Game in Marvel

Meanwhile, Geralt approached the Nilfgaardian garrison just outside the village.

"State your business," the guard soldier demanded.

"I'm here for information," Geralt said curtly. "I was told your commander might know something about a woman I'm looking for. A sorceress."

"Sorceress?" The soldier hesitated, then nodded. "Wait here. I'll inform the commander."

Geralt went in but came back with a gloomy look.

"Roach... I think we will have to owe those mysterious people again," Geralt sighed as he petted his favorite horse.

Liam and Vesemir were at the workshop of the blacksmith as he repaired the armor when Geralt walked in. His face didn't look good at all. He spoke of what the garrison commander had said. In order to get the information about Yennefer, he would need to kill the griffin and bring back proof.

"Can't they just go and check the dead griffin?" Vesemir asked as he, too, was angry now.

"They are lazy asses who refuse to move," Geralt said. Though he wasn't able to show it, Liam was sure that Geralt was very angry at the moment.

"That's easy enough. I don't need it anymore." With a wave of his hand, the griffin's head materialized from his storage. "Let's get this over with."

"But... your group was the one to take it down, and we have already taken advantage of it. We can't ask for more."

"Well, you can do that by owing us one more favor," Liam said as he pushed the griffin's head away. Geralt didn't know what he should say here but accepted it.

Vesemir also looked a bit guilty, if at all it was possible for a witcher to show.

"Thank you," Geralt said, and then rode off.

"Why are you being good to us?" Vesemir finally asked. It didn't take a genius to know that Liam had been good to them since they had met. He didn't show any hostility and rather a sense of adoration that Vesemir didn't even see in his own students before they became witchers. It was a unique feeling to him, and also the fact that they now owed Liam.

"I have my reasons. You will know soon. Don't worry, it has got nothing to do with something dangerous or some kind of assassination plot, as I have said before. For now, all I can say is I am after knowledge, and you two are the best individuals at the moment if I want to acquire some," Liam replied.

"Knowledge? Hmm," Vesemir didn't know what he exactly meant by that. It was true that they did hold some knowledge as their school was quite old, but their school had almost been destroyed in the last raid, so very little was left in terms of knowledge.

By the time evening fell, the group had gathered back at the White Orchard Inn. Geralt returned first, leading Roach. Vesemir and Liam had returned just a short while earlier. Liam now carried a pouch full of coins—6,000 orens, to be exact.

The blacksmith, Willis, had been thoroughly impressed by Liam's craftsmanship and the runes on his sword, but he was equally baffled, unable to decipher their origins or purpose. Even Vesemir, with his centuries of experience, had no answers. Nevertheless, Liam had managed to convert his hacksilver (got from God of War

As the group sat around the table, Geralt dropped into the seat beside Vesemir and let out a long sigh.

"Yennefer's in Vizima," he announced, cutting straight to the point. "The griffin's head was all he needed to loosen his tongue. But now we know for certain. She's in Vizima. We should get moving."

"Good timing. The innkeeper just informed me the horses have arrived. They're ready and waiting outside," Liam said.

Steve, Barton, and Natasha, who had been quietly listening, exchanged glances. Tony, sipping from a mug of ale—the only thing he liked here—set it down with a smirk.

"And here I was starting to think this was going to turn into a long-term stay. Let's saddle up, then."

"If you're coming to Vizima, I won't stop you. But understand that this is personal. Once we're there, I'll take care of my business, and you'll take care of yours," Geralt said, as he kind of guessed that Liam would go with them. This group seemed to be on some aimless adventure for some arbitrary reason, and now that he owed them a lot, he would have refused if not for the fact he knew this group was powerful too.

"Understood," Liam said, standing as well. "But let's not forget—you owe us a bit more now. Consider this favor repayment for one of the many."

Geralt gave him a sharp look but said nothing, nodding in acknowledgment.

The group exited the inn, the evening air crisp and cool. Four sturdy horses were tied to a post outside, their coats brushed and their saddles well-fitted. But they weren't the only ones outside. Five men that they had seen in the inn before were waiting for them.

The five men blocked the path to the horses, their faces hard and weathered. They looked like locals—laborers or farmhands. But their expressions were twisted with malice and greed. One of them, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a thick beard, stepped forward. He carried a hefty wooden club in one hand, which he tapped against his palm menacingly.

"Well, well," he sneered, his voice low and gravelly. "A pack o' freaks an' their friends, all travelin' together. Must be our lucky day, boys."

"Move aside," Geralt said flatly. "We don't have time for this."

"Oh, ye've time, freak. Plenty o' time. Look at ye, dressed fine an' ridin' high. That bag ye carry looks heavy, eh?" He pointed at Tony. "Hand it over, or mayhap we lighten yer load by takin' it ourselves."