Asa dismounted and walked straight toward the light of the campfire.
One person was standing there, a bald man with a gleaming head; he was his target, the only survivor of the two.
The other was sitting down, looking exactly like Geralt of Rivia from the game: white hair in a single ponytail, wearing leather armor, with two swords on his back.
Facing Asa arrival, Geralt merely lifted his cat-like slit pupils to glance at him, gave a slight nod, and continued tending to the campfire.
His attitude was clear: do what you need to do.
Asa withdrew his gaze and turned to the bald man, who was on high alert, his tone unfriendly:
"Hey, your conspiracy has already failed. Hand over the contact information for the half-elf Rience."
"If you want it, come and take it yourself. You know the rules."
The bald man said, slowly drawing the steel sword from his back, the blade reflecting a red glow in the firelight.
Regardless of what Pardus had encountered, he would never surrender without a fight.
The moment his voice fell, the bald man exerted force with his legs, throwing himself at Asa like an arrow released from a bow.
He was a Witcher, and it certainly wouldn't stand there and wait for the Wizard to finish chanting a spell.
Asa swept a glance at Geralt sitting by the fire, twisted his wrist, and the Flowing Fire Cloak instantly unfolded.
Flames, gathering scorching heat waves, enveloped the Witcher before it could get close. The moment the shield formed, the fire surged in the direction the Witcher had come from, following the caster's will.
"What kind of magic is this!"
The bald man was shocked. He rolled on the ground to barely dodge the oncoming wall of fire, and as he stood up, he drew a crossbow from his back and fired two shots in quick succession.
However, the arrows hit the shield of the Flowing Fire Cloak. The arrowheads instantly softened and deformed in the high heat, and then the entire arrow body was swallowed by the flames, leaving not even ashes behind.
The bald man stared wide-eyed at the two arrows that hadn't even lasted a breath, the crossbow in his hand suddenly becoming like a joke.
What was the point of fighting?
The battle came to an end; unfortunately, the bald guy couldn't even break through the defenses.
As the Cat School Witcher's proudest weapon, the crossbow could catch ordinary people off guard, but for Asa, it was completely futile.
In the end, Asa used lightning magic to finish the battle.
However, Asa could not kill the bald man; he needed to at least interrogate him for the contact information of the half-elf Rience.
It wasn't until the bald guy was completely subdued and hog-tied that Asa had the leisure to approach the campfire.
"Hello, Geralt of Rivia."
At this moment, Geralt already had the appearance of that sexy middle-aged man from the game; it had been over twenty years since he started hunting monsters.
Imagine that Yennefer and Geralt were contemporaries, and one could tell how old Geralt was at this time.
The white-haired Witcher looked up, his voice deep and full of confusion:
"You know me?"
"Yes, a Witcher of the Wolf School, the famous White Wolf. You're nothing like those scum from the Cat School who only think about harming humans."
"You don't look like a novice Wizard just starting out."
The White Wolf scanned the easily subdued bald man. It would have taken it some effort to take down such an opponent, yet the Wizard had just stood there without moving and incapacitated him.
"Wizard, what is your name?"
"Asa."
"Asa... Lang..." Geralt repeated, the syllables sounding strange.
"Sorcerer, he is a Cat School Witcher; I don't want to get involved in their business."
Geralt's eyes looked toward the dragon medallion at Asa neck, his pupils suddenly constricting.
What was this? When did he get a dragon medallion?
Could there be a school he didn't know about?
"You are right. They followed me the whole way, and seeing how handsome I am, they tried to ambush me."
The White Wolf's hand, which was tending the fire, froze. Although he was indeed handsome, saying it so bluntly was still...
However, with powerful magic, an excellent appearance, and a youthful mindset, Geralt felt that the young Wizard before him had a limitless future.
Compared to this Wizard, a Witcher was practically like a rat in the gutter.
At this time, he was still in a state of being deeply discouraged.
In his youth, Geralt had survived the Trial of the Grasses, then performed outstandingly in the subsequent mutation experiments, becoming the only surviving Witcher.
After the experiments, Geralt of Rivia had once fantasized about what his life as a Witcher would be like.
This world was filled with various monsters, beasts, and demons from other worlds. The Witcher was exactly the profession the world needed, so Witchers must be figures similar to rangers and knights.
But the gravity of reality was too heavy.
On his first mission, he encountered a bald bandit.
At that time, the bandit was tearing at the clothes of a thirteen-year-old girl, shouting for her to see what a real man was.
Geralt rode over and beheaded the bald bandit with a single stroke. However, what awaited him was not the girl's grateful gaze, but one of fear; she even fainted directly when Geralt approached.
White hair meant monster.
In the dozen years that followed, the young Witcher became increasingly silent.
He would ride to the walls of villages or the outposts near towns, waiting for opportunities to be hired as a Witcher, but the villagers or townspeople would always spit at him, throw stones, and curse him.
His enthusiasm was repeatedly extinguished, and coupled with the Wolf School's philosophy of neutrality and staying out of affairs, Geralt became increasingly silent over the years.
Accepting contracts, hunting monsters, collecting rewards, and then heading to the next town amidst a chorus of curses—this was his norm.
Having fought for so long in dungeons, tombs, ruins, canyon forests, and mountain caves, far away from the human world, Geralt felt he had long forgotten his original dream.
The profession of Witcher brought him nothing but pain and loneliness. Countless times, Geralt had wanted to give up being a Witcher.
Due to the change in the world line caused by a certain black-haired Wizard, Geralt did not even have a beloved.
He often frequented brothels in towns, but to this day, he had no lover to call his own.
The pleasure brought by carnal desire was fleeting; afterwards, Geralt would always fall into even greater loneliness.
For example, right now.
Although he didn't know the reason, Asa felt that the white-haired Witcher before him lacked a bit of the human touch compared to the game, but also seemed to crave communication.
His whole being exuded an aura of "I am ugly, but I am gentle."
Since that was the case, he might as well leave.
He would leave the opportunity for development to others.
Next, he still had to interrogate the bald man for information about the half-elf; Asa felt a bit shy doing it in front of the Wolf School Witcher.
He couldn't use efficient and concise Dark Arts in front of him either.
"Well then, goodbye, White Wolf Geralt. That horse over there is yours."
Waving his hand, Asa mounted Grape and left the campsite on the hillside with the bald guy.
The meeting with the White Wolf was unexpected for Asa. Upon arriving at a secluded village, after some interrogation, Asa successfully obtained the information for meeting the half-elf Rience.
The place they agreed to meet was at a brothel in the city of Wizima.
Asa had exactly that intention; the red-haired noble, Mr. Auster, had returned to Wizima first, and he still needed to go and collect the reward for the Law of Surprise.
After dealing with the mastermind behind this attempt to kidnap him and taking the reward due under the Law of Surprise, he would then head to Cintra.
In the village, Asa built a campfire and pondered his future path, but the dragon medallion on his chest suddenly began to tremble violently.
At the same time, an inexplicable sense of fear washed over his entire body, sending a chill down his spine, as if he were swimming and a gaping abyss lay beneath the water, ready to devour him.
The crisis intuition he hadn't felt in a long time was now issuing a warning.