The Witcher: The Alchemist Who Walked the Witcher’s Road

Watching Victor walk out of the tent with a smile, Angoulême's thoughts drifted back to what he had told her the night before.

"I know... I could have made it sound less outrageous, and I definitely didn't need to recite that many titles, but I had my reasons.

The way the rumors changed shape had shown signs of it long ago. Of course, I never expected them to swell this fast or twist this badly, but since it's already happened, I've decided to embrace it.

I want to put some pressure on myself, force myself to try, to challenge things, because I've realized that without motivation, mental growth comes very slowly. People are full of inertia, and I'm no exception.

Just look at Babu. He got cut to pieces by a doppler without being able to fight back, and after that his swordsmanship improved at lightning speed, his words, not mine.

In the past, I always kept myself inside my comfort zone, made careful plans, avoided doing anything too risky, and tried to keep everything under control.

But a whole year of following the schedule was nowhere near as effective as the final two things in Novigrad that spun out of control, and the improvement they brought me.

So I'm going to use this chance to force myself to solve every problem with the unbelievable, to carry through the original purpose of the alchemical tradition, to do what I truly want to do, and make the things that genuinely make me happy.

Back then, I could find joy in becoming Batman and Van Helsing, so there's absolutely no reason now for me to refuse to step onto this once-in-a-lifetime grand stage.

If the people of Skellige love Dovahkiin this much, then perhaps making the Dragonborn legend come true is my destiny. I... am going to become a dragon here."

...

Outside the tent, old Gunnar was talking with Folan. The two seemed to be old acquaintances. Bran's eldest son, Svanrige, had arrived as well, still carrying the same guileless dullness and proper seriousness as ever.

When he saw Victor come out, he stepped forward on his own initiative. "My father is feeling somewhat worn out, so he asked me to come in his place and see you off. To be honest, you don't need to be in such a hurry. It might be wiser to spend two more days preparing before setting out."

It was a gesture of goodwill, but the boy had no intention of wasting too much time on An Skellig. He wanted to seize the title of Dragonborn as quickly as possible, then head to Faroe to deal with the slavers, and after that go to Undvik and borrow their tools.

"It's fine. I'll definitely finish it." The boy looked relaxed and cheerful.

Svanrige studied Victor for a long moment, then nodded. "Then I wish you success."

Folan walked over and handed him a backpack. "Every autumn, when the trial is held, the members of my clan all use this sort of pack. The equipment inside is what gets you through the Path of Warriors, though we usually go in teams of around twenty."

Victor took the backpack with a smile. "Just enough to fill a small longship."

Folan nodded, confirming that was exactly right.

Svanrige added, "The full trial usually takes three days for each group. But since you're acting alone, there won't be any time limit. If no word comes back, you'll be declared dead after seven days."

Those were words Gunnar should have spoken, but since the two younger men had already said them, the old man did not mind in the least. Just as he was about to guide Victor to the starting point, a voice suddenly interrupted.

"Wait. As a follower of the Dragonborn, Dovahkiin, I believe it is my duty to take part in this trial as well."

The unexpected declaration startled everyone present, but when they saw that it was Vigi speaking, it suddenly seemed perfectly natural.

This warrior of Clan Tordarroch had long desired the title Fearless Vigi, and for that reason he had wandered from island to island seeking opportunities to prove himself. But his constant string of reckless stunts had earned him the name Vigi the Loon instead.

Even the islanders, who prized courage above all else, felt that much of what he did was no longer courage at all, but something closer to suicidal madness.

Svanrige lifted a hand. "Vigi Tordarroch, so you're here too. You're a follower of Master Victor?"

"That's right. My defeat yesterday made me admire the Dragonborn's strength. So last night I paid him a visit, hoping to act beside him, and I earned his approval. I am now a follower of Dovahkiin!"

Svanrige turned to Victor. "And your opinion, sir?"

Victor had no memory at all of Vigi from his past life. When the man had come to him yesterday asking to travel alongside him, he had not thought much of it. Someone who had been beaten into submission by him and now wanted to follow him sounded harmless enough. Skellige men really were that straightforward.

But now it seemed he was not merely straightforward, he was downright reckless. This was a trial designed to be cleared through normal teamwork. Solo success was not unheard of, but the last time anyone had managed it was more than ten years ago.

