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

He sat in a formal kneeling posture.

His hips rested on his heels, his back was straight, his hands lay on his knees, and his body was loose and at ease.

With his eyes closed, that was what Victor looked like when he meditated.

"Well done! You beat Olaf fair and square. Are you sure you want to give up the title and skip the defense match?"

The arena manager was brimming with excitement. The boy had defeated the former champion, then surrendered the title, which meant the Fist of Fury would come alive again. After all, there were very few people willing to challenge Olaf...

"It's fine. Who else is there for me to fight here?"

"Maybe you could take a ship to Spikeroog. I hear the underground arena there is even fiercer, and you can challenge the Champion of Champions!"

Victor opened his eyes.

Champion of Champions, my ass. That thing was basically a rock troll. Just imagining a fistfight with it was enough to make his balls ache. Spikeroog was full of lunatics.

His life-and-death battle with Olaf had awakened memories from his previous life about the Fist of Fury: Skellige, and that infuriating Champion of Champions at the end of the quest had left an especially lasting impression.

Mentally shoving Spikeroog to the very bottom of his travel list, he picked up the hand wraps resting beside him. They had already been cleaned and looked as good as new. Victor spread them open gently and ran his fingers over them.

He tossed a pair of fine hand wraps into the cauldron, along with wolf claws, bear claws, drowner claws, nekker claws, grave hag claws, ghoul claws, siren claws, griffin claws, bruxa knuckles, and a whole series of hand-related materials.

Then, while stirring, he focused only on the result, hand wraps that would let the force of his punches pass through muscle and fat. Everything else he left to the marvelous alchemy to fill in on its own. In the end, that ridiculous witch's brew produced an epic masterpiece, the "Oathstrike Wraps."

It was not magic, and even less science. It was a law, a law agreed upon with the world itself.

Victor only. When he wrapped them around his hands, part of the force of his punches would pass through muscle and fat.

After that, things had been simple. The moment Olaf was shaken by the Dragon Shout was enough for Victor to land a fatal blow on the giant beast. Then came the cheers and shouting from the crowd, and the kind of fanaticism on their faces...

Knock knock!

Someone rapped on the door.

Victor shook his head and tucked those wonderful memories and emotions back into his herbal satchel.

"Come in!"

Angoulême walked into the room and sat down cross-legged without the slightest care for appearances.

She looked a little listless, low on energy. "What's wrong? Missing your new friends?"

The girl nodded. "Yeah. It feels strange. Before you came back from your trial, every day was lively, and after you got back, there were feasts almost every day. Then all of a sudden, our friends left, and in the blink of an eye it's just the two of us again."

"Hey! How is it just the two of us? You can't bully Vigi like that. I already brought him into the Phantom Troupe. He's one of our companions now."

Angoulême's caterpillar-like eyebrows shot up. "That reminds me, I'm mad about that. You told me to teach him the troupe's way of doing things, but he's so dumb he can't even read books. How am I supposed to teach him?"

"You should cut Skelligers some slack. The fact that he can speak the Common Tongue at all is already impressive. You can't expect them to write too. Look at Yoana, she doesn't know how to write either, and she's still one of your good friends!"

"I don't want any men in the troupe!"

"Your real problem is that men are fine, as long as they're handsome!"

Angoulême shut her mouth at once. Victor had clearly hit the mark.

Victor smiled. "Don't underestimate Vigi. He's got some very good qualities, loyal, hardworking, and willing to do the dirty work. Sure, he has a bad habit of drinking too much and bragging, but nobody's perfect.

"If we're going to move around Skellige, we need a local guide. Think about it, who's the one at the docks these past few days working hard to prepare a ship for us? Without him, would you know anything about ship types? Hiring sailors, assigning duties, if I left that to you, could you do it?

"I couldn't.

"With him around, I can save a lot of time for reading, alchemy, and getting ready before we leave. That's what a team is. Asking you to teach him the basics is also for your sake. If you train him now, then you'll be his boss!"

Then Victor leaned close to Angoulême's ear and whispered, "Don't worry about your position being replaced. In my heart, you'll always be the best, the vice leader of the Phantom Troupe."

Vice leader!?

Angoulême's face instantly turned red. "That's right! Expanding the hanse and training its members is my duty as vice leader. I'll do my best!"

With that, she strode proudly out of the room.

"There's something enviable about single-celled organisms," Victor muttered as he watched her leave. He rubbed his chin. A faint bit of stubble had already begun to show there.

...

It had already been a week since the an Craite siblings left. This morning, the Phantom Troupe gathered at Urialla Harbor. Now it was their turn to leave, and the ones seeing them off were Svanrige and Folan.

