For those who walk the road alone.

Under the shifting light and shadow, a figure suddenly sat upright on the operating table.

His face was covered in scabs, his body hard with newly forged muscle. His mismatched eyes slowly turned toward the Sorceress standing watch beside him.

Their gazes met.

Lytta Neyd stared at the young man before her, the raw, dangerous vigor rolling off him like heat from a forge. She pressed a hand over her lips. Joy lit her face, and moisture shimmered in her blue eyes.

“Coral, I made it.”

Roy flashed her a brilliant smile. One long arm swept around her, gently catching her by the arm and drawing her into his embrace. He wrapped both arms around her from behind, rested his chin on her shoulder, and let his left hand drift through the fiery red hair that spread like a forest ablaze, breathing in the sweetness of roses. Then he brushed a kiss against her shoulder.

Their cheeks rested together.

The Sorceress closed her eyes.

Neither of them spoke. They simply listened to each other’s heartbeat, savoring a few quiet moments of warmth that needed no words.

After a long while, Roy finally let out a slow breath.

“Coral… you’ve suffered enough because of me this past month. Let me repay you properly.”

“Hm?”

He waited for an answer.

None came.

Roy turned his head.

Lytta Neyd had already fallen asleep against his chest.

Her long lashes fluttered faintly.

Ten seconds later, soft snores escaped her lips.

She had reached her limit.

The Trial of the Grasses was torment for a Witcher. For the Spellcaster presiding over the Ritual, it was no kinder.

For an entire month, Lytta Neyd had risen every night to examine his condition. She had not slept through a single night.

Guilt tightened Roy’s chest as he studied the exhaustion etched across her delicate face. He kissed her forehead, lifted her gently into a princess carry, laid her carefully upon the operating table, and tucked a blanket around her.

His fingertips brushed her cheek.

His silver-gray and dark-gold eyes lingered on her sleeping face for a long time.

Only then did the Witcher turn away.

He looked toward the Griffin crouching in the corner, its tail wagging like an oar cutting through water, and raised a finger to his lips.

The creature immediately flattened itself against the floor without making a sound.

It waited until Roy approached before throwing itself into his arms.

He hugged it tightly, burying his face in the thick mane around its neck.

He inhaled.

His brow slowly creased.

“…Griffin, haven’t you bathed in over half a month? You smell worse than I do.”

Griffin rubbed against his leg before flopping onto her back, exposing her soft yellow belly. She rolled from side to side until Roy’s hand finally settled on her stomach. A deep, contented purr rumbled from her chest.

Moments later, she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

After calming his Mount, a sharp light flickered through the Witcher’s silver-gray and dark-gold eyes.

He opened and closed his hands, quietly feeling the strength flowing through them.

He rolled his neck.

His shoulders.

His hips.

His toes dug into the stone floor.

Then he jumped.

His body sailed through the air with the effortless freedom of a gale, covering seven or eight meters in a single bound before landing lightly.

“Not bad. Both Agility and Strength have increased considerably.”

But that was far from the greatest change.

The Witcher focused his thoughts and entered the Template.

The first thing that greeted him was a line of scarlet text.

* * *

You have survived the second Trial of the Grasses. Your attributes have increased explosively, and you have advanced to Intermediate Witcher.

Roy

Age: 16

Identity: Viper School Witcher, School of the Griffin Witcher, Honorary Member of the School of the Wolf, Knight of Lake Vizima, Member of the Brotherhood of Witchers

HP: 170 → 300 (Trial of the Grasses +80)

Mana: 200 → 280 (Trial of the Grasses +80)

Attributes

Strength: 10.5 → 14.5

Agility: 11 → 15

Constitution: 13 → 22

Perception: 9.5 → 11.5

Willpower: 14.5 → 15

Charisma: 8 → 9

Spirit: 16 → 20

Skills

Carnage LV6: Enhanced lethality and battlefield dominance through accumulated killing experience.

Scry LV2: Limited divination ability, allowing glimpses or tracking through supernatural means.

Meditation LV6: Advanced recovery and energy control through deep meditative states.

Crossbow Mastery LV2: Improved accuracy, range, and penetration with crossbows.

Longsword Specialization LV2: Increased combat efficiency and precision with longswords.

Alchemy LV2: Basic proficiency in potion-making and alchemical enhancement.

Witcher Senses LV1: Heightened sensory perception for tracking and awareness.

Witcher Signs LV3: Intermediate mastery of combat signs.

Elder Blood (Passive Trait): Possesses the ancient and powerful Elder Blood, granting latent potential and unique interactions with space and magic.

Trial of the Grasses (Passive Trait): You have endured a second inhuman trial. Through hormonal catalysts, three special viral infections, and the mutagenic effects of the Decoctions of the Grasses, your body has been extensively enhanced. You are immune to most plagues and diseases, resistant to toxins lethal to ordinary humans, and possess eyes better adapted to darkness.

Your attributes have undergone explosive growth. Maximum HP permanently increased from +40 → +80. Mana cap increased from +40 → +80.

* * *

Roy rubbed his temples and considered the results.

Satisfaction lingered in his eyes, though disappointment remained as well.

“The second Trial of the Grasses increased my total attributes by twenty-four and a half points. That’s more than twenty percent above the first Trial of the Grasses.”

His guess was that the Conflict between the two Potions had ultimately resulted in a successful fusion.

“Strength, Agility, and Spirit each gained four points. Constitution increased by a full nine.”

That made sense.

The Griffin formula contained Green Mutagen, representing Vitality and poison resistance, in a ratio of six, while the Red Mutagen for Strength and Agility, along with the Blue Mutagen for Spirit, were both present at only one part each.

Naturally, Constitution had surged the most.

Still, the difference had fallen far short of a six-to-one ratio.

Roy narrowed his eyes.

Once an attribute crossed Tier Two, the effects of the Decoctions of the Grasses appeared to diminish dramatically.

“Twenty-two Constitution…”

“Before the mutation, I could only drink two Potions within a certain period.”

“Now… I should be able to handle at least three.”

“And if Constitution reaches twenty-five, I’ll be able to consume Acorn of Forgotten without suffering any side effects.”

“That’s practically an extra life.”

His Constitution had already surpassed more than half the members of the Brotherhood of Witchers, including every lightly built Witcher from the cat school and most members of the Wolf School.

Combined with the unique Trial of the Grasses Passive Trait, which granted another eighty HP and Mana, his durability had climbed well beyond that of an ordinary Witcher.

His Strength and Agility still lagged behind the Brotherhood’s finest melee fighters.

His Mental Attributes, however, now exceeded every Witcher in the order.

Compared to the razor-sharp Sword Dance of fighters like Letho, Roy was clearly better suited to ranged combat.

That was hardly surprising.

No amount of talent could let a year of training with Longsword Specialization LV2 compete head-on against companions who had spent decades, even centuries, perfecting their Swordsmanship.

Of course…

If everyone fought without restraint, throwing every Skill onto the battlefield until one side died…

He feared no one.

Intimidate.

Stunning Arrow.

Blink.

His abundant magic.

Activation’s Endurance.

His fully grown Mount.

Together, they formed a terrifying whole.

The Witcher drew a long breath.

He rolled every joint once more, ran through several simple exercises, and let his body grow accustomed to the flood of newfound strength.

When he returned to Gael’s House, dedicated training would be unavoidable.

* * *

The changes were not limited to his attributes.

Over the past month, Roy’s appearance had changed as well.

He now stood just under six feet tall.

The explosive growth in Constitution had transformed his lean frame into a powerfully built one. His arms, chest, abdomen, back, and thighs were packed with dense, resilient muscle beneath his clothes.

Still, he remained far from Letho’s monstrous, rock-like physique.

Elder Blood flowed through his veins.

That inheritance from the elves all but guaranteed he would never become unnaturally massive.

His features had sharpened.

The last traces of adolescence had vanished.

He now resembled a striking young man of nineteen or twenty.

His once dark-gold vertical pupils had changed.

The left iris was now half silver-gray.

It looked almost like the legendary Heterochromia.

The effect was unmistakable.

His Charisma, now at nine, gave him a quiet magnetism that was difficult to explain.

Anyone who saw him once would remember his face.

Unlike the first mutation, which had stripped away every hair on his body, the Griffin mutation Potion produced no strange aftereffects.

If anything, the opposite had happened.

His hair and eyebrows had grown thicker than before, black threaded with gray.

“Coral worried for nothing.”

Roy glanced toward the sleeping Sorceress.

“I’m still a long way from going bald.”

His consciousness descended into the Class Template.

* * *

XP is full. Level up?

“Confirm!”

“Shua!”

Witcher LV7 → LV8 (3900/5500)

Primary Attribute, Willpower: 15 → 17

The instant the increase took effect, Roy felt as though lightning had crashed straight into his skull.

The world blurred.

Somewhere around him, countless soft popping sounds echoed through the air, like bubbles breaking across the surface of water.

An electric current swept through every inch of his body.

Every cell tingled.

The lingering damage left by the mutation, ruptured capillaries, torn flesh, damaged organs, even the ugly scabs covering his skin, all healed completely beneath the overwhelming restorative force.

Relief flooded through him.

The suffering of the past month, the pressure that had weighed on his chest until breathing itself became difficult, dissolved without leaving a trace.

Roy felt astonishingly refreshed.

His body brimmed with energy.

It was like waking after the deepest sleep of his life, then sitting before a feast fit for kings.

The corner of his mouth lifted.

The Class Template changed once again.

* * *

Witcher LV8

Stage: Intermediate

Advanced Advancement Requirements

1. Consume the remaining four Decoctions of the Grasses.

2. Hunt magical creatures with any single attribute exceeding Tier 2 (20) or higher: 0/10

3. Obtain Large Mutagenic Extracts: 0/10

School: Viper, Griffin

Class Features

1. Primary Attribute: Locked to Willpower. Upon each level-up, Willpower increases by 2 without consuming attribute points. (4 per level at Advanced stage.)

