Geek's Guide to Thriving in a Low End Fantasy World ( Robert Baratheon OC SI AU)

[Samael61]

Hello there,

If you enjoy my stories, you can read up to 15 chapters in advance per story on my Patreon page / patreon.com/Samael61.

Robert is a badass who treats killing gods and slaying demons like just another Thursday. Did you know it was inspired by Thairon, the protagonist of my original story, Arrival : Ruptures, long before I began to write it? Comments, likes and reviews are appreciated. Here are the links for : AO3, Spacebattles, Royal Road and Webnovel.

—
​

Novigrad

Rosemary and Thyme

"Geralt?" Margarita asked, stopping, blinking. She didn't know where she was or how she had got here. The events of yesterday were hazy, but the important details were there.

Details she wondered if were nothing more than pain- and starvation-induced hallucinations.

"Margarita, you are awake," Geralt said. He was surprised when two of the resident anomalies appeared, carrying two of the missing sorceresses. Despite being imprisoned in Deireadh, they were in great health.

"I just had the strangest dream," she said, laying a hand on her forehead.

He crossed his arms, eyes opening a tad wider, smiling. "Did it include two dragons, a giant, a warrior with three hound heads, and a godslayer?" Though, she was unlikely to know what Robert claimed to be.

"Yes, at least for the majority…" She froze as Geralt's words registered on her sleepy mind, which woke her up.

She shivered, looking at the smirk on the Witcher's lips. "Then it wasn't a dream."

Geralt nodded.

"Ah."

"How is Sile?" He had not expected to see either of them again. While he and the Lodge didn't see eye to eye much, no one deserved Radovid.

Sile's door slammed open, her gown fluttering in the wind. Thankfully, Dandelion had female friends who could clean and dress the sorceresses. "I was just fine before I was woken up."

Margarita approached her friend, examining her without touching. All the wounds, bruises, and broken bones had all vanished. "Your wounds… they are all gone."

Just like hers.

"Why don't you two come down for breakfast? There is a lot you need to hear."

—
​

"I feel faint," Sile said, reaching for the wine. It was too early to drink, but she would make an exception this time.

And to celebrate the fact that she was alive.

"Nothing a hearty breakfast can't cure," their dwarf companion said with a chuckle, laying two plates in front of them.

"Forget everything. What do you mean by "godslayer"? Margarita asked. She felt like everyone in the room was either ignoring the matter for the sake of their sanity or didn't believe it in the first place.

The bard's smile fell. His shoulders rose slightly, dropping back quickly. "I asked him how he got his powers. He was very forthcoming. Turns out he slew three gods and took their powers."

"And you believed him?"

"Aye. He didn't have the eyes of a liar," Zoltan grunted. The claim might be surreal, but the power he wielded was genuine.

"What does he want with us?" What could they help a self-proclaimed godslayer with?

"He has this megascope-like device, but Triss says it works even better. Since she left for Kovir with almost every other sorcerer in the city, I assume he wants you to operate it."

"If we refuse?" She was too intrigued to outright say no. Knowing her options was important though.

"He doesn't seem the type to feel insulted. He'll most likely let you go and search for someone else."

Sile gave the Witcher a blank stare. "You are making a lot of assumptions, Geralt."

"Sorry. Judging the character of a man who claims he slew gods isn't in the Witcher manual." Though, he didn't seem apologetic at all.

The door to the tavern opened after three knocks. A man, the same one who had torn the bars of their cage open with his bare hands, stood there. His helmet hung on his waist, leaving his clear, and strangely youthful, face in the open.

Sile leaned forward. The words he had said to her echoed in her mind.

You will live.

"Sandor. Here for the ladies?" Geralt asked.

He nodded, walking inside. "If they are available and feel ready."

Margarita raised an eyebrow. No king she knew, nor anyone just as powerful, would have cared much about their state. "That is awfully gracious."

The warrior shrugged. "Lord Robert isn't a cunt who thinks the sun shines for him."

"Our ordeal was difficult. Would three days work for your lord?" Sile asked, suddenly feeling her stomach make noises she had become accustomed to in her cell.

Sandor nodded.

"Come in, my good sir; join us," Dandelion said, pulling a chair around the table for Sandor.

"Sir? Just call me Sandor," he said, his lips twitching. He took the seat and removed his gauntlets, laying the dark, wavy-patterned armor on his lap.

Even the armor was magical to a degree.

"Does it make you feel old?" Sile asked.

"No. Knights are called 'ser' in Westeros, and I hate knights," Sandor growled. He looked ready to spit but held himself back.

"A hatred of knights?" Geralt raised an eyebrow. While the knights of Toussaint could be irritating with their chivalry, they weren't malicious. "Any specific reason?"

"My brother was a knight. It didn't stop him from being a murderous, cruel bastard."

"Sandor, then. We are curious. What does your lord want with us? While we are grateful, I don't think he saved us only out of the goodness of his heart."

Margarita didn't mean any insults. She simply knew there weren't that many altruistic people out there.

"He has a Valyrian glass candle. His magic is too strong, so he needs someone with less power."

"Could you tell us more about your lord? At least what you can share," Sile asked. Sandor swallowed the bread, taking a sip of water before he began to speak.

—
​

Administrative Center

When the three of them walked past the giant guarding the door three days later, it was to the sight of Robert mediating a dispute between two other people.

"Master Cianfanelli. Your bank is a respectable institution. However, that doesn't give you the right to take the money from accounts simply because you heard rumors that the owner was dead. You should have confirmed it and reached out to family members, and unless there was a will, the amount should have been handed over to the government," he said, glaring down at the dwarf. Cianfanelli looked down, avoiding eye contact.

"Since there wasn't a singular ruler before me, the bank taking the money is understandable." His words brought a glimmer of hope to the banker, but the following ones destroyed it.

"From now on, the administration will be informed of all the accounts without an owner. As for this gentleman, the amount taken from his account, in addition to all the revenue generated from its investment, will be paid to him in full."

"But… but…," Cianfanelli stuttered, searching for words.

"But?" He raised an eyebrow, head tilting to the left ever so slightly. "Master Cianfanelli, that money wasn't yours to take or invest."

The dwarf swallowed the bile in his throat and bowed. "I understand."

"This goes for all the accounts your bank took over because you believed the owner was dead. The money in the accounts of confirmed cases of no ownership will be handed to me."

Now he looked ready to faint.

"Anything else?"

The grinning elf bowed, almost bending in half. "No, my lord. I thank you for your fairness."

"Then you two are dismissed."

The dwarf and the elf left the room in completely opposite moods.

"Ladies, I hope you two are in good condition. As I said, you didn't have to come otherwise." He gestured at the chairs while Sandor left the room.

