Chapter 94: Crushed Dream

The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting long, golden shadows across the dirt road as Kelpie ambled along at a steady, rhythmic pace.

A few chaotic days had passed since the Wild Hunt. In that brief span, Ciri had dragged a lost girl out of a wolf-infested forest, gone toe-to-toe with a bloody werewolf, won a stallion off the Bloody Baron in a high-stakes race, and sliced through a royal griffin to save the Baron’s hide.

And through every single heart-pounding minute of it, Rudra had done precisely nothing.

Right now, he was sitting comfortably behind Ciri on horseback, his head resting lazily against her shoulder while she held the reins, navigating the winding path toward Novigrad.

"Man, I forgot how good it feels to get carried," Rudra thought, letting out a relaxed sigh.

"What do you mean by that?" the System’s voice chimed in his head, sounding as dry and conversational as any companion sitting beside him.

"You know, like back in the day," Rudra replied internally. "When a veteran player carries a complete rookie through a high-level raid while the newbie just collects loot? This is literally that."

"Uh-huh."

"Hey, think about it!" Rudra argued, shifting slightly to get more comfortable. "Ciri genuinely thinks I’m just some helpless, regular human she has to protect. So she does all the heavy lifting, and I get to laze around, enjoy the scenery, and follow her lead. If that’s not getting carried, I don’t know what is."

"Is that why you disguised your Devil Bringer to look like a normal human hand?"

"A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do to stay in character," Rudra replied smugly. "Gotta maintain the illusion."

"And when she runs into something she can’t handle? What’s the plan then?"

"We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Besides, she’s the main character—she’s basically floating on plot armor."

The System offered no response to his logic. Rudra smiled, closed his eyes, and went right back to enjoying the free ride in peace.

By nightfall, the towering walls of Novigrad loomed ahead, lit by torchfire and bustling even past dark. As Kelpie trotted through the city gates, Rudra let out a low whistle, still resting his chin casually on Ciri’s shoulder.

Ciri turned her head slightly, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. "Impressed?"

"Not really," Rudra said, taking in the crowded streets. "Though it’s got a certain vibe to it."

Ciri chuckled softly as they wound past traders haggling over crates, a dwarf arguing with a lamppost, and every race the Continent had to offer, until a lavish three-story building appeared at the end of the street. Soft red lanterns hung from its eaves, and above the door a painted sign read The Crippled Kate’s.

"We’re here." Ciri reined in and swung down from the saddle, brushing dust from her sleeves.

Rudra looked up at the sign. Then at her. Then back at the sign.

"A brothel."

"Yes." She turned to face him, one hand on her hip. "And?"

"Nothing." He slid down beside her, and the smirk crept in slowly, as if he were savoring it. "Days on the road. I understand."

Ciri’s eyes narrowed. "Understand what?"

"Needs." Rudra lifted his hands in a gesture of perfect innocence. "Stress. It has to go somewhere."

The color climbed her face from collar to hairline. "That is not why we’re here!"

The smack landed on the back of his head with a crack. Rudra stumbled half a step, rubbing the spot with a wounded look that didn’t match the grin underneath. Ciri grabbed his sleeve, shoved the heavy doors open with her shoulder, and dragged him inside.

"Alright, alright," Rudra muttered, regaining his footing as the scent of wine and cheap perfume hit them. "If not for that, then I don’t see what business we have in a place like this."

Ciri took a steadying breath, composing herself. "Because almost every tavern in this city doubles as one. Get used to it."

"Oh," Rudra said, nodding thoughtfully. "Yeah, that actually makes sense."

She rolled her eyes and dragged him toward the counter, where a tavern wench greeted them with a practiced, cozy smile. "Welcome to the Kate’s. How can I help you two tonight?"

Ciri tossed a small coin pouch onto the counter. "A room with two beds. Send up a warm meal and a pitcher of ale."

"Right away, lady," the woman replied, scooping up the coin and handing over a rusty iron key.

Ten minutes later, they had finished off a platter of roasted chicken and bread in their third-floor room. Ciri wiped her hands, stood up from her bed, and looked over at Rudra, who was already sprawled out on his back, staring lazily at the wooden ceiling beams.

She tossed a second pouch of gold onto his chest. "Here. Order more food if you get hungry, or get a drink downstairs."

Rudra caught the pouch, weighing it in his palm. "Where are you headed?"

"To see a friend," Ciri said, checking the scabbard at her hip. "I’ll be back in a few hours. Try not to get into trouble while I’m gone."

"Hey, I’m just a helpless human, remember?" Rudra smirked, tucking the gold into his belt. "I’ll be right here, living the quiet life."

Ciri gave a soft scoff, a small smile tugging at her lips before she slipped out the door, leaving him to his peace.

The heavy oak door clicked shut, leaving the room in quiet stillness.

"So," the System’s voice echoed directly in Rudra’s head, sounding casually expectant. "What are you going to do now?"

Rudra didn’t even shift his position on the mattress, resting his hands behind his head. "What else? I’m going to stay right here and continue my prime getting-carried experience."

