Witcher: The Half Elf

Among the twelve sorcerers casting spells near the rift were familiar faces: Yennefer, Síle, Sabrina, and Fringilla Vigo, whom Wayne had briefly encountered in Toussaint. These four sorceresses had been ensnared by the dark forces. The presence of such powerful figures indicated how dire the situation had become, and it reinforced that sorceresses, driven by an insatiable thirst for power, were prime targets for corruption.

Observing Yennefer's attire, it was clear she was still wearing the same battle-worn clothes from her skirmish in the small town. Wayne was relieved to note that the corrupted forces hadn't inflicted additional harm upon her—likely because they needed her alive to fulfill their masters' objectives. This small mercy eased Wayne's thoughts momentarily, as he knew Geralt would find some solace upon learning Yennefer was physically unharmed.

Still, Wayne understood the gravity of his situation. Engaging directly with twelve corrupted sorceresses—especially ones of their caliber—would be suicidal, even for him. Beyond their corrupted powers, these were individuals with significant ties to influential circles across the Northern Kingdoms. Killing them outright could spark resentment from their allies and followers, creating unnecessary enmity.

Saving these sorceresses, however, would not only preserve their lives but also strengthen Wayne's position across the North. As he calculated his approach, Wayne's keen eyes scanned the area, searching for the orchestrator of this sinister ritual—most likely a member of the Supreme Council, the very individual behind this bounty competition. Only someone with that level of influence could manipulate events on such a scale.

Wayne searched meticulously but found no one else near the rift except for the twelve sorceresses, who were fully focused on their task. He frowned. How could such a critical operation lack direct oversight from the presumed mastermind or even the malevolent deity's avatar?

Just as he contemplated retreating to investigate elsewhere, a sudden wave of dark, oppressive magic surged toward him. The attack came so swiftly that Wayne's instincts barely managed to save him. Activating his Blink ability, he vanished from his spot, reappearing mid-air several meters away. Unfortunately, the teleportation displaced him from his Invisibility Cloak, leaving him momentarily exposed.

The stone pillar he had stood upon was now engulfed in black flames, crackling ominously. The attacker had clearly anticipated such evasive maneuvers. Before Wayne could fully orient himself, another magical projectile—a glowing, ominous orb of energy—hurtled toward him. Its speed left no room for escape.

Assessing the attack's potency in an instant, Wayne decided not to waste the veil's protective shield, letting the orb strike him directly in the chest.

The impact was tremendous. The force flung Wayne backward, shattering several ribs as he crashed into a stone pillar, sending shards of rock flying. Blood spurted from his mouth as he gasped for air, but through the pain, he caught his first clear glimpse of the assailant.

A figure floated mid-air, exuding an unsettling aura of dominance. The man appeared middle-aged, his turban and wheat-colored skin suggesting Nilfgaardian origins. His dark, pupil-less eyes shimmered with malevolence, and his lips curled into a cruel smirk as he gripped a staff adorned with arcane symbols.

"Well, well," the man drawled, his voice mocking. "An invisible little mouse sneaks into my domain, only to reveal itself. How amusing."

The man's tone shifted, dripping with condescension. "You've come far, haven't you? Yet you dared to test me. A pity. But I must admit, your bloodline and those strange powers intrigue me."

Pausing dramatically, he added, "Surrender now, and I might consider sparing your pathetic life. What do you say?"

Wayne feigned pain, clutching his side as the Forest Goddess's protective blessing quietly began to heal his injuries. His mind, however, was racing. This man was unlike the others. While the corrupted sorcerers were enslaved puppets of hell's magic, this individual retained autonomy, wielding both power and intellect. Moreover, his ability to detect Wayne's invisibility and effortlessly launch precision attacks marked him as a significant threat.

Wayne's eyes scrutinized the man's features. Although he didn't recognize him, the attacker's demeanor and abilities left little doubt—this was no ordinary sorcerer. If this wasn't the mastermind or the avatar of an otherworldly deity, it was certainly someone integral to their plans.

Taking a calculated risk, Wayne steadied himself.

The earlier commotion had been too loud to ignore. Wayne decided there was no time for drawn-out deliberations. Regardless of the identity of the enemy before him, he would kill them first and figure out a way to save Yennefer later. Staying in this location any longer was a risk he couldn't afford.

A sly smile spread across his face as he quietly activated the enhanced abilities granted to him by his unusual evolution. Feigning submission, he said:

"I surrender!"

The words had barely left his lips before he flickered forward again, drawing the Aernodight from his storage. In the blink of an eye, he appeared above the man's head, unleashing a powerful downward slash aimed to cleave the figure in two.

The blade cut through the air with a deadly whistle, but to Wayne's surprise, it struck only empty space.

In the split second it took for Wayne's sword to descend, the man had vanished, reappearing five or six meters away with a skill akin to teleportation. Standing firmly on the ground, the mysterious man waved his staff and said with mocking disdain:

"I suspected a sly little mouse like you wouldn't play fair."

"Very well, let's end this. I'll kill you first and torture your soul afterward."

With a flick of his staff, a bolt of lightning cracked down from the sky. Wayne, still in mid-air from his initial attack, had no time to dodge. The bolt struck him directly, sending waves of searing pain coursing through his body. Despite the burning agony, Wayne refused to falter. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he propelled himself forward with explosive force, creating deep craters in the earth beneath him.

He charged towards the man like a human missile.

The man, unimpressed, calmly prepared a more devastating spell. A dark, crackling sphere half a meter wide materialized before him, its surface swirling with electric light. With a wicked smile, he unleashed the deadly magic toward Wayne.

The skull-shaped sphere of death magic was powerful enough to liquefy flesh and bone. Even an armored knight would be reduced to a bloody mist. To make matters worse, the spell tracked its target with unrelenting precision.

But Wayne was prepared. 

As the sphere hurtled toward him, Wayne raised his left hand ever so slightly. In that instant, he vanished in a flicker.

The man's smug expression turned to shock. A crossbow bolt, forged from some mysterious, glowing metal, emerged from nowhere. It tore through the deadly skull magic as if it were paper, streaking towards him. The bolt shattered the protective magic shields he had meticulously constructed, piercing through his chest and bursting out of his back.

The force of the attack caused the man's next spell to collapse, triggering a chaotic backlash of magic within his own body. Before he could teleport away to safety, Wayne's flicker ability brought him directly into melee range.

With a flash of silver, the sword, glowing with sacred power, cleaved through the warlock's torso in a clean, merciless arc. The blade whistled through the air before splitting the man cleanly in two from crown to groin.

The warlock's body collapsed to the ground, bisected, spilling dark ichor across the stone.

Wayne's triumph was short-lived. Before he could steady himself or revel in his success, a powerful wave of malevolent energy erupted from the corpse, knocking him backward. He landed hard, rolling several meters before coming to a stop.

As he pushed himself up, gasping for air, an ominous force began to coalesce around the warlock's remains. A black miasma poured forth, writhing and swirling, expanding into an unnatural, oppressive presence.

A voice, guttural and filled with fury, echoed through the battlefield.

"You insolent mortal! You dare to anger me?!" 

...

You can read up to chapter 309 at patreon.com/Lil674