"We are well, my lord. Though we are curious as to how," Margarita said. Sile was busy examining the jovial man, leaving her to do the talking.

He fished the crystal out of his pocket, throwing it to Margarita. "I took this from the necromancer of Shadow Lands, Xolani. It is the life force of thousands crystallized to be used for whatever dark spells he had going."

Her magic stirred. She felt something respond to her, but it fell silent. "Fascinating." She handed it back after a second.

She would have loved to inspect it more.

"Anyway. What do you say about my offer?" Sandor had already explained everything. There was no need for him to repeat it.

"It will be our pleasure to work with a man of your class." The only place they could go was Kovir. Most of the Northern Kingdoms were united under Radovid to resist Nilfgaard.

Both sides still endorsed the witch hunts.

Being there, under the protection of the dragonlord, was the safest bet.

"Wunderbach," Robert said, clapping his hands once.

Sile and Margarita shared a look but didn't comment.

"For now, we are hunting the four criminal heads of the underworld," he explained. They were better informed in regards to the political climate than he was.

"Sigismund Dijkstra, Francis Bedlam, Carlo Varese, and Cyprian Wiley," Margarita recounted the names. She wasn't surprised by the idea. While the Hierarch, who was dead now, officially ruled Novigrad, it was those four who had the true power.

Robert was smart to want them gone, even if his stay was short-term.

"Yes."

"They have tight control over the city. Any attempt to kill them might result in a scorched-earth policy, especially by Dijkstra," Sile said. Even she knew how ruthless Sigi Ruven was. He would rather burn the city than let anyone else have it.

Robert leaned forward, his smile growing. "Which is why we are going to kill them and as many of their men as possible in one coordinated attack. " I simply want you to use this to find them, their strongholds, the number of men, and possible escape paths."

Margarita reached for the obsidian glass object. "Then we better get to work."

—
​

As the sorceresses spied on the four head honchos of the underworld, they had another, more political agenda.

Henry var Attre.

The Nilfgaardian ambassador to Novigrad had finally requested an audience. He saw no reason to deny it since there was nothing else for him to do.

He raised his hand to his chest, curtsying. "Lord Robert, allow me to introduce myself. Henry var Attre was Nilfgaard's ambassador to Novigrad. It is my duty and pleasure to bring you word from our exalted ruler, Emperor Emhyr var Emreis."

"Thank you, Ambassador." He wondered when Nilfgaard would send someone to meet him.

Though, he had no idea what to do with the empire. Slavery, something he was vehemently against, was widespread in the empire. They were unlikely to simply give it up. He considered offering North to Emhyr in return for outlawing slavery. It fell apart when he had a clearer look at Nilfgaard's state.

His investment in the Free Cities offset the potential loss, which was the reason they even agreed to the offer. The same was not possible for Nilfgaard. He didn't have the coin to invest, not that he would, nor did the Black ones have any reason to agree.

The North needed a new ruler, one that would stand against Emhyr without the cruelty Radovid displayed, both in life and in the game.

"I wanted to appear earlier, but the chaos of the city made it difficult."

"Totally understandable. Though, did you just come to greet me?

"Your arrival was a curious matter, as are your dragons. I was sent to learn more instead of putting stock in rumors."

"Well, Ambassador, feel free to ask."

—
​

His answers were basic. He was from another continent that lay on the other side of the world. The existence of Westeros and Essos, his city, dragons, and power—these were all things he was willing to answer for.

Questions regarding the finer details, which were the empire's attempts to gain intelligence, were kindly denied.

Once var Attre left, not before inviting him to dinner on his estate, he considered what to do with the future. Tyrion's reports were as expected. It would be a while before a proper fleet could be readied to sail an unknown distance from Westeros to the Continent. Until then, he was stuck here.

Which gave him time to save some people, such as Papa Vesemir.

He liked the old Witcher when he was playing the game. His death was saddening. He could prevent it, though; he would have to somehow draw Imlerith out of his world. There were two things that could achieve that.

The sabbath of the Crones or Ciri herself.

The former would take place after Vesemir's death. The latter, well, only one person knew where she was, and he was in no condition to speak.

He would have to hunt some witches himself.

"Sandor," he called out. The door opened immediately, and his right-hand man stood there. "I am off to check something out. Hold the fort while I am away."

"When will you be back?"

"Shouldn't take long. Tomorrow morning at the latest. I'll leave Ra here."

He bowed and left.

Robert jumped out of the window, landing near the obelisk. The blue dragon rose to his feet, stretching his wings to the fullest. "Come on, we have somewhere to be."

—
​

"Father, where exactly are we going?" he asked once they left the confines of the city. It certainly wasn't for sightseeing.

His father was on a mission.

He hummed. "There are those little crones I need to hunt."

He bent his long neck back, glancing at his father with one eye. "How did they even cross you? We've barely been here for days." He certainly hadn't seen any.

"Let's put that on the list of things better left unanswered."

Obelisk turned ahead. He had quickly come to learn the inconsistencies in his father's knowledge in several matters. This seemed to be just another example.

"If the maps are correct, they should be this way."

"Do we just kill them?"

"No, I need at least one of them alive. You'll be my eyes in the sky. They are really ugly, so you can't miss them." If they could somehow invite Imlerith for the sabbath, then the Crones could reach the Wild Hunt.

The rest was a matter of negotiating.

"Whatever you say."

—
​

Rosemary and Thyme

"Geralt of Rivia?" the woman at the door asked, holding several papers and a pouch.

"Yes?"

"I am here on behalf of Cianfanelli Bank. There was an account opened in your name by Matteo, a vineyard owner. As our bank believed you were dead, the coin has been taken and reinvested. By the decree of Lord Robert Baratheon, the initial amount, two hundred crowns in total, along with the one thousand three hundred crowns earned through investment, are yours. Please sign here to acknowledge you received the aforementioned amounts."

"Uhh, sure," he said, taking the quill and signing his name.

The clerk held out a large pouch, brimming with coin. He took it, still not sure what the hell had happened.

"Good day to you, and we hope you will continue to use the services of Cianfanelli Bank."

He loosened the knot, whistling. There was easily the promised amount here. Along with the jobs he had taken, he wouldn't be short on money for a good while.

Fortune had just smiled on his face for the second time because of Robert.

Maybe he should get him a nice gift.

—
​

In the next chapter:

His luck had turned around. When he landed outside the Crone's abode, he came across quite the interesting sight.

"Well, well, well. Would you look at this? I was going to kill two of you," he pointed at the Crones, "and torture the third to lure this bastard out," his finger slowly turning to the elves, "only for you all to be gathered here. Lady Fortune must be smiling at me."

"Who is this dh'oine?" Imlerith asked, anger seeping into his harsh tone.



