As Tyche manipulated the wolf-head medallion, its eyes glowed with a blood-red light. It was highly sensitive to magic and offered a certain enhancement to the wearer.
On the Invisible Isle, the dryads had also developed some enchanted items. The applewood ring they gifted to Achilles was one such item, but its principle was entirely different from the wolf-head medallion. This sparked Tyche's interest. The ruby obtained from the guard, Old Bork, flew from Lambert's coin pouch and spun incessantly in Tyche's hand.
With a shower of debris, the gem transformed into a smooth ring face, countless shimmering runes appearing and disappearing alternately, adding a barely perceptible aura to the rather unappealing gem.
Amidst the pained cries of the witcher, his silver sword, which had accompanied him for three years of battles, dissolved into a pool of liquid.
Tyche frowned with a hint of disdain. This silver sword had too many impurities, various strange components had permeated the weapon, and it was likely to be destroyed in battle before long.
As a rivet was tossed aside, Tyche's gaze upon the witcher became even stranger. The sword had been broken, and the two severed ends had been joined by a rivet to forcibly extend its lifespan.
"Don't look at me like that. We're not as wealthy as sorceresses. A small jar of Yennefer's magical cosmetics can sell for two hundred crowns, more than what we get for most of our contracts."
Lambert took the coin pouch Tyche tossed him and weighed it. This money could buy the finest work from a blacksmith in a big city. Satisfied, he placed it alongside his freshly cleaned leather armor.
Pure silver was refined and, under Tyche's control, encased the enchanted gem to form a ring.
Combining magic from two worlds, this ring would allow the wearer to cast Fireball three times a day. Due to material limitations, many of its functions could not be fully utilized. Tyche, feeling a bit regretful, played with it for a while before tossing the ring to the curious witcher.
"Consider it compensation for the damaged silver sword. Sorcerers will be willing to pay a hefty price for it."
The scorching ring did not feel hot to the touch. Lambert put it on and gestured, and a burst of fire erupted from the ring.
"The effect is quite similar to the Igni sign. Are there any usage restrictions?"
"You can use it three times a day, but you can also force its use at the cost of the ring's destruction. The last use will have far greater power than before. The ring will automatically recharge in a natural environment, and this time can be shortened if a spellcaster actively infuses it with magic."
Tyche grew somewhat impatient and pushed the curious Lambert out the door, summarizing the problems and gains from this enchanting process.
The higher the terrain, the earlier winter arrives. The cold wind from the Blue Mountains seemed to penetrate to the bone, a chill that extended all the way to the borders of Temeria, bringing silver frost to this warm kingdom.
Autumn was drawing to a close, yet the morning temperature already carried a hint of cold. Cintra, rich in water resources, felt even more damp and chilly, with frost even appearing on the higher branches of the oak trees.
The witcher had a rare good night's sleep. The ring's warmth continuously emanated, keeping him comfortable even on such a cold night.
Half-awake, half-asleep, Lambert dreamed of his homeland. His impoverished parents had handed him over to a passing witcher on such a cold, overcast day. To ensure his survival, they had cruelly pulled away his clinging hands from the door. After enduring the painful Trial of the Grasses and becoming a witcher, he had returned to his remembered homeland to find his parents, only to discover dilapidated, abandoned houses.
The commotion outside disturbed Lambert's memories. His cat-like pupils opened, then relaxed into circles. In the dim morning light, their wild orange-yellow deepened into a more profound amber.
Tyche, cloaked, scanned the group of uneasy lumberjacks with clear eyes and asked loudly, "I am here for the tower in the swamp. Before that, I need to know why the hermit in the forest died."
Such a statement caused a stir among the crowd. The lumberjacks whispered to each other, seemingly discussing something, ignoring the soldiers' reprimands.
After a round of hushed whispers, two middle-aged men with graying hair stepped forward. Their appearance silenced the lumberjacks' discussions; they appeared to be their leaders.
With Lie Detection ready, Tyche had an idea upon seeing the flickering eyes of the two middle-aged men. Before they could explain anything, she said, "If that's the case, I'll have to take you all to the swamp and let the repentant spirits find the one who is hiding the truth!"
At this, the faces of the two lumberjack leaders immediately turned pale, and the workers behind them began to clamor again.
"It's Old Aaron and his son. We didn't harm the hermit! I saw them and their son following the temple guards into the forest!"
One of the leaders immediately retorted, "My son was saved by the hermit, how could we harm her! We were trying to help her escape those madmen when we followed them!"
The feedback from the spell indicated that Old Aaron was not lying, but Tyche deduced from his panic that there was more to the story.
Her soft cloak unfurled with the wind, carrying Tyche down from the second-floor corridor, transforming into a long skirt the moment she landed.
"You brought the hermit to the wooden tower and then left. Did you not harm her?"
Old Aaron's deeply lined face twitched. Under Tyche's confident gaze, he lowered his head.
What Old Aaron said next did not surprise Tyche. They had indeed intended to help the hermit at first. Relying on his familiarity with the forest, Old Aaron and his son took a shortcut to the hermit's hut and, after circling the forest several times, used pre-set animal traps to deal with the troublesome pursuers.
This act of repaying a favor took a turn when Old Aaron discovered the hermit's pointed ears. The grudges between the Northern Kingdoms and non-human races were endless. Old Aaron's wife had died at the hands of the Squirrel Party. How could he accept that the person he risked saving was his enemy?
If the people in the town found out about this, the best fate for him and his son would be expulsion. To avoid a life of wandering, Old Aaron deceived his unsuspecting son and killed the elven hermit!
He set fire to the hermit's hut and, using the excuse that the hermit was hiding in a cave, tricked his son. He then rejoined the lumberjacks and returned to the town. Old Aaron thought everything was over, but he never expected that the dead hermit would transform into a vengeful spirit and haunt the lumberjacks who went near the swamp, attracting the witcher and Tyche.
Lambert entered the hall and asked, "Did you leave her body in the swamp?"
"It's in the ruins beneath the tower," Old Aaron nodded, turning his face away from his son, who looked as if struck by lightning.
Young hunter Aaron trembled, clutching his hunting bow tightly and glaring at his father.