Chapter Text
Multiple men went missing in this town of summerbarrow with no trace. So the people of summerbarrow were ecstatic as they heard the news of a witcher travelling in this region. The townfolk decided to send one of the only remaining men, Waldemar the eldest son of the blacksmith. He soon saddled his horse in search for the witcher.
Geralt and Waldemar arrived 8 days later one morning in summerbarrow. The sun was shining brightly but the townfolk was distressed. As soon as they were seeing both of the men they were shouting and talking wildly at once. Geralt already exhausted because of his last encounter with a monster, shouted loudly “Shut up otherwise I won´t help you”. The people began to murmur, then the wife of the missing mayor stepped forward “Sir please help us. So many of our men went missing. We can´t live like this anymore, whatever this is it will kill us all.”
Geralt sighed. “Fine. But one at a time. And slowly. I’ve killed drowners smarter than most of you.”
The villagers pointed him toward the old house at the end of the crooked road. Its windows creaked in the wind. The door hung open as if something had pulled it off its hinges. Inside, the air was thick, stale and buzzing.Geralt frowned. “Huh. Could be a nest. Maybe insects mutated by ”
A blur darted past his ear. Then again. Bzzz. Louder the second time. BZZZZ. Geralt’s witcher senses tingled. Waldemar whispered, trembling, “Is… is that it? The beast?”
“Probably just a fly,” Geralt muttered. “But with my luck, it’ll be the size of a wyvern.”
He drew his silver sword anyway, because in his line of work, a fly could turn out to be a cursed prince, a magical construct, or an omen of the apocalypse. He waited. The buzzing grew louder. Faster. Closer. Then -
The fly shot straight at Geralt’s face. Geralt swung. Missed. He swung again. Missed harder. The fly landed on his cheek. It was the size of a standard housefly. Tiny and harmless. Geralt swatted. The fly simply rose into the air, insulted.
“Stop… laughing,” he growled as Waldemar made a strangled noise somewhere behind him.
The fly dove at his hairline. Geralt cast Aard in panic. The blast shattered a piece of wall, blew dust everywhere, and knocked Geralt two steps backward. The fly remained untouched, lazily circling him like it was judging his life choices. “Right” Geralt muttered. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
He swung, stabbed, ducked, rolled, cast Igni, cursed loudly, threatened the fly’s ancestors, and at one point tripped over a broom. Waldemar watched in stupefied horror as the greatest monster hunter on the Continent was defeated by a normal standard housefly the size of a fingernail.
Finally, the fly charged one last time straight at Geralt’s nose.
The witcher lost his footing, slipped on a rotten floorboard, and fell backwards out of the front door with the grace of a drunk troll. He hit the ground with a sound so hard that three chickens scattered in terror.
Silence.
Then Waldemar whispered, “Geralt? Are you alive?”
Geralt sat up, covered in dust, pride shattered. “The fly… won.”
Waldemar nodded solemnly. “A worthy opponent.”
“No,” Geralt snapped. “It wasn’t.”
The villagers gathered around them, confused.
“So… what was it? A demon? A cursed spirit?” the mayor’s wife asked nervously.
Geralt stood, brushing dirt off his armor. “A fly.”
The villagers erupted in disbelief.
“That’s impossible!”
“A witcher defeated by a fly?”
“Should we… increase the payment?”
Geralt walked away, grumbling, “No. Decrease it. Clearly I’m losing my touch.”
But as he left Summerbarrow behind, the faint buzzing returned, somewhere high above, mocking him.
Geralt quickened his pace. He had never fled from a monster before. But he had also never met a fly this determined.
~ not the end ~