The Battle Begins

"The culprit has been identified," Wayne declared, his voice grave. "Though the investigation took an unexpected turn."

Triss's brow furrowed in confusion. "Unexpected? I thought we were dealing with a monstrous predator."

Wayne offered a tight smile. "There's more to the story than meets the eye, Triss. Let me explain."

He proceeded to recount his descent into the mines, the unsettling discoveries, and his pursuit of answers that led him to the coroner. The tale culminated with him retrieving a letter and a few personal belongings from a residence.

Placing the items on the table, he met Triss's gaze. "This, along with the evidence I found at the crime scene, paints a clearer picture. Confirmation of Link's location should lead us straight to the Leshen's territory."

Triss's emerald eyes gleamed with a spark of admiration. "A keen mind and decisive action, Wayne. You've proven yourself an invaluable asset. Unraveling this mystery would have taken considerably longer for the city guard, or even for me alone."

A hint of a smile played on her lips. "Leave the next steps to me. I have a few... persuasive methods to locate him."

"I'll prepare the ritual for scrying Link's location. With him found, the Leshen's lair won't be far behind."

The prospect of a swift resolution brought a surge of satisfaction to Triss. It meant minimized economic losses for the city, smoother relations with the Duke – a powerful noble whose goodwill even a royal advisor cherished – and a successful conclusion to the matter itself.

After Triss departed, Wayne, despite the long and taxing day, treated himself and Allen to a hearty lunch at a renowned city establishment. The indulgence left Allen, a simple villager unfamiliar with such opulence, wide-eyed. A day spent assisting Wayne was evidently a day well-spent; the witcher's reputation for generosity preceded him.

Returning to Triss's residence, they found the sorceress ready. This time, she opted for an ancient scrying method – visceral divination, as most mages called it. An intricate magic circle, imbued with a sense of age, served as the focal point. At its center, a white goat stood fixed. Link's hair, wrapped in an inscribed parchment, became the goat's offering. Encircling the creature lay an assortment of curious stones, frogs, mice, beast skulls, and various symbolic magical components.

Triss, her crimson hair swirling around her as she moved, performed an intricate dance within the magic circle. Rhythmic chants, laced with arcane power, filled the air. After a grueling ten minutes, a sheen of sweat glistened on her brow. The sorceress stilled, the chanting ceasing.

Reaching into the circle, she retrieved a bone-crafted dagger, its design both unsettling and familiar to Wayne, a witcher who had seen his fair share of rituals. With a swift movement, Triss plunged the blade into the goat's belly. A sickening tear ripped open the creature, its entrails spilling onto the circle in a ghastly display. Yet, the goat remained upright, a testament to the magic binding it.

Triss stepped outside the circle, her emerald eyes narrowed in concentration as she examined the organs. Their position, color, and form held a meaning only she could decipher. Visceral divination, a brutal yet potent method, was as old as magic itself.

Moments later, Triss exhaled, a wave of relief washing over her. "Found him, Wayne," she announced, wiping sweat from her brow. "The hair's owner is alive. He's south of the mine, five or six miles deep in the forest. I've pinpointed his location. Once I recover my mana, we depart. Be prepared, witcher. A Leshen often commands lesser creatures. We might face more than one foe."

Wayne nodded, his mind already strategizing. He was ready.

Preparations were paramount. As with most plant-based monsters, the Leshen likely held a burning aversion to fire and silver. Honeycomb bombs and the potent Dragon's Dream potion became essential tools in Wayne's arsenal.

Unlike other witchers who treated alchemical bombs as precious commodities, Wayne viewed them akin to arrows. A well-stocked cache sat in his personal armory, some nearing their expiration date. Choosing his witcher potions, Wayne settled on a familiar combination: Swallow for enhanced healing, Thunderbolt for increased strength, and Tawny Owl for heightened reflexes. His tolerance now allowed him to consume four potions simultaneously. After deliberation, he added a Wolf potion to the mix, boosting his agility for swift dodges and minimizing the pain of monster strikes.

Residual Oil, ideal against such creatures, remained elusive. The knowledge resided only within Kaer Morhen's ancient texts, the specific recipe a mystery. He resigned himself to facing the Leshen without this advantage.

Triss, ever resourceful, procured two gentle mares for their journey. The Leshen's location demanded mounted travel; arriving on foot would drain them before the battle even began.

With preparations complete, Wayne and Triss wasted no time. Mounting their steeds, they rode out, heading south towards Link's last known location. As they journeyed, Wayne discovered a surprising truth – Triss, beneath her noble facade, possessed a hidden strength. Her riding skills mirrored those of any seasoned rider, her movements a display of unexpected courage and grace.

Triss wored a crimson jacket, rode confidently beside him. A hint of playful spirit peeked through her persona, but beneath it lay a core of steel. Her unexpected prowess on horseback further underscored this hidden strength.

After a half-hour trek, they reached the outskirts of Triss's pinpointed location. Wayne's witcher senses flared – a skull totem, crafted from a grotesque medley of bones, human and animal alike. Fresh blood caked its surface, exuding a malevolent aura that repelled outsiders. Both riders halted their steeds a safe distance away, forced to dismount and proceed on foot.

Triss's brow furrowed as she circled the totem. "Black magic," she muttered, "a power source for the Leshen. Destroy it. Its presence fuels his strength."

Wayne, without hesitation, formed a Yrden sign. Flames erupted from his fingertips, engulfing the totem in a blazing inferno. Moments later, his ears twitched. He snatched the Electric blade from its scabbard, his gaze locking with Triss'. He warned her.

"Incoming!"

Wayne growled, his grip tightening on Electric bade. "Multiple hostiles. Stay sharp, Triss."

The sorceress's hand darted to her pocket, retrieving the crimson orb. Magic crackled around her as she positioned herself beside Wayne. Within moments, the forest erupted in a cacophony of howls. A dozen feral wolves, their eyes glowing malevolent red, surrounded them. Above, a murder of crows, far larger than their kin, circled with chilling indifference.

"Focus on the spell, Triss," Wayne commanded. "I'll handle these."

A silent acknowledgement passed between them. Triss channeled her power into the orb, chaotic magic swirling around her, the air thickening with heat. The creatures sensed the threat, their roars echoing through the trees. With a synchronized surge, they launched their attack.

Wayne, a whirlwind of steel and fury, met the charge head-on. Enhanced by his potions, he transformed into a blur. Electric blade sang a deadly song as it cleaved a wolf's head clean. Undeterred, the others creatures lunged, bearing fangs at Wayne. A ferocious growl ripped from Wayne as his blade unleashed a chain of lightning, frying three wolves in a sizzling burst. Igni ignited, a fiery sigil erupting from his hand, transforming the crows into flaming missiles that plummeted to the forest floor.

Triss, shielded by Wayne's fury, poured her magic into the orb. A torrent of fireballs erupted, engulfing the remaining beasts in a fiery inferno.