2. Bound Weapon

3. Full Recovery

4. Mount: Bound, Griffin

Loot Satchel: 4 cubic meters → 6 cubic meters

Remaining: Skill Points 1, Attribute Points 1

* * *

“The Loot Satchel has grown again. Plenty more room for strategic supplies…”

Roy massaged his temples.

“But reaching the Advanced stage requires drinking every school’s Mutagenic Potions?”

For the foreseeable future, he had no intention of taking another Mutagenic Potion.

First, he needed time to stabilize the explosive growth his body had just undergone.

Second, he already carried the toxicity of two Decoctions inside him.

A third would make the next Potion Conflict vastly more violent.

And far more likely to kill him.

“Let’s look at the rest.”

With a thought, he assigned his Attribute Point to Willpower.

17 → 18

“Zzt…”

A faint violet arc flashed across his vision.

For the briefest instant, his thoughts drifted.

It felt as though he had brushed against the threshold of an invisible door.

His Skill Point went into Meditation.

Meditation LV6 → LV7

(After completing one full Meditation cycle (5 hours), gain one “Activation.” Upon use, instantly restores 40% of HP and Mana, heals minor injuries, and alleviates moderate injuries.)

Constitution: 22 → 22.5

HP: 300 → 305

Spirit: 20 → 20.5

Mana: 280 → 285

* * *

The higher a Skill climbed, the greater its value became.

Meditation’s attribute increases were modest.

Its true strength lay elsewhere.

A daily “blue potion” and “red potion” rolled into one, restoring nearly half a Witcher’s condition while easing moderate injuries.

It was nothing less than a lifesaving Skill.

And every journey into the Meditation Void carried him one step closer to The Four Elemental Planes, and to the Genie.

* * *

Roy drew a deep, satisfied breath.

He reached casually into empty air.

An exquisite yellow-gray Hand Crossbow materialized in his palm.

Compared to before, it had grown by at least half again its previous size. Holding it in one hand now felt slightly awkward.

The bowstring was warm.

Not merely warm.

It felt like living flesh beneath his fingertips.

* * *

Bound Weapon

Gabriel

(After the fifth enhancement, this once ordinary ranged Weapon has undergone a complete Transformation, rivaling divine armaments. Detected within the Loot Satchel: intact leg tendons and sinew from a Cyclops, granting a related enhancement.)

Type: Concealed Crossbow

Material: Mulberry Wood, Cyclops Sinew, Tendons, Hemp, Mana

Properties: Weight 8 → 10 lbs, Length 0.73 → 0.9 m, Draw Weight 60 → 120 lbs, Effective Range 73 → 123 meters

Enchantments

Simplification

Guided Bolt

Blink

Stunning Arrow

Giant’s Wrath (New): Gabriel has absorbed and refined special tissues from a Cyclops. Effective firing range is permanently increased by 50 meters, and overall power is significantly enhanced.

* * *

“Heh…”

A flash of delight crossed Roy’s Heterochromia.

This enhancement introduced no elaborate tricks.

It was brutally straightforward.

Gabriel’s effective range now exceeded one hundred meters.

Its power had nearly doubled.

Combined with Guided Arrow, Stunning Arrow, Crossbow Mastery LV2, Carnage’s lethality bonus, and the Scry Skill…

Even Quen Shield and Magic Shield would shatter beneath a single bolt.

No matter how great the distance, he could carry out merciless executions.

Every shot to the head.

The Witcher lovingly traced the body of the crossbow one more time before setting it upon the work platform.

A gleaming longsword appeared in his hand.

Its grip felt like the hide of a living beast, firm, slightly tacky beneath his fingers.

The polished Edge flowed like autumn water.

Five delicate star runes had quietly appeared along the middle of the Blade, forming a graceful arc.

* * *

Steel Sword, Gwyhyr

(This ancient black iron flame sword, forged by goblin craftsmen, has grown even more powerful after its fifth enhancement. Detected within the Loot Satchel: Brewess’s magic-infused remains, an unknown metal stirring spoon. With the wielder’s Constitution reaching 20, it has gained a related enhancement.)

Type: Steel Sword

Material: Black Iron, Magma, Meteoric Iron, Leather, Pinewood, Powerful Monster Tissue, Brewess Remains, Unknown Metal, Mana

Properties: Weight 3.06 → 4.06 lbs, Grip Length 9.3 inches (0.23 m), Blade Length 36 inches (0.91 m)

Enchantments

Cycle

Ignite

Crush

Teleport

Suppression

Gluttony (New): Brewess uses a great ladle to stir her cauldron, boiling and devouring flesh to absorb the target’s Vitality, suppressing the negative emotions and toxins transferred to her by the land of Velen.

Gwyhyr inherits part of Brewess’s power. Each time it deals damage, it devours a small portion of the target’s Vitality and stores it within the Blade.

When storage reaches its limit, all five star-shaped runes are lit.

The wielder may consume all runes to heal themselves, restoring 25% of HP and curing minor injuries. (If Constitution exceeds 20, no adverse effects from alien flesh.)

Alternatively, the stored energy can be unleashed in a single, extremely powerful strike.

* * *

“An excellent Skill. Useful both offensively and defensively.”

Roy flicked his wrist.

The Blade drew a bright arc through the air.

The Edge tore through empty space.

For an instant, a faint roar of fury, Brewess’s lingering hatred, echoed along the sword.

“Gwyhyr already possessed Cycle, allowing it to restore stamina after defeating enemies. Add Gluttony restoring HP…”

This sword was born for fighting entire armies.

Not to mention Activation.

With over three hundred HP…

The Witcher could stand surrounded by wolves for an astonishing length of time without falling.

He might become a living perpetual-motion machine.

* * *

He lowered the steel sword beside the Hand Crossbow.

Then another Blade, dark crimson from hilt to tip, slid soundlessly from empty air.

* * *

Silver Sword, Aerondight

(After the third enhancement, this divine Blade gifted by the Lady of the Lake has gained new abilities.)

Type: Silver Sword

Material: Tearstone, Black Iron, Dragon Hide, Powerful Monster Tissue, Nymph Blood, Silver, Brewess Flesh, Unknown Metal, Mana

Properties: Weight 6.06 lbs, Grip Length 11 inches (0.27 m), Blade Length 40 inches (1.01 m)

Enchantments

Anti-Magic

Watery Veil

Aqua Call

Teleport

Suppression

Gluttony (New): Inheriting part of Brewess’s essence, each successful strike devours a fragment of the target’s Vitality and stores it within the Blade. When fully charged, the stored power can be released to either restore a significant portion of the wielder’s HP or unleash a devastating empowered strike.

Note: This Blade is a divine gift from Lady of the Lake Viviane to Roy, the one who has passed the trial. Only you are worthy to wield it.

* * *

Roy folded his arms and admired the three weapons standing side by side upon the Alchemical Table.

It had been a long time since his last level.

With every step forward, advancement became harder.

Yet this time…

The increase in his overall strength was nothing short of earth-shaking.

He could hardly wait to find someone worthy of testing it.

Before that, however…

The Witcher rubbed the Griffin’s fluffy head as she rolled around at his feet, demanding attention.

His silver-and-gold eyes drifted back toward the beautiful face sleeping peacefully upon the operating table.

“I should thank Coral first.”

The orange glow of evening sank beneath the horizon.

At Gael’s House, the children had finished supper and were walking their chickens around the yard. After more than two months, most of the birds had grown to nearly two pounds, clucking noisily as they followed the children step for step. A few, whose owners were less reliable and sometimes forgot to feed them, were visibly stunted.

Monty, who had been in the middle of chicken-tossing exercises, suddenly froze. His black eyes fixed on the Alder Grove beyond the yard. His mouth fell open, revealing milk teeth with gaps wide enough to make a man wince.

A man and a woman had appeared beneath the orange sunset.

The man wore familiar Griffin Armor, with twin swords on his back. Tall and straight, he stood like a cliff face cut black against the dusk.

The woman’s white dress and flame-red hair moved in the night wind. Her wheat-colored face was veiled in the hazy afterglow of the setting sun. A smile rested on her red lips as she held the Witcher’s arm with easy intimacy, her body pressed close to his.

“Brothers and sisters! Teacher Roy is back! Surround him!”

“Don’t let him run away again!”

“And that beautiful sister from last time, the one who looks like a fairy!”

The children exploded into a roar and rushed over in a swarm, wrapping Roy in layer after layer. They clustered around him, lifting small, foolishly bright faces toward him like puppies wagging their tails madly for a pat. Their chickens were even louder, clucking around their heels without pause. The whole yard erupted into cheerful chaos.

“Ha, children, did you miss me?” The now far sturdier Witcher removed his sunglasses and rubbed their heads one by one. “Akamtom, you’ve grown taller. Monty, have you been slacking off in training? Control your weight. Chanem, stop scowling all day and pretending to be the boss. Karl, if you get any prettier, what are the other girls supposed to do?”

The cat school Apprentice flushed crimson with embarrassment.

“Reni, open your mouth and let me see if your teeth have grown in.”

“Ahhh.”

“Congratulations. Straight as a comb.”

“Hm… little lady Vicky. Why are the stars in your eyes sparkling like that? Another few dozen perfect scores?”

The little girl with blonde twin-tails lowered her head in happiness and pinched the hem of her clothes.

“Teacher, we thought you weren’t coming back!” Monty shouted.

Roy smiled faintly, his gaze passing over every child.

“How could I bear to abandon such well-behaved students?”

The children immediately bombarded him with questions, all talking at once.

