The Pontar, much like the Yaruga to the south, springs from the Blue Mountains and courses westward, emptying into the sea near the bustling ports of Oxenfurt and Novigrad.

  These two mighty rivers have sculpted the expansive northern plains over time, fostering a landscape dotted with countless villages along their meandering banks.

  Perched at the Pontar's estuary, the Free City of Novigrad owes its unparalleled trading prowess to its strategic location.

  This natural advantage has catapulted it to the status of the North's most prosperous metropolis, eventually breaking free from Redania's rule to claim its independence.

  As one of the North's two vital waterways, the Pontar serves a dual purpose.

  Not only does it nourish the land, but it also marks the natural borders between the northern kingdoms. South of the river lie Temeria and Aedirn, while Redania and Kaedwen stake their claims to the northern banks.

  After two days of arduous travel, Zelin and the girl finally found themselves within twenty kilometers of the Pontar.

  They reckoned that, if they pushed on, they could reach an inn in a riverside village before nightfall.

  There, they hoped to gather information from the locals about the nearest bridge crossing.

  More enticingly for Zelin, the village tavern promised the chance to find a willing card partner. The past two days had been a non-stop march, leaving them no time to seek respite in a village.

  Now, he anticipated finding some idle villagers with spare coin, allowing him to indulge his love for Gwent while padding his pockets.

  So far, the girl had been his only opponent, but her mind often wandered to matters of her homeland.

  She could spare only two or three games a day, a frustratingly brief window for Zelin, who always felt like he was just getting into his stride when she called it quits.

  When it came to Gwent strategies tied to different regions, Zelin could expound at length.

  Temerian decks boasted an abundance of powerful lord hero cards; Redanian players relied on sheer card quantity to overwhelm opponents; the Scoia'tael and Monsters decks were fan favorites.

  As for Nilfgaardian nobles, they weren't above using underhanded tactics and outright cheating to secure victory.

  Dwarves, however, were Zelin's least favorite opponents, especially when they'd been drinking. These burly card sharks were not only skilled players but also prone to dirty tricks when the odds turned against them.

  More than once, just as Zelin was on the verge of victory, a dwarf opponent would suddenly concoct an excuse—a wife in labor, a sick son, or a house fire—and flee the scene with the cards in hand.

  An even more pressing concern loomed: their food supplies were running perilously low.

  Witchers typically didn't require large meals, and Zelin usually allocated minimal space in his pack for provisions.

  His pack primarily held essential clean water, fruit wine for relaxation, and high-energy foods like beef jerky and roasted chicken legs.

  But Altria's presence had changed the equation entirely.

  The girl had an appetite that seemed insatiable.

  Zelin was certain that her daily food consumption rivaled that of a small army patrol.

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  "I am deeply grateful for your hospitality these past days," Altria said, bowing solemnly to Zelin.

  "Your kindness will not be forgotten. When I return to Britain, I will repay you handsomely. I swear by the honor of a knight that this food is a true gift from the gods."

  "Your words might carry more weight if you put down that chicken leg," Zelin quipped, shooting her a sidelong glance.

  But Altria's attention remained fixed on the roasted chicken leg in her grasp. With a satisfied sigh, she took a hearty bite.

  Over the past two days, Zelin had been perplexed by her enthusiasm for food.

  His roasted chicken legs were a simple affair, seasoned with just a sprinkle of salt and spices. In a tavern, such a dish might fetch eight crowns, perhaps twelve in a more remote rural establishment.

  Hardly a gourmet masterpiece, yet Altria devoured it as if it were a feast fit for a king.

  "Food is best eaten fresh, before it spoils," Altria explained earnestly. "Once, I led my knights into battle against the invading Angles from the north. "

  "I brought fresh meat, planning to reward my Knights of the Round Table after our victory. But the battle dragged on longer than expected. "

  "By the time we emerged victorious, the meat had spoiled, and all that food went to waste. It was a bitter disappointment. We won the battle, but we rode home with empty stomachs."

  "Is that your excuse for devouring all my meat in two days?" Zelin groaned, rubbing his temples.

  He climbed to the top of a nearby slope and surveyed the landscape.

  Before him stretched an endless expanse of green prairie, a sea of grass that merged with the horizon.

  This was the North's most famous plain, a bountiful granary that sustained the kingdoms around it.

  Redania and Temeria, the regions that controlled this fertile land, had risen to become the North's most powerful kingdoms.

  In Temeria, the House of La Valette, which held sway over the lands south of the Pontar, often used its strategic position to negotiate with King Foltest of Vizima.

  While they sometimes appeared to be on equal footing, Zelin, a proud Temerian, knew that if the Marquis of La Valette ever dared to rebel, he would be captured and delivered to the king within a month.

  Without the support of his personal guards, he would find himself utterly alone.

  The prairie was dotted with hills of varying heights, some cloaked in low shrubs, others terraced with cultivated fields.

  In the distance, Zelin spotted a cluster of farmhouses, a promising sign that a village lay nearby.

  Still, he knew better than to be deceived by the apparent proximity. From his experience, what seemed close on the horizon could take an entire day to reach.

  The old saying, "Looking at a mountain from afar can tire out a horse," held true in this vast landscape.

  He estimated it would take them around three hours to reach the village.

  "This place is so beautiful. It reminds me of home," Altria said, joining him at the top of the slope.

  It was true that, when not consumed by her next meal, Altria carried herself with the grace and dignity of a noble knight.

  Zelin found it hard to reconcile this composed demeanor with her ravenous appetite.

  "Yes, it's quite a sight," Zelin agreed, his golden, beast-like eyes scanning the landscape. "Though it would be even more picturesque without that lone ghoul fifty meters to our left, the corpse lying a hundred meters ahead... and, oh, that griffin."

  As if on cue, a massive adult griffin took flight from a nearby ridge, its powerful talons gripping the carcass of a horse.

  At the same moment Zelin spotted it, the griffin's beady eyes locked onto the pair. Having seemingly had its fill, the creature let out a deafening screech before soaring off into the distance.

  Griffins, hybrid beasts of eagle and lion, traditionally made their homes in the mountains, preying on marmots and goats.

  But as human settlements expanded into their territory, these creatures discovered a new, more abundant food source: livestock and, occasionally, their human keepers.

  In just a few short years, what was once a rare and elusive species had become the bane of northern farmers, with subspecies like the Royal Griffin and Great Griffin earning particular infamy.

  Even for a seasoned Witcher like Zelin, facing a Royal Griffin demanded caution and strategy.

  "We don't have monsters like these back home," Altria said, shaking her head. In the past two days, she had encountered two of the North's most common monsters: ghouls and water wraiths.

  Initially fascinated by these strange creatures, she had peppered Zelin with questions.

  Seizing the opportunity, Zelin had used his Gwent monster deck to teach her about the various beasts that roamed the land, a practical and engaging way to help her learn the game.

  "Maybe not griffins, but I'm sure your homeland has its fair share of other dangers," Zelin replied, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his steel sword.

  Just then, the thunderous sound of galloping hooves echoed from the road behind them. Altria whirled around to see four figures on horseback charging toward them.

  Dressed in tattered blue armor and brandishing short swords and iron maces, they wore no identifying emblems, but their intent was clear.

  "Bandits," Zelin growled, a predatory smile spreading across his face as he drew his sword.

  "Are we in trouble?" Altria asked, her grip tightening on her own sword.

  "Not at all," Zelin replied, his eyes fixed on the bandits' horses.

  "In fact, our luck's just turned around. We're getting some new rides."