The refugees stared eagerly at Hermione.
Instinctively, they shuffled forward, crowding around her.
The sky was darkening.
They couldn't quite make out Harry and Hermione's faces.
But even in the twilight, that aura—young, clean, and untouched by hardship—seemed to pierce through the shadows.
A young, clean girl who looked like she had never seen a day of real suffering.
Beside her, a young man.
The boy looked somewhat difficult to approach.
But... that didn't matter.
They were clearly the type of naive noble children out for a taste of adventure. Even if the boy looked like he might be trouble, people in love—young couples exploring the world—always had at least one soft spot. And if one was soft, the whole was soft.
And soft nobles were the best to manipulate.
If they could just cling to her, maybe they could pass through the checkpoint.
The refugees swarmed like hyenas.
Hermione watched them, then pulled out her wand.
Before coming to this world, she had naively thought these people would be honest, decent—at least somewhat kind.
But not anymore.
Harry had warned her not to trust anyone in this world easily.
Deals with them—making agreements only to be betrayed during the handoff—happened all too often. It wasn't just Harry; Geralt, Vesemir, all Witchers had experienced it, more than once.
These seemingly harmless people were often cunning, even vicious.
Especially those desperate to escape Velen for somewhere safer.
When it came to survival, there was nothing they wouldn't do.
In the crowd rushing over, Hermione saw it clearly in their eyes.
Greed, excitement—a look reserved for when one spots prey, especially easy prey, trapped and unable to escape.
And in their minds, the prey was her.
"Back off," she ordered sharply.
But the refugees didn't listen. What harm could a young woman with a small stick pose?
Hermione didn't hesitate.
She waved her wand and cast the spell.
"Protego Totalum!"
An invisible barrier appeared, blocking their path.
Her wrist flicked again.
"Incendio!"
A ring of orange flames sprang up, forming a fiery boundary in front of the group.
Hermione said nothing more.
Standing beside their horse, she stared at the crowd through the low fire wall.
"She... she's a sorceress," someone whispered in fear.
Harry turned back.
The firelight reflected in his amber eyes, making them glimmer like molten gold.
"And a Witcher," another muttered, even more terrified.
Damn it.
They had looked like such easy marks—how could they turn out to be this?
They shuffled back nervously, some unable to hide their glances toward the outpost ahead.
"Forget whatever you're planning, Remy," Harry said calmly, his voice cutting through the murmurs. He called out one of their names.
The man stiffened, terrified. "You... you know me?"
Harry shook his head. "No, but what you're thinking is written all over your face."
He snapped his fingers.
The horse transformed into stone, shrinking back into Harry's hand. The flames twisted, reshaping themselves into the form of a basilisk, coiling protectively around his feet.
"Remy, there are Witch Hunters up ahead. You plan to report us to them in exchange for safe passage into Novigrad?" Harry continued, his voice even. "And App, Zutka, Mike..."
His eyes swept across the crowd.
His gaze locked with theirs, and he spoke each name with precision, pulling out their intentions as if reading from a list.
Their fear deepened.
"Don't do anything stupid," Harry warned softly. "If you try, you won't just be facing the guards or a few Witch Hunters. You won't be leaving here at all."
He raised his hand, the flames shrinking into a small ball of fire that floated gently above his palm.
"Respected Witcher, we swear, we won't tell anyone about the sorceress," someone in the crowd stammered, lifting his hand in a shaking pledge.
The others quickly followed suit, nodding frantically.
Harry's eyes traveled across the faces, pausing on one man. "What about you, Stohn?"
The man flinched, his eyes wide with terror.
"You seem... hesitant to make that promise," Harry observed, the ball of fire in his hand flaring slightly. "Shall I ensure you can keep that secret... permanently?"
The man's face drained of color. "No, no! Respected Witcher, I swear—I swear I won't say a word."
Initially, they had intended to play tricks, to swear one thing and do another.
But not anymore.
This Witcher was terrifying. He could read their thoughts as if they were written on their foreheads.
Harry flicked his wrist.
The crowd scattered like birds, scrambling back into the wagons and tents.
"It looks like you're getting used to this world," Harry remarked softly.
Hermione shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together with a hint of self-blame. "I still don't have enough experience. Should I not have used magic back there?"
Harry started walking towards the outpost. "No, intimidating them was the right move."
"It's just... where we're going next is Novigrad."
"That city is heavily influenced by the Church of the Eternal Fire. That group despises sorcerers and non-humans. Finding Ciri is our priority. If we start a conflict with them before we even get there, it's a waste of time."
"Should I go back and use the Obliviate Charm?" Hermione wondered aloud.
Harry shook his head. "No need."
"I used Legilimency just now to make sure. Those people don't have the guts."
"We can use magic openly."
"I packed a month's worth of Polyjuice Potion in the Sorting Hat—Professor McGonagall, Professor Sprout, Skeeter, and even Professor Trelawney. You can choose any form you like."
They walked up the bridge.
A few Witch Hunters sitting along its length spat openly as Harry approached.
Some of the soldiers even muttered curses under their breath.
Hermione frowned.
Harry remained unaffected. The familiar hostility almost felt... comforting.
At the end of the bridge...
"Halt," a Redanian soldier stepped forward. "No passage."
Harry reached into his robe and handed over two passes.
"Witcher?" The soldier looked skeptical, inspecting the documents repeatedly. "These don't look forged."
He glanced at Hermione.
His voice softened. "Seems you picked up a good contract, Witcher."
"Alright, you're cleared for entry."
He waved them on, and the gates at the end of the bridge creaked open.
Harry and Hermione walked through the outpost, once outside, conjuring their horses again to continue towards Novigrad.
"They all hate you... just because you're a Witcher?" Hermione asked as she sat behind Harry, holding onto his waist, glancing back at the outpost with confusion.
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Powerstones?
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