As night descended, the din within the Tuna Inn at last began to ebb away.

  Drunkards stumbled out of the tavern, leaving behind a chaotic mess on the floor.

  The quantity of wine spilled in their inebriated state likely exceeded the amount they'd actually consumed.

  The local residents were the first to depart. With the need to toil the next day to support their families, they couldn't afford to linger.

  Shortly after, sailors from the trade ships and fishing vessels hurried back to their ships before curfew.

  After all, Armon reserved rooms only for paying customers. Should the sailors get drunk and remain in the inn's lobby overnight, they'd surely miss the time to set sail the following day.

  Captains never waited for stragglers, and in the cutthroat realm of maritime trade, time was of the essence.

  Aquatic products fetched the best prices when fresh, and merchants weren't about to risk losses by waiting for one or two irresponsible sailors.

  Finally, those left in the lobby were mostly the bodyguards of the merchants staying in the guest rooms.

  These wealthy merchants wouldn't deign to join the common folk in their revelry. Instead, they remained sequestered in their rooms, having their servants bring them whatever they desired.

  These bodyguards differed from the sailors.

  Money was seldom an issue for them. The roads beyond the town were perilous, and merchants knew they had to offer generous rewards to ensure their bodyguards wouldn't abandon them in the face of real danger.

  "Hmph, Witcher, I'm sure to trounce you!" The merchant's bodyguard seated across from Zelin eyed the card game with a cocky swagger, confidently grabbing the beer on the table and taking a long, hearty swig.

  It was still early in the evening.

  Zelin urged Altria to enjoy a good soak in the hot bath the waiter had prepared in the guest room, encouraging her to unwind.

  After three days of traveling together, he'd come to realize that the girl was far from ordinary. Her entanglement with the Wild Hunt was likely no coincidence.

  But despite the mysteries surrounding her, at her core, she was human, and humans needed rest.

  While she bathed, Zelin made his way to the lobby in search of entertainment.

  "Is that so? If you're so confident..." Zelin's gaze lifted from the card game, and he sized up the bodyguard before him.

  The man was powerfully built, sporting a thick, dark - brown beard. His small eyes, shadowed beneath a wooden horned hat, glinted with a dangerous edge.

  A jagged scar ran from his left cheek down to his chin, enhancing his menacing appearance.

  Unsurprisingly, this fellow hailed from Skellige. They were a fierce and warlike people, renowned as some of the most formidable warriors among the northern kingdoms.

  In Skellige, power was earned through strength and courage, which was why overweight nobles were a rarity.

  Surrounding the bodyguard were four more Skellige natives, likely part of the same merchant's entourage.

  For the right price, they were top - notch allies, second only to Witchers in combat prowess.

  At that moment, they were all gathered around the wine table, cheering raucously for their companion.

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  The intense card duel even caught the attention of the waitresses cleaning the lobby.

  They'd casually saunter past the table, sneak a quick peek, then scurry away before Innkeeper Armon noticed their slacking off.

  "Think you can still turn the tide?" The Skellige men erupted in boisterous laughter.

  "Check the scores, Witcher! Are your cat eyes failing you? Look closely! You've only got 44 points, and I'm sitting pretty at 90! With just three cards left in your hand, there's no way you can beat me! Hahaha!"

  As he spoke, he flung his last two cards onto the table, grabbed his empty glass, and a waitress promptly rushed over to refill it.

  "I'm done playing. I concede! Let's see you win now! Guys, get ready to collect your winnings!"

  The situation on the table was dire for Zelin.

  His opponent's Monsters Gwent deck dominated the entire close - combat lane. Coupled with a Gwent: Scorch card that doubled the combat power of all cards, the Skellige man's combat points soared to a staggering 90.

  On Zelin's side, his trump card, the siege unit, had been rendered useless by the weather cards.

  He held up the two remaining cards in his hand—both weather cards—and a confident smirk played on his lips.

  "Maybe there's still a glimmer of hope." He pinched one of the weather cards between his fingers and flicked it into the effect lane.