Curious about the next chapter? Please consider supporting me on Patreon.

 

[Samael61]

Hello there,

If you enjoy my stories, you can read up to 15 chapters in advance per story on my Patreon page / patreon.com/Samael61.

Robert is a badass who treats killing gods and slaying demons like just another Thursday. Did you know it was inspired by Thairon, the protagonist of my original story, Arrival : Ruptures, long before I began to write it? Comments, likes and reviews are appreciated. Here are the links for : AO3, Spacebattles, Royal Road and Webnovel.

—
​

Velen's Swamps

His luck had turned around. When he landed outside the Crone's abode, he came across quite the interesting sight.

"Well, well, well. Would you look at this? I was going to kill two of you," he pointed at the Crones, "and torture the third to lure this bastard out," his finger slowly turning to the elves, "only for you all to be gathered here. Lady Fortune must be smiling at me."

"Who is this dh'oine?" Imlerith asked, anger seeping into his harsh tone.

The crown with the basket on her head hissed. "An intruder."

"Awww," he cooed, clenching his fists. His body grew in size, flames encapsulating him to reconstitute his armor. "That's not nice. Is this how you treat the man who is about to be really close to your hearts?" he asked.

The Wild Hunt and the Crones tensed, feeling the change in the air.

Robert burst forward like a coiled spring, appearing only as a streak of red and blue before a Wild Hunt rider found he had an arm going through his torso and his beating heart ripped out.

He crushed the organ in his hand, eyes glowing. The orange beams turned armor to molten slag and flesh to ash. The Crones screeched, running away, while Imlerith rallied his men to attack.

He raised his sword, bringing it to his left side and swung. The red, crescent wave bisected the elves in half. Imlerith barely threw himself to the ground. The elves froze in their places before falling apart like Jenga towers. The house and the forest behind it were reduced to nothingness.

When Imlerith tried to get up, a boot slammed on his head, forcing him on the dirt.

"Tut, tut, tut," Robert clicked his tongue, wagging a finger. "I was going to kill you, but I have a better idea," he said, raising his foot and bringing it down.

Imlerith's scream was cut short.

—
​

The sisters ran.

The beast, the anomaly, was not something they could kill. To preserve their lives, they fled their home. Though, something just as bad was waiting for them outside.

The moonlight reflected off its azure scales as two sharp, crimson eyes locked on them. The beast opened its mouth. The roar scared off everything within the swamp, and the sisters trembled, their ears ringing.

It raised its front leg. "My Father only needs one of you alive," it said, bringing down its claw. Weavess was quicker than her sisters. She flew back just in time to see Whispess and Brewess be crushed.

"Change of plans." The beast's father came out of the woods, dragging the Aen Elle by his leg. "I got what I wanted. No need for any of them."

She went to her knees to plead and beg, but it was for naught. The dragon's tail came swinging. The serrated scales met no resistance. The Crone's upper body splattered as blood and guts, her lower body getting rag-dolled into a tree.

"What about this creature, Father?" he asked, smelling the elf. He stank of death and cold, somehow.

"I was thinking of something along the lines of Walder the Whore."

Obelisk threw his head back, roaring in waves that shook the forest.

—
​

Novigrad

The dragon landed outside the Administrative Center, making sure to drop the elf first. The scene they came into was a chaotic one, with bodies strewn around. Sandor was currently beating answers out of one while Wun Weg held the man up by his legs.

"Boys, what's happening here?" he asked. He wasn't gone for that long, and already there were like twenty or so bodies.

The severed parts and the gore smears on the ground made it difficult to count.

"They were targeting the sorceresses," Sandor reported. Wun Weg grunted in affirmation, holding the man higher.

He flashed a thumbs-up. "Carry on."

"Who sent you?!" Sandor bellowed, bringing the man back into awareness. Who promptly started to cry.

He smiled, walking inside as he dragged Imlerith along. Sile and Margarita were inside his office, watching the commotion through the window.

"Ladies, no harm came to you, right?" he asked, dropping Imlerith on the corner of the room. Flames came down from his head to his boots, taking the armor away.

Sile shook her head. "They didn't even get the chance to approach."

"Excellent," he said, dusting off his head and moving to his seat.

"Is that?" Margarita stumbled, accidentally bumping her hip on the desk.

He turned back to the unconscious elf. "You know who this is?"

"Imlerith, a general of the Wild Hunt. How did you?" Sile asked. It wasn't a matter of strength, for Robert had that in spades, but a matter of finding Imlerith.

"I caught him talking to some crones about capturing the Child of the Elder Blood. There were also mentions of those ugly things wanting to eat the said child. I decided to intervene."

"What will you do with him?"

"You wouldn't happen to know where I could find a tailor and a makeup artist, would you?"

"There is one who fits both criteria," Margarita said. Whatever fate awaited Imlerith was going to be a humiliating one, it seemed.

"Great. Since it's getting late, why don't you two retire for the night? All your accommodations in Rosemary and Thyme are covered while you are working for me. Oh, and Ra can escort you two if you wish."

"Your generosity is enough. We'll just take a portal to the inn," Margarita said.

"Good night then," he said, dragging Imlerith out of the room. He would keep him locked up in one of the vacant rooms and hand him to Elihal tomorrow.

Imlerith the Impotent sounded catchy.

—
​

Rosemary and Thyme

"He did what?!" Geralt leaped from his seat, palms on the table pushing him up. His gravelly voice broke into a high-pitched squeal at the end.

"Captured Imlerith. I didn't have the mental fortitude to ask for details, but he was in league with some Crones. They were talking about eating Ciri while Imlerith wanted her caught. He decided to intervene."

With that, Sile reached for the wine, leaving the rest to Margarita.

"What's he going to do with him?" he asked. Imlerith's capture was great news. The Wild Hunt was deprived of one of its generals and greatest warriors. They would not be able to pursue Ciri so easily anymore.

He definitely would get Robert a gift.

"He asked for a make-up artist and a tailor. Make what you will out of that." Either Robert was a pervert, which she didn't think was the case, or he wanted to humiliate Imlerith.

Margarita was certain it would be a sight to behold.

Geralt sat down. "I have to see this tomorrow."

—
​

Administrative Center

"My lord," Elihal bowed deeply, dressed in his usual clothes, thankfully. You wouldn't know what his hobby was from the brown doublet over a white shirt and those gray trousers. "How may I be of service?"

"I need an elf dressed and prettied up with an image that will scream 'impotent.' It is a bit abstract, but can you do it?" He explained his request. Even if it wasn't up to his standards, it still would be funny.

Elihal looked down for a second before meeting his eyes. "Who is the elf in question, if I may ask?"

