It was undoubtedly a cruel irony—protecting a monster from disturbance while letting real people rot in misery.
The closer they got to the old palace, the denser the patrolling guards became.
When a squad of guards spotted Karl and Geralt—two uninvited guests who clearly didn't belong here—
they immediately surrounded them, their demeanor rough and vigilant.
"Halt! Who are you? This is no place for you to be!"
"Step back, mutant!" a soldier shouted sharply.
His gaze, in particular, was fixed on Geralt's cat-like eyes and the two swords on his back, full of undisguised disgust.
Geralt was expressionless, already accustomed to such treatment.
Karl stepped forward and calmly said: "I am Karl El."
"I am here on official business under the direct order of His Majesty the King."
His voice was not loud, but it carried an undeniable authority.
"Karl El?" The captain was stunned for a moment.
The fierce expression on his face instantly melted, replaced by an almost flattering, respectful expression.
"You... you're the champion of the tournament!"
"The one who single-handedly swept the entire field, Master El!?" His voice trembled slightly with excitement.
The surrounding soldiers immediately lowered their weapons, their faces showing admiration and curiosity, whispering among themselves.
Karl's stunning performance at the martial arts tournament had long since spread throughout the army.
"Yes. This is Lambert, a master Witcher." Karl's lips twitched slightly at the title "Master," but he nodded.
"His Majesty has entrusted him to deal with the palace... issues together with me." He deliberately glossed over Princess Adda.
"I see, I see." The captain hastily nodded.
"I apologize for not recognizing you immediately. Please forgive our rudeness, Lord El."
He glared fiercely at the soldier who had spoken rudely, then asked solicitously: "Are you going to the palace? Allow us to escort you."
"This area is very uneven, and these non-human untouchables..."
"Don't worry about them. Lead the way. We need to get close to the edge of the palace to inspect it." Karl interrupted him.
"Yes! Yes! Please, follow me!" The captain immediately turned and loudly ordered his men.
"Everyone! Clear the way for Lord El and... his companion, and stay alert!"
As a result, the initially hostile guards instantly transformed into a respectful honor guard.
They formed two columns, flanking Karl and Geralt in the middle, roughly shoving aside any non-human races who tried to approach along the way,
or who were simply curious and moving towards the old palace.
The guards cleared the path, making it extremely smooth. The deeper they went, the more dilapidated the buildings became.
The atmosphere grew darker and more deathly, as if even the sunlight became thin and cold.
The air began to fill with a faint, unsettling odor and... some indescribable, sickly sweetness.
Eventually, most of the squad stopped at the edge of a square.
The once magnificent old palace lay ahead, now shrouded in vines, earth, and darkness, crouching there like a huge, silent monster.
Even during the day, it radiated a sinister aura that made people's hearts race.
The captain and his men could no longer hide the fear on their faces; their steps became unsteady, refusing to take a single step forward.
The captain's face was pale, his voice trembling slightly as he said to Karl: "Lord... Lord El... I can only... escort you this far."
"Ahead... ahead is that thing's territory. None of the brothers who went in before ever came out..."
His eyes gazed with terror into the depths of the palace, at those dark windows and dilapidated gates, as if something horrible was about to burst forth.
"Enough. Wait here." Karl calmly ordered, not forcing the guards to follow.
The guards hurriedly retreated and gathered together, nervously gripping their weapons, watching Karl and Geralt.
Without hesitation, they crossed the cordon and headed into the depths of the palace ruins, a place that seemed impervious to sunlight and radiated an aura of death and curses.
Karl and Geralt's figures quickly disappeared among the ruins of broken walls and heavy shadows.
Behind them remained only a group of terrified guards, and in the distance, non-human races peering from the shadows with complex eyes.
......
The entrance to the old Vizima palace was like a forgotten tomb, exuding a stench of decay, blood, and an indescribable sickly sweetness.
Karl and Geralt stepped over the crumbling threshold, and the light inside instantly dimmed.
Only a few flickering rays of sunlight, piercing through the shattered dome and high windows, formed pillars of light in the pervasive dust.
The touch underfoot was unpleasant—not stone, but a thick layer of mixed mud, dried bones, and torn fabric.
The rancid smell in the air was even stronger, almost nauseating.
Their gazes were quickly drawn to the skeletons scattered on the ground.
The bones were deep, crossed, and most were incomplete.
The vast majority were human-sized skeletons, interspersed with the remains of stray dogs, rats, or other small animals.
Some fresher bones were also covered with broken fragments of clothing or rusty pieces of armor.
Geralt crouched down, his cat-like eyes glowing faintly in the dim light, carefully examining the torn, fragmented bones.
Karl also used his hunter's experience to observe the surroundings.
"Plate armor... the fallen knights." Karl whispered.
He picked up a heavy piece of shoulder armor with a lily pattern on the tip of his sword.
It bore several deep, shocking dents and tears.
Geralt nodded, his fingers tracing the deep marks on a nearby stone wall.
These were not sword cuts, but claw marks left by some huge, sharp claw, gouged nearly an inch deep into the stone.
"Great strength, speed... also very fast."
They murmured their observations, their voices especially clear in the silent hall.
"Look at these bite marks. They're not the small traces of a typical Striga... thicker and deeper, more like... a beast." Geralt pointed to a bitten humerus.
"And the quadrupedal traces... the front limbs are deeply imprinted, the hind limbs slightly shallower. The explosive power is extremely strong, and it's accustomed to this kind of movement?"
Karl pointed to a dusty spot with several blurred paw prints.
The conclusion gradually became clear: Princess Adda, transformed by her curse into a Striga,
was completely different from the monsters described in Geralt's knowledge, which usually retained a humanoid form, were slender, and mainly used magic and sonic attacks.