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

I long, I long to go home, back to the wanderer's warm home.

My father, my two boys, my life, and my beautiful wife are all there.

When my strength fades, my breath grows shorter and shorter, my bones stiffen, and my blood runs slow,

it is time, it is time to go home, back to the wanderer's warm home.

, Undvik island folk song, "Octo's Song"

...

From up above, the distance had seemed short, but walking it with their own feet made it feel impossibly far, just like the Bell Town saying, a mountain always looks closer than it is.

Although the Phantom Troupe pushed forward as hard as they could, by the time they truly reached the foot of the mountain, the sky had already quietly draped itself in a black curtain.

Ravens cried into the night, and faintly, on the wind, came a mournful song. Because it was a man's voice, Victor knew at once it was not a siren's song. He and Vigi exchanged a glance, confirmed they were not imagining it, and quickened their pace.

At last, they entered the hollow. On the snowy plain stood a half-built sailing ship, and the song drifted out from its belly. From the words, it sounded like a song of desperate homesickness.

A faint light could be seen through the cabin opening. The Phantom Troupe climbed the ladder and ducked inside. What they found was a little nest made from crates stacked up as a windbreak and patched together with rags and scraps of hide. Around it, three skulls had been stuck on poles, perhaps serving as some sort of special decoration.

A single oil lamp burned dimly. Lying inside was a bearded, blond-haired, brown-eyed old fellow.

He glanced at Victor and Vigi, then slowly sat up and leaned one ear toward a skull beside the bed, as if listening to it speak.

"Aye, you're right. They never learn. Two more fools come to die. Still, at least they got to hear me sing before they do."

Victor spoke up. "I have to say, your singing is awful. You ruined a perfectly good song."

Victor's remark piqued the old man's interest. He looked at the boy, then leaned toward another skull and nodded repeatedly. "Aye, aye, just like you said. Young man, since you think Octo sings so badly, let's hear you do better."

Victor smiled. Anyone who looked carefully would notice that this self-proclaimed Octo was not actually all that old. His worn-down appearance was simply deceptive. He had a large frame and broad hands.

"Sure. If you're willing to answer a few questions, I'll sing for you. I guarantee it'll be a brand-new version, one neither you nor your companions has ever heard before."

Octo slanted him a look. "Come in out of the wind, then."

The old fellow's little den could hardly be called clean. Fortunately, the weather was so cold that the smell was not too unbearable.

Having no intention of mistreating himself, Victor stepped around the windbreak crates and pulled three bearskins from his herbal satchel. He handed one to the other man, then spread one each for himself and Vigi over the planks.

When he noticed the space-folding satchel, Octo's eyes flashed for a moment, then quickly dimmed again. He said nothing.

Victor then took out wool blankets and passed them around before starting the conversation himself. "Let's introduce ourselves first. I'm Victor, this is Vigi. And these companions of yours who keep talking to you, who are they?"

"My crew. They swore they'd follow me forever, and every one of 'em kept his word. The tall one is Wilmar. To his right is Wilfred. The one who stammers when he talks is Wilhelm."

The moment those three names were spoken, Vigi, who had been silent ever since entering the ship, suddenly scrambled across the bearskin on all fours toward Octo and seized him by the clothes. "It really is you! My lord! What in the world happened? Why did you end up like this?"

The old man froze, then turned his face away. He would not even look at Vigi. No matter how hard the younger man shook him, he said not a word.

Vigi and Octo's reactions stirred a faint memory from Victor's past life. Combined with the situation before him and what he knew of the isles, Victor guessed that this Octo might in fact be Harald Houndsnout, the jarl of Undvik and head of Clan Tordarroch.

Seen from this new angle, the thick calluses on his fingers and the noble-style tattoos on his body suddenly made perfect sense.

Victor reached out, pressed a hand to Vigi's shoulder, and pulled him back onto his own bearskin before speaking calmly. "You're Harald Houndsnout, jarl of Undvik? The information I got said you were already dead."

Straightening the clothes Vigi had yanked askew, Octo waved an arm. "Hahaha, do you think me and my men look like dead folk?"

"Without a doubt, only you are still alive."

He stared blankly at Victor for a moment, then finally lowered his head. "You're right. I am Harald Houndsnout. Everyone thinks I'm dead?... Maybe that's better. For a failure like me, maybe dead is what I should be."

The chief of Clan Tordarroch was in a fragile, chaotic state of mind. The collapse of his rule had clearly dealt him an enormous blow. Still, the information that needed asking had to be asked.

"Why didn't the giant kill you? Why leave you here, with your crew?"

"He kept me alive so we'd build him a longship. I'm in charge of sewing the sail."

"Why not try to run?"

"You think I want to stay here? We can't escape! If we run, the sirens fly out and drag us back, then the giant kills the runaways, aaah! Just like he did the others." By the end, he had clutched his head and shrunk down on the bearskin.

Seeing a lord who had once been so imposing reduced to such a pitiful state, Vigi fell silent, grief plain on his face.

"Why does the giant want a ship? Where does he plan to go?"

"Promise me you won't tell, all right? I trust my men to carry the secret to the grave, but you, that's harder to say..."

"I promise I won't tell anyone."