"Sandor, bring him in," he called out. The door swung open. Sandor brought Imlerith, holding him by the scruff of his neck like a puppy, still in his armor.

"Goodness," Elihal took a step back. He didn't know the Aen Elle, but if he was important enough to be taken prisoner, then he was a high-ranking member of the Wild Hunt.

"Don't worry; he is knocked out to keep your identity a secret. What do you say? Think you can handle it?"

The tailor gave a deep, slow nod. "Well, this will certainly be a masterpiece. Though, what do you intend to do with him?"

Robert smiled from ear to ear. "Tie him to a post in the Hierarch's Square as an attraction."

The elf doubled down in laughter. "My lord, I assure you, when I am done with him, no one will even know he ever was a male."

—
​

While Elihal worked on Imlerith, he was meeting with Sile and Margarita. They had mapped everything related to the task he had given out. Their previous knowledge of the city's inner workings, combined with the glass candle, revealed the secrets of the underworld bosses.

"Wun Weg, you'll take the bathhouse. Wreck them all and make sure no one survives," he said, crossing the bathhouse on the map with an X.

The giant shouldered his hammer. "Understood."

"Sandor, you have Bedlam. His network needs to be dismantled quickly. No runners, no mercy." Sandor would chase and eliminate every single one before they could even comprehend it.

"As you command," Sandor said, lightning flashing on the maws of the infernal hound-shaped pauldrons.

"I'll handle Cleaver and his forces, as well as this fighting ring," he said. Since the dwarf had his little army, he would be the most entertaining enemy to fight.

"Who will deal with Whoreson Junior?" Sile asked. He was, perhaps, the one most out in the open. The dragons could simply burn his assets to the ground.

Robert crossed his arms.

Someone knocked on the door.

"My lord, it's Geralt of Rivia. May I come in?" the Witcher's voice came.

"Sure," he said. Perhaps Geralt could be useful in that regard. He didn't expect the Witcher to bring in a barrel, though. From the smell, it was heavy, sweet, and fruity.

Mead.

"To what do I owe this barrel?" he asked as Geralt put it near the corner.

"To thank you. It's rare for anyone to receive so much help from a noble without them expecting anything in return," the Witcher explained. Given that the Red Baron wanted him to save his family after driving them off, Emhyr and Radovid were masterclasses in being cunts, and his usual run-ins with nobility tended to be messy; he couldn't fault the White Wolf.

"You are welcome."

He approached closer. "There was also another matter. Ciri was seen with Cyprian Wiley. I wanted to go and interrogate him but didn't want to cause trouble in your city."

Robert turned to Sile and Margarita, who threw curious glances at him.

That was lucky.

"Then we are both in luck," he said. The Witcher raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"We were just discussing who would kill Whoreson Junior and take out his forces," he explained, gesturing at the map.

Geralt smiled. The barrel felt lacking as a gift now. "Oh?"

"I believe we found our fourth man. Take a seat, Geralt," Robert said, pulling another seat closer. The Witcher sat down, inspecting the map.

"I am getting rid of the four bosses of the underworld tonight. The three of us will handle Sigismund Dijkstra, Francis Bedlam, and Carlo Varese. Since you want Cyprian, you can have him as long as his neck is relieved of the burden of his head," he said, gesturing at where Sile and Margarita had located Whoreson down in Oxenfurt.

"That's what I am here for."

"Sandor, you'll have Obelisk providing air support for you. Geralt, Ra will follow you just the same." Since the bath house and Cleaver's headquarters were closed spaces, air support was not necessary.

He turned to the sorceresses. "Ladies, you'll be our eyes and ears, watching the enemy and sending out messages in case we miss anyone."

If anyone tried to burn the industrial areas as part of Dijkstra's scorched earth policy, they would die quickly.

"As you wish."

"Any questions?" he asked, receiving none in return.

"Good. We'll meet back here once the sun is down. Until then, you are all free." He dismissed them while leaning back on his seat.

—
​

The Golden Sturgeon

Sandor walked in, and the whole inn fell silent. His target, the ringleader of the fools who had gathered together to hunt Sile and Margarita, was gathered here. At least that's what the man had revealed after losing half his teeth.

He seemed to be in the right place.

"Is there a problem here?" he asked the red-haired waitress, who smirked at the men harassing her and crossed her arms.

"Aye. These ruffians are threatening me, telling me I can't let nonhumans in."

He put his hand on the first man's shoulder, pushing him towards the door. "Come with me."

"But…"

"Come with me, or I will rip your heads off."

The bandit-looking fools fell behind him in a line. They didn't go too far, just to the alley near the inn. One of them opened his mouth, perhaps to excuse their actions, but it was too late. One swing of his blade and the alley was bathed in blue, followed by red.

Whoever was using these fools wouldn't have the chance again.

"Thank you for that. Those bastards have been harassing me for weeks. And the guards are no use," the rough-around-the-edges voice of the barmaid called out.

He gave a nod and turned around. "You are welcome."

"Why don't you come in and I'll get you a mug of ale?" she offered. He stopped, finding the offer quite interesting. She knew he had just turned half a dozen men to ash in the blink of an eye.

Yet she was offering him ale.

"No need, I have things to do," he said. He shuddered, as if feeling a disappointed glare, and turned around, seeing Robert on the other end of the street. He was shaking his head, a frown on his face.

"On second thought, why not?" he muttered.

She smiled, her freckled face stretching. "I'm Bea; nice to meet you."

"Sandor," he said, shuddering again. "You too." He followed her along, feeling the glare on the back of his head disappear.

—
​

Hierarch's Square

The citizens of Novigrad thought the new lord had changed his mind. That he would be burning someone, either a witch or someone else.

Instead, they were treated to the sight of the ugliest elven woman they had seen. Her mouth was bound, stopping her from speaking. Her pink, lacy dress was an eyesore, as was the exposed bra over her flat chest. The stockings strained to contain her legs, and her makeup started to run down her face.

The gathered mass was confused.

A bard appeared near the woman, a harp in his hand.

"Imlerith of the Wild Hunt,

He was bold and mighty.

But he had a secret.

One shameful and ghastly,

His little birdie doesn't fly.

He has no choice but to cry.

And wear what fits his state,

Dance in your velvet and lace,

The paint cannot hide your face.

Traded his armor for bright pink,

He traded his boots for stockings.

Cry, Imlerith, cry.

For you will be known as the Impotent."

Imlerith screamed, but the crowd's screams of bellyaching laughter drowned it out.

—
​

Tir na Lia

"Where is Imlerith?"

"Unknown. He had left to parley with the Vran Certa. They are dead, as well as the troops Imlerith had taken. No sign of him."

"Find him. This is not the time. Not when we can find no sign of Zirael."

"As you command."