Angoulême and Vigi took Folan to look around the Phantom Troupe's new ship, while Dovahkiin personally kept the king's son company in conversation.

"Time really does pass quickly. I didn't expect you all to leave so soon."

"This was always a journey of training and experience. Of course I wouldn't stay in one place too long. An Skellig is peaceful, and there are no monsters here that especially need me to wipe them out."

Svanrige's face remained expressionless. "That's for the best. Maybe leaving early will turn out to be a good thing."

Victor looked at the king's son in puzzlement, but Svanrige shook his head and changed the subject.

"She's a good ship, a fine vessel crafted with care by the shipwrights of Urialla. One hundred and thirty-five feet long, can be worked by fourteen men, deep-drafted and fit for ocean travel, and very sturdy."

For some reason, every time Svanrige called it a good ship, Victor felt as if he had been cursed.

"Vigi handled all of it. I personally don't understand any of this at all."

"It is a good thing that you've gained his loyalty. He truly is talented. It's just that his hunger for fame and his obsession with heroes blinded him and caused him to keep making trouble. If he stays beside a real warrior like you from now on, I believe he'll be able to contribute greatly."

Victor nodded in agreement.

"Have you decided where you'll go first?"

"Kaer Trolde first. I want to buy a few things there, then go around the southern tip of Ard Skellig and head for Faroe."

"What business do you have there? Faroe is the poorest and most chaotic place in the isles. Holger Blackhand is not an easy man to deal with. Even my father has a hard time getting through to him." At that, Svanrige seemed to remember something amusing, and a smile appeared on his usually wooden face.

"The proof of Dragonborn status issued by King Bran is enough. I'm going there to track down a group of pirates who sell islanders. I won't be coming into conflict with Clan Dimun."

Svanrige nodded and said no more.

After that, Victor gave Folan a hug and thanked him for all the help he had given as their guide over the past few days.

Then they boarded, weighed anchor, and raised the sails. The two-masted square-rigged ship cut through the waves and headed southwest.

...

This two-masted square-rigged ship was called the Going Merry.

"You useless bastards! What are you lazy lot doing? Scrub the deck clean! What, are you planning to raise barnacles on it?"

Standing at the bow beside Angoulême, Victor listened to the rogue's furious yelling and smiled broadly.

"See? Do we really need to handle that ourselves? And besides, that fierce bastard calls you boss every time he sees you now. Doesn't that make you happy?"

This was the third day since they had set sail, and the pecking order aboard the Going Merry had already stabilized. At the very top was Captain Victor, followed by First Mate Angoulême, but the one who truly handled the work was Second Mate Vigi. They were all Skelligers, and he was the one who actually knew what he was doing.

Even though his superiors knew absolutely nothing, the second mate still respected the captain and first mate. He had not entertained the idea of leading the crew in tossing the two outsiders overboard. That was only natural, though, several of the sailors had already recognized that the captain was the famous Dovahkiin.

Victor did not care what the sailors were thinking. Even though the ship was called the Going Merry, that was just personal taste. At heart, he had no intention of becoming the Pirate King, and he had no interest in piracy as a profession.

He pulled out his spyglass and studied the an Craite crest, a round shield in red and black, marked with the family symbol of three black longships.

As the ship drew closer, he lifted his eyes toward the fortress standing atop the mountain. The steep grandeur of Kaer Trolde truly lived up to the pride of Clan an Craite.

In Skellige legend, the ancestor of Clan an Craite, Grymmdjarr, son of the hero Hemdall, was famed for unmatched strength.

When Hemdall divided the land among his sons, Grymmdjarr received Ard Skellig. But after crossing the whole island, he found no place worthy to serve as his throne. So he asked Hemdall to forge him the thickest iron chain imaginable.

After receiving the chain, he dove into the depths of the sea, looped the heavy chain around an enormous mountain, dragged it up above the waves, and set it down at the northeastern corner of the island. Then, with his bare hands, he carved Kaer Trolde into it to serve as his throne.

The credibility of the whole story was about as solid as the legends of any other people.

Still, that did nothing to diminish the greatness of the fortress itself. Several tunnels bored straight through the mountain linked together, making Kaer Trolde's defenses nearly impregnable.

In any case, this time the Phantom Troupe had sailed here in their own ship, so at last Victor could be certain they had reached Kaer Trolde, instead of being dropped at some bizarre port yet again.

Once the ship docked, the captain called the second mate over first and stuffed a pouch of crowns into his hand, telling him to decide for himself how to distribute it among the sailors. Then he handed another pouch of crowns to the first mate as spending money. After making an appointment to meet the two of them at the New Harbor Tavern, he was the first to cross the gangplank and step into the Kaer Trolde market.

