The “Jogo Base,” as the bards had begun calling it—the Foundation Game—was drawing to a close. Every contract fulfilled, every monster slain in the base version of his life was merely a prelude to this: the final confrontation with Eredin, King of the Wild Hunt.
He found the teleportation site at the edge of the forest. Frost licked the grass despite it being mid-autumn. Ghostly riders had passed through here. Their general waited on the other side. The Witcher 3 Wild Hunt -NSP--EUA--Jogo Base-.p...
The battle wasn’t fancy. There were no cinematic slow-motion flips. Just the brutal, exhausting rhythm of a Witcher who had spent 150 hours sharpening his craft against every creature the Continent had to offer. The “Jogo Base,” as the bards had begun
But the main path called. It always did. Frost licked the grass despite it being mid-autumn
Not a literal one—though in his line of work, those were Tuesday. No, this was the ghost of a promise.
The King of the Wild Hunt fell to his knees. Frost evaporated from his armor. His mask cracked.