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

Inside the backpack Folan had provided were flatbreads and dried meat. A steaming bowl of flatbread soup beside the fire, sprinkled with herbs, was something precious beyond measure on a snowy night.

Vigi the Loon gulped down the last of the soup. "...So that's how it is. This is one of those spatial folding bags mages use, just disguised as an herbal satchel. That's incredible."

He spoke with such blunt and carefree ease that Victor could only conclude that, honestly, there was no need to explain anything to him at all.

In the man's way of thinking, there was nothing strange about it. To borrow the format of one of King Foltest's famous sayings, taking a cauldron out of an herbal satchel was a natural and beautiful thing.

Having a follower like this really was worry-free. So Victor did not even bother to wash the grease out of the cauldron. He simply dumped in some more snow and stirred it, and after a flash of rainbow-colored light, it became a pot of crystal-clear water.

As for this unbelievable alchemy, where did all the materials and impurities go during the synthesis process?

Back in that peaceful and happy world, the boy had once asked his grandmother that question. Her answer had been as full of fairy-tale charm as ever. "Those things all become the stars in the sky."

Thinking of his grandmother made the boy smile. His hands never stopped moving as he pulled all kinds of tools and supporting materials out of the bag and set them in place, along with the most important thing of all, his signature signboard, which he mounted beside him.

Victor's Alchemy Workshop

This signboard was the true inheritance of the alchemical tradition. Legend said that once it was raised, one would become a master for a short time, defeat a terrifying Demon King, save a dying world, and cure every kind of stubborn refusal.

At last, the setup was complete. The boy dusted off his hands and sat down. The whole string of bizarre actions had the Skelliger watching with bright-eyed fascination.

The moment there was finally a pause, Vigi hurried over, respectfully presented his sword with both hands, and then looked at Victor with pitiful, pleading eyes.

...

Early the next morning, before dawn had properly broken, Angoulême, who had slept poorly, stepped out of the tent at the Path of Warriors campsite, only to run into Dandelion, who had been unable to sleep as well.

The two exchanged a glance and, without needing to say anything, made their way down the path together toward the totem gate.

...

"What? You actually managed to offend Thaler?"

"...You went to Novigrad, got invited by Whoreson Junior to perform, and then opened a shop in the King of Beggars' territory!?"

"I knew he was suited to be a bard..."

"He's too kind-hearted, full of passion and love, just like me. The truth is, he's not suited for bloodshed. I'm not saying that out of prejudice, after all my best friend is a witcher, but..."

They traded stories of everything that had happened since they parted ways. Mostly Angoulême did the talking, while Dandelion supplied commentary. His own recent life had not offered much worth mentioning, it had merely been one artillery position after another.

By the time they reached the totem gate, aside from old Gunnar, there were also a few villagers lingering around to watch the spectacle.

Winter had already begun, and with the fields barren, this should have been the finest season for raiding. But Bran had rarely set out in recent years, so people had the leisure to idle around instead.

Standing on opposite sides of the gate, the two could vaguely make out the dim coastline. The darkness before dawn seemed deeper than ever,

...

, the darkness before dawn seemed deeper than ever.

Vigi walked carefully along the mountain path. He might be reckless, but he was not a fool, or at least that was what he believed.

At this point, the Skelliger still did not entirely believe in the Dragonborn's return, but he was certain that the boy could use incredibly powerful magic.

After all, he had watched with his own eyes as the boy tossed his sword, along with several objects called light tubes, into the cauldron, stirring and stirring until dazzling rainbow-colored light burst forth.

Thinking of that, Vigi lovingly stroked the sword at his waist. Unable to restrain himself, he drew it and held it high against the gray dawn sky, tapping the crossguard lightly. At once, the entire blade began to shine with a milky white radiance.

This is my Dawn Sword, he thought. Everyone who ever called me a fool would go mad for her, and I will spend my whole life protecting this blade.

He tapped the crossguard again and the glow went out. Vigi felt a little regretful. The sword had one small flaw, its light lasted only so long. According to the boy's estimate, if used continuously for illumination, it would shine for only about twelve hours before going dark forever, and would have to be brought back for a fresh enchantment.

But since he had become the boy's follower, he naturally had no reason to worry about endurance. The thought cheered him right back up. The satisfaction of owning the Dawn Sword was almost impossible to describe, and he felt boundless gratitude toward the boy.

So even though he knew perfectly well that what they were about to do was extremely dangerous, something even Vigi the Loon recognized as near-certain suicide, he still had no hesitation. He believed the boy would certainly have made all the necessary preparations.

Sheathing his sword, he moved close to the cliffside, picked up a stone at his feet, and hurled it toward the cave where the sirens nested. With gravity lending force, it crashed into the seaside cavern with a loud bang that echoed clearly.

