Chapter 267: The Bridge of False Memories

“What in blazes is this place?” Roy climbed over a slope strewn with jagged rocks and stepped onto a winding, uneven path.

He looked as far as he could. At the very edge of sight, half veiled in mist, a vast full moon hung above the crest of the rolling hills. Its clear white light was purer than the surface of Lake Vizima, beautiful enough to steal a man’s breath. It seemed that if he only stretched out a hand, he could touch the moon itself, and the dark ringed craters upon its face.

“Haha, do you like it? You’ve still more to see!”

“But remember, you must find the answer before the time runs out.”

Master Mirror’s voice came again, clinging like rot to bone. Roy had no idea where he was hiding. He was simply enjoying the Witcher’s struggle.

Roy ignored the mockery. The hourglass in his palm was small and exquisitely made, and the sand was not running especially fast. He reckoned he had about...

“One hour...”

His thoughts stirred. He tried again to call upon the Loot Satchel. His past experience had already let him guess the answer. If he could reach the Blade Oils, Potions, and drinking water inside that space, the problem would solve itself.

But this time the Loot Satchel did not answer his command. It was as though some unknown magic had sealed it tight.

Roy then held Gwyhyr and Aerondight flat in turn, studying the blades in the moonlight, which should have shown them smooth and bright.

Unfortunately, some hazy white sheen had coated the steel at some point, like moonstone laid across their surfaces. It dazzled his eyes and left them unable to reflect any shadow at all.

“So it won’t be that easy.”

He found a patch of soft ground nearby, quickly scraped out a shallow pit with one of the weapons, glanced about, and relieved himself into it. The result was strange. The ground seemed made of some unknown substance, and swallowed the liquid in an instant. The puddle he had hoped for never formed.

“So that is what he means by no cheating?”

It seemed every clever little shortcut was off the table.

Roy pressed lightly off the ground with the tips of his feet. His long limbs were as supple as a hunting cat, and his body flashed through the night like a drifting ghost, swift and silent.

The wasteland was dead quiet, so quiet it made the skin crawl. Apart from the muffled thud of his own footfalls, there was no cry of nocturnal beasts, no summer insects singing in the dark. Cool, thin mist drifted through the air. Sparse weeds and twisted dead trees lined both sides of the road like sentries guarding the gate to the end of the world.

Every few steps, one of those ancient trees stretched out its limbs and raised a lantern, casting an ill-omened red light that stained the ground the color of fresh blood.

A strange, dangerous feeling spread through him. The longer he ran, the harder his temples throbbed, until after roughly five minutes, the premonition proved true.

Two black shapes burst without warning from behind the roadside stones, trailing a gust of chill wind as they lunged.

Roy took the sudden attack in stride. His hard-won battle experience let him react in time. Instead of retreating, he moved in. He rolled low through the gap between the two monsters, slipping through their pincer attack a heartbeat before it closed. Then he twisted around, drew Aerondight in his right hand and set it before his chest, while his left traced the Quen Sign.