—
​

In the next chapter:

His eyes locked on the bald man, Dijkstra. He was just leaving the hot waters and stood there with a towel around his waist. His flaming hammer cut through the dimly lit baths like a falling star.

"Ah shit," Dijkstra closed his eyes as his shoulders sagged. He knew it was the end for him.



Curious about the next chapter? Please consider supporting me on Patreon.

 

[Samael61]

Hello there,

If you enjoy my stories, you can read up to 15 chapters in advance per story on my Patreon page / patreon.com/Samael61.

Robert is a badass who treats killing gods and slaying demons like just another Thursday. Did you know it was inspired by Thairon, the protagonist of my original story, Arrival : Ruptures, long before I began to write it? Comments, likes and reviews are appreciated. Here are the links for : AO3, Spacebattles, Royal Road and Webnovel.

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​

Novigrad

Bathhouse

Wun Weg felt the warmth of the setting sun in his bones. Once, it would have been uncomfortable, making him sweat like an animal. It was nothing more than a pleasant feeling now.

He raised his hammer to his shoulder, letting the weight remind him of his task. He charged forward like a mammoth. Each heavy step left indentations on the ground. The sound announced his arrival, but there was nothing anyone could do. He barged through the pillars at the entrance, reducing two of them to rubble. He didn't even feel the door as it gave away before him.

His eyes locked on the bald man, Dijkstra. He was just leaving the hot waters and stood there with a towel around his waist. His flaming hammer cut through the dimly lit baths like a falling star.

"Ah shit," Dijkstra closed his eyes as his shoulders sagged. He knew it was the end for him.

The hammer slammed into his left upper arm first, burning and crushing it. The flesh turned to charcoal and was broken into a black dust that smelled of burned meat. The swing nailed a soldier in the torso, dropping him to the ground as nothing more than a head, arms, and legs.

The rest scrambled to act. They found it only served to make them die tired.

—
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Putrid Grove

Sandor stood at the entrance. He rolled his neck left to right and knocked. Francis Bedlam's location, the Putrid Grove, was supposed to be a secret. The only way inside was either through a donation or by knowing the password.

The small peephole on top of the door slid to the side. "What's it?"

Sandor answered by thrusting his hand through, wrapping his fingers around the man's throat. He pulled him out, ripping the door apart. The choking man was covered in splinters. His hand tightened, a sharp crack rising, echoing through the empty streets. He tossed the corpse aside and walked in.

The whole world crawled to a stop.

—
​

When Bedlam heard the commotion outside, he had an idea what was happening. He ordered his men to disperse through the dozen secret escape paths they had. He went first, aiming for the wall where a path to the docks awaited.

His head snapped back at the sound of the screams, but there was no one except the corpses hitting the ground. He turned forward, increasing his speed, and collided with something. Rather, whatever he hit didn't even budge. He raised his hand, seeing a monster with three heads, each one a snarling, hellish hound darker than night. Lightning poured out of their eyes and maws, illuminating them all.

The monster raised his sword, and Bedlam didn't even have the time to negotiate for his life.

The men that thought they were safe found themselves mistaken. The blue dragon was in the air, blocking moonlight with his wings spread open. The membranes glowed, firing

—
​

Cleaver's Headquarters

He stretched his arms and legs, craning his neck. Cleaver was in his base, torturing someone for information on Whoreson Junior. He spotted four guards lounging outside. He split the sword into four knives, floating around him.

He flicked his finger.

Four red streaks pierced the veil of the night. The dwarves were clueless, bored one second, dead the next with knives nailing them to the wall. He strolled to the door, knocking. The knives gathered in his hand, melting back into a sword.

"What?! Can't you see that the boss is busy?" a dwarf screamed to his knees. He looked up, seeing Robert's eyes lighting up his face. Flames spread from his feet; he grew in size, and his form was covered by dark, solid shadows.

"Fuck me," the dwarf's eyes widened. His form was cut in half just like the headquarters as the sword came down. Robert stomped inside. Cleaver was frozen there, pale as a Noonwraith.

His sword came down on them.

—
​

Cleaver ran for his life. Somehow, he had survived when everyone else had turned to ashes. He had never shied from a battle in his life, never backed down from any enemy.

Until now.

Cold, unfeeling hands gripped his heart. Each beat squeezed it harder. The night was cold, yet he felt himself sweat. He ran and ran as fast as his legs could take him. He weaved between the buildings, searching for a way out.

The noise of fighting died.

He stopped, hands on his knees, heaving for breath, thinking he was far enough. A slow, deeply unsettling tune rang in his ears. It was a low, echoing tone, and it cut through the ambient sounds.

He ran once more.

No matter how far he went, the eerie tune was close, breathing down his neck. His face lit up as he saw the moonlight shine on the docks. He felt a portion of his strength return and pushed ahead.

The shockwave as the dragon landed in his path launched him back. He took in the sight of the beast, seeing its narrow, slit pupils lock on him. He turned around, scrambling to find another way.

The whistle intensified.

It was all he could hear now. The towering mass of shadow approached him, each slow step accompanied by the beat of the whistle. Carlo looked at the red and blue orbs regarding him.

His heart seized, and they were the last things he ever saw in this mortal world.

"Ah man, is he dead? I wanted to play a bit more," Robert grumbled, turning the corpse to ashes.

—
​

Oxenfurt

Geralt held on for dear life. He had done many acts he never thought he would. He rode with the Wild Hunt, became involved in politics, and even raised a child. Flying on a dragon was not one of those things. The idea was wild enough he never even had a reason to consider it.

"We are here," Ra said. The beast's tone was not the harsh, guttural tone one would expect from a dragon. He sounded similar to Ciri when she was bored.

"We need to land away. I am not durable like your father."

"I know, just hold on tight," the dragon said, his tone

"Wait, what?" he said. The dragon flipped around, and Geralt felt his stomach drop. "Are you crazy?!" he screamed, his gravelly tone lost in the rushing wind.

"Calm down," the dragon said, and he could feel the winged menace roll his eyes. They approached closer and closer to Whoreson's hiding place. Just as it seemed the dragon would crash into the yard, Geralt let go of the saddle, falling on his feet. Strong gusts of wind on either side of him howled in his ears, and the dragon shot up to the sky again.

He stood there like a statue. He had never been more grateful to feel the solid ground beneath his feet. He watched the dragon move over the house as if it weren't a beast that weighed thousands of tons.

Ra came down around, targeting the men on the outer walls and near the door. He didn't release his flames, instead striking each one with his tail, flying right over their heads.

Geralt shrugged. As long as he didn't alert all of Oxenfurt, it was precise and quiet enough for him.