Victor had only learned that on the road here from Folan, but as a local, Vigi had no reason not to know it already. Which meant that making this request was almost the same as asking to die.

If this had been the boy from before yesterday, he might have weighed all sorts of concerns and hesitated over every angle. But now that he had decided to put himself on the stage and let the world see him, a foil like this might only add more shine to his legend.

"Can you dive? How long can you hold your breath?" Victor asked briskly.

"I grew up by the sea. I can stay active underwater for quite a long time!"

"Would it be possible to let him join? If so, then give him a set of gear too." Patting his herbal satchel, Victor did not care about bringing along one more person. Whether the man was secretly clever beneath a foolish exterior, or just plain foolish, made no difference to him. If the underground route had not specifically required good swimming skills, Angoulême would have joined as well.

When they arrived at the totem gate that marked the starting point, the number of spectators had grown even larger. Choosing to challenge the Path of Warriors at this time of year was exceedingly rare, because worsening weather doubled the difficulty, and without companions to help one another, a siren attack would leave almost no chance to fight back.

Old Gunnar raised a hand, and the crowd quieted. Then he began softly chanting the traditional blessing, from the tale of their common ancestor Hemdall winning the favor of the goddess Heulyn and fathering six sons who each ruled one of the six islands, all the way to the story of the hero Tyr slaying the evil giant bear Yngvar.

The boy did not glance around. He lowered his head and listened quietly, showing every possible sign of respect for tradition.

By contrast, Vigi, an islander himself, kept fidgeting, glancing left and right, unable to calm down.

And just then, flakes of snow suddenly began drifting down from the sky.

"The first snowfall, it's coming down now of all times!"

"That doesn't seem very lucky..."

"A challenge without the gods' blessing?"

For anyone attempting the Path of Warriors, the weather was an enormously important factor, and snow, at first glance, was certainly not a favorable change.

But no matter what the weather did, once the ritual had begun, there was no reason to stop it.

When Gunnar finally finished the long prayer of blessing, Victor and his companion Vigi passed through the doorway formed by the totem poles and began climbing Mount Aardeklove.

...

The road up the mountain had been built along the coast, rock wall on one side, sea on the other, narrow enough for only one person to walk at a time. Jagged reefs waited below, and a fall meant certain death. Looking down, one could even spot traces left behind by the ancestors.

The falling snow made the air colder and colder. Still, the Skelligers truly were tough. Victor was not even going all out, and Vigi was still able to keep up steadily.

Brown-haired and blue-eyed, Vigi stood six feet tall. He wore a fur cap with ear flaps and a bear-hide cuirass. The fine light plate armor he normally wore had been removed for the trial, but even from what remained one could glimpse a fraction of Clan Tordarroch's skill at forging. No wonder Yoana had specifically chosen their workshop as the one to borrow tools from.

Victor, dressed the same way in bear-hide armor and an ear-flap cap, had benefited from the Viper Vitality Broth and several months of good nutrition. He now stood a healthy five foot ten, already taller than Ciri, no longer the runt who had to look up at everyone he met.

"The snow looks like it's getting heavier. We might die here, you know?"

"No, we won't."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you're Dovahkiin. You'll definitely have a way!"

That answer gave Victor a fairly good idea of what bracket his follower's intelligence belonged in.

"You really believe I'm Dovahkiin, the legendary Dragonborn?"

"I'm not totally sure, actually. But you don't look like someone who'd throw away his own life for nothing, and Angoulême clearly has absolute confidence in you. Most importantly, I admire you!"

"You admire me?"

"The moment you stood before King Bran yesterday and recited all those titles, I made up my mind. I was going to follow you and witness where you end up! You're the first real great dreamer I've seen in all these years, someone bold enough to boast that he's the legendary hero himself!"

"I thought heroes were everywhere in Skellige?"

"I promised my late mother that one day I'd become Fearless Vigi! So I left Undvik and wandered everywhere, and what I found was that people called me Vigi the Loon.

They don't dream of becoming legendary heroes themselves! They admire heroes, they respect heroes, but they don't try to make themselves into heroes."

"I thought King Bran counted as one of your heroes."

