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 slic