After throwing three stones in succession, he continued yelling and shouting at the monsters surging out, hopping left and right like a taunting monkey. Only when they rose screaming into the air, ready to tear him apart, did he turn and sprint back toward the cave.

...

The mountain cave that Clan Tuirseach used as a resting campsite was large enough to shelter twenty people, so it naturally had the corresponding height, width, and airflow.

Deep within the cave, Victor sat in meditation, reflecting on the alchemy he had performed the previous night, on the weapons he had created, and on the potions.

As far as weapon enchantment was concerned, last night had counted as a breakthrough. Since the Dawn Sword could be made to shine along its whole blade simply by increasing the number of light tubes, then clearly Prometheus could also be upgraded into Blazing Strike by stacking igniters the same way.

There was no need to think too hard to know that a flame at the sword tip and a blade wreathed in fire were two completely different realms. Even if both went out the moment the sword was swung in actual combat, one looked unbelievably cool at the moment of drawing. A tiny flame just made the opponent laugh, but a sword engulfed in roaring fire? That was style.

At the very least, it would be perfect for scaring people at the start of a fight. And when used as a firestarter, it looked amazing too.

Once he had thought the matter of weapons through, he moved on in meditation to the issue of potions.

Ever since deciding to become a dragon, there had been several technical obstacles he absolutely had to overcome, and the most important of them was, of course, the finishing move repeatedly emphasized in the poem, the Dragon Shout.

"At the sound of his victorious roar, even the cruelest foe fled in terror." If he could not do that, then everything else was meaningless. But if he could, then the title Dovahkiin would sit firmly upon his head.

As he recalled the process of brewing the potion, it was just as his grandmother had once said, "When you truly desire something, the whole universe conspires to help you achieve it."

He had never drunk it before, nor tested it, but the moment he resolved to make it, a kind of instinctive confidence filled him, telling him that this next potion would absolutely produce the effect he wanted.

And afterward Vigi had told him that while he was wholly absorbed in the brew, the Wheel of Truth had spread beneath his feet...

...a rising clamor.

Victor opened his eyes and saw Vigi the Loon charging back toward him. Behind him, the sky was full of screaming, shrieking sirens, savage and hideous. In the eyes of those monsters, these two humans were lambs waiting for slaughter.

The boy rose and drank the potion. There would only be one chance. If it failed, both of them would die.

Following Victor's earlier instructions, the moment Vigi dashed past him, he threw himself flat on the ground, covered his ears with both hands, and opened his mouth.

And now the monsters were about to snatch the two humans out of the cave, hurl them off the cliff, smash them into pulp, and lick their brains from the rocks.

Victor drew a deep breath.

At this moment, he represented the long and glorious history and tradition of the Dragonborn of Skyrim. He was not fighting alone. He was not alone.

Countless Dragonborn who had once adventured through the Elder Scrolls stood with him. They too had opened their mouths, yearned for the same miracle, and unleashed the same cry.

"Fus, Ro, Dah!!"

...

"Fus, Ro, Dah!!"

In the first faint light of dawn, a furious roar like a thunderclap erupted from the mountain. Angoulême, Dandelion, old Gunnar, and the crowd gathered beside the totem gate all heard that booming, world-shaking cry.

They stared at one another in horrified disbelief,

A Dragon Shout!?

...

"Don't cry, damn it! And stop clinging to my leg!

Hey! I'm warning you, don't wipe your snot on my trousers!"

Kicking and struggling with both legs, and even using both hands for leverage, Victor finally shook the man off. After the shock wore off, Vigi had immediately charged over with the force of a rugby tackle and wrapped himself around Victor's leg, refusing to let go.

"Sorry, I got too excited. You really are a true Dragonborn, and I owe you an apology. But this is too unbelievable. I'm crying because I never imagined I would actually meet a hero who existed only in legend.

A living one, alive and real, a true legend. If I follow you, then I'll definitely become part of that legend too. When I think about all these years of running everywhere in search of my goal, and how I've finally found the way to achieve it, I can't help getting emotional."

In truth, Vigi the Loon had not said it anywhere near that smoothly. He had blurted it out in fits and starts, all jumbled together. What Victor heard above was merely the result of his own mind sorting through the message afterward.

But the boy himself was just as stunned by what he had accomplished. This potion he had named Dragon Shout Potion allowed its drinker to unleash a voice of astonishing, grand, overwhelming volume.

It was an improved version of the voice-changing potion from his Batman days, mixed with wolf liver, snake gall, and most importantly of all, the vocal cords of a katakan, created through the honorable process of unbelievable alchemy. During the brew, the Wheel of Truth had even appeared beneath his feet, the mark of an epic-grade product.

