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

[Killer Whale Potion]: Main ingredients, Berbercane fruit, buckthorn, drowner tongue, and either Dwarven spirit or cherry cordial.

After drinking it, lung capacity is significantly increased.

A protective layer forms over the eyes, improving underwater vision.

[Cat Potion]: Main ingredients, berbercane fruit, water essence, and either Dwarven spirit or White Seagull.

After drinking it, the pupils dilate dramatically, allowing sight in dim light.

, Practical Compendium of Witcher Potions

…

At the Warriors' Path campsite, in front of the totem hall, today was the fourth day of the trial for the man everyone was talking about, the Dovahkiin, the Dragonborn.

"Considering the snowfall, and the fact that his follower is Vigi, I don't think he has any chance of passing the challenge. Honestly, I think there's a fair chance they've already gone to join the gods, drinking with their ancestors in the skies."

"No matter what, setting out in weather like this was far too reckless. Maybe that rascal talked him into it!"

"Mom, is the Dovahkiin coming back today? Pinocchio said his eyes are like a dragon's, slit pupils and all. And does he really have wings on his back?"

Angoulême offered no comment on the peculiar conversations she overheard along the way. Ermion likewise paid them no mind. Cerys and Svani, however, were thoroughly entertained, both of them being at an age where curiosity ran high.

When they entered old Gunnar's large tent, Dandelion was already waiting there. The moment he saw Angoulême, he moved closer. "You're sure Victor will be back today?"

The girl nodded. "If nothing went wrong with the plan, he'll be back today."

Only then did the bard notice the three people beside her. He recognized the Great Druid at once and hurriedly bowed in greeting.

As for the other two girls, he recognized them as the new friends Angoulême had made the day before yesterday. Since they were accompanying Ermion, their status was obviously important, so he inclined his head to them as well, all polished grace and perfect manners.

His courtesy, however, was plainly wasted effort. The way the two women looked at him was a curious mix of amusement, interest, and faint disdain.

That was because after spending two days with them, Angoulême had naturally mentioned Dandelion when talking about the Dragonborn, and through that convenient opening, she had thoroughly shaken out every last bit of the poet's dirty laundry.

From how he had become friends with Victor through poetry, to how he blurted nonsense after drinking, to his incurable womanizing, label after label had already been plastered across his handsome face. Some parts may have been slightly exaggerated, but Angoulême intended to make absolutely certain Dandelion would not have the slightest opening to exploit.

Ermion beckoned old Gunnar over to one side and began speaking with him about the workings of the trial. The great affairs of any realm rest on faith and war, and the Warriors' Path served both purposes at once, honoring the ancestor-hero Tyr while also tempering the young, so naturally it was something the Great Druid cared about deeply.

After hesitating for a few seconds, Angoulême decided she ought to introduce the poet to Cerys and Svani after all. She had already fulfilled her duty to warn them, and besides, now that she knew the two princesses better, she truly did not believe Dandelion possessed anything that might attract them.

In Skellige, a warrior who could fight was a real man. No matter how beautifully someone sang, it did not count for much in choosing a partner.

"Dandelion, he's Victor's good friend."

"This is Cerys, daughter of House an Craite. This is Svani, daughter of House an Hindar."

After the girl finished making introductions, Cerys took the initiative and held out her hand. "Hello, Dandelion. I've heard your name before, it's a pleasure to meet you here."

The poet instinctively felt that something was wrong. The smile on the princess of an Craite looked extremely dangerous. But since she had offered her hand, he had no way to refuse without being rude.

Sure enough, the instant their hands met, Dandelion felt as though his hand had fallen into a steel vise. The squeeze nearly made him cry out in agony and forget all decorum. Though he managed not to scream, the color drained from his face all the same.

"Ahem." Seeing that he was about to reach his limit, Angoulême coughed lightly twice, and only then did Cerys raise an eyebrow and release his hand.

Forcing a smile, Dandelion hid his right hand behind his back. "A pleasure to meet you both!"

In Dandelion's world, girls fell into four categories, and the distinction depended entirely on how they responded to his courtship.

"Very lovely girls" would happily agree to go to bed with him. "Lovely girls" would giggle sweetly and leave the matter open. "Unlovely girls" were unpredictable in their reactions. And then there were the "very unlovely girls", women so terrifying that merely imagining himself trying to woo them was enough to make the bard's spine go cold and his knees start shaking.