“Teacher, why did your eyes change color? They don’t look the same anymore!”

“Teacher, did you grow taller?”

* * *

“Stop!” Roy bared his teeth. His gaze passed over the orphans crowded around him, then shifted toward the Sorceress in the white dress standing not far away, smiling as she watched the show. “How about letting Teacher Rita play with you for a while?”

He suddenly winked at the woman beside him.

“Coral, I’ll leave these cubs to you for now.”

“Ah?”

The Sorceress’s red lips parted. A flicker of surprise crossed her pretty face, along with a trace of expectation. Deep down, she did want to get closer to the children.

But one child would have been enough. So many at once left her somewhat at a loss.

“Haven’t you always wanted to spend time with children? Here’s your chance.”

Roy placed Vicky’s small hand into the Sorceress’s hand, wiped the cold sweat from his brow, and swiftly fled the yard.

Being bombarded by a pack of childish questions was more exhausting than surviving a Trial of the Grasses.

Behind him, their voices continued without mercy.

“Teacher Rita, why are you so beautiful? Did you turn into a human from a Nymph?”

“Are you Teacher Roy’s bride?”

“How old are you? Why did Teachers Auckes and Lambert tell us to call you grandmother?”

The smile on Lytta Neyd’s face slowly vanished.

* * *

“Kid… after enjoying a month of lovers’ tenderness, you still found it in you to come back?” Bald Letho stood with his arms crossed against the outer wall beside the classroom door. A grave look hardened his stiff face. “Regretting it now? Understand why I told you to stay away from Sorceresses?”

“Exactly, Roy.” Orin had appeared like a ghost, leaning against the other side of the classroom. His eyes narrowed, his face half envious, half mocking. “A man needs a good body if he wants to be involved with a Sorceress. After all, their bodies have been altered by magic. In terms of stamina alone, they don’t lose to Witchers.”

“One careless mistake and you’ll be wrung into a dried corpse.”

“You lasted a month. Tsk. I see you in a new light. At least you didn’t disgrace the Brotherhood.”

Serrit emerged from the classroom as well.

“Kid, you spent more than a month living happily, so why haven’t you lost weight? Your muscles are thicker, and you’ve grown taller too.”

“That much is normal. At his age, a month is enough to shoot up a little. But his eyes, Roy…” Old Man Vesemir followed behind Kael, still hale and sharp, his gaze both pleased and probing. “This old man’s memory is getting worse, but there are some things I won’t remember wrong. Your pupils used to be dark gold.”

“When did you get Heterochromia?”

In an instant, several pairs of beastlike vertical pupils locked onto the young Witcher, lingering especially over the silver-gray portion of his left iris.

“You lot don’t truly think I spent the whole month on holiday with Coral, do you?” Roy smiled casually. “To improve the Griffin version of the Decoctions of the Grasses, I tested quite a few Potions over the past month.”

“Some of them affected the body, so the color of my pupils mutated.”

Griffin looked at Roy with deep gratitude.

He had made those attempts to ensure his own student’s safety, so Karl could survive the Trial of the Grasses.

Roy continued, “But you can rest easy. My instinct told me there was no risk, and that’s why I dared try it.”

“Besides, I have my own method of healing. Apart from the change in eye color, there won’t be any aftereffects.”

“Research on the Griffin School’s Decoctions of the Grasses has been a complete success. Now we only need to wait for Karl’s mutation.”

Bald Letho fell into thought. The miraculous Regeneration his disciple had shown before flashed through his mind, but displeasure still crept onto his face. “Kid, we asked you to assist Lytta Neyd in researching the formula, not to act as her test subject.”

“Did she force you?”

“Quite the opposite. Coral nearly turned on me trying to stop me.”

“Then have you lost your damn mind, or are you deliberately trying to get yourself killed?” Kael shook his head and pointed straight at Roy’s nose without the slightest politeness. “If something happened to you, and the Brotherhood lost its chief Prophet, who would take responsibility?”

“You didn’t secretly undergo Griffin’s Trial of the Grasses, did you?” Eskel, who had been quietly watching everyone’s faces, suddenly spoke.

“Do I look that stupid? Tired of living?” Roy shook his head calmly, his expression unchanged. “I’ve already used the Viper School Decoction once. If I drank Griffin Decoction after that, the two medicinal properties would conflict. There wouldn’t be enough of me left to bury.”

“Look at me. I’m perfectly intact. And one month isn’t enough for a full Trial of the Grasses.”

“I only tested a few auxiliary mixtures.”

The others thought for a while. The suspicion in their eyes gradually faded.

“In any case, a change in iris color is no small matter,” Orin said with rare seriousness. “You won’t be lucky every time. Genetic Mutation is impossible to predict. What if you lose a nose or an eye?”

“You think the Sorceress would still look at you then?”

She would.

Roy was certain of it.

Lytta Neyd’s meticulous care over the past month had already told him enough.

“Roy… next time there’s a mission this dangerous, don’t make the decision alone.” Geralt patted his young brother on the shoulder and spoke with quiet weight. “Tell us in advance. We discuss it together. We can’t always let the youngest one take the risk.”

Lambert thumped him in the chest. “If you still consider us brothers.”

Kaen and Eskel gave him concerned looks.

Aiden, the newcomer, watched the scene before him. A group of senior Witchers were scolding a junior, fierce in tone, hard in face, yet their concern spilled out so plainly it could not be mistaken.

A trace of envy flickered through his crimson pupils.

In the cat school, companions rarely gathered together.

This kind of mutual concern and questioning almost did not exist.

When it did, it came from interest, not affection.

Under the barrage of sharp tongues, Roy had no choice but to raise both hands in surrender.

“All right. I promise you. Next time, I’ll inform you first. I won’t act so recklessly again.”

“Be serious, Kid. Don’t try to wriggle out of this.” Bald Letho’s gaze sharpened.

“If I violate it again, I’ll leave the Brotherhood on my own.”

Only then did the others’ anger ease, their expressions softening somewhat.

“What progress has Gael’s House made this month?”

Roy changed the subject.

“Quite a few things happened…” Vesemir stroked his beard and slowly began speaking about Sebastian. “Some time ago…”

* * *

After hearing the account, Roy immediately pictured a huge fat man over two meters tall and weighing more than two hundred pounds, like a pig fresh from the bath.

If he remembered correctly, the current head of Redania’s intelligence department was that unimpressive-looking gentleman, Sigismund Dijkstra.

A man both righteous and wicked. He had no shortage of flaws and loved hiding in the shadows, playing with schemes, but he was loyal to Redania, loyal to his country in the truest sense.

“I didn’t realize we’d already crossed paths with Dijkstra, and the Brotherhood came out on top.”

But the matter was not over.

He did not believe Dijkstra would give up so easily. Novigrad certainly still hid other Redania spies.

Perhaps spies from other countries as well.

* * *

As for Chappelle, Roy vaguely remembered the incident, though not the exact year. The original Eternal Fire Bailiff had died of heart disease, and another Doppelganger happened to be nearby, so he took the man’s place.

Then he used the power in his hands to do good.

Only ten years later, after Redania entered Novigrad and took control of the Eternal Fire, was the Doppelganger pretending to be Chappelle exposed and burned to death on the Pyre.

But since I’m here, I’ll change your fate.

Roy pondered for a moment.

“So two Doppelgangers have already appeared in Novigrad. In any case, living beside a naturally kind Doppelganger is far better than dealing with a ruthless Bailiff. That counts as good news.”

Serrit smiled. “That’s fate. Redania’s spies not only failed to bring us down, they made us look like saints. Chappelle acknowledged Witchers, so he voluntarily joined the peace agreement. Not long ago, the agreement was signed again at Spear Cave.”

“From now on, the Eternal Fire will make things convenient for Witchers, so long as we don’t break the law.”

Roy thought for a while.

“We can send Lord Gael to try drawing his fellow Doppelganger Chappelle into the Doppelganger and Witcher alliance.”

Letho said, “Mr. Gael is already working on it. Chappelle occasionally needs our help putting on a show for the Archbishop. Whether he likes it or not, our connection is bound to grow closer.”

“For now, the Brotherhood has cleared the obstacles to expansion. From this day forward,” Lambert said, trembling at the corners of his mouth with excitement and pride, “no one can stop our growth.”

“Stability first. Don’t rush to take in students yet.” Vesemir’s gentle gaze shifted into the distance, toward the little ones surrounding the sweat-damp Sorceress and pelting her with questions. “Let’s focus on raising these children well first.”

“They’ve already performed admirably.”

For a moment, everyone remembered that day, the scene that had left them both moved and relieved.

A group of frail children had stood firmly in front of Witchers far stronger than themselves.

Their legs had trembled. They had been so frightened they nearly wet themselves.

But they had done it.

That alone meant more than enough.

“You’ve taught a fine group of children. But I observed them for a month. Everyone, less than a quarter of them can become Witchers,” Vesemir said. “We all know how to train Witchers.”

“But what about ordinary children? What are your thoughts? Do we keep doing this, teach them to read and write, gather Herb, farm, train their bodies, and when they grow up, let them leave the orphanage and make their own way?”

“Or do you have other arrangements?”

The Viper School Witchers exchanged smiles.

“Vesemir, we’ve been waiting for you to ask that.”

“The Brotherhood consists only of Witchers, but no rule says we cannot cooperate with normal people.” Roy voiced the original plan. “We have gone to great effort to raise these children. If we can maintain friendly, close ties with them, that would naturally be the best outcome.”

“The Brotherhood needs many kinds of talent. Once these children gain a basic command of Northern Common Speech and develop a sense of recognition and belonging toward us, we can begin more specialized education.”

“Given that the children were willing to risk themselves to protect their teachers, the time is ripe.”

Roy’s gaze slowly swept over his companions.