"Oh, I respect King Bran, who could help but love him? He always stands bravely on the front line against Nilfgaard. He always leads us into battle. But he's old now, and especially these last few months, he's hardly called us out to raid at all!"

Victor suddenly stopped walking, and Vigi nearly ran into him.

Pointing at the creatures perched on the rocks ahead, Victor said with a smile, "Snow isn't all bad. At least they've flown back to their caves, so we won't have to fight them in a place like this."

They were sirens, creatures of sea, shore, and sky, also known as mermaids, aquatic beings with human torsos and fish tails. At the same time, they were distant cousins of harpies, winged monsters with human faces.

Worth mentioning, they had no habit of wearing clothes.

They usually hunted in groups, screeching shrilly as they snatched prey high into the air and dropped it to its death.

They nested and bred on uninhabited islands or along the remote coasts of settled ones, making them something close to a Skellige specialty among monsters. Fighting them was part of ordinary island life.

In older tales of this sort, mermaids and sea maidens were supposedly friendly toward humans, and in a few rare cases had even accepted the clumsy courtship of sailors [1]. But in modern times they had become vicious, perhaps because too many lonely sailors had tried abducting them. Whatever the truth, one thing was certain, creatures like this no longer showed the slightest goodwill, so the moment you encountered them, you had better reach for your silver sword.

Like dragon hunters who use a wooden duck to lure in their quarry, mermaids and ekhidnae used their own bodies as bait to draw men close. They could transform into beautiful human women, but they had no legs, only tails covered in silver scales. If some witless sailor came within reach of their arms, their faces would instantly change into fishlike maws filled with sharp teeth, and those lovely tails would become lethal, razor-edged talons.

...

Keeping silent, Victor and Vigi quickly used climbing and ropes to cross several shattered walkways.

Although the Skelliger had lost yesterday, that defeat had come before overwhelming strength. He had originally assumed that on a long run like this he would at least have a slight advantage, but now he admitted that thought had been childish. Whether Victor was truly Dragonborn or not was still uncertain, but the boy was absolutely an expert at traversing harsh terrain.

...

Before nightfall, the sturdy Victor and Vigi successfully found the campsite Clan Tuirseach usually used during the trial, a warm cave large enough to shelter them from the wind.

After stacking the firewood, Victor drew the Sword of Prometheus. The moment Vigi saw fire burst to life from the Skellige steel blade, his eyes began to shine.

Noticing his follower's stare, Victor lit the campfire and then simply handed the Sword of Prometheus over for him to admire. Very few islanders could resist the temptation of a godlike weapon.

Vigi the Loon extended both hands and received the sword as reverently as if it were a sacred relic. Yoana's craftsmanship spoke for itself, unquestionably first-rate, and with the added power of flame, he could not bear to put it down after trying it out.

"Th, this... whose masterpiece is this? Can you tell me?" Vigi asked, stroking the spine of the blade with almost religious devotion.

"Yoana made it, master smith of Fergus's forge on Glory Lane in Novigrad," Victor said cheerfully. "Then I enchanted it with fire myself."

The Skelliger's eyes widened in utter shock.

His reaction amused Victor. He was nothing like Angoulême, who had no eye for quality at all.

"If you really want one, I can make one for you. But you'll have to swear on your honor to keep it secret. No one else can know."

Without another word, Vigi pulled out a dagger and prepared to seal the oath in blood, which startled Victor badly enough that he hurried to stop him.

"It's not that serious. I trust your honor."

Honor, ancestral deeds, and legendary weapons.

Victor had gotten a small taste of the Skellige temperament, and it was very obvious that there was something a little wrong with Vigi's head.

But that was fine. After the resolve he had reached last night, he had realized he could afford to take bigger steps. He was an outsider anyway, and he was about to wear the title of Dragonborn, so for someone special like that, having a few extraordinary abilities was perfectly normal.

As long as he was not standing in front of mages or druids, people sensitive to magic, he could boldly put on a show of unbelievable alchemy. Those without magical ability could not tell the difference anyway, and in an age where rumors distorted everything, there was not much reason to be overly cautious.

Victor took a large cauldron out of his herbal satchel and set it over the fire to melt snow into water. After several rounds of expansion, the satchel's capacity had now become something close to a treasure house. On the day he left Novigrad, he had practically packed up his entire alchemy workshop and carried it with him.

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