  Clear Weather. Instantly, the Torrential Rain that had been suppressing his siege unit dissipated, and Zelin's combat points shot up to 57.

  At this, the Skellige man shifted restlessly in his seat.

  "Alright, lucky bastard. But your luck ends here. There's no way you've got another Gwent: Scorch card. Give up the fight and hand over the money. A bet's a bet, and you're beaten!"

  "Indeed, a bet's a bet." Zelin shook his head and played his second weather card, Biting Frost, which slashed the attack power of all close - combat units on the field down to a single point.

  The moment the card was played, the Skellige man nearly spat out his beer. His eyes widened in shock, and his combat points plummeted from 90 to 43.

  "No! Damn it! I have a Clear Weather card too!" The bodyguard flailed his arms in frustration, but it was a futile outburst. He'd already forfeited his turn to play.

  "Gods! Why didn't you play those cards earlier? I never would've given up!"

  "If the score gap wasn't so wide, would you have?" Zelin regarded the bodyguards with a triumphant gaze.

  He'd learned that playing the underdog could be an effective strategy when dealing with monsters.

  He'd feign weakness to lure them into the magic traps he'd set in advance, and it seemed the same tactic worked wonders in Gwent.

  He snapped his fingers, and the Skellige man's companions reluctantly handed over their money bags. The outcome was clear, and resistance was pointless.

  Zelin tossed the money bag in his hand. It held around fifty crowns—more than enough to cover his accommodation and then some.

  He motioned to a waitress nearby. "A round of beers for these brave warriors from Skellige. Put it on my tab."

  Zelin had witnessed countless wealthy merchants lose their entire fortunes chasing after a small profit.

  He wasn't about to make the same mistake. Besides, if the extra crowns couldn't be exchanged for better armor or weapons, they held little value for him.

  Leaving the wine table, Zelin made his way towards the staircase. A faint ticking sound caught his attention.

  He hurried to the window and saw water droplets cascading down the glass. He cracked the window open, and in an instant, the deafening roar of the rainstorm outside rushed into the inn.

  Along with the sound came a gust of frigid air, making everyone in the lobby shiver involuntarily.

  Zelin looked up.

  The sky was filled with dark, churning clouds that blotted out the moonlight entirely. The oppressive weight of the storm seemed to press down, making it hard to breathe.

  "Damn it. A full - blown rainstorm." Zelin scowled.

  This was a major setback. With such heavy rain, the ferries on the Pontar would likely be suspended.

  And without a ferry, crossing the swollen river in spring was out of the question.

  Yet, through the rain - soaked haze, he noticed something amiss. Outside, columns of well - equipped Redania soldiers were stealthily making their way towards the port.

  The downpour had reduced visibility to almost nothing, and the soldiers hadn't lit any torches. Ordinary people wouldn't have been able to spot them, but Zelin's Witcher senses didn't miss a thing.

  He turned his gaze towards the town's entrance. More soldiers were streaming in—by his estimate, over five hundred.

  "Hey, Witcher! Close that window! You trying to freeze us to death?" a waitress shouted angrily from downstairs.

  "Right." Zelin shut the window. Whatever the King of Redania was plotting, it was none of his concern.

  Witchers steered clear of wars and political machinations, unlike mages and sorceresses. Zelin preferred to keep his distance from the intrigues of kings and nobles.

  Reaching the second floor, he figured Altria should be done with her bath by now. He placed his hand on the doorknob, ready to push the door open.

  He planned to get a good night's rest. If the storm cleared by morning, all would be well. If not, he and Altria would have to search for a bridge to cross the river nearby. He hoped it wasn't too far away.

  Suddenly, the emblem around Zelin's neck began to tremble violently.

  Zelin stared at it in disbelief.

  Since he'd received it after passing the trial, it rarely reacted so strongly.

  The last time it had done so was when he'd encountered the Wild Hunt.

  Wild Hunt... Altria!