The morning after the battle beneath the orchard brought with it a crisp wind and clarity.
Cain stood alone in the manor's garden, sunlight threading through the high hedges as he equipped his gear.
He drew the Elven Blade (Moon-Touched) from its case—a sleek silver blade that shimmered faintly even in shadow. The balance was exquisite, the edge almost humming in harmony with his Witcher medallion. Strapping it to his back, he fastened the Elven Mantle, feeling the light material settle around him like a second skin. The garment responded to his movements with smooth, near-silent shifts, and already he could feel its protective aura adapting to the ambient magic.
He turned toward his pack and drew the Traveler's Cloak and Bladed Bracers, then made his way toward the training yard.
Callum was already there, running drills with bare arms and sweat beading along his forehead.
"Catch," Cain said simply, tossing the cloak.
Callum snatched it midair, arching an eyebrow. "What's this?"
"Protection. Function. Elegance," Cain said. "And these are yours now."
He handed over the bladed bracers.
Callum examined the craftsmanship. "These are fine... Where'd you get them?"
Cain simply offered a half-smile. "Let's say fate occasionally has good taste."
Not long after, he met Calanthe in the alchemy garden.
"What's that?" she asked, eyeing the root sample pulsing faintly in a sealed vial.
"Mutagenic Root," Cain said. "It could boost your vitality or help with your potions. Either way, I trust you'll make better use of it."
She studied him for a moment, then took it with care. "You keep surprising me."
"That's the plan," Cain said.
By midday, all three were summoned to the manor's hall. Lady Meressa stood by the hearth, her poise unshaken, while Lord Halric sat off to the side, stiff-backed and subdued.
Meressa welcomed them with a nod. "The corruption has been purged. The orchard will heal. And the village can breathe again."
Cain and Callum offered brief bows, while Calanthe stepped forward to recount the battle. She spared no detail—from the runes she recognized, to the Leshen's emergence, to the final blow Cain delivered. She named all three of them as equals in victory.
When she finished, Meressa turned to her husband. "Lord Halric?"
Halric's jaw tightened. His gaze passed from his children to Cain.
Cain met it directly, not with defiance, but with quiet confidence.
To everyone's surprise, Halric stood.
"For your service," he said slowly, like the words tasted foreign, "you will each receive 300 crowns. And rooms in the Spar House whenever you reside in Hiltstead."
Cain nodded. "We appreciate your hospitality."
Halric's gaze lingered on him a moment longer—there was no warmth in it, but something else had taken root. Tolerance, edged with reluctant respect.
[Reputation Increase: Hiltstead Nobility (Halric): +10%] [Reward Received: 300 Crowns | Permanent Access to Spar House Quarters]
That evening, the village came alive.
Lanterns were strung from rooftop to tree, musicians played from atop wagons, and long tables were filled with bread, roasted meats, mead, and laughter. Children danced in circles, farmers toasted one another, and guards mingled freely with their neighbors.
Cain sat with Callum and Calanthe near a central fire pit, enjoying roasted hare and crisped potatoes. Villagers passed them food and drink constantly, their fear long since washed away.
Then Lord Halric stood near the fire, a goblet in hand.
"My people," he began, loud enough for all to hear, "this village has stood for generations. It has weathered war, plague, and now darkness beneath our very soil. But we are here because three warriors—two born of this village and one from the world beyond—fought back the night."
He raised his goblet toward Cain.
"To Cain, Witcher of the Path."
Cain, surprised, raised his own cup in silent acknowledgment.
The cheer was thunderous.
Later, as the celebration carried on, Cain stepped away from the fire, moving toward the shadows near the manor garden. He needed quiet.
But quiet didn't last long.
Footsteps approached softly on the stone path. He turned to see Meressa, her dress a shade deeper than wine, clinging gently to her figure. Her neckline was modest but low enough to reveal a hint of graceful cleavage. Her cheeks were flushed, either from the wine or the warmth of celebration.
She stood close—not intruding, but close enough that Cain could smell the floral undertone of her perfume.
"You did more than I expected," she said softly. "I thought I should give you a gift."
Cain tilted his head. "You mean the higher reward? Or your husband's toast in front of the village?"
She smiled, faint and sly. "Both."
Cain gave a slow nod. "You've been planning this."
"Let's say I hoped."
She leaned in slightly, her voice lower.
"Let me explain everything."
They moved into one of the sparsely used guest houses behind the estate, where Meressa lit a single lantern before closing the door behind them.
"I'm not his wife," she said, voice soft and direct. "
Not truly. That man married once. But when his first wife bore bastards not his own—sons of his brother, in fact—I was the one who brought the truth to light."
Cain blinked. "That explains the tension."
"I was a maid then," she continued. "But I studied, learned. I had a mind, Cain. Yet in this world, if you're not a queen or a sorceress, you're just another decoration. So I played along. Let him have me.
Played the loyal advisor, bore him two children... ones I would die for."
She stepped closer, reaching up to brush her fingers along Cain's jaw. Her touch was light, deliberate.
"Then I revealed his shame. Built trust with the villagers. Enough to sway the court to consider stripping his power entirely, unless he took me as an advisor. Or wife."
Cain narrowed his eyes. "He could've denied it all."
She nodded. "And I could've left. But I knew how to convince him. The same way any woman gets what she needs from a man."
"You slept with him."
"I made him feel powerful," she said, voice like silk. "Because in this world, Cain, sex isn't love. It's control. And even when you're vulnerable, you either bend... or you bend them."
Cain's gaze darkened, understanding. "And your children? Do they know this?"
Meressa shook her head, smiling softly. "They don't need to. They have gifts, strength. They'll forge their own paths. But you... you still need growing."
Her hand slid down his chest, tracing muscle and scar alike.
"And I can help you with that."
Cain didn't hesitate.
Their lips met, slow and heavy. She pulled him deeper into the guesthouse, the lantern flickering as the door closed behind them.