“If some children are interested in forging, then we can place a forge near the orphanage and train them as forging Apprentices. Forging depends on talent. Their future achievements may not necessarily be inferior to a Dwarf’s.”

“Some children may be interested in medicine and alchemy. Letho’s knowledge would be enough for them to study for a lifetime. The school should also have an Alchemical Table.”

“My skill isn’t bad either.” Kaen lifted his sunglasses, revealing crimson eyes as he cut in.

“Of course, friend. You would also be an excellent teacher.”

“Likewise, there will be children interested in planting and animal husbandry.”

“Don’t tell me you plan to find them a Druid as a teacher.” Griffin raised an eyebrow.

Roy only smiled without answering.

“And if some students become interested in poetry and culture?” Lambert asked curiously. “Do we invite Master Dan from the cabaret to guide them?”

“Let Master Dan enjoy his retirement.” Roy shook his head. “In the future, we send them to Oxenfurt Academy for further study.”

“Don’t underestimate men of culture.”

“Once they achieve something, they can improve the reputation of Witchers through books, poetry, drama, and other cultural fields. That helps our actions from the side.”

* * *

A long silence settled over the room.

“Kid, those are lofty ambitions.” Vesemir broke the quiet. “That will cost a great deal of money and time. Counted in decades. And people change more easily than anything. After all those years, reality may have nothing to do with your vision.”

“That’s why we guide them. Novigrad’s conditions are rarely this favorable for us. We have to try boldly.” Roy’s dark-gold and silver-gray pupils shone as his voice sank. “We raise these children and guide them, relying on the Brotherhood of Witchers to form a relationship of mutual dependence and shared prosperity.”

“Whether in forging, alchemy, planting, or culture, once these ordinary children succeed in their studies, they will greatly supplement the Brotherhood and influence it for the better.”

“Witchers, in turn, can focus more fully on their proper work.”

“To develop and strengthen the Brotherhood.”

“In my view, it is still too early,” Eskel said cautiously. “This year, we should honestly focus on training these fifteen ordinary children and laying their foundations.”

“Not that early, really. We can prepare in advance,” Kael said. “Set up an Alchemical Table and a forge near Gael’s House.”

“Then find a suitable place and build a crude botanical garden.” Kael rubbed his chin and made a rough estimate. “We’ll need about one thousand Crown in operating funds.”

Letho, Vesemir, and the Auckes brothers each expressed their interest.

The matter was settled for now.

* * *

Roy turned his gaze toward the companions who had just returned from missions.

The two groups had gone searching for the Griffin school Blueprint and clearing the sewers.

“So, Geralt, Kaen, did the operation go smoothly?”

“Your instinct was accurate. Not one of the six Griffin school Blueprints was missing.”

The white-haired Witcher nodded with a smile. He was wearing a heavy bear school Panoply that looked almost like a great cloak. Chainmail covered the vital areas of his chest, waist, and abdomen. Bright plate armor guarded his hands, and a padded skirt fell below his knees.

Kaen wore a light green leather armor set, mainly leather, with ringmail sewn over the vital parts, compact and nimble, the Viper School set Vesemir had brought back.

“We also spent quite a bit of effort. Human-faced Harpy, Drowner, Wyvern, Wraith… we killed to our hearts’ content.”

“And harvested seven or eight Mutagenic Extracts.”

“Next time there’s an outside mission, it should be my turn, right?” Lambert waggled his brows at his companions. “If I stay in the school any longer, my bones are going to rust. Right, Aiden?”

“Mm.”

Aiden had grown more and more interested in the Brotherhood.

But something was still missing.

A little passion in battle.

“Stinky Kid, you don’t want easy work?” Vesemir sneered.

“It suits an old man like you.” Lambert scoffed.

Roy rolled his eyes and turned toward Griffin. “Friend, how did the sewer clearing go?”

“As you can see, it was little more than a sightseeing trip with some exercise thrown in. But…” Griffin looked toward Eskel.

His companion had been responsible for clearing the sewers with him.

The scar-faced man casually rubbed his arm. Only then did Roy notice the clean white bandage peeking out from beneath his sleeve. “Novigrad’s sewers are full of Drowner and ghoul. Countless numbers. Over the past month, Griffin and I must have killed more than a hundred.”

“Friend, the Eternal Fire ought to award you a Medal of Good Citizenship,” Roy said with a laugh.

“I got carried away. One moment of carelessness and my arm was scratched, but it only broke the skin. Nothing serious.”

“We gained quite a haul this time.” Griffin lifted his sunglasses slightly, amusement flickering through his dark green pupils. “Monster Organ, Mutagen, an abundant harvest. Add Geralt’s spoils to it.”

“It’s enough to make two sets of The Decoctions of the Grasses, several Catalysts, and all kinds of Potions.”

“There’s still one tunnel in the sewer we didn’t have time to deal with…” Eskel paused. “We plan to leave tomorrow.”

“You stay put and recover.” Roy felt his blood begin to stir. “I’ve been locked in a laboratory for a month. Just right, I want to stretch my bones.”

“Add us two.” Lambert and Aiden raised their hands.

* * *

This time, no one had been assigned any outside missions. Everyone remained at the school and made preparations.

They were all waiting for the first Apprentice, Karl, to undergo the Trial of the Grasses.

Novigrad’s streets were famed across the world for their bustle and splendor.

Lytta Neyd, radiant in a fiery red gown, moved between Novigrad’s Herb shops and alchemy stores with the cat school Witcher, buying alchemical supplies in great quantities for the young Apprentice’s coming Trial of the Grasses.

* * *

Elsewhere, Vesemir and Geralt, who both understood something of the Trial of the Grasses, had arrived early at the laboratory beneath Temple Isle. They adjusted and maintained the experimental equipment, making certain every device worked as it should, leaving no flaw that might endanger the mutation.

Aside from the time he had spent with Countess Minnole, this was the second time the old man felt anticipation stir in him.

Geralt’s heart beat hard in his chest. Since his parting with Yennefer, he had not felt this nervous in a long while.

It had been more than thirty years since they had personally witnessed the birth of a new Apprentice.

They were waiting for the day a miracle would arrive.

* * *

Letho and the Auckes brothers moved back and forth between the city markets and blacksmith shops, arranging a forge and an Alchemical Table for Gael’s House.

* * *

Eskel and Kaen, the steadier pair, remained at the school, helping the children read and write.

* * *

As for the remaining Witchers, Roy, Lambert, and Aiden…

At the other end of Novigrad’s noisy world of light, the sewers formed another thriving Underground Kingdom.

Dark tunnels stretched ahead.

Their footsteps tapped over gutters full of filthy water, wet clinging moss, reeking household refuse, and the torn remains of small animals and unknown things. Three figures walked shoulder to shoulder through the dark. Amber, dark gold and silver-gray, and crimson pupils drifted like Will-o’-the-Wisp over a graveyard.

Elusive.

The tunnel was far from quiet.

Ugly toads, their skin covered in warts and slime, croaked from the corners. Gray rats the size of human heads squealed and darted through the crisscrossing pipes. Farther in, furtive shadows whispered from the deeper darkness, their voices low, crowded, and hard to place.

At a certain moment, the footsteps stopped.

Roy bent slightly and pressed himself still against the wall. Black veins writhed softly across his tense face.

Within his Witcher Senses, a bloody ribbon drifted from the opening ahead.

His nose twitched.

The fishy stink of waterweed and the swollen reek of a floating corpse thickened at once.

His silver-gray eye glanced toward the two men beside him.

Shing.

A flash of silver cut through the dark like lightning.

Two Silver Swords left their sheaths at the same time. Each Witcher raised an Edge before him with one hand, while the other rapidly traced a Triangular Rune with five fingers.

Golden light wrapped around all three of them.

Almost at the same instant, a Drowner wreathed in blinking blue-black light poked its head out.

Its bulging eyes, like those of a Jaundiced Patient, rolled in their sockets. It saw three pieces of prey.

Drip. Drip.

Its blood-red maw stretched to its ears, and thick saliva slid down between uneven fangs.

Twang.

A sharp, brief bowstring vibration burst through the sewer.

A blossom of blood erupted from the Drowner’s forehead.

The slender crossbow bolt struck with force beyond reason, like a battering ram, throwing its entire body backward.

Splash.

The Drowner slammed into the wall, then tumbled with several broken bricks into the filthy gutter. A hideous hole had opened in its forehead. Brain matter flowed from the collapsed bone and stained the ground red.

“Greeeak!”

The situation changed at once. Dense clusters of Drowner screamed and surged around the corner.

The Witchers split in three directions and met them head-on.

Lambert faced a Drowner’s straight thrust, drove his Silver Sword upward through its neck, then let the Edge sweep lightly sideways and shaved away half the head of another Drowner. Blood sprayed across him, and excitement lit his face.

Aiden stepped into the Drowner pack. The Silver Sword in his hand moved like a ghost. Wherever Blade-Glint flashed, a corpse fell, either pierced through the eye, the cervical spine, the jaw, or another vital point. He moved too quickly. The Blade-Glint hung in the air, and for a moment it seemed as if two afterimages were striking at once.

Roy sprang forward and landed in the center of the Drowner mass.

He pivoted on his left foot, muscles surging beneath his light armor. The black veins across his face writhed like living worms. Strength rose from his waist, joined the force of his arms, and poured into Aerondight.

The dark-red half-moon swept out at waist height.

Shing.

The blade sliced through flesh as easily as soft cheese.

Wet sounds followed.

Steaming blood and intestines spilled across the floor.

Three Drowner were cut in half.

They wailed and lingered in the last scraps of life.

Their fading Vitality was drawn by a strange vortex into Aerondight. Along the middle of the sword, three Star Runes quietly bloomed with brilliant yellow light.