At this moment, he did not hesitate in the slightest to place the two strong and beautiful princesses before him firmly in that last category, very unlovely. Cerys required no explanation, she had just delivered him a deeply memorable greeting.

As for Svani, she reminded him of a wild boar he and Geralt had once accidentally enraged years ago while traveling at the edge of the world. It was unquestionably rude to compare a woman to that, but the poet believed, quite sincerely, that if the alternative was being beaten by this lady, he would far rather be rammed by a boar.

Cerys, having bullied the bard just a little, was grinning cheerfully.

Svani wore a gentle, tranquil smile.

Angoulême, who had watched the entire performance without interfering, looked positively radiant.

Everyone was happy.

The air was full of merriment.

Just then, a burst of noise came from outside, and all six people inside the tent stopped talking at the same time. A title drifted nearer and nearer, growing from murmured whispers into a unified chant.

"Dovahkiin."

…

Not long afterward, old Gunnar's tent was surrounded by three rings of people.

The innermost ring consisted of Angoulême, Dandelion, Cerys, and Svani, who had been asked to leave the tent and now had nothing to do.

The second ring was made up of old Gunnar and the assistants helping verify the trial results. They were checking the red scarf retrieved from the summit trail and the stone badge recovered by diving through the underground trail.

And the third ring, naturally, was formed by the enthusiastic local crowd.

Cerys planted both hands on her hips. "I wonder what the Great Druid has to say to him that's so important he had to throw all of us out!"

As for her question, Dandelion had absolutely no interest in speaking to her. Svani continued posing as a quiet, gentle girl, she only dropped that act on the battlefield or after drinking, so the only one left to answer was Angoulême.

"Probably to confirm whether he really is the Dragonborn. The Dovahkiin is so popular that if he turned out to be a fake, the king would look ridiculous too."

"He looks about my height, and only a little broader than me. Is he really as unbeatable as the songs say?"

After thinking it over, Angoulême answered with complete sincerity, "I only learned about his identity as Dragonborn a few days ago, when he admitted it himself.

I can't say for sure whether he's unbeatable, but if you underestimate him because he looks ordinary, you'll definitely suffer for it. The captain I follow is narrow-minded, but he's incredibly capable."

The girl's blunt honesty made both princesses laugh out loud, and now that he had seen Victor return safely and his worries had eased, even the bard was finally in the mood to appreciate the joke.

Then suddenly Svani spoke.

"Sparrowhawk, do you see that over there?"

The other three all turned to look toward the outermost ring. There stood Vigi, proudly boasting to the crowd in the third ring about his valor, describing how the Dovahkiin's Thu'um had shaken the skies and blasted a whole flock of sirens out of the air with one shout. His face was red with excitement, pride, and glory.

Svani shook her head. "That rascal Vigi has challenged me several times before. I beat him so badly every time that he had to search the ground for his teeth afterward, but he really does have backbone. For a man like that to follow someone with such loyalty, it's enough to prove that this Victor is no ordinary person."

…

Inside the tent, after all the onlookers had been sent away, King Bran's advisor, the leader of the sacred circle, the Great Druid Ermion, carefully studied this Victor from Bell Town, east of Zerrikania.

He would not be easily fooled by the stories now spreading everywhere. Instead, he observed with a cool and measured eye. When judging a person, one did not listen to what they said, one looked at what they did.

The boy before him had truly begun to stand out only after arriving in Vizima, and the trail of his actions was very clear. At first he had been a witcher apprentice, living a steady, practical life, killing drowners and ghouls, keeping within the rules, never crossing the line, leaving behind no criminal record.

Then he met Dandelion, and through the bard's recommendation he entered the royal palace to perform, earning Foltest's praise and becoming known as the Dragonborn Bard.

After leaving Vizima, his deed in Novigrad, slaying a doppler, made him even more famous. Of course, that fame existed mainly among the upper classes. To the uninformed common folk, the Butcher of Novigrad was still just a madman.

In short, he ought to be the sort of man who kept his head down and minded his own business. A title like Dragonborn, or Dovahkiin, ought not have been connected to him at all. That was Ermion's judgment, and from that perspective the course of events was easy enough to understand.

The druid's wise dark eyes met the boy's clear blue ones. There was not a trace of guilt in them.

"My boy, it's only you and me in here now. Tell me, are you the Dragonborn?"

There was nothing to hesitate over.

"Yes. I am the Dragonborn, the Dovahkiin."

