HP: god of potions

Chapter 83

Landing with a resounding crash that sent a ripple through the freezing water, Gray drew Sin of Solace from its sheath. The dark blade shimmered faintly, exuding an ominous energy that made even the monstrous Aeschnae hesitate for a fraction of a second. The sword's voice echoed in his mind, dripping with disdain. "Really, Gray? Thirty-one of these filth-ridden things? You could erase them with a thought, yet here you are, wading in their muck. Why?" Gray smirked, swinging the sword lazily at the nearest creature. "Because I'm bored," he muttered, his tone as casual as if he were swatting a fly.

The first swing cleaved through an Aeschna's midsection with terrifying precision, the blade cutting through its rough skin as though it were paper. The creature's lifeless body collapsed into the freezing water, which began to solidify under the mountain's chilling grip. Gray moved fluidly, his second strike decapitating another Aeschna with a single, elegant motion. Each movement was purposeful, yet carried an air of disinterest, like a master artist painting an uninspired masterpiece. His third attack was a low, sweeping cut, severing two clawed legs from an advancing creature before driving the blade through its exposed chest.

By the fifth strike, the water around him began to freeze completely, leaving shards of jagged ice jutting up from the ground. 

Aeschnae tried to scramble over the slick, frozen surface, their algae-covered forms slipping and sliding, but Gray was relentless. With each swing of the Sin of Solace, he claimed another life, and the sword's voice grew more irritable. "Thirty-one attacks, thirty-one kills—do you take pride in this mundane slaughter?" Gray chuckled as his seventh strike sent a creature flying backward, its body torn in two. "Not pride, Solace—just passing time."

The twelfth attack was a precise vertical slash, the blade cutting cleanly through a charging Aeschna's skull, splitting it in half. The water below froze completely, leaving the remaining creatures trapped in an icy prison. But Gray wasn't finished. He stepped forward, his movements resembling a deadly waltz, and unleashed a flurry of attacks. With his fifteenth swing, he lopped off three claws from one creature before driving the blade into its throat. His twentieth attack was a spinning motion, the blade slicing through the air and decapitating two creatures at once.

As the fight drew to a close, the ice-covered mountain crackled ominously, the frozen water reflecting the faint glow of the moon above. The last Aeschna lunged at Gray, its saw-like jaws snapping hungrily. With a calm expression, Gray raised Sin of Solace and swung one final time. The thirty-first strike ended the fight, the creature's severed body collapsing in a heap at his feet. Gray straightened, surveying the carnage around him. Shards of ice and frozen corpses dotted the ground, and the faint sound of cracking ice echoed through the mountain.

The sword's voice cut through the silence once more. "Satisfied now? If so, the girl is thoroughly impressed. You can take her to bed if you wish. She is no Rachel, but she will do for now." Ignoring its words, Gray sheathed the blade and turned away from the frozen battlefield. Suddenly, a familiar voice sounded behind him, impressed. "So you do speak, even if it's to yourself." Gray turned around, and who else could it be but Ciri, standing on a ledge and looking down at the carnage. He didn't reply; he knew she had been there for a while, watching his fight. When Gray didn't respond, she jumped down just as he began collecting blood. "So, you're not speaking to me?" she asked, but again, Gray ignored her as he continued gathering more blood.

"Okay, then I'll talk," she said, pausing to take a deep breath. "I am sorry about what happened before—for pointing my sword at you and screaming in your face," she apologized. Gray paused for a second but then continued his work. "Okay, I'm going to take that silence as you accepting my apology. Are you from another world?" she asked again. In response, Gray simply walked away, which made her smirk for some reason. Her green eyes followed him as he leaped a great distance. "Ah, broody. I like it," she said to herself, smiling as she left the area. Soon, she arrived at a cabin deep in the woods, where she found Geralt chopping firewood. "Where have you been, and why do you smell like Aeschna?" Geralt asked in his usual low tone.

Ciri shrugged and replied, "More monsters are appearing. They're heading toward him, and they all keep on dying," she said with a slight smirk as she continued to walk past him. "Then no more venturing. We're leaving tomorrow," he said firmly, which surprised her. She stopped and protested, "What? We can't leave yet!" Geralt chopped another log in half, his tone final. "We are. More monsters are appearing that have no business being in the same place, and they're coming in groups. We are leaving, and that's final." He set his axe down and walked away as Ciri frowned, clearly displeased.

Ciri stormed into the cabin, where she found Yennefer reading a book. She plopped down beside her with a sigh. "You stink," Yennefer remarked, not looking up from her book. Ciri ignored the comment and asked, "So, how did you get the brooding Geralt in your clutches?" The remark caught Yennefer off guard, and she looked at Ciri with an arched brow. "Surely, you're not interested in how Geralt and I got together. So, what's this about?" Yennefer asked, her voice skeptical. Ciri chuckled and leaned back.

"Do you remember that mage I told you about?" Ciri asked. "The one at the top of the monster-attracting mountain in the ice castle?" Yennefer replied. Ciri nodded. "Turns out he also uses a sword. Magic and sword, like me. Well, he has more control of his magic than I do, but still, magic and sword. And he's broody." Seeing the expression on Ciri's face surprised Yennefer for a moment, but then she smiled. "Tell me everything," she said with a playful grin as the two giggled together like old friends sharing secrets.

-scene change-

Late at night, the skies were clear, and the moon hung high in the air, its silvery light cascading down across the landscape. The icy castle glistened under the moonlight, its towering spires and intricate carvings appearing almost ethereal, as if sculpted by the hands of ancient gods. Gray exited the castle calmly, walking down the snow-covered path without a hint of discomfort, his immunity to the cold evident in his composed demeanor. He approached a clearing near the castle, where a small sprout sat quivering in anticipation, ready to bloom.