Roy’s killing intent did not ease. He met several more Drowner charging from the far end of the tunnel.

He lowered his body and rushed forward, dragging his sword behind him with one hand while the other rapidly drew a blue Triangular Rune midstride.

In a few long steps, filthy water splashed up around his boots.

He reached them.

His left hand thrust forward.

Boom.

A powerful cone of air smashed into the snarling cluster of Drowner.

The two at the sides lost their footing and staggered away, their balance gone.

The one at the front took the brunt of the force and fell straight backward.

The Witcher seized the opening, ducked and shot forward. One foot pinned the fallen Drowner’s belly. Aerondight stabbed down at an angle and pierced its neck.

The Edge snapped up and left like lightning, punching through the eye socket of a second Drowner.

The third lunged at his flank.

The Witcher drove force through his elbow and lifted the longsword sideways to the right.

Bang.

A pommel strike.

Pain burst across the Drowner’s forehead. Stars filled its eyes, and its mouth hung open like an idiot’s.

Shing.

The fatal Edge pierced through its open mouth and brain.

Defeated Drowner ×6. XP +120. Witcher LV8 (4120/5500).

Roy’s face did not change. He flicked his wrist and shook the blood from Lady of the Lake’s Sword.

Without a sound, all five Star Runes on the sword had lit, like dim stars linked head to tail in a dark night sky.

“Eskel and Griffin weren’t decent enough to leave us more.” Lambert wiped the blood from his sword with a scrap of rag. “We walked for an hour and only met one little pack of small fry.”

“Barely enough to whet the appetite.”

Aiden wore the same unsatisfied look. The slaughter had lasted less than ten seconds, far from enough to satisfy their hunger for a real fight.

“Don’t worry, friends.” Roy crouched down with a smile and began cutting open the bodies. “I have a feeling there’s a mysterious gift waiting for us at the end.”

“Try not to cry from joy when we find it.”

“Right, Roy, I’m curious. What is going on with that Gabriel of yours?” Aiden kept looking over Roy’s body, but could not find that astonishing Hand Crossbow anywhere. “It sent a Drowner flying, yet it looked so compact. Are you sure that thing isn’t a Siege Crossbow?”

“I had Coral help me enchant it. The price was steep.” Roy smiled. “You want one? Best find yourself a lover with mastery of Magic first.”

“Can I see it?”

“A man doesn’t casually hand his favorite weapon to someone else. So, sorry, I can’t just let you admire it.”

* * *

The three of them processed every Drowner corpse, removed everything useful, and handed it to Roy to pack away.

Then they continued deeper into the sewers.

Unfortunately, they did not encounter the powerful Monster they had hoped for. Instead, they saw many scraps of flesh and bone in all kinds of disorder. Drowner, ghoul, Nekker, even the Ogre kin were all represented.

Strange bite marks covered the remains.

Most likely, the corpses had been killed by Eskel, then dragged here by other Monsters for a second use.

After another long, quiet stretch of tunnel passed without incident, their steps grew cautious.

Within their Witcher Senses, the bloody ribbon stretching through the tunnel had reached its end.

It was a dead end.

Beneath the far wall lay a closed marble coffin, carved with intricate patterns.

Around it, rings of bones were scattered across the corners, some still clinging to rotten flesh.

The three held their breath and exchanged a glance, then silently cast their Signs.

Quen, followed by Heliotrop.

Shing, shing.

Three swords left their sheaths. Their palms gently smeared brown Vampire Blade Oil across the Blades.

Gulp. Gulp.

Thunderbolt and Petri’s Philter went down.

Beneath the skin of their faces, black veins writhed madly as if they had come alive, growing denser by the breath.

Roy let out a quiet breath of relief.

He could feel it.

Counting the cat Potion he had drunk upon entering the sewer, he had already taken three long-lasting Potions.

Yet he still had strength in reserve.

A Constitution above twenty granted him formidable Poison Resistance.

Three men with vertical pupils blinking cold light held their breath and approached without a sound, surrounding the stone coffin from three sides.

Roy made a ready gesture.

The other two nodded.

He bent into a half crouch and pressed one palm to the ground.

Pale violet light rose.

The Yrden Trap covered the entire coffin.

The coffin suddenly began to shudder violently. The ground trembled. Dusk Bats on the ceiling stirred in alarm, beating their membranous wings and fleeing into the dark.

Clang.

The coffin lid slid back in an instant.

A terrifying Monster sat up from within.

It was Humanoid, with the grotesquely distended belly of a heavily pregnant woman, with a huge, ugly Hunchback rising from its back. Its whole body was gray-black. Its legs bent backward like a Werewolf’s, and black nails as sharp as iron awls grew from the ends of its claws.

Its head looked, at first glance, like a bat’s skull magnified dozens of times.

Yet two pairs of gray horns grew from it. One pair stood at the center of the forehead, shaped like the antennae of a longhorn beetle. The other wrapped around both ears and spread sideways, like two withered banana leaves.

A great mouth took up half its face. Inside were two sets of teeth. The outer row looked like yellowed corn kernels. The inner row was long and sharp, like fish bones.

Black mane bristled around its head like steel needles, falling straight to its waist, no less thick than a Dwarf’s.

Katakan

Age: 53

Gender: Male

Identity: Higher Vampire

HP: 260

Mana: 150

Attributes

Strength: 22

Agility: 23

Constitution: 26

Perception: 18

Willpower: 9

Charisma: 4

Spirit: 15

Skills

Regeneration LV7: Garlic, fire, and wooden stakes are ineffective against it. Katakans possess extreme longevity and extraordinary regenerative abilities, rapidly restoring Vitality even while injured. Even if decapitated or having the heart destroyed, they can regenerate over time.

Invisibility LV7: The Katakan can alter its skin coloration to blend seamlessly with its surroundings, entering a state of near-undetectable invisibility to the naked eye.

Teleport LV6: The Katakan can vanish instantly and reappear behind its prey to deliver a lethal strike.

Danger Sense (Passive Trait): Heightened instinct for detecting threats and hostile intent.

* * *

The Monster had barely risen from the coffin when the three sinister Witchers immediately drove their Silver Swords into its ugly head.

The Vampire Oil coating the Silver Swords burned through the Katakan’s flesh and marrow without mercy.

Blood spread with a hiss of pungent white smoke.

It suffered, shrieking and hissing wildly.

But because of the Yrden Magic Circle, it was bound in place, unable to use Teleport or Invisibility.

The Katakan could only turn in place, furious and in pain, sweeping its sharp claws toward the three ambushers like the spinning blades of a windmill.

Yet the coffin was a cage, limiting its movement.

After one full turn, it had not even brushed a Witcher’s coat. Instead, it fell into another trap.

A Triangular Rune was reflected in its pale pupils.

Its gaze went blank.

Shing.

Three Silver Swords pulled free from the filthy body.

The Witchers ignored the spraying blood and drove their Blades into its head again.

After the second round of attacks, six bloody holes had opened in its skull.

Clarity returned to its eyes.

Too late.

“Intimidate!”

Roy never intended to let it move.

Scarlet tentacles burst from the void beneath its feet and wrapped it up like a stuffed dumpling.

The pain-twisted snarl froze on its face.

The third storm of attacks descended.

Lambert’s Sword Dance blurred into afterimages. One slash after another opened the Katakan’s belly and severed its organs.

Aiden stabbed into its eye socket and stirred savagely, destroying the brain matter within.

Roy gripped Aerondight with both hands and held the longsword upright before his chest.

Behind the sword, his gold-and-silver eyes burned with killing intent that seemed to climb into the sky.

His face was cold as midwinter.

Muscles tightened and released across his body.

Aerondight locked onto the neck buried deep beneath the creature’s beard, then cut upward at an angle with all his strength.

Shing.

Blood-red flame burst from the sword and grew in the air, wrapping the keen Edge like a streaming banner.

As the Witcher struck, the blood-red Edge tore through the space before it and opened the Higher Vampire’s tough flesh with ease.

The force did not end there. A scarlet Blade Resonance flew from Aerondight’s Edge, scattered through the dark air, and struck the hard wall at the end of the tunnel, leaving behind a sharp sword mark.

Broken stone fell with soft pops.

The headless corpse sat backward into the coffin.

The smooth cut at its neck looked as if it had been seared by heat. Blue smoke rose from it, and the blood had already clotted.

Aiden lifted his Silver Sword high.

The Katakan’s mangled head was skewered on the Edge. Its eyes stared round and wide, filled with the grievance of a creature that had died before it could truly fight.

Defeated Katakan. XP +250. Witcher LV8 (4370/5500).

Roy let out a long breath. His right hand held the sword hilt while the index and middle fingers of his left hand slid gently over the dark-red blade.

Without him noticing, all five lit Star Runes had gone dark again.

Gluttony was stronger than he had imagined.

With the blood-red Blade Resonance enhancing the strike, even an ancient Vampire could not withstand the sharpness of the longsword.

If he charged the Gluttony Runes in advance, then used Blink to close the distance and Intimidate to hold the target in place…

Roy believed most creatures in this world would not survive a single cut from him.

This battle had also confirmed the thought in his heart.

Katakan belonged to the Higher Vampire category and shared certain similarities with human-form Higher Vampires, Vampire Lady, and Bruxa.

For example, their Immortality.

Though it had not reached a monstrous level where they could be burned to ash and still resurrect, under ordinary circumstances, beheading a Katakan or tearing out its heart could no longer truly destroy it.

But once it fell beneath Roy’s sword, it had no chance to revive.

Its Soul, and everything it was, had been absorbed by the Template and transformed into XP and nourishment.

* * *

Bang.

Three fists met in the air.

“Not bad, kid.” Lambert gave him a thumbs-up. “You didn’t drag the Brotherhood down at all.”

