There were no laws in Cintra protecting non-human races, and Old Aaron, having killed the hermit who saved his son, was not punished. He was merely required to pay the crowns for hiring a witcher.
Tika knew Old Aaron hadn't told the whole story. Aaron's reaction had already revealed a great deal.
While packing her belongings, Tika discovered that the items in her leather pouch had transformed into a pile of potions stored in wineskins.
Seeing Tika's apparent interest, Lambert casually explained, "Swallow potion. It can be made with dwarf spirits, celandine, and a water hag's brain. It's a very simple basic potion. It can counteract the side effects of some more potent potions and also accelerate recovery. However, it has some toxicity, so you can't use too much at once."
Every civilization in every world had its unique aspects, and Tika did not look down upon these intellectual achievements due to her higher life essence. She poured a cup of Swallow potion. The orange-yellow liquid resembled a pool of molten gold. Its appearance gave no indication that it was a basic potion. If its toxicity could be removed, it would undoubtedly yield considerable economic benefits.
The journey back to the swamp was much faster than the previous one. With two horses for transport, they arrived beneath the wooden tower at noon.
The elven hermit's corpse had been gnawed beyond recognition by rodents, and clear tooth marks remained on the bones.
The Penitent Spirit did not appear to stop the two, allowing the witcher to form a sign and burn the corpse that bound the soul. In the flames, a necklace worn by the skeleton caught Tika's attention. This smoothly polished obsidian was not particularly precious, but it must have taken a lot of time.
Lambert drew his sword, flicked out the obsidian, and picked up a piece of scrap cloth to wrap the stone.
"She harbored no resentment when she died. Let them resolve it themselves."
Upon returning to the small town, Lambert placed the obsidian on the scribe Hall's desk as proof. Young Aaron looked at the obsidian, let out a wail, and bolted into the forest.
Hall smiled apologetically and pleaded for Old Boko, "My lady, thank you for helping us resolve this trouble. You see, Old Boko's mouth..."
Old Boko had his face completely wrapped in strips of cloth, and the abnormality on his face was not noticed by many more. He looked at Tika timidly, and quickly averted his gaze when Tika looked back.
Tika waved her hand and dispelled the spell. Old Boko's mouth immediately returned to normal.
The obsidian on the desk was taken by Old Aaron. The surprised Old Boko and the distracted Hall did not notice. Neither of them wished to touch such an item obtained from an evil spirit's corpse, and even if they had seen it, they would not have said much.
"You know."
Tika said softly to Old Aaron as he passed by, "That's why you killed the elven hermit."
Old Aaron did not reply, grasped the obsidian, and left.
Sitting on the horse, Tika had lost her initial novelty. The bumpy mountain road had worn her out. A layer of solidified air cushion was placed on the saddle, which allowed her to maintain stability during the journey.
The forest grew denser, and the small path underfoot gradually disappeared into the overgrown grass. The sheer, veil-like mist made Tika feel very comfortable. A few birds were startled by the sound of the horses' hooves and flew into the depths of the forest with a flutter of their wings.
Upon learning that Tika had never ridden a horse, the witcher was somewhat surprised. The horses, however, were very fond of Tika. Tika, who called herself a mage, could always conjure carrots and apples to feed them. Now, the horses no longer cared for the bland fodder.
A rustling sound came from the dark part of the forest. It seemed someone was approaching the intruders. Several swift figures flashed through the trees, and then, several dark arrows were embedded in the open ground in front of Lambert.
"Humans, get out of our territory! Even if you were only fifteen, driven by fear and running blindly into the forest; even if you were seventy years old, frail and weak, driven from your homes and robbed of your food, forced to come out and gather firewood; even if you were only six years old, attracted by the sweet fruits in the forest clearing. Get out of the forest!"
A considerable number of figures blocked their way. Their graceful female bodies were merely covered with leaves, and their green skin did not quite conform to human aesthetics.
"They are dryads. As long as no trees are felled and the forest is not burned, they generally do not trouble innocent travelers passing through, at most they will drive them out of the forest."
Lambert raised his hands in a gesture of friendship. "Hey, we mean no harm. We just want to return to Kaer Morhen."
The dryads did not lower their drawn bows. Instead, they all aimed at the dismounted witcher.
"Leave here!"
A dryad, whose black hair was adorned with red leaves and flowers, approached Lambert. Her companions also emerged from the shadows, closing in on the witcher with his hands raised.
"Listen, I think you've misunderstood something. There's no need for us to fight!"
Lambert's casual expression vanished. The dryads' reaction was somewhat unusual. He tugged at his packhorse and retreated a few steps.
"We'll leave now. You can lower your bows."
The tall dryad suddenly spoke, "Leave the girl."
Tika hadn't expected to be involved and asked softly, "Why are they capturing me?"
Lambert gave a wry smile. "Dryads take in lost girls and abandoned female infants and turn them into one of their own. Their race has no men, and besides relying on males of other races for reproduction, this is the main way dryads continue their race."
"Oh, so in their eyes, I'm still a maiden."
Saying this, Tika couldn't help but laugh. The witcher didn't understand what was so funny and had already reached for the steel sword on his back, ready to fight.
Lambert quickly drew a downward triangle, and a dark yellow shield surrounded the witcher, precisely blocking the incoming arrowheads.
Before the arrows hit the ground, the witcher had already completed another sign. He pushed his hand towards the dryads, releasing an invisible shockwave in a cone shape. The violent impact sent the dryads flying backward.
The dryads' counterattack was also swift. The dryad with red leaves and flowers adorning her head commanded, "Shoot!"
The witcher's Quen sign did not last long under the arrow shower. Clangs sounded one after another, and Lambert's shield shattered with a roar. He had to draw his sword to block the incoming arrows.
Tika had watched enough of the witcher's predicament. She spread her hands as if to embrace, and a soft glow emanated from her body, blocking the incoming arrowheads like a semi-transparent curtain.
These soft lights did not harm the dryads; instead, they dispelled the dizziness caused by the Aard sign.
The dryads stirred, lowering their bows. The tall dryad at the front looked at Tika with joy and fervor in her eyes. They opened their mouths excitedly, speaking in a language that Lambert could not understand at all.
The divine nature of her being meant that language was no obstacle for Tika. She listened to the dryads' cheers, and for the first time, a look of surprise appeared on her face.