“Someone had to find that old woman’s frying pan,” Geralt replied, drawing both swords.
“How?” Eredin gasped.
He stepped through the portal.
“You delayed,” Eredin said, his voice echoing like a tomb door closing. “I expected you months ago. Did the little errands distract you, Witcher?”
Geralt had ignored her. Instead, he’d helped a blacksmith forge a family sword. He’d played four rounds of Gwent with Zoltan. He’d even chased a pan for an old woman in Novigrad. The Witcher 3 Wild Hunt -NSP--EUA--Jogo Base-.p...
Not a literal one—though in his line of work, those were Tuesday. No, this was the ghost of a promise.
The battle wasn’t fancy. There were no cinematic slow-motion flips. Just the brutal, exhausting rhythm of a Witcher who had spent 150 hours sharpening his craft against every creature the Continent had to offer. “Someone had to find that old woman’s frying
The King of the Wild Hunt fell to his knees. Frost evaporated from his armor. His mask cracked.