The prosperity and bustle of Kaer Trolde Harbor far surpassed Urialla Harbor. It truly deserved its reputation as the isles' greatest foreign trade port.

Traveling alone, Victor quickly bought everything he needed. Then he took a detour to check the notice board. Angoulême's working style was something he had taught her himself, so naturally he would not skip it either.

Druid Notice

Sons and daughters of Clan an Craite!

Every winter is growing harsher. The snow and ice melt later, flowers bloom later, and lambs are born later too. So I warn you all, store up food early and make sure to dry and smoke it in advance. Only then will you make it through the winter.

, Ermion

Victor folded his arms and stared at the notice.

That description gave him a strong sense of a little ice age. Could the White Frost, the so-called end of the world, really be a little ice age?

He shook his head. Victor might have plenty of spoiler knowledge about the Witcher world, but weather observation definitely was not among it.

A Good Opportunity for Warriors

Want glory and gold? Got a sharp sword and no fear of the Reaper? Then come find master shipwright Bjorg. I have work for you.

There is Muire D'yaeblen in Kaer Trolde Bay. They have to be killed. They breed in huge numbers and grow quickly. Every time a ship leaves the harbor, it runs into them.

Kill those monsters, and your name will spread throughout the isles. Your purse will grow fat, too, Bjorg.

Muire D'yaeblen sounded mysterious, but it was really just drowners. Skelligers simply had their own special name for them.

Victor considered it for a few minutes. Since Angoulême had just restocked his supplies for him, and they were leaving again tomorrow, he decided not to take the contract this time.

After all, Liss, Luf's lover, was still waiting for him to rescue her, and pirate Hammond's head already had an appointment with Vigi's Dawn Sword.

...

The reason they had chosen the New Harbor Tavern was simple, its owner, Jonas, was Vigi the rogue's good friend. The two were fellow countrymen, both from Undvik, both of Clan Tordarroch.

Anyone who could become close friends with the old Vigi had to have something exceptional about him. And indeed, the truth was quite astonishing. Only after arriving in person did Victor discover that the New Harbor Tavern was the most popular inn in Kaer Trolde.

Oak shields hung on the walls beside embroidered tapestries, most of them patterned with horseshoes and blades. A small four-man band played in one corner, while the tavern serving girls danced cheerfully.

The whole place felt spacious and warm. It was lively and noisy, but not in any way that made it unpleasant.

Victor raised his cup to the tavern owner. "I really like this place."

The bald, broad-spirited Jonas laughed. "I'm glad to hear it. When I first came here from Undvik, this place was a ruin. Seagull shit used to fall through the thatch roof and into people's drinks.

"I bought the building and rebuilt it with my own hands into the kind of tavern that makes people feel good in both body and soul."

"Then why call it the New Harbor Tavern?"

"To stay consistent. The tavern I opened back in Undvik was called the Old Harbor... Some of the old regulars come here at night to remember the old days back home."

"I thought you islanders never migrated."

"There are always exceptions. Always exceptions."

During the conversation, Vigi the rogue and Angoulême came into the tavern one after the other. With the tavern owner's special hospitality of roasted pork shank and pepper vodka, they passed a warm and comfortable evening.

...

The next day, the Going Merry set sail southward.

In the captain's cabin, Victor spread out the new regional map he had bought at great cost the day before and lay over it, writing and sketching. Since he was here already, of course he was going to plan a sightseeing route.

Angoulême squatted on a chair with her arms around her knees. "Is it really okay not to let Clan an Craite know we came through here?"

Victor pushed up the decorative spectacles he had bought yesterday. "It's fine. If we tell them we came, they'll definitely want to know why. Once they know, if they want to send people to help, do we accept or refuse?

"This is just a private grudge. The troupe can handle it ourselves. Besides, I was already planning to use alchemy to deal with any difficulties along the way.

"So after we're done, we'll go pay them a proper visit."

Angoulême nodded, satisfied, then lowered her feet and leaned over to study the map. "Where are we now?"

Victor pointed first at Kaer Trolde, then slid his finger southwest toward the broken chain of islands. "Tonight we'll pass through the strait by Eldberg, there's a lighthouse there for navigation." Then he moved his finger south. "Before dawn, we'll be near Arinbjorn."

"But I'm not planning to dock. We'll head straight south to Holmstein's Port. I'll confirm the details with Vigi in a bit."

His plan had been carefully designed and was highly practical.

What Victor could never have imagined at that moment, however, was that the Going Merry would sink that very night.

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