Chapter 613

From the day Geralt had the Forbidden Spellmark tattooed on his body, ordinary illness had never troubled him again. All his suffering came from the physical pain and mental torment it inflicted.

Every gain came at a cost.

Venomous snakes, spiders, centipedes, mosquitoes... every common, deadly pest in the jungle avoided Geralt, terrified it might poison itself while trying to poison him.

Winchester.

A place where everyone was an expert at surviving in the jungle.

"The scent's gone. Sorry, boss."

Morgan, a member of the mercenary squad, twitched her nose.

It was swollen and bright red, like the bulbous nose of a lifelong drunk.

Her ability was an extraordinary sense of smell, but she had overused her nose, and it hurt badly.

Her voice came out muffled.

"It's fine."

A young man in the squad spoke.

He looked ordinary, with heavy bags under his eyes that made him seem worn down by too many sleepless nights. No one would have guessed he led this band of hardened mercenaries.

The others respected him and feared him. Clearly, there was more to their frail-looking young leader than met the eye.

Perhaps he had a brilliant mind.

Or perhaps he possessed a special ability.

The frail-looking young leader

raised a hand, signaling them to stop.

"Rest here for fifteen minutes."

"Leon, Turner, stand guard."

"Yes!" they answered together.

The two slipped into the jungle and vanished among the thick branches and leaves.

Turner was the skinny man who had tried to intimidate Geralt earlier. His surname was Emmons. He and Leon had been sheltered in the middle of the squad to conserve their strength for moments like this.

Ten minutes later, two long, clear birdcalls and two short ones sounded from the trees.

It was the squad's signal.

It meant something unexpected had