"No, you won’t."

Rudra raised an eyebrow at the ceiling. "And why is that?"

"Because if I remember correctly," the System noted dryly, "she’s off to meet Dandelion to fix her phylactery so she can save Avallac’h. Dandelion suggests seeking out Whoreson Junior—the only guy who knows a mage capable of the repair. That leads to a failed heist of Dijkstra’s treasure, Junior kidnapping Dudu, Ciri rescuing Dudu, and then her getting cornered by the Temple Guard."

Rudra opened his mouth to interrupt, but the System cut him off. "And to escape, she’s forced to teleport away, leaving Dandelion behind and landing straight in Skellige. All of which happens tonight."

Rudra sat bolt upright, eyes wide. "Fuck! I completely forgot about that! Maybe I should go warn her—"

"And blow your whole helpless-civilian cover?" the System pointed out. "The moment you start predicting the future, the gig is up."

"Damn it," Rudra groaned, sinking back down into the mattress. He placed a hand dramatically over his heart, squeezing his eyes shut as a single tear leaked from his left eye. "Not my free carry... I guess this is the end."

The System took a beat, practically radiating silent judgment.

"So long, sweet dream of laziness," Rudra whispered, dramatically wiping the tear away with his sleeve. "May you find peace in the afterlife."

"If you’re done grieving," the System sighed, "what are we actually doing now?"

Rudra snapped up off the bed in an instant, his tragic demeanor vanishing completely. "What else? We go get a drink. And if I feel like it, we pack up and go back home."

He grabbed his coat, unlocked the door, and sauntered downstairs into the warm, chaotic main room of the Kate’s. Ignoring the dancers on stage and the patrons ogling them from the tables, Rudra made a straight line for the counter, bought a full bottle of strong spirits, and claimed a quiet table in the far corner.

He popped the cork with his teeth, took a long, deep swig, and let out a satisfied breath. "Man... now that hits the spot."

He continued drinking in peace until a shadow fell over his table.

Across from him sat a man in a plain scholar’s doublet, his head shaved close, with sharp features and a quiet, unnerving smile. Without a word, the man reached out, conjured a second bottle of high-end spirits from thin air, and slid it across the wood.

Rudra uncorked it, took a heavy gulp, and slammed the glass bottle down. "Took you long enough to show up."

Gaunter O’Dimm tilted his head, his eyes glinting in the dim tavern light. "Ho? So you knew I was following you?"

"Yeah. It was getting kinda creepy, to be honest," Rudra said, leaning back. "Felt like a lurker waiting to drop a side quest."

"My apologies for the intrusion," O’Dimm said pleasantly, leaning forward on his elbows. "I simply couldn’t resist taking a closer look at a demon from another universe."

Rudra snorted, twirling the bottle by its neck. "Well, what business does the Merchant of Mirrors—the evil incarnate himself—have with a normal, low-level demon like me?"

"Low-level? With the aura oozing off you?" Gaunter leaned in slightly, a mocking smirk playing on his lips. "Please, spare me the modesty—"

"Hey! You two mind moving? You’re hogging the good table!"

A belligerent, half-drunken mercenary stumbled over, slamming a heavy wooden mug onto their table and spilling ale across the grain as he leaned into Gaunter’s face.

Gaunter didn’t even turn his gaze from Rudra. He simply raised his right hand and gave a slow, deliberate snap of his fingers.

Instantly, the entire tavern ground to a dead halt.

The drunken mercenary froze mid-glare, a stray droplet of ale suspended perfectly in mid-air an inch above the table. The rowdy laughter of the patrons cut off instantly, suspended dust motes locked into place, and the flickering torchlight hardened like colored glass.

Rudra sat frozen as well, the mouth of his bottle pressed against his lips, utterly motionless.

Gaunter’s smile faded into a subtle, discerning squint. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "I know you’re not frozen. Drop the act."

Rudra unsealed his jaw, took another casual sip, and set the bottle down with a grin. "How’d you tell?"

"Because I can tell when someone else holds authority over time," O’Dimm replied smoothly. "You bend it just as easily as I do."

"And here I thought if I played along, you’d lose interest and leave," Rudra added with a sigh.

"Unfortunate for you, then," O’Dimm said, his smile widening to expose straight, pale teeth. "The more you open your mouth, the more fascinating you become."

Rudra looked him straight in the eye, his tone completely deadpan. "Look, man. I don’t care how many crossroads you own—I don’t play for that team. Back off."

Hearing this, Gaunter clapped his hands together, bursting into genuine, ringing laughter that echoed strangely through the frozen room. He then conjured a dark, aged bottle for himself, popped the cork, and took a heavy swig.

Rudra gave him a weird look, shrugged, and raised his own bottle in a silent mock toast.

With another effortless snap of O’Dimm’s fingers, time rushed back into motion. The drunken mercenary blinked, completely unaware of the pause, before suddenly losing his footing and stumbling past their table toward the bar.

The tavern burst back into noisy life around them, completely oblivious to the two terrifying entities sitting in the corner, sharing a quiet drink in silence.