“With the three of us working together, even a higher vampire never stood a chance. From start to finish, it was as stupid and stiff as a log.”

“Lambert, you should train harder.” Aiden crouched beside Roy and helped cut open the Katakan’s chest to remove the organs. As he worked, he gave his friend a playful look. “As I see it, Roy’s abilities aren’t worse than yours. I don’t mean a Swordsmanship match, of course. I mean a duel to the death.”

“With that enchanted Gabriel of his, and the dark-red longsword that just cut out a blade of force, he might not lose to you.”

Lambert’s face changed. Then he shook his head.

“You think I’m stupid? Why would I use my weakness against his strength? If we’re competing, then of course we use ordinary weapons.”

“And besides, the weakest one in the Brotherhood may not necessarily be me.” Lambert spoke meaningfully, his gaze turning toward Aiden.

“Friend, I still haven’t made my decision.” Aiden rubbed the scar on his chin and shook his head.

“Are you still the Aiden I know? Since when did you become this indecisive?” Lambert shoved him in the chest in dissatisfaction. “A whole month of observation and you still can’t decide?”

“Or do you have some complaint about the Brotherhood?”

Aiden said nothing, his face troubled.

In truth, after so many years of wandering and too much time alone, it had been a long time since he had joined any organization.

He was not certain he could grow used to such collective life.

He still needed to think.

Roy ignored the blood and gore, dug the Greater Mutagenic Extract from the Katakan’s brain, and tucked it away. His progress toward Advanced Witcher quietly increased by one point.

“Let’s make a wager, friend.”

His mismatched pupils fixed on Aiden’s crimson eyes.

“If Karl successfully passes the mutation this time…”

“Then it means everything is the will of fate. You join the Brotherhood.”

“If not, you may stay or go as you please.”

After a long silence, Aiden gave a soft “Mm.”

He thought again of the children standing in front of him, brave and sincere.

Children like that were too precious not to become Witchers.

And training Apprentices was the instinct and mission of every Witcher.

He was no exception.

His gaze returned to the children, and his hesitation began to crumble.

“Then let fate decide.”

A pale line of dawn rose along the sky. Cool morning wind brushed through the dense Alder Grove, across the lush grass beneath the trees, over the evenly divided fields beyond the fence and the emerald leaves pressed heavy with dew, before flowing into the quiet peace of Gael’s House.

Karl sat in the yard and drew a deep breath.

The smell of spring shoots breaking through soil filled his nose, mixed with charcoal and the rich scent of roasted meat the wind had not yet carried away.

Last night’s bonfire gathering remained clear in his mind. The children had held hands in a circle, dancing and playing to the bright notes of a lute played by a famous music master named Dandelion, scattering laughter into the firelight.

At the memory, Karl’s mouth lifted. For a moment, childish delight softened his face.

Then something tugged at him. His eyes lowered, his brows tightened, and unease crept into the lines of his face.

“Karl, my best brother, why are you up so early on a rest day?” Monty rubbed his eyes and sat down beside him, mumbling as he hooked an affectionate arm around Karl’s shoulders. “You look miserable. Couldn’t sleep all night because you can’t bear to leave us? I’ll talk to the teachers. Maybe they won’t make you leave Gael’s House for some special training.”

“That’s right, Karl. You can train at home too. Why bother… what’s the phrase, going far for what’s near?” Akamtom had left the bedroom at some point and sat beside him, licking his dry lips.

Lloyd and Chanem followed soon after, stepping into the yard. The five-man squad of reserve Witcher Apprentices had gathered.

“If daily training is missing you, it’ll be dull,” Chanem said with a sigh, brushing the lone tuft of black hair that stood proudly on his head. “These fellows have limited talent and skill. Training with them gives me no pressure at all, which means no drive to improve.”

The other three immediately bared their teeth at him in warning.

“Look at that pretty little face of yours.” Lloyd blinked his pale-blue eyes and spoke with regret. “If you leave, those yellow-haired little girls won’t sneak so many eager looks at us while we train.”

“That cuts the fun by eighty percent.”

“As long as you stay, at worst…” Monty drew a deep breath. The brown-yellow hair over his forehead shifted faintly, and hesitation flickered in his Cornflower eyes, as though he had made the greatest decision of his life. “At worst, I won’t compete with you for women anymore.”

“I…” Monty’s mouth twisted. He looked so heartbroken he nearly cried, but he forced himself to finish. “When you and Vicky get married, I’ll be your flower boy.”

“That’s right. We’ll give up the competition and stop fighting you for the bride.” The three little fellows echoed him, each placing both hands on the shoulders of the boy beside him. They pressed their heads together in the middle like interlocked iron rings, as if that alone could make their bond stronger.

“Love cannot be forced or yielded like that. Didn’t you see how Teacher Roy pursued Teacher Rita?” Karl shook his head, speaking with the air of an old man who had seen the world.

“You saw it?” Four pairs of eyes lit up at once.

“One time, when I got up to piss… uh… I accidentally saw them. The two of them went into the woods late at night, and then wildcat purring came from inside.”

“Later I found out they did it for several nights in a row. That is called romance. I guarantee it. In that grove, Teacher Roy recites love poems to Teacher Rita every night.”

“And they keep fighting naked…” he muttered almost inaudibly. “That’s how he conquered her.”

The four children listening opened their mouths wide, then nodded heavily, as if they had learned something priceless.

“So only love won through your own Charisma and solid strength is true love. Otherwise, it is false affection.” Karl spoke with great seriousness, patting each companion on the back of the neck like a young chief. “I accept your sincerity, but I must leave.”

“But don’t worry. I’ll only be away for special training for half a year at most.”

“In the next half year, I will face the most important turning point of my life… uh…” Karl tilted his head and silently worked through the words for a moment. “As long as I survive suffering and torment, I’ll transform from an ugly duckling into a white swan.”

“But you’re not ugly,” Monty said, puzzled.

“Shut up. Don’t interrupt. When that time comes, I, Karl, will advance by leaps and bounds. The word reserve will be removed from my title, and I will become a true Witcher Apprentice.” Karl grinned. “Don’t slack off and let me leave you too far behind.”

“A lion is not destined to be friends with housecats.”

Akamtom asked curiously, “What if you don’t get through it?”

A long silence followed.

“Shut your crow’s beak. There is no what if.”

Several dirty little hands instantly covered Akamtom’s mouth. His eyes rolled back, and he nearly stopped breathing.

Karl watched his friends roughhouse, amused and moved all at once. Then he turned his head, and his gaze froze.

Beside the dark bedroom windows, pairs of bright eyes had quietly appeared.

The orphanage’s seven girls, and the plump auntie too, were all watching him in secret.

Their eyes held reluctance, concern, and blessing.

Everyone…

Are they seeing me off?

Griffin appeared silently beside him at that moment.

This time, the Witcher did not knock the disciple’s forehead, which had nearly been hammered hollow by now. Instead, he rubbed Karl’s messy hair.

“Ready, Little Monkey?”

A rare warmth had entered his cold voice.

Karl nodded, then shouted to the children around him.

“Wait for me, friends. I will return in triumph.”

A clear tear slid from the corner of his eye.

The children waved with all their strength.

“Goodbye, Karl!”

* * *

The laboratory beneath Temple Isle had only recently finished one dangerous mutation, yet it was already welcoming a second.

It was still the same fully equipped, spacious, brightly lit Alchemical Laboratory.

The cat school Apprentice sat on the operating table, his thin body bare, glancing left and right with a nervous face like a startled little beast.

Although he had already swallowed the Catalyst and endured more than a dozen tastes of pain worse than death, now that the moment had come, tension still found its way into his bones.

Griffin patted his shoulder in comfort. With his other hand, he opened a thick record book holding Karl’s physical examination data.

The remaining nine Witchers stood not far away by the wall covered in stalactites, arms crossed, necks stretched, saying nothing. Tension sat on every face to some degree. Lambert and Orin, the most direct-tempered of them, hardly dared to breathe.

Lytta Neyd selected a small black bottle from the impressive array of jars and vials, pulled out the cork, and released a thick, sharp hormonal odor that filled the entire chamber.

Roy, standing beside her, took the bottle in cooperation and arranged it neatly in an iron box.

“Karl’s physical condition is excellent. His training during this period has been effective.”

“As long as he obeys me, hm, his chances are not low.” The Sorceress paused. “If misfortune truly strikes, you still have a fruit from Golden Oak. Double insurance should be enough to keep him alive.”

Griffin lowered his head, his face ugly.

If Karl took that fruit, he would lose his memory.

“Masters, everything that needed to be said has been said. I am ready to work. Why are you still here?”

The Sorceress set down the small black bottle and picked up a small green one, shaking it swiftly under the light.

The Witchers did not move. Reluctance sat plainly on every face.

With her back to them, the Sorceress rolled her eyes. Her fiery red hair shifted lightly over her shoulders.

“Why are you standing there like a row of wooden stakes? Do you want Karl to warm up with shuttle runs before the mutation? Isn’t it crowded enough? If someone knocks over an important instrument or solution…”

“The little fellow will be the unlucky one.”

“He stays and assists me from the side.” The Sorceress gave Roy a charming smile, then her blue eyes shifted elsewhere and turned stern. “As for the rest of you, all of you, leave. Do whatever you should be doing. Don’t stay here getting in the way.”

“No.” Flavius stood, his voice and expression harsh. “Lytta Neyd, Karl is my Apprentice. The one who stays with him through the torment can only be me.”

“I must remain by his side and participate in the entire Trial of the Grasses from beginning to end.”

“Do any of you understand the rules? I am the host of the Ritual. I decide what happens here.” Lytta Neyd yielded not one step. “Otherwise, if anything goes wrong during the mutation, I take no responsibility.”

