Chương 94: The Might of the Golden Dragon
"Damn it, it's finally here. Those cursed sorceresses, cursed mages, leaving us to fend for ourselves," grumbled one of the Crinfrid Reavers as they trudged across the makeshift wooden bridge crafted from felled tree trunks.
Just over an hour ago, when the stone bridge constructed by the trolls collapsed under the Eyck knight's actions, the sorceress promptly utilized magic to open a short-distance portal, whisking Geralt and Jaskier across to the other side while they were momentarily distracted. In mere moments, they found themselves on the opposite bank of the bridge.
Shortly thereafter, the magician Dorregarey also employed floating magic to silently transport himself to the opposite side, leaving behind only the Yarpen dwarf squad, the three brothers, and the scout team. They remained stranded on the broken bridge's side, helplessly watching their companions depart, their hearts filled with anxiety but resigned to their predicament.
Thankfully, the dwarves possessed axes suitable for felling trees, and the brothers carried ropes for binding. With the aid of the sturdy youths from the scouting team, they labored for hours, utilizing the fallen trees to construct a temporary wooden bridge spanning the shattered remains of the stone one.
In a race against time, everyone exerted themselves to the utmost, drenched in sweat and wearied like hounds after a long chase. Yarpen wiped the sweat from his beard, silently cursing Yennefer's callousness. There had been an agreement between the sorceress and the dwarves.
Their initial pact had been to capitalize on the news of the dragon's hoard to market the gems amassed by wealthy dwarves over the years as treasures from the dragon's nest. Through this ruse, they aimed to leverage the dwarf's extensive trade network across the north for maximum profit and benefits.
Unexpectedly, when matters reached their conclusion, the sorceress had abandoned them, much to Yarpen's ire. Cobbler and his scouting team were the last to cross the temporary wooden bridge.
The cobbler in his forties placed his hands on his knees, taking a few deep breaths before retrieving an old rag from his waist to wipe the sweat from his forehead. With a worried tone, he remarked, "We must hasten. It took us three hours to construct the wooden bridge. Perhaps those two despicable sorcerers have slain the green dragon and absconded with its treasure. That's our fortune at stake; we cannot allow them to escape."
As a cobbler, accustomed to decades of hardship, saw this as an opportunity to alter his destiny. He was resolute in his determination to claim the legendary dragon's treasure, no matter the cost.
Yarpen and the Crinfrid Reavers heard his words, regarding the cobbler with disdain. They thought to themselves that the extent of their generosity towards him, if any, would depend entirely on their mood when the time came.
After a brief respite, they continued their ascent up the steep hillside without delay. Upon reaching the site where Eyck and the golden dragon had clashed, they were all taken aback by the unexpected scene before them.
Contrary to their expectations, a towering behemoth, more than ten meters in height and adorned with gleaming golden scales, sat leisurely on the level ground, idly plucking at flowers and vegetation as if awaiting something.
With its feline elegance and fierce demeanor, coupled with its resplendent appearance, the golden dragon exuded an aura of power and legend that captivated all who beheld it.
The three brothers also noticed the presence of the magician Dorregarey, Geralt, and Jaskier—or, more precisely, the witcher and the bard—using a makeshift stretcher crafted from branches and cloth to transport an injured individual from the battleground.
Meanwhile, Dorregarey, armed with paper and pens of mysterious origin, appeared to be sketching a depiction of the magnificent and fearsome creature before them.
The three brothers initially felt a wave of defeat, fearing their plan to amass wealth might have faltered. However, they soon recognized the unique opportunity presented before them: the legendary golden dragon.
Realizing that even a portion of the golden dragon's gleaming scales or its magnificent head could fetch a princely sum from nobles or affluent individuals, they glanced back at Yarpen the dwarf and cobbler, observing the glimmer in their eyes and pondering whether they harbored similar intentions.
Just as they began plotting to employ their dragon-hunting expertise against this formidable foe, a voice akin to a resonating bronze horn echoed within their minds.
"Despicable dragon hunters, before you stands Villentretenmerth, the golden dragon, I offer you two choices: flee from this place with your tails between your legs and never return. I shall not pursue the fleeing rats."
"Alternatively, engage in honorable combat with me, man to dragon. You may assemble in groups of five, while I abstain from using magic, engaging in fair combat."
"Should you reject both options, I shall forsake honor and resort to magic to dispatch you."
The individuals on the hillside, still strategizing their assault on the dragon, were startled and terrified by the voice that resounded directly within their minds from hundreds of meters away. Though shaken and alarmed, they recognized that the golden dragon they faced possessed wisdom and magical prowess far beyond their expectations. In such unforeseen circumstances, prudent hunters would opt for a temporary retreat rather than risking a confrontation.
However, consumed by greed, both the Crinfrid Reavers and Cobber's scouting team remained fixated on their plans to eliminate the valuable dragon, blinded to the immense power wielded by magical beings like the golden dragon.
Yarpen, the wise and knowledgeable dwarf, understood the folly of attempting to confront such a creature with only a small group. Yet, he refrained from warning the looters and shoemaker, recognizing that legends often paled in comparison to reality, and allowing them to test their own fates might prove instructive.
After a brief discussion among the group, Yarpen and his fellow dwarves opted to remain atop the hill, watching from a safe distance.
Meanwhile, the three brothers and cobber's team, comprising over a dozen individuals, took up their positions and surrounded Borch in the open space. Armed with an array of weapons including axes, swords, spears, war hammers, and bows, they formed a menacing formation.
Notably, the three brothers wielded powerful dwarven crossbows originally belonging to Yarpen, exclusive weapons of the Dwarf Squad.
Observing these preparations, Borch sighed deeply, a mixture of anger and lamentation evident in his expression as he anticipated the impending conflict.
Realizing the imminent danger, Borch unleashed his magic, soaring into the air as he chanted in the ancient language of dragons. The surrounding atmosphere grew heavy and oppressive, as if the very air itself conspired against the charging assailants, dragging them down into an unseen quagmire of chaos and despair.
As Borch completed his magic incantation, a deafening roar shattered the air, signaling the unleashing of his formidable power. The ground beneath the dragon hunters quaked violently, twisting and vibrating as a massive crack tore open the earth. In a matter of seconds, the chasm swallowed most of the charging assailants, engulfing them in its depths.
Meanwhile, Borch, still airborne, deftly evaded the dwarven arrows launched by the remaining three brothers. Descending rapidly towards the survivors, he unleashed a torrent of searing flames from his gaping maw. The intense heat consumed everything in its path—flesh, fabric, foliage—reducing all to ash in a blazing inferno.
A piercing cry of agony echoed across the plain as the hapless victims were swiftly reduced to charred remnants. The entire confrontation unfolded in mere moments, a testament to the overwhelming might of the golden dragon's magical prowess.
Outside the fray, Geralt's expression grew grave, while Jaskier stood in stunned silence. Dorregarey, meanwhile, eagerly captured the scene with his paintbrush, his excitement palpable.
Observing the carnage from afar, Wayne, riding atop Myrgtabrakke, the green dragon, felt a surge of complex emotions. He marveled at the audacity of those who dared provoke a skyborne dragon, pondering their misguided recklessness. Yet, his attention soon shifted to a new development unfolding in the nearby forest—a contingent of over a hundred adventurers and militiamen, advancing in chariots toward the golden dragon's location.
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