: 1.2 SECONDS]
[WARNING: GROUND LEVEL HAZARD]
But 1.2 seconds wasn't enough time to process the warning and react, especially when Viktor's mind was split between analyzing tracks and maintaining conversation with his companions. His foot came down on what looked like solid ground, there was a sudden snap of released tension, and the world inverted itself with alarming speed.
Viktor found himself dangling upside-down from a tree branch, his ankle caught in a rope snare that had been concealed with the kind of professional expertise that spoke of long practice. Blood rushed to his head as he swayed gently in the morning breeze, trying to process how he'd gone from walking to becoming an impromptu tree ornament.
Laughter echoed across the hillside—rich, mocking, and definitely not human.
"Stupid humans!" The voice belonged to something with a deeper register than any person Viktor had ever heard, carrying the kind of rumbling bass that suggested vocal cords designed for intimidation. "Walking into my forest like they own it! Like the old blood means nothing!"
"This is embarrassing," Viktor announced to the world in general, trying to reach up and untangle his ankle from the snare. "And also uncomfortable. Could someone maybe—"
Steel whispered against leather as Renfri drew her knife, but instead of cutting the rope immediately, she moved to position herself directly beneath Viktor. When her blade parted the snare, she was there to catch him, her arms closing around his torso as he fell.
For a moment that felt suspended outside normal time, they stayed like that—Viktor cradled against Renfri's chest, her green eyes looking down into his with an expression that was equal parts concern and something deeper. Her face was close enough that he could count the faint freckles across her nose, could smell the leather and steel scent that clung to her from constant weapon maintenance.
"Thank you," Viktor said quietly, very aware that he should probably ask her to put him down but finding himself reluctant to break the contact.
"You need to pay attention," Renfri replied, but her voice was soft, almost fond. "I can't catch you every time you walk into trouble."
"I'll try to walk into less trouble."
"That would be appreciated."
A sharp whistle from Jaskier broke the moment, followed by the bard's amused voice: "Well, that was thoroughly romantic! Should I leave you two alone, or would you prefer an audience for whatever comes next?"
Renfri set Viktor on his feet with perhaps more speed than was strictly necessary, her cheeks showing a faint flush that Viktor found utterly charming.
"White-haired brute!" The sylvan's voice boomed across the hillside again. "Dead princess! Clumsy prophet! Go home before I decide you're worth the effort of killing!"
"What about me?" Jaskier called out, apparently offended by his exclusion from the insults. "I'm here too! I demand equal billing in your threats!"
"Who are you?" The sylvan sounded genuinely confused.
"I'm Jaskier! The bard! Future composer of legends and—"
"I don't care about bards. Go away."
Viktor watched Jaskier's face cycle through confusion, hurt, and finally the kind of artistic indignation that could only be produced by someone whose ego had been professionally wounded. The bard immediately pulled out his notebook and began scribbling what Viktor could only assume were vengeful lyrics.
"Success Rate Analysis: Will the sylvan attack us directly or continue trying to drive us away?"
Viktor had managed to recover 5 MP during their morning walk through meditation-while-moving, and he needed to understand their tactical situation.
[MANA DECREASED: 5 → 0]
[ANALYSIS COMPLETE]
[PROBABILITY: 80% EVASION, 20% CONFRONTATION]
[BEHAVIORAL PATTERN: SYLVANS PREFER INDIRECT METHODS]
[ASSESSMENT: TORQUE WILL AVOID DIRECT COMBAT UNLESS CORNERED]
"He's not going to fight us," Viktor announced. "Sylvans are clever enough to avoid unnecessary risks. He'll keep trying to scare us away."
"Good to know," Geralt replied, though his hand remained on his sword hilt. "But that doesn't mean he won't lead us into something that will fight us."
They continued following the tracks as the day wore on, occasionally hearing Torque's mocking laughter or catching glimpses of movement in their peripheral vision. The sylvan was playing with them, Viktor realized—using their natural human curiosity against them while leading them deeper into territory where he held every advantage.
By evening, when they made camp in a clearing that offered decent visibility but probably wasn't as secure as it appeared, Viktor was exhausted from a day of constant low-level tension. His MP was still at zero, his Premonition Sense was operating on the kind of background static that came from prolonged stress, and he was beginning to question the wisdom of accepting a contract that was clearly more complicated than advertised.