Looking around the wide cave, he saw pebbles raining down from the ceiling under the force of the roar, and several stalactites had even snapped and fallen outright. As for the sirens filling the air, every last one of them had naturally been knocked senseless and dropped to the ground.

The cave's natural acoustics were clearly no worse than that room where the katakan woman had once tormented him, perhaps even better. For all he knew, a few of the monsters might actually have been killed outright by his Dragon Shout.

, now he could at least understand how Joshua must have felt before the walls of Jericho.

Victor smiled in deep satisfaction. If Vigi had not still been standing there watching, forcing him to maintain his image, the boy would really have liked to break into a fit of manic villain laughter.

There was no way he could fail to enjoy this. More than a dozen savage, frenzied sirens had still been unable to withstand the power of his Dragon Shout.

Once he had calmed himself, he drew Prometheus and waved Vigi over to get to work. Together they moved through the cave, finishing off every last siren. He had no desire to leave any survivors behind, or get killed while collecting alchemical materials because some dying monster made a last desperate strike. That kind of stupidity was not going to happen to him.

Killing the sirens was not just for the sake of establishing dominance. There was an even more important reason, siren vocal cords were excellent alchemical material. Victor judged that they could replace the katakan vocal cords and allow him to continue mass-producing Dragon Shout Potion.

After all, katakans were exceptionally rare materials and had to be used sparingly. Thinking that, he once again felt grateful to Letho of Gulet of the School of the Viper. Back then, Letho had not kept the rare material all to himself after cutting it off, but had generously shared it with Victor, indirectly helping bring Dragon Shout Potion into existence.

Counting both the Viper Vitality Broth and the timely aid he had once received, Victor owed the man three favors in all. He had no idea when they might meet again, or whether Letho was doing well now.

...

At that very moment, the man Victor was thinking of, Letho of Gulet, grand master witcher of the School of the Viper, was battling against an endless host of Wild Hunt warriors alongside his companions Auckes and Serrit.

The place where they fought was the Hanged Man's Tree, and there was only one reason the Wild Hunt was attacking them.

There was a fourth witcher there with them.

That white-haired, scarred, ruggedly masculine man was called Gwynbleidd, which in the Elder Speech meant White Wolf, a name given to him by the dryads of Brokilon.

For a short time, he had also gone by the name Ravix of Fourhorn, a false identity he had been required to use to conceal who he really was when he attended Princess Pavetta of Cintra's betrothal feast.

He also bore another title that filled people with dread, the Butcher of Blaviken, born from an unfortunate incident that had taken place in Blaviken.

And finally, under normal circumstances, we call him Geralt of Rivia.

The reason the School of the Viper had gotten mixed up with Geralt was very simple.

A few months earlier, after parting ways with Victor, they had gone to Angren to hunt a slyzard. During the fight, Letho had been struck by the creature's tail and nearly died on the spot. Fortunately, Geralt of the School of the Wolf happened to pass by and saved his life in time.

Geralt told them that after he and Yennefer had died in Rivia, Ciri had taken them to a beautiful place where they were revived, then left them behind and continued fleeing on her own.

He and Yennefer had spent a wonderful stretch of time together on that island, until the Wild Hunt arrived and abducted Yennefer. Since then, he had been following the trail of his beloved without rest.

After hearing his story, and in order to repay the life-debt they owed him, Letho and his companions Auckes and Serrit had decided to help Geralt search for the Wild Hunt.

They had never expected the enemy to notice them instead and surround them in turn. Even so, the combined combat strength of four witchers fighting together still made the Wild Hunt find them extremely troublesome.

Especially troublesome were the three witchers of the School of the Viper, whose bombs were terrifyingly powerful. They stirred up certain unpleasant, no, far worse than unpleasant, downright horrifying memories in the commander of the Wild Hunt, the Red Rider.

Because of that, he no longer wished to keep tangling with them. "Geralt of Rivia, if you truly wish to save Yennefer, then exchange yourself for her. In the name of the Aen Elle, I swear that if you come with us, I will let your friends and Yennefer live unharmed."

At last, when the battle reached its end, Geralt of Rivia lowered his sword and joined the Wild Hunt. The other side did not break its promise. They left the unconscious Yennefer behind for Letho and the others. After Geralt sacrificed himself to save everyone, the School of the Viper could hardly abandon the sorceress there, so they resolved to look after her.

But by then Yennefer had lost her memory. In the grip of repeated fevers she muttered nonsense, and at her worst they had even thought she might be on the verge of death.

After the fever broke, the sorceress became violently irritable, constantly lashing out at everyone around her. She even tried to seduce Auckes, hoping to drive a wedge between the witchers.

With no other choice, they bound her and took her south, moving from place to place in search of a way to restore the sorceress's memories.

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