He drew his sword, stepping left and cleaving one of Whoreson's men in half. He blocked the club heading for his head and decapitated the next one. He twirled around once and carved the third man from hip to shoulder.

His face hardened. Whoreson would try to run. He was faster, though, barging inside the residence. He cut through several more men with the fury of a father. He reached the upper floor. An Aard broke the door open, and Geralt's rage intensified.

Whoreson was trying to escape through the window.

It wasn't anything surprising. Two female bodies were hanging from the ceiling, most likely prostitutes. They were young, either dragged to this line of work because of debts or just saw it as an easy way of earning coin.

A ghost of an image flashed in his vision.

"You bastard," he snarled like an animal, reaching for Whoreson. He caught him by the back of his neck and threw him to the wall. He landed a kick. Cyprian groaned in pain, curling in half.

"An ashen haired young woman came here. She gave you a phylactery. Where is it?"

"Inside the drawer," Cyprian wheezed out.

Geralt almost tore the drawer off the desk. True to Whoerson's word, the broken phylactery was there. He took it, eyes snapping back. Whoreson was trying to crawl away, but he wasn't done yet.

Another kick to the chest had him coughing out blood.

"Wait, wait," Cyprian begged. Geralt raised his sword and brought it down, letting the head tumble away. He considered taking it back as proof, but the thought of touching that bastard disgusted him in a way no monster guts ever had.

He took the phylactery and left.

—
​

Novigrad

Whoreson's fighting ring and casino were the last remaining great enterprises. Robert marched in with Sandor. Wun Weg was tasked to handle the casino with the city guard.

—
​

Administrative Center

"Goodness, look at him," Sile muttered, feeling the bile in her stomach rise. Robert was holding a man by the neck while he breathed flames like his dragons, incinerating everything in sight. He then turned his attention to the struggling man, squeezing his throat, decapitating him with brute force.

A wyvern, one of the monsters kept in the arena, charged at Robert. It stopped, though, its claws leaving gashes on the ground. She rolled her eyes as the beast laid its head on the ground, showing total submission.

Robert patted it on the head.

A bear followed a similar path, retreating with its head held low, while the endrega warriors were killed without a thought.

The animals were smarter than the men working in the arena, she noted.

Sandor was even more fervent in his pursuit. He hunted the running gangsters like animals. Pleas of mercy were ignored, groveling only earned them a faster death, and offers of material rewards in return for their lives did not even move the man. The effigies he wore made sense now.

The Hound of Death.

"Can't believe it's over like that. Radovid couldn't have done this in a decade," Margarita said, spitting the name out with all the hatred she could muster. He held the city for barely a week, yet life in Novigrad was never more promising.

The witch hunts were banned. Any attempts to continue were met with lethal retaliation. The taxes were readjusted, commerce flowed freely, and now the criminal underground was annihilated for the most part in hours.

Sile's eyes hardened. "Yes, well, hopefully that wretch will meet his end too."

Margarita turned back to the glass candle, and she winced. Robert punched a man, turning his upper body into a gory mess. The shockwave of the punch continued like an unstoppable spear, carving the three men behind apart.

"Let's check the situation at the casino. I've seen enough blood for a lifetime," Sile said. It wasn't the first battle she had watched, and by no means was she a stranger to blood and viscera.

Something about the primal way Robert tore those poor bastards apart made it difficult to watch. Like stepping on ants.

She held her hands out, and the screen blurred, displaying the casino. Several of Whoreson's men had met the same fate as their boss. The rest were arrested along with the patrons.

"At least that ended with less bloodshed."

—
​

Robert sat down on his seat. "Ladies, thank you for your work. You can go and rest."

"Thank you, my lord," Sile said. They both bowed, opening a portal back to the inn.

"Oh, do tell Dandelion I'd like to rent the tavern for a small celebration," he said as they left. Margarita's head peeked out, and she nodded, returning back.

There was a knock on the door. His head tilted towards Sandor, and he opened the door, allowing the last member of their little operation inside.

"Geralt, how did it go?" he asked, his tone cheerful as ever.

"Whoreson's dead; I took his head off," Geralt replied. His tone, however, did share theirs. Considering what a filth Cyprian was, the sights inside his hiding place would drain joy from anyone.

"Dijkstra, Cleaver, and Bedlam, along with most of their men, are dead as well," he said, holding a cup of mead to Geralt. All four emptied their drinks in one breath.

Geralt put his cup down and took a seat. "Never thought Dijkstra would go out like this."

He raised an eyebrow. "You knew him?"

"I broke his leg once. He was Radovid's father's spymaster. I thought he would go out with a knife between his ribs."

"A hammer to the face works much better in my opinion."

Geralt turned right, glancing at the massive hammer Wun Weg carried. "Can't argue with that."

"Thank you once again," he said, reaching for the door. Robert could feel the gratitude in the man's voice.

"Don't mention it."

"Alright, you two, go and rest." He dismissed Sandor and Wun Weg.

They all earned a good night's rest.

—
​

The deaths of the four criminal leaders of Novigrad's underworld spread quickly. Radovid was both pleased and displeased. He wanted all four dead to take over the city. Robert's existence made it difficult, and with Dijkstra gone, he owned the city now.

Emhyr was entirely displeased. With no Dijkstra to negotiate with, he could not have the necessary insider assistance to dispose of Radovid. The growing discontent inside the empire put him in danger each day. His daughter's whereabouts were still unknown. The current state of affairs did not look hopeful.

—
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Westeros

King's Landing

Red Keep

Rhaelle smiled as she read the letter. "Your father agreed to ransom you and the boy. He also gave his word there would be no bid for the throne."

Lyanna's face was cold as the lands she was born in. She pressed her son closer to her chest. "What will you do with the land?" What use was the Neck to anyone?

She flicked her hand to the side, dismissing her question. "That's his business. I would start packing up if I were you. It won't be long before Rickard Stark arrives."

Robert's idea to create a canal in the Neck by having his dragons blast the land apart and connect the seas was brilliant. If he could pull it off, and she had no reason to believe he couldn't, the trade he would control would be beyond every other kingdom's.

"What about the rest of House Targaryen?" she asked. Her good brothers, sisters, and mother were still prisoners in the keep. The accursed dragons, the sigil of their house, kept the whole city in check.

There would be no saving them.

"You know how it is. Men and boys to the Wall or the Citadel, ladies and girls to the Faith. I'll let Rhaella take Daenerys and retire to a faraway sept. She suffered enough as it is."

Lyanna left the room without acknowledging her.

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In the next chapter:

He was about to sit down when he acted as if the owl had caught his attention. He walked to it, a hand on his chin. "What's with the owl, Zoltan?" he asked, squinting his eyes.

