Screamer

Ron looked at him. His face, flushed red from drink, carried a faintly overbearing seriousness. It was neither suspicion nor probing, but a father issuing a warning.

"She's only nineteen," the Baron said, his voice much lower than before, as though he did not want anyone to overhear. "Still just a child."

Ron offered no explanation. He merely nodded slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching with an expression that suggested he was amused, yet did not find it funny.

To Ron, Tamara truly seemed more like a curious child. Her eyes had lit up when she asked about snow-capped mountains and grasslands, and that was all. But he was neither accustomed to nor required to explain himself to anyone.

The Baron glared at him for another two seconds, then snorted. He set the flask down on the stone table and sat beside it. Wine sloshed over the rim of his cup, but he did not bother wiping it away. "The quartermaster sent someone."

Ron said nothing and waited.

"He sent quite a lot of supplies." The Baron dipped a finger into the spilled wine on the table and traced several circles across the stone.

"New supplies. Several wagons loaded to the brim. He also sent word that Crow's Nest would no longer be levied for supplies in the future. As for the previous levies, he'll make them up through other channels."

He looked at Ron. "What do you think?"

"The viper has temporarily withdrawn into its hole. The moment we lower our guard will be when it bares its fangs."

The Baron slowly tapped his finger on the stone table. He pushed aside his wine cup, braced both hands against his knees, and leaned forward slightly.

"A snake doesn't change. It hasn't given up; it's because you heard it moving," he said.

"Nilfgaardians are more patient than snakes. They never rush to bite, but every bite lands on a vital spot."

Ron nodded.

"He'll come. And when he does, he'll be better prepared than last time. He still has that heavy infantry company in hand and hasn't deployed it. Not because he doesn't dare, but because he's calculating."

The Baron rose, picked up the empty flask, and said, "Until then, stay vigilant." With a wave of his hand, his broad body swayed slightly as he turned and strode toward the castle.

Ron remained seated on the stone bench for a while longer before standing. Several villagers were waiting beneath the trees outside the garden.

At their head was a thin old man in a gray cloth shirt, clutching a battered hat. The moment he saw Ron emerge, he stepped forward, twisting the hat anxiously in his hands.

"Captain, please help us! There's a monster—huge, it can fly, and its screams can be heard from the other side of the mountain!"

"It built a nest on the northern cliff. At first, it only took sheep, but later it started going after shepherds too. A young man from the village was carried off by it. When they caught up, all they found was half a boot."

Ron looked at the old man without interrupting.

"We went to the Baron," the old man continued.

"The Baron sent men. Seven of them. Only three came back alive; the rest died on the mountain. That thing is too cunning. It won't move while people are at the foot of the mountain. It waits until they're halfway up before swooping down."

"Its wings and claws are like knives. Our arrows can't hit it, and even when they do, they can't pierce its hide. Its skin is like armor."

"The Baron said sending more men would just be sending them to their deaths. He can't handle this matter, so all he can do is post a contract and wait for a witcher passing through."

He raised his eyes. There was no expectation in them, only the last faint thing that had not yet gone out after everything else had been exhausted.

"We don't know when a witcher might pass through here, but no one in the village dares to herd sheep anymore. If this keeps up, first the sheep will be gone, then the people. Please, help us."

After hearing him out, Ron did not answer immediately. He first asked about the monster's size, its methods of attack, the location of its nest, and the surrounding terrain.

The old man turned and beckoned to a short, stocky young man. The young man explained in meticulous detail—the creature's wingspan was as wide as a wagon, its claws as large as the tongs in a blacksmith's forge, and it attacked by diving from above, knocking people down with its wings before tearing into them.

Its nest was in a cave above the quarry. Across from it stood a grove of short pines, while above the cliff face was a protruding ledge.

Ron went over the information in his mind, then nodded to the old man. "I understand. Go back and tell everyone not to go near that mountain for the time being."

The old man opened his mouth, seeming to want to say something, but swallowed the words. He only nodded hard, though the tension in his expression eased a little.

Ron turned and headed toward the barracks. The monster had caught his interest, and not merely because of the shepherds.

The monster's territory overlapped with his soldiers' patrol route. More importantly, Brom had mentioned that the hides of large monsters made the finest armor lining—lightweight, well-cushioned, and highly protective.

It was like wearing an extra layer of leather armor beneath plate armor. Ordinary hunters could not get hold of such hides, so this was a rare opportunity.

When he returned to the barracks, he ordered his guards to prepare the horses. He would return to the manor first and discuss the matter with Erwin.

The scholar had studied all manner of creatures brought by the Convergence of Spheres. He should be able to identify this monster.

By the time Ron returned to Calrad Manor, it was already afternoon. Before leaving Crow's Nest, he had sent his guards ahead to check the hollows along the route where people could easily hide.

He had yet to see the wagonloads of supplies sent by the quartermaster, but the Baron had assigned an old soldier to escort them. They should be unloading at the manor by now.

When his horse's hooves struck the gravel road around the manor, he heard a rather unusual sound.

It was neither the hammering from the smithy nor Karl's training commands in the courtyard. It was the voices of many children, coming from the direction of the abandoned little chapel.

Their voices spilled from the half-open wooden windows, indistinct and drawn out at the end.

He dismounted and walked toward the sound.

The chapel door was open. Several rows of crooked little wooden desks stood inside, with benches of varying heights. Some were long stools moved directly from the kitchen, while others were wooden crates turned upside down on the floor.

Aina stood at the front, writing on a wooden board hanging on the wall. She still wore the temple's old gray robe, its sleeves rolled up to her elbows to reveal her slender but sturdy forearms.

Her hair was still braided into that single plait, tied with a faded blue strip of cloth. The end rested over her shoulder. When the light at the doorway dimmed for a moment—

She turned around. Her green eyes met Ron's, and she nodded before continuing.

Erwin stood by the window, his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was focused and cautious, his brow faintly furrowed. Ron noticed that he was not holding a writing board, which was unusual.

"Erwin helped compile the textbooks." Aina finished writing the last letter and set the charcoal pencil aside.

"I cut out more than half of it. What he wrote is suitable for Oxenfurt Academy, not children who can't even write their own names."

Erwin adjusted his glasses, his lips moving slightly. He truly had no way to refute that.

When class ended, the children squeezed out from between the desks and ran past Ron's legs like a flock of sparrows released from a cage.

A little girl with pigtails ran to the doorway, then turned back. She rummaged through her pocket for a long while before pulling out a handful of pine nuts and stuffing them into Ron's hand.

She was the little girl who had given him a flower crown. She looked much healthier now, with some flesh on her cheeks. Tilting her head up at him, she said nothing and simply flashed him a broad smile.

Ron looked down at the handful of pine nuts in his palm. He said nothing, only reached out and rubbed her head. Then he walked to the window, took out a handful of pine nuts from his pocket, and handed them to Erwin.

"Thanks." Erwin accepted them, cracked one open, and rubbed off the shell.