CHAPTER – 35: Bad Experience…

The guy came up with the idea, which was to use a special magic to look at this very dream, which so greatly disturbs the girl.

Having bought sleepy magic in the system store, which just allowed this plan to be put into action, Hiro put his hand on the girl's forehead and used magic, after which a picture appeared in his mind, which depicted the same girl, but the distinguishing feature was that she did not have that terrible wound on her cheek. it means that she is dreaming about the past, but this is not the only thing that caught Hiro's eye.

In addition to the absence of a wound, he noticed that the girl was in an old small hut, inside which there were other people with her. Judging by the relationship between them, they were acquaintances, but the closest to a stranger from the whole group was a girl named Mistle.

…

There was a table by the window, which lit up the room a little. Mistle was reclining on the table, leaning on her elbows, completely naked from the waist down. She was wearing nothing but black stockings. A thin, long-haired guy in a dirty dressing gown was swarming between his immodestly spread legs. The man was busy putting a color picture on Mistle's thigh.

While the girl was busy, a man came into the building, after which an uninteresting conversation began for Hiro, which he listened to past the lines.

- Come closer, Hotsporn, - invited a thin man with a purple bandage over his dark hair, whom everyone called Giseler, he pushed a stool away from the far table, at which three other men were sitting. They were dressed in black calfskin, studded with clasps, buttons, chains and other exquisite silver jewelry.

- I see you found our note in the ruins of the old station, - Giseler stretched. - Yes, that's me, otherwise you wouldn't be here. I must admit, you came quickly.

- Because the mare is good, - our stranger, whose name was Falka, put in. - I bet she's frisky too!

- I found your message. Hotsporn kept his eyes on Giseler. - What about mine? Got it?

- I got it ... - the leader nodded his head. - But…

- In short, you didn't fulfill the assignment? - Hotsporn interrupted the leader.

- Yeah. Sorry, Hotsporn. There was no time, but another time, ho-ho. Absolutely!

"Fucking irresponsible assholes. Drunk!" thought Hotsporn

- Will you have a drink? - one of the men asked.

- Thank you. No. – Hotsporn answered categorically.

Then there were some moments, in consequence of which the gang laughed and fought, which angered Hotsporn more and more.

The conversation was interrupted by Mistle, who came up to them without even bothering to get dressed. She put her foot on the bench and, twisting her hips, showed everyone and everything her newfound tattoo: a crimson rose on a green twig with two leaves, placed on her thigh almost in the groin.

- Well? How? - she asked, putting her hands on her hips. Her bracelets, which reached almost to her elbows, sparkled dazzlingly. - What do you say?

- Loveeeeeely! - one of the gang members who was under the influence of drugs snorted, hence the unusual speech.

- It's your turn, Falka, - Mistle said. - What do you want me to prick out?

Falka touched her thigh, bent down and looked closely at the tattoo. Up close. Mistle gently ruffled her ashen hair. Falka burst out laughing and began to undress without any ceremony.

- I want the same rose, - she whined. - In the same place as yours, my love.

At that moment, as the man began to fill the tattoo, suddenly the scene in the guy's mind began to change, and the pictures that appeared instead of cheerful and cheerful were as gloomy as possible.

…

- So, this girl's name is Falka, it reminds me of something, but I still can't remember her, as if something is bothering me, - thought Hiro, but while he was thinking, new people unknown to him began to appear. For one thing with the name, he realized that she was here from a completely different world, which was also familiar to Hiro, but he also could not remember it.

...

Falka flew into the village and galloped down the street. Mud splattered from under the hooves of the black mare.

- No-o-o-o-o!!! - A girl on a horse shouted, attracting the attention of a very tall, middle–aged man whose name was Bonart. Leo Bonart is a professional contract killer.

The hunter raised his head.

Falka jumped off the horse on the move, spun around, fell to one knee.

Bonhart chuckled.

- Rat, - he said. - The Seventh Rat. It's good that you're here. That's what I needed for the kit.

Mistle groped for the sword, but was unable to lift it. She wheezed and, throwing herself under Bonart's feet, clutched the tops of his boots with trembling fingers. She opened her mouth to scream, but instead of screaming, a brilliant scarlet jet burst out of her throat. Bonhart hit her hard, knocking her into the manure. However, Mistle, holding on to her split stomach with both hands, managed to get up again.

- Noooooo! - Falka shouted. - Mistleee!!!

The bounty hunter did not pay attention to her cry, did not even turn his head, but swung his sword and struck with a sweeping, like a scythe, a terrible blow that picked Mistle up from the ground and threw him against the wall like a soft rag doll, like a red-stained flap.

The scream stuck in Falka's throat. Her hands were shaking as she gripped the sword.

- Murderer, - she hissed through clenched teeth, amazed at how alien her own voice sounded. Someone else's lips suddenly became terribly dry.

- The murderer! Scum!

Bonhart was looking at her with interest, his head slightly tilted.

- Are we going to die?

Falka was walking towards him, walking around him in a semicircle. The sword in the raised and straightened hands moved, deceived, misled.

The bounty hunter laughed out loud.

- To die! - he repeated. - The rat decided to die.