Zoltan scratched his beard in response to Robert's sudden interest in the bird. "Won her at an auction. Poor thing, something got her eyes." He didn't think it was a good idea to reveal the specific auction where he won her.

"Can sorcerers change into animals, Geralt?" he asked. Sile and Margarita were quick to abandon their seats, approaching the owl with wide eyes. They had seen it once as the dwarf took the bird upstairs. Upon a closer look, they realised who it was.



Curious about the next chapter? Please consider supporting me on Patreon.

 

[Samael61]

Hello there,

If you enjoy my stories, you can read up to 15 chapters in advance per story on my Patreon page / patreon.com/Samael61.

Robert is a badass who treats killing gods and slaying demons like just another Thursday. Did you know it was inspired by Thairon, the protagonist of my original story, Arrival : Ruptures, long before I began to write it? Comments, likes and reviews are appreciated. Here are the links for : AO3, Spacebattles, Royal Road and Webnovel.

—
​

Novigrad

Rosemary and Thyme

He stepped through the door, waiting for Wun Weg to squeeze through without breaking anything.

"My lord, welcome!" Dandelion greeted him with the exuberance of a man enjoying his freedom. Robert offered his hand, and the bard shook it vigorously, pulling him inside.

"Thank you. I hope our little celebration didn't inconvenience you," he said, inspecting the inn. Geralt and the sorceresses were there, along with Priscilla, Zoltan and, of course, Poppy the owl.

Dandelion smiled, gesturing towards the table. "Of course not. It is such a pleasure to have you and your comrades here."

"Geralt, ladies," he greeted them, motioning them to sit as they rose to greet him.

"My lord," they said as one. There were three seats around the table, larger than the others. One seat was clearly designated for Wun Weg, as it was nearly the size of a small carriage.

He was about to sit down when he acted as if the owl had caught his attention. He walked to it, a hand on his chin. "What's with the owl, Zoltan?" he asked, squinting his eyes.

Zoltan scratched his beard in response to Robert's sudden interest in the bird. "Won her at an auction. Poor thing, something got her eyes." He didn't think it was a good idea to reveal the specific auction where he won her.

"Can sorcerers change into animals, Geralt?" he asked. Sile and Margarita were quick to abandon their seats, approaching the owl with wide eyes. They had seen it once as the dwarf took the bird upstairs. Upon a closer look, they realised who it was.

"Yes, why are you…" the Witcher said. Coupled with the sudden interest of the Sorcerers, he too approached the bird.

Robert huffed. He reached for the small metal bracelet around the owl's leg and snapped it in half. Immediately, the owl glowed, her form morphing back to that of a human. A woman stood in front of the perch suddenly.

One with a blindfold around her eyes.

"Philippa?" Sile asked with a breathy voice. She didn't even know if her fellow sorcerer was alive. Seeing her hiding right under noses without being aware was embarrassing.

She crossed her arms, her cheekbones rising slightly. If she still had eyes, Robert was certain she would be glaring daggers. "About time someone noticed me. A pity it happened to be a complete stranger rather than my fellow sorcerers."

"Honestly, we barely glanced at you once," Margarita said. She was in no condition to care about a bird.

"How did you get stuck as an owl?" Geralt asked. The bracelet was obviously dimeritium. Someone must have put it on her while she was distracted. She was too vicious to be forced.

"It is irrelevant now. We have more pressing issues to discuss," she said.

Robert held a hand out, a strained smile on his face. "We are in the middle of a celebration. You should probably rest and leave it for later."

She took a step towards him, her shoulders tensed, head tilted up as if she could still see him. "And who are you, exactly?"

She was politically savvy and would no doubt back down to not antagonise him if he answered that question. Unfortunately for her, he wasn't in the mood to deal with her.

Robert rolled his eyes and pulled his crystal out. Philippa tensed, gathering a fireball in her hand. She felt hundreds of hot needles stab into her eyes and brain simultaneously, leaving her paralysed with pain. She stood conscious only long enough for eyes to grow back. He caught the sorceress, waving the back of his right hand dismissively towards Sandor.

"Get her up to a room," he said, letting Sandor take her away.

Everyone was watching him in silence. "What?" he said, dusting his hands. "She needs to rest. In the meantime, the celebration can continue."

"True. May I introduce the star of the night, Priscilla?" Dandelion said, rubbing his hands together. The blonde poet approached, giving a deep bow. "My lord, thank you for all you have done for this city and its people."

"Don't mention it. In fact," he clapped his hands and spread them apart, "all this formality is tiring. Tonight, just call me Robert."

Geralt shrugged. "Alright."

Sandor came down, fiddling with the collar of his doublet. "I dropped her in an empty room. She is sound asleep."

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's drink," he said with a grin, sitting down first.

Between the music, the food and the alcohol, it was a pleasant night. Geralt was off to Skellige next in his search for Ciri. She was seen in two different locations. Each needed to be investigated. After that, he would have to see where the phylactery's trace would lead him.

He was, of course, grateful that the Wild Hunt was deprived of one of its generals.

"Say, the Wild Hunt. They are from another world, right?" he asked. There wasn't much time to interrogate Imlerith, not that he would say anything without employing extreme methods.

Geralt lowered his cup, forgoing the drink for now. "Yes, Aen Elle. Their king, Eredin, leads the Wild Hunt."

"Why do they want Ciri? Is it because of her abilities?" he asked. While not everyone knew why she was important beyond being the heir apparent to Nilfgaard's throne, it wouldn't be out of the realm of possibilities for him to discover something.

The Witcher nodded slowly, but his eyes hardened, suspicious. "It is. Her bloodline is special. A lot of people want to control her."

A puff of air escaped his lips, brows creased. "Boy, does that suck."

"Speaking from personal experience?" Geralt asked, his tense muscles relaxing.

He nodded, remembering the days before who he became. "I didn't always have my dragons or my powers. The Seven Kingdoms was one giant game board. You either controlled or were controlled. I was always too headstrong to be controlled but never cared to control."

"Guess that didn't go well?" He didn't want to be involved in politics, but those with power, wealth and influence always were dragged into it.

"Nope. There was this girl. I didn't love her. Matches where love bloomed were rare. So I thought I would marry the sister of the man I grew up to call another brother while we were fostered in the Vale together."

"Rhaegar, the cunt who sent me here, was obsessed with prophecies, about the White Walkers and the end of the world."

Geralt's eyes widened and he leant forward. "Sounds familiar."

"He believed a child born from him and the girl I was set to marry would be the prince that was promised. King Aerys, my father and Lyanna's father made a deal. I would marry the eldest daughter of Aerys, while Lyanna would marry Rhaegar."

"You disagreed."

"I wanted Eddard Stark as a brother more than I cared about marrying a princess, one who was my second cousin no less." The pain had long faded into an unpleasant memory. The other half of him had certainly helped.

