The reeve was a burly middle-aged man. Even as he approached Ron's horse, his calves trembled uncontrollably. He barely managed to remain standing. Ron did not dismount, merely looking down at him.
"My lord, may I ask what brings you to Lower Velen with such a large force?"
"Crookback Bog. Tell me exactly where it is."
The reeve's legs shook even harder. His lips moved a few times, as though he wanted to offer some warning.
But when his gaze passed over Ron's shoulder and fell upon the fully armed soldiers behind him—their orderly ranks, standardized breastplates and mail, gleaming spears, and already loaded crossbows—
He immediately swallowed his words and began explaining in painstaking detail. Follow Snack Trail deeper in, pass three crooked trees, turn left at the shrine, then continue along the dried-up streambed, and they would reach the heart of the bog.
His voice grew quieter and quieter, as though he feared the swamp itself might hear him.
Geralt stood nearby, watching the short, sturdy reeve cooperate so obediently, and muttered to himself.
"Wow. Usually, whenever I take on a contract and try to ask the villagers something, they either tell me to piss off or call me a freak.
They only call me 'master' when they need me. What a bunch of fair-weather friends." His tone was dry, as though he were complaining about breakfast.
Ron decided to leave the army in Lower Velen to wait. The bog's roads were unknown, making it unsuitable for a large-scale march.
When he and Geralt passed the entrance to Snack Trail, shrines began appearing by the roadside. Rough branches were tied into triangular frames with hemp rope, with a dried bird claw hanging in the middle.
The deeper they went, the denser the shrines became. After crossing the dried