Ermion stroked his beard and smiled, the smile carrying deeper meaning. "And you are not merely bluffing, lying to protect Dandelion?

At first, perhaps he truly was just drunkenly talking nonsense. But once the matter grew large enough, it slipped out of control.

Originally, if you had never come here, then after some time, once the king felt he had been shown sufficient respect, he likely would have let him leave the island. But then you arrived in the Isles as well. At that point, if you were not the Dovahkiin, then he was certainly doomed."

Victor blinked. As expected of the Great Druid, he had laid out the truth with perfect clarity. It was almost as if he had personally watched the reluctant train of thought that had led Victor to shoulder the role that day.

"Listen, my boy. I am not an unreasonable man. Before coming here, I made a thorough investigation and learned the full chain of cause and effect. But a figure as beloved as the Dragonborn is not suited to truly appearing in the flesh.

Skellige needs heroes, but it does not need a legendary hero. Do you understand what I mean?"

"Perfectly, Great Druid."

"A few drunken words need not cost lives. I can see that all three of you are sent safely off Little Skellige Island, but you must promise me that for as long as you live, you will never set foot on this land again."

As Ermion spoke, his expression remained warm and sincere.

Victor lowered his head and said nothing.

Feeling that the boy had already accepted the outcome, and that this should be the best result for all of them, the Great Druid opened his mouth to call in the people waiting outside.

"Ermion!" Victor cut in. The boy lifted his head, and in his blue eyes there seemed to be stars in motion.

"Your mercy leaves me unable to refuse. Your generosity fills me with shame. If things proceed according to your wishes, that truly would be a very good choice."

At that point, a smile appeared at the corner of the boy's mouth.

"But I refuse."

Ermion's pupils widened.

"Your friendly arrangement rests on one single assumption, that I am not the Dragonborn at all. That is an insult to my honor. Allow me to state it once more. I, Victor Corion, am the Last Dragonborn, the Dovahkiin!"

The Great Druid's expression turned rather strange, because the boy's conduct at this moment was frankly incomprehensible. It was nothing like the reasonable, steady, broad-minded, courteous person Ermion had understood him to be.

But Ermion believed even less that a man who had been so rational his whole life could suddenly lose all sense just because he had come to Skellige. So perhaps the boy suspected his sincerity.

Stroking his beard and sorting out his thoughts, the old druid spoke gently. "I have served three generations of Skellige kings. When Cintra fell, I was there. I witnessed the deaths of Eist and Calanthe, and that stubborn, lonely little girl as well. So you truly need not fear that I would harm you, little brother of Ciri."

That sudden turn and confession made the boy blink. So this too was because of that white-haired girl who insisted on acting like his big sister. She really had left him a rich inheritance of connections in this world.

"I thought that connection would be hard to prove."

"No. Very easy, if you look in the right place and ask the right person. Let me tell you something that should make you happy. The Temple of Melitele, which you once visited, developed a very potent medicine a few months ago. A druid brought it back to the Isles, and the king has been extremely pleased with it.

It truly is remarkable stuff, especially for a king who has difficulty producing an heir. It is practically priceless. To ensure a steady supply, I personally went to the temple and spoke at length with the esteemed Nenneke. Among many other things, we spoke about you, Victor Corion, little brother of Ciri, new apprentice witcher of the School of the Wolf.

So I do not mean to harm you. If time had rolled back a few days, you might not even need to leave. Crach an Craite and I could have openly protected you, and keeping Dandelion safe would not have been a problem either.

But you spoke those words before the king himself, and there were people from so many clans present to hear them. Sending the three of you away now is already the limit of what I can do."

Victor believed him. Not only because in the memories of his previous life, Geralt had received all manner of help almost as soon as he arrived in Skellige, but also because of Ermion's name, which Victor had seen written on the very first day he entered the witcher world, in The Great Massacre of Cintra.

This was one of his own people.

But the druid still did not understand him, and understood even less Victor's resolve to become a dragon in truth.

"Don't worry. I'm not afraid. I'm ready to prove myself."

"You're certain, my boy, you're certain?"

"Believe, Ermion. Believe in Ciri's little brother. He is the Last Dragonborn."

The Great Druid leaned back in his chair and took several deep breaths in succession.

"Three days from now, at the Fist of Fury arena, challenge Skellige's supreme champion. No weapons, no armor, barehanded combat, defeat him and prove that you are a mighty warrior."

"I will make the Fist of Fury roar my name!"

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