He didn't remember the last time he had even thought about Eddard Stark.

"I almost rearranged Rhaegar's face right in front of all the big nobility of Westeros. I let my guard down when Eddard pulled a sword on me," he said. Unfortunately, Barristan, the one who had knocked him out, was dead. Slifer had apparently chewed the old knight like a piece of gum before spitting him out on Jon Connington.

Fast enough to shred him to pieces with shrapnel of bone and metal.

He kind of felt bad about him. He could have been recruited, but alas, there was nothing to do.

"That must have hurt," he said, looking down. For a man you considered a brother to raise a sword against you was a cut too deep.

"I understand where he is coming from now. I was simply too stupid to see he would always be a Stark and chose the Starks," he said. Honestly, if he had arrived any earlier, he wouldn't have even chased her.

"Anyway, I got banished rather than lose my head due to no small amount of work by my father. Came back with dragons, and the rest is about me being a legend," he said, spreading his fingers over his chest.

"I am the only person in Westeros who cannot be controlled, nor do I have the desire to play their hare-brained games," he said. He achieved what none before him had.

Freedom.

"Anyway, enough about me. What do the Wild Hunt want exactly?" Their motives were a mystery to Geralt as of yet. He knew they wanted Ciri for the Elder Blood but not what they would do with it.

"I don't know. Perhaps Imlerith can say," the White Wolf said, a small smile creeping on his face. The song was one of his favourites now.

Robert chuckled. "I'll ask him if I can control my laughter."

The White Wolf joined him in merriment for a moment before the mood turned sombre. "Ciri's life was tough. Her home was invaded by Nilfgaard, and most of her friends and family died. She spent years running and losing people she cared about. Not to mention all the people who want to control her for different reasons. Now it's the Wild Hunt and Nilfgaard."

He patted him on the shoulder. He didn't have any firsthand experience to compare, but he knew how much Geralt was worried. "Well, let me know if there is anything I can help with."

Geralt shook his head. "You already did plenty." He wasn't about to have Robert solve every problem in his life for him.

"Most were for my own gain," he said with a nonchalant tone.

The Witcher couldn't refute it.

"Skellige, I heard they practice slavery there," he mentioned. Since it was the next step of Geralt's journey, it was best to start with them.

"It's not just them. Nilfgaard and Aen Elle have slaves too. Only humans in the case of the latter," he said, eyes widening ever so slightly. Pride or not, this could be a good way to kill two birds with one stone.

He leant on his fist, lips pushing on the back of his index and middle fingers.

"What are you thinking?"

"Whether I can negotiate with Emhyr or not. You see, I am a man of freedom. I don't like slavery even if it can't touch me. In fact, by my calculations, I spent around twenty-two point five billion crowns, or just thirty million gold dragons, last year to bring an end to slavery in several cities on our neighbouring continent."

"Twenty-two billion?" he whistled. He didn't know enough about Nilfgaard's economic might to compare the amount, but that sum was enormous. Robert was making good on his claims if he could spend that much just to put an end to slavery.

"Emhyr might, but the nobility wouldn't agree to it," he said. The emperor was being pushed from all sides, in and out. Taking Redenia would grant him much-needed breathing room. Only, the nobles wouldn't be so eager at the loss of free labour.

Robert raised his hand, thumb under his chin, his curled index finger moving up and down beneath his lower lip. "I might have to burn Nilfgaard to the ground then. Or at least enough to end slavery."

Geralt almost fell from his seat. He looked around wildly, seeing that everyone else was more interested in the music. "Maybe focus on Skellige and Aen Elle first?" Hopefully the latter would be the first.

"That was my idea as well. I was thinking of challenging the rulers of Skellige to a contest. If they are as warrior-based and prideful as I heard, a good enough bait could convince them."

He blinked. For all that they were rulers, most of the Jarls would be easy to bait if their honour was insulted. Any physical competition would end in Robert's favour.

"And Aen Elle?" he asked, his voice rising in pitch. He didn't have the power to defeat the Wild Hunt by himself. Recruiting enough people was doable but difficult. The only sure way was to have Emhyr's countless legions on their side.

The price wasn't worth it. It would never be.

He raised a singular eyebrow. "I'll have to find a way to travel there first."

"There are gates to their world. Also, Eredin's navigators allow the Wild Hunt to travel between worlds. If you can capture one, they might be able to take you there." He would do everything to help Robert get there.

The opportunity was too great to waste.

He finished his cup, filling it again. "I'll see what the ladies can dig up. In the meantime, how are you going to travel to Skellige? I heard no one is willing to make the journey due to the war."

"Apparently there is a ship that sails to Skellige. I'll have to find the captain though," he said.

Robert blinked, remembering the drunk captain, the pirate attack and Geralt waking up on the beach.

"You know," he waved his hand slowly, "there is an easier and faster way to get you there. You could also count it as my payment for you to deliver a letter to the rulers of Skellige." King Bran was most likely dead by now. He would have to challenge jarls one by one rather than waiting to solve this issue. Waiting for a new king to be elected was off the books.

He didn't want to wait that long.

The older man leant back on his chair. "One of your dragons?" They were far faster than any dragons he had encountered and stronger. Only the Golden Dragons could speak with vocal cords, and they were extremely rare. Not only could Robert's dragons speak without needing polymorphic abilities, their diet also consisted of magic beyond what he had encountered.

He wouldn't say no to the opportunity as long as Ra didn't test the limits of his agility while he was on.

"Come now," he smirked, "when else would you get the chance again? You'll be there in hours rather than days or weeks if the weather isn't favourable."

Geralt hummed. He didn't want to take a portal because of several reasons. But not only was the dragon ride pleasant – except for the death-defying stunts – it was also fast. He needed every second he could get.

"Alright. Thank you, again," he said, raising his cup.

Robert met the toast. "Don't mention it. Meet Ra in the Hierarch's Square tomorrow. You'll have to guide him to the islands."

Geralt nodded, turning his attention to Priscilla.

Listening to the bard while playing the game was nice. Doing the same while physically being in the same room was incredible. The game, for all its greatness, couldn't do Priscilla justice.

Dandelion, ever the innovator, invited him to sing a song from Westeros. The cultural exchange was a good idea, and he obliged. Though, he instead chose to sing something else.

John Elton's I'm Still Standing was a song fit for the occasion.

—
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In the next chapter:

Yennefer rubbed her eyes, blinking several times to get rid of what must be a flicker of light in her eyes. She looked to the cloudy sky over the sea once more, but it was still there. A dragon, one shinier than the gold in her pouch, was approaching Kaer Trolde.

Why or how a dragon would come to Skellige of all places was left aside.



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