Griffin’s breath caught. He clenched his jaw and turned toward the young Witcher with pleading in his eyes.

Roy sighed. “Coral, let Griffin stay.”

“This old man has some experience with the Trial of the Grasses as well,” Vesemir added from the side. “Lady Rita is preparing to begin the first step, injecting Karl with mixed hormones and stimulants?”

The Sorceress gave a slight nod.

“As far as I know, this step does not require absolute quiet.”

“On the contrary, once this child’s adrenaline is stirred, he’ll need suitable people to guide him and burn off the excess energy in his body. The noisier, the better.”

“Please trust us. Witchers are the best sparring partners.”

“We promise we won’t make trouble,” Kael said sincerely. “Let us stay.”

Several pairs of beastlike pupils looked toward the Sorceress.

Their expectation was as strong as blinding sunlight.

Clearly, every Witcher regarded this child’s mutation with the utmost seriousness.

The Sorceress said nothing. She walked straight to Karl.

“Bear the pain, child.”

“Mm.” The boy sat up stiffly.

She opened her arms and began the Incantation. Her fingers swiftly traced complex gestures. The crystal-clear liquid in the bottle flew into the air, became a needle as fine as ox hair, and stabbed suddenly into the boy’s chest.

At the same time, multicolored light poured madly from her fingertips into his body.

Karl shuddered from head to toe.

A strange flush appeared on his handsome, pale cheeks, then spread to his neck and through his whole body.

Hot breath burst from his nostrils. He clenched his fists, sprang from the operating table, and beat his chest in excitement.

His skin reddened as if he had soaked all day in hot spring water.

The Sorceress turned toward the others with her arms crossed, lifting her chin in pride.

“Since you insist so strongly, he is temporarily in your hands. Roy and I need to go out for a while.”

“Enjoy your time alone. No need to hurry back.”

Griffin answered at once, then looked around and quickly selected a training space of suitable size, the same corner where the Evil Spirit stone sculpture had once stood.

“You’re lucky, little Karl.” Orin rubbed his hands and grinned. “Ten teachers giving you personal guidance. Not even an emperor gets that treatment.”

“Enough, you fools. He is my student, so naturally I will watch over him. You should go back and watch the children at home.”

“Relax, friend. Lord Gael is helping look after the home.” Kaen lifted the sunglasses on his nose, rarely making a joke. “We’re all brothers here. Your apprentice is ours as well.”

“We have a duty to help him through the Trial of the Grasses.”

Next, a pack of broad, powerful men with fierce auras surrounded one thin boy. Training swords took turns striking him, whipping him around like a spinning top. At other times, they served as human stakes, letting him race and leap over their shoulders while he swung his Training Waster with startling speed.

Sweat scattered through the air.

The men’s smiles were bright, as if they had returned to childhood and were all playing with tin soldiers together.

Karl saw stars, howled, and still burned with fighting spirit like a wolf cub that did not know how to surrender.

* * *

The Sorceress quietly took Roy’s hand. Her five fingers swept before them, magic flashed at her fingertips, and a Portal filled with swirling currents opened before them. The two stepped lightly inside.

In a single instant, the world changed.

From the laboratory beneath Temple Isle, they Teleported into an old wooden boat.

The boat floated alone upon a boundless blue sea. A rough sea wind swept over them, and gulls circled overhead, crying without pause.

“Coral, you used this boat as the location target?” Doubt flashed through the Witcher’s dark-gold and silver-gray eyes. “Aren’t you afraid the waves might smash it apart and leave us both arriving as drowned chickens?”

“Half of this boat is a magic construct. It isn’t so easy to damage.” Lytta Neyd pulled his hand over and playfully bent his fingers.

“And you would refuse to be a drowned chicken with me?”

“I would ask for nothing better.” The Witcher kissed the back of her hand.

“In truth, the laboratory is deafening. It will take Karl some time to burn through the hormones in his body. We need to seize the chance and create a few pleasant memories.” Like a Mermaid on a reef, the Sorceress stretched herself out, leaned back against him, and settled lazily into his arms.

Moist light flashed in her eyes.

The Witcher’s hands slowly explored her hair. He breathed in the exquisite scent at her neck and made no attempt to hide the light in his eyes.

After the Secondary Mutation, with Constitution above twenty, his energy had become excessive enough to cause certain troubles.

“Karl’s Trial of the Grasses will take at least three months, perhaps even half a year. During that time, it will be difficult for us to meet. Once a week at most. Let us set it for every Sunday, understood?”

“Mm…”

“You are not allowed to break the appointment.”

“Then I have a requirement too. From now on, no matter whose mutation you host, you must maintain proper distance from them.” His gold-and-silver eyes fixed sternly on the Sorceress.

A dangerous possessiveness.

Lytta Neyd’s meticulous care during that month had made her feelings clear enough for him to see.

She covered her red lips and laughed softly, then stroked his cheek with familiar affection. Her hair slid across his lips, and her lashes fluttered like the wingbeat of a butterfly.

“Why are you looking at me so strangely? Coral, why aren’t you answering?”

“Because I’m thinking about what sort of surprise would make you feel at ease.” The Sorceress smiled faintly and leaned closer.

“Mmph… ah…”

“I feel at ease now. Back to serious matters, Coral. Do you know any other Sorceresses? Ones you are close to?”

“Why ask that so suddenly?” Wariness blinked in Lytta Neyd’s eyes.

“Don’t misunderstand. Men would be fine too. I just think the Brotherhood having only one Sorcerer is too much of a burden on you when you have to preside over the Trial of the Grasses alone. It also leaves us with no spare time together.”

“Heh, you little scoundrel. Planning to trick another Spellcaster into working for you? Beautiful dream.” The Sorceress lay in his arms and glanced back with a smile. “I know quite a few famous and lesser-known Sorcerers. Margot Rita, Keira Metz, Yennefer, Tissaia, Triss… that little Witch Kascja you saved…”

She listed more than ten names in one breath. At the end, her tone paused, and her bright eyes shone over his face.

“Want to go see Kascja?”

Roy hesitated for only one second, then shook his head decisively.

“She has her own life.”

Wait until she grows up.

Rita nodded in satisfaction and stroked his forearm rhythmically, as if petting a cat.

“Other than me, no other Sorcerer would ever cooperate with something like the so-called Brotherhood of Witchers, an organization that is, for now, beneath notice. Besides, can you afford to hire a second Sorcerer?”

Roy fell silent in thought.

In truth, over the past month and more, Lytta Neyd had not taken wages from the Brotherhood. First, the compensation Queen Ildiko of Kerack had given her was enough to last several years. Second, she did not want too much interest mixed into this pure relationship.

Roy had been forced to eat a mouthful of soft rice.

During this time, however, the orphanage, two Trials of the Grasses, and the formula improvement had all cost a great deal of money, especially the latter two.

The monthly income from the two shops alone could no longer balance the accounts.

And that was not even counting many future expenses, such as improving weapons and equipment, or purchasing important facilities that had not yet been placed on the schedule.

Hiring another Sorcerer would require serious calculation with the two Doppelgangers.

“Do not reach too high too quickly. It has only been a year. The number of Witchers has tripled, and you have opened an orphanage. That is already impressive.” Lytta Neyd’s voice softened in comfort.

“A second Spellcaster will come sooner or later, but your energy next should be focused on Karl. Understood?”

“Mm. Speaking honestly, can Karl’s success be guaranteed?”

“No. When you underwent the mutation, you were nearly fourteen, far beyond the proper age. Karl is only eight or nine, the right size. The Trial of the Grasses will transform him more thoroughly than it did you, which means greater risk.”

So older Mutants deserve discrimination?

Roy shook his head.

The Sorceress continued, “Besides, Karl is not like you, skilled at creating miracles, wearing several titles at once. Prophet, Beast Tamer, and somehow glowing all over, healing every scar.”

“Enviable. I promise, sooner or later, you will willingly tell me all your secrets.”

“Then you will have to keep making me feel at ease.”

“Mm-hm.”

Heat gathered in the Sorceress’s eyes, and she bit her lower lip.

Under the indigo vault of the sky, the waves surged across the sea. The narrow wooden boat drifted free and unrestrained.

Gradually, it began to rock hard.

For a very long time.

The sky was completely cloudless.

East of Novigrad, a light wind swept over the grass along the riverbank. High in the indigo sky, two massive shapes beat their wings, circling one another.

One was covered in tawny down, with the body of a lion and the head of an eagle. Its black eyes carried the cold arrogance of a creature born at the top of the food chain.

The other was larger, nearly the size of a grown buffalo. Its gray-black, streamlined body was almost feline, yet its hide bore amphibian scales and avian feathers. A pair of wings ended in hooked talons, and a long serpent’s tail trailed behind it. Its head resembled a rooster’s, with a short, sharp beak and a bright red comb. Cruelty and cunning blinked in its amber eyes.

A high, piercing Roar suddenly split the air.

The Griffin became a yellow whirlwind and hurled itself at the Cockatrice.

Bang.

The two winged beasts crashed together and tangled violently. Sharp beaks stabbed at heads and necks. Wings hooked around wings, claws locked against claws, and harsh, grating shrieks tore through the sky as they circled and spun in the heights, like a pair of lovers mad enough to claw out every old grudge.

Foul blood, gray-yellow feathers, and black scales spilled from above.

Then they broke apart.

Both chests and bellies were covered in horrifying wounds.

A mutual defeat.

But the Griffin was still young. It suffered a disadvantage in strength and size, and without scaled armor, its wounds were deeper. The light in its vertical pupils dimmed noticeably. It beat its wings, turned, and plunged toward the ground with a mournful Roar Roar.

“Awk!”

“Awk!”

The Cockatrice’s cries rang with joy and smugness, the cruelty in its amber pupils growing sharper. It flapped its wings and chased close behind the Griffin.