He turned slowly, without moving from his place, not letting himself be caught in the deceptive trap of the semicircle. But Falka didn't care. She was seething with rage and hatred, trembling with the thirst for murder, striving to get this terrible old man, to feel the blade cutting into his flesh. I wanted to see his blood gushing from the split veins in the rhythm of the last heartbeats.

- Well, Rat. - Bonhart picked up the soiled sword and spat on the point. - Before you die, show me what you're capable of. Come on, music, play!

...

- From everything I've seen, I can conclude that she has experienced the death of her close friends, especially since she will soon lose her beloved... - I expressed my thoughts aloud, continuing to watch the ongoing battle if it could be called that.

...

- Falka, - Bonhart said, grinning and showing his teeth like a real ghoul. - You can dance and swing a sword! I'm interested in you, girl. Who are you? Tell me before you die.

Falka was breathing heavily. She felt terror begin to take hold of her. She understood who she was dealing with.

- Tell me who you are, and I will give you life.

She tightened her grip on the hilt. It was necessary to go through his lunges, parries, slash him before he had time to shield himself. It was impossible to allow him to repel her blows, it was impossible to continue to take his sword on his sword, to experience pain and impending paralysis, which pierced through her and made her elbow and forearm stiffen when he lunged. It was impossible to waste energy on empty dodges from his blows, passing by no more than the thickness of a hair.

I'll make him miss, she thought. - "Now. In this skirmish. Or die."

- You're going to die, Rat, - he said, coming at her with his sword held out far ahead. - Aren't you afraid? It's because you don't know what death looks like.

"Kaer Morhen" - she thought, jumping back.

…

After hearing these two words, he finally understood who she was and where she came from, but he still couldn't believe it - Kaer Morhen, now it's clear why she seemed familiar to me, but at the same time not familiar. Her appearance was completely different than her other self in the third part of the game. In addition to a more childish appearance, her face was covered by an ugly laceration, which also sensitively changed Ciri's appearance not for the better. She came to my world, from her own world, which was filled with monsters and murderers called witchers, and if my memory serves me right, Ciri is also part of this sect.

- In addition, thanks to her bloodline, she can travel between worlds! I wonder if her getting here was an accident or is it the tricks of higher powers? – while the guy was busy thinking about the situation, he still continued to watch.

…

Ciri took three steps and pirouetted, and when he attacked, waving off the feint, she turned a backflip, fell into a half-crouch and immediately rushed at him, ducking under his blade and twisting the joint for a blow, for a terrible blow, reinforced by a powerful turn of the hips. And then she was suddenly overcome with euphoria, she could almost feel the tip biting into his body.

But instead there was only a hard, groaning impact of metal on metal. And an unexpected flash in his eyes. Blow and pain. She felt herself falling, felt herself falling, - "He parried and deflected the blow. I'm dying," - she thought.

Bonhart kicked her in the stomach. The second kick, aimed precisely and painfully at the elbow, knocked the sword out of her hands. Ciri clutched her head, she felt a dull pain, but there was no wound or blood under her fingers.

She opened her eyes.

The hunter stood over her, scary, skinny as a skeleton, towering like a large leafless tree. He reeked of sweat and blood.

He grabbed her by the hair on the back of her head, lifted her up, forced her to stand up, but immediately tore, knocking the ground out from under her feet, and dragged her, screaming like a condemned to eternal torment, to Mistle lying against the wall.

- You're not afraid of death, are you? - he muttered, pressing her head to the ground. - So look, Rat. Here it is - death. That's how they die. Look, it's guts. It's blood. And this is shit! That's what a person has inside.

- That's how they die, Rat. In your own shit and guts!

He released her. She fell on all fours, shaken by dry, jerky sobs. Mistle was there. Mistle hand, narrow, gentle, soft, smart Mistle hand…

She was no longer moving.

...

As soon as the dreams reached this point, Ciri began to growl, more than ever, which prompted the guy that this old man had done something to Ciri's beloved, but he refused to look at it. He stopped using Sleep Magic, after which he used healing to calm the girl's mind, which very quickly calmed the girl's movements, as well as breathing quickly returned to normal.

Having covered Ciri, Hiro left the room and went to Alice's room. Hiro lay down next to the girl, and in the same second fell asleep.

…

The next day, Hiro woke up, and when he tried to get up, he noticed that a white-haired beauty in pink pajamas was lying on his right shoulder. Then he remembered what had happened last night. Watching his girlfriend's cute face, Hiro decided not to wake up the girl yet. Looking at the wall clock, he realized that it was only about four o'clock in the morning, so the guy began to admire her face and her behavior in a dream, so it continued for a couple more minutes until it was time to go to train.

After a couple of hours of training, Hiro headed to the kitchen, where he found that breakfast was almost ready, since Alice was in the process of cooking.

...

After having breakfast, Hiro, while Alice was getting ready, went to Ciri's room to check her condition, while leaving his clone, in case the girl wakes up.

The couple headed to the academy on Hiro's favorite bike. Alice sat behind Hiro on the trunk while Hiro pedaled.

After 10 minutes, the couple was already near the giant gate.