"Training time," Renfri announced, producing her practice weapons with the efficiency of long habit.
"Do we have to? I got trapped by a rope snare today. I think my dignity has suffered enough."
"Especially because you got trapped by a rope snare today. You're getting sloppy."
Viktor groaned but took up the practice knife, settling into the guard position that was becoming second nature through repetition. Renfri's training sessions had become increasingly intense as his basic competence improved, and tonight she seemed particularly focused on drilling precision into his defensive techniques.
"I'm tired," Viktor complained after missing his third consecutive block. "My reflexes are off."
"Your reflexes are always off. That's why you have the foresight gift—to compensate for terrible natural timing."
Viktor tried to focus, tried to let his Premonition Sense take over and guide his movements. The passive ability had been getting stronger with practice, giving him longer warnings about incoming strikes and more precise information about attack angles.
Renfri's practice blade came at him in a diagonal slash that would have opened his ribs if it had been steel instead of blunted metal. But this time, Viktor's enhanced perception caught the attack pattern early enough for him to respond properly. His own blade rose to intercept hers, meeting steel with steel in a perfect parry that sent vibrations up both their arms.
"Got it!" Viktor said, grinning with the kind of triumph that came from finally executing a technique correctly.
"You did," Renfri agreed, and there was something in her voice that made Viktor look at her more closely.
Before he could fully process what was happening, Renfri had stepped close enough to press her lips to his cheek in a quick, soft kiss that sent electricity shooting through his entire nervous system.
They both froze, Viktor's hand moving unconsciously to touch the spot where her lips had been, Renfri's green eyes wide as if she couldn't quite believe what she'd just done.
"Good work, prophet," she said finally, but her voice was softer than usual, carrying an undertone that hadn't been there before.
Viktor felt heat rising in his cheeks as he realized that whatever had been building between them over the past weeks had just taken a definitive step forward. The kiss had been impulsive, probably unplanned, but it had also been real.
"Thank you," he managed, though his voice came out rougher than intended. "For the training. And the... encouragement."
Renfri nodded and stepped back, busying herself with cleaning the practice weapons, but Viktor caught the small smile that played at the corners of her mouth.
[TRAINING COMPLETE]
[STRENGTH INCREASED: 2.0 → 2.1]
[AGILITY INCREASED: 4.1 → 4.2]
[HEALTH POINTS: 20 → 21]
[COMBAT SKILLS: CONTINUED IMPROVEMENT]
From across the fire, Jaskier's voice carried in a stage whisper that was probably audible to anyone within a fifty-yard radius: "They're going to kiss soon. Properly, I mean. The romantic tension is becoming physically painful to witness."
Geralt's response was a grunt that might have been agreement or annoyance. "Shut up, bard."
Viktor settled by the fire, acutely aware of Renfri's presence as she took her own place across the flames. The kiss—brief though it had been—had changed something fundamental in the dynamic between them. Not just acknowledgment of attraction, but recognition that whatever was growing between them was worth exploring despite the dangers of their situation.
As he lay in his bedroll later that night, staring up at stars that were just beginning to emerge from behind the day's cloud cover, Viktor found himself thinking about choices and consequences. He'd changed so much already—saved Renfri's life, altered Geralt's path, prevented the Butcher of Blaviken from becoming a permanent title.
But the personal changes were just as significant. A month ago, he'd been dying alone in an apartment on Earth, convinced that meaningful human connection was beyond his reach. Now he was falling asleep in a fantasy forest, part of a group that felt more like family than anything he'd ever experienced, with the knowledge that someone cared enough about him to worry when he walked into danger.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges. The elves were coming—Viktor was certain of that, even without using his abilities to confirm it. Filavandrel and his desperate band, caught between human expansion and the slow fade of their ancient civilization.
More tests. More chances to choose better instead of lesser evil.
But tonight, with the memory of Renfri's kiss still warm on his cheek and the sound of his companions' breathing creating a rhythm of safety in the darkness, Viktor felt something he hadn't experienced since arriving in this world.
He felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
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