Twang.

A short, urgent bowstring tremor cut through the air.

A silver streak shot from the bushes. A grim blossom of blood burst across the Cockatrice’s red comb.

It gave a cry of pain and dropped straight toward the green grass like a kite with its string cut.

As it fell, an orange fireball swept through the air, dragging a hot afterimage behind it, and struck its body dead-on.

Scorching flame climbed along the black feathers of its chest and belly, then raced up its neck. The beast hit the ground wailing under sparks and rolled madly, throwing dust into the air. Its huge wings whipped up soil and torn grass.

But before the flames died, a tall figure stepped out from the bushes.

His right index finger lightly pulled a trigger while his left hand rapidly traced a crimson Rune.

Silver flashes and orange fire fired in succession. The Cockatrice was caught completely off guard.

Sharp crossbow bolts pierced flesh. One drove into its left eye and vanished to the fletching.

The explosive force of a fireball wrapped around its massive body and rolled it sideways.

The flames still burned wildly.

The Witcher’s dark-gold pupils deepened.

Cockatrice

Age: 12

Gender: Male

HP: 200 / 280 (Lightly Injured)

Mana: 120

Attributes:

Strength: 26

Agility: 20

Constitution: 28

Perception: 9

Willpower: 8

Charisma: 5

Spirit: 12

Skills:

Wyvern Lineage (Passive Trait): The Cockatrice carries a trace amount of Dragon Bloodline. Constitution +10; its thick scaled hide provides strong resistance against physical impacts and grants high resistance to fire, strong acids, and toxins.

Cone Tail Strike LV5: Executes a lightning-fast tail strike, delivering powerful blunt force and potential structural damage.

Sonic Blast LV6: Due to its unique throat and vocal structure, the Cockatrice emits a high-frequency sonic wave within a 5-meter range, causing targets to become stunned and lose balance.

* * *

Twang.

The air rippled. A ghostly figure followed the flying crossbow bolt, crossing dozens of meters in an instant and appearing above the Cockatrice’s head.

Dark-gold and silver-gray eyes seemed to burn with flame.

His face was cold with frost.

The dark-red Edge in his hand rose above his head. On his exposed forearms, thin cords of muscle bulged like loaches beneath the skin.

Then he chopped downward with blinding speed.

Shing.

Half the sword bit into bone and flesh. Aerondight lodged in the creature’s cervical spine.

Blood coated the blade, and one Star Rune suddenly lit.

The Cockatrice’s shrill Wail shook the ears. It thrashed madly, trying to throw the parasite from its head.

The next instant, its amber pupils reflected a tide of Crimson Tentacle.

They wrapped tightly around its body and pinned it in place.

The Cockatrice had crossed its shield-like wings before itself, leaving its back wide open and undefended. The injured Griffin seized the chance for savage revenge.

Its hind legs and wings struck the grass, and its body shot forward five or six meters, smashing into the Cockatrice’s back like a golden carriage. Its long beak and hooked claws tore frantically through scales, feathers, and skin, dragging out showers of brilliant blood and flesh.

The Witcher standing atop its head pulled Lady of the Lake’s Sword free, then brought it down again into the bone-deep wound on its neck.

* * *

The cut widened, deeper and larger.

Blood poured like a fountain and dyed the grass red.

Yet Wyvern-kind were famed for fierce Vitality and defense. The Cockatrice quickly broke free from Intimidate, shook its body in fury, and charged forward, throwing both Witcher and Griffin behind it.

It beat its thick, broad wings and climbed into the sky.

Its mangled back was exposed once more.

Twang, twang, twang.

The Witcher’s hands moved rapidly.

His right hand pulled the trigger while his left traced Signs.

Guided Arrow and fireballs fell like a storm, drowning the black feathers of its left wing.

Crack.

The Cockatrice had risen less than ten meters when its left wing suddenly snapped. It crashed awkwardly back to the ground.

When it raised its head again, madness surged red through its amber pupils. It abandoned all defense and lunged at the Witcher.

But its severe wounds had greatly slowed its speed and reactions.

Besides, while its forward pounce carried terrifying force, its preparation was far too obvious.

The Witcher had come prepared and had already seen through that monotonous attack pattern. His body moved with the agility of a dancer on a knife’s edge.

Roll after roll drained the beast’s stamina. Each time he rose faster than it could adjust, Aerondight would slip in and scrape another cut across it.

The Dragon Oil coating the Edge burned the skin beneath its scales. Gluttony drank the flowing blood and fading life.

The Witcher never grew greedy.

The Star Runes gradually lit as they drank enough blood.

Twice, the Cockatrice’s python-like tail brushed him, but the golden Quen Shield absorbed most of the force.

Its sonic attack was blocked by the dark Quen Shield flowing over the Witcher’s body.

He was almost unhurt.

The injured Griffin had inherited its master’s cunning. It kept harassing the Cockatrice’s back with hooked beak and claws. Once it drew the creature’s attention, it immediately took to the air and fled.

Witcher and Griffin worked in silent accord, attacking from front and rear, circling the beast for a full minute.

Then a fit Zerrikania girl with wheat-colored skin and a mohawk slipped out from behind a nearby willow and joined the fight. Her Hand Crossbow struck nearly every shot, causing the beast no small amount of trouble.

The Cockatrice was covered in wounds.

As the battle dragged on, Suppression began to show its effect.

The afterimage of blood-colored tendrils circled behind the Witcher. Every few seconds, they wrapped around the Cockatrice’s body like great pythons, forcing it into a dazed stillness.

The Cockatrice’s reactions grew slower and slower. Its amber eyes lost their shine. Its breath rasped like a broken bellows, and its body swayed under the strain of remaining upright.

At a certain moment, the Witcher easily slipped past its sluggish wing strike, circled to its left side, raised the longsword high, and chopped down.

Crimson flame ignited along the blade.

With a cut swift as Thunderbolt, the Blade Resonance split through the flesh, tendons, and bone of the Basilisk’s neck. It tore open the ground beneath the beast, leaving a straight sword mark that stank of blood and looked as if it had been scorched by flame.

A rooster head enlarged a hundredfold rolled to the Witcher’s feet.

The headless corpse collapsed with a thud, throwing up grass and dust. Its wings and legs were still twitching.

The cut across its neck was smooth as a mirror, with blue smoke rising from it.

Defeated Cockatrice. XP +260.

Roy wiped Aerondight with satisfaction and glanced at his XP.

Witcher LV8 (7380/5500)

For the past half year, he had Summoned an Evil Spirit once each month and ridden the Griffin out to hunt every day. Only then had he accumulated this much XP.

But he was not in a hurry to level up.

On the other side, the Griffin behaved like a playful child. Its gray-dusted wings covered its head while it twisted its backside toward the Cockatrice’s corpse and gave strange Roar Roar cries, showing off its victory.

Kantila used a curved blade to lift the Cockatrice’s ugly, terrifying head, which was half the size of a normal person’s body. She held it up in the air, dipped a finger into the thick, foul blood, and drew two alluring blood-red crescents across her cheeks.

Then she hooked an arm around the Witcher’s neck, turned in a dance-like circle, and showed him her lush, sensual body.

“Ha, Roy, fine skill. In the Zerrikania desert, you would be at least a five-star hunter.”

The Witcher wiped away his sweat.

In truth, after the second Trial of the Grasses, ordinary Monsters with attributes at Tier Two were no longer his match.

Even difficult Wyvern-kind had become manageable.

He had worked out a very safe combat method. First, he used Wrathflame and the Hand Crossbow to cripple the enemy’s mobility from range. Then he closed in, circled them, and let the longsword drink its fill of blood while building Star Runes.

With nearly three hundred Mana, an array of tactical Skills, surprise attacks, dodge, and Activation to preserve his life, the method rarely failed.

Once all five Runes lit, he delivered the lethal cut.

With the Griffin guarding the field, the result was almost certain.

“I couldn’t have done it without you and the Griffin.”

“Too much modesty is hypocrisy. At most, I scratched its itch and opened a little skin.” Kantila waved her curved blade and helped skin the corpse, speaking with fiery enthusiasm all the while. “Killing this beautiful creature was all your credit. Hm… it was fiercer than a Desert Venom Lizard. Worth at least two tattoos.”

“You help me choose the design?”

The Witcher gave no answer either way.

“You don’t want one? Then how should I thank you?” Kantila’s eyes shone.

“No need for thanks. Potion Shop, Old Mole, Susan, and little Minnole all owe much to your care.”

“And I promised I would take you hunting Monsters. I keep my word.” Roy crouched and began to dissect and divide the corpse with practiced skill. Every part of a Wyvern-kind creature was valuable.

Besides, every Melee Attribute of the Cockatrice exceeded twenty, which added progress toward Advanced Witcher.

Kantila paused. “Then I’ll use its claws and teeth to make two necklaces. One for you.”

Only then did Roy accept readily.

“Good partner. Next time there’s a big one, I’ll find you again.” Kantila breathed heat against his ear.

“Mm.”

“Right… your precious Hunting Hound is covered in wounds.”

“Thank you for your concern.” Roy put the round Cockatrice Mutagen into his space and glanced at the Griffin peeking out from the grass while nibbling Herb to heal itself. “In truth, Griffin naturally have rapid healing.”

The next instant, the Witcher activated the healing Skill that came with Mount. Mana in his body slowly decreased, and the bloody wounds around the Griffin visibly began to close.

It came over to its master’s feet in ingratiating fashion, rubbing its fluffy great head against his leg.

* * *

After processing the Cockatrice corpse, they washed the blood away in the nearby river.

Kantila returned to Novigrad with several sharp teeth and claws to have the necklaces made.

Roy rode the Griffin back to Gael’s House in the outskirts.

Th