"Fine, then I'll tell you. When the last battle before the end of the world, the battle of Ragh nar Roog, begins, he'll sail this ship out to sea and defeat the gods. The ship is nearly finished."

Victor shook his head. The answer meant nothing.

He took out dry food and drinks and handed them around. "There doesn't seem to be much game nearby. Where do you usually get food from?"

"The giant brings food over. My crew and I are quite used to it by now." Octo happily accepted a chunk of potato and ate with obvious relish.

"Uh... by food, you don't mean that half-chewed thigh over there, do you?"

"What? Where? Wilmar, damn you, didn't I tell you to clean that up? Can't even keep a secret!

You can't blame me. The giant gave us a choice, eat that or starve to death. But I never forced anyone, mind you. We all voted on it together."

Victor pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's fine. When there's nothing to eat, nobody has a choice... How often does the giant bring food? When was the last time he came?"

"Heh heh! I knew you'd understand. Wilmar, you bastard, what are you standing around for? Hide the thing already!" Octo said as he stretched out his own arm and shoved the bite-marked thigh farther into the shadows, then continued, "The giant comes once every three days. He left just before you arrived."

"And Hjalmar of Clan an Craite, did you see him? He and his men should have passed by here yesterday."

"Oh, I know him well enough, that reckless lad from Clan an Craite. A whole lot of them came through here, but I hid myself, so none of them spotted me."

"If you want to escape so badly, why hide from them? Why not go with them?" Vigi suddenly cut in.

Octo turned his head away again and refused to say a thing. Clearly, he meant to stay true to the end and ignore this member of Clan Tordarroch completely.

As far as Victor was concerned, the reason needed no explanation.

He took a lute from his herbal satchel and began to pluck it softly. The Dragonborn Bard whose songs had once moved a thousand souls in the Floating Harbor, earned applause from the king of Temeria, won Alonso's cheers, and drew Bran's admiration let his voice fill the cabin.

Since Harald Houndsnout, jarl of Undvik and head of Clan Tordarroch, was already dead, this song was called "Octo's Song."

...

Some men keep breathing long after the man inside has died.

...

A snowfall, pure and spotless, burying everything beneath a frozen world,

The next day, the Phantom Troupe left the unfinished ship early and hurried to the place where Hjalmar's group had camped the night before.

The falling snow had already erased every trace. The land was white and clean from end to end. If Victor had not seen tracks from the mountain the day before heading west, it would not have been strange to conclude that the whole company had been wiped out.

And since the survivors had continued west, Hjalmar had to be fine. If he had fallen, the giant-slaying party would have collapsed on the spot. Even after taking the blow of an avalanche, he still had the charisma and confidence to lead the warriors onward. On this island, no one else could match him at present.

At that point, things became very simple. With guide Vigi leading the way, they continued the pursuit toward Urskar, the hometown of pickled herring.

Before setting out that morning, Victor had left Octo enough food for ten days. By the time he finished it, the giant would probably already be dead. Then Victor could return with the good news. Perhaps that would untie the knot in the man's heart. At worst, he could bring him to Ard Skellig and let Crach arrange a place for him.

But ever since that question he had thrown at his clan chief the day before, Vigi had kept a stiff face and said nothing. They had already been on the road for most of the day and were nearly at Urskar, yet he still had not changed.

Knowing what was troubling him, Victor finally spoke to comfort him. "There's no need to dwell on Octo. More often than not, it's only when life and death are staring them in the face that people realize who they really are. Not everyone has the courage to face death head-on."

"No! Captain, there are things you don't know..." As he spoke, Vigi bit his lower lip. "Harald Houndsnout was once a clan chief I admired beyond words. The reputation of fearlessness I chased after when I left home was born from the deep expectations he placed on me. For countless days and nights, I looked up at the sky and hoped I could become someone like him..."

It had to be said, the scoundrel's confession was very heartfelt, but he was a man.

So after thinking it over, the boy replied, "Try to see it clearly. Disillusionment is where growing up begins."

...

After traveling west for a while and then turning south, they came out of the forest and their field of view suddenly opened wide, revealing a beautiful scene between a frozen lake and an unfrozen one. On the left, geothermal springs welled up from the bottom of a natural lake, keeping it from freezing. Its waters then flowed west, washing out a pebble path before plunging over a drop of about twenty feet, forming, on the right, a half-frozen waterfall lake.

No wonder it was one of Undvik's famous scenic spots. It made the chest feel lighter just looking at it. Beside it stood the village of Urskar, and with its reputation as the home of pickled herring, one could easily imagine the endless stream of visitors it must once have enjoyed.

But this once peaceful village was now littered with snapped weapons, shattered shields, collapsed houses, and twisted corpses. Dark red dye had been splashed wantonly over house walls, beech trunks, and the pure white snow that had not yet been covered over.

Victor casually pushed open the door of one house and stepped inside. He reached into the ashes and felt lingering warmth from the fire. Taking out a potion from his herbal satchel, he tossed it over. "Vigi, the fighting didn't end that long ago. Search the village and see if anyone's still alive. This potion can keep someone hanging on. If you find the bodies of the Maki brothers or Egnar, let me know too."

Catching the potion, Vigi's face turned grim. He answered and withdrew outside.

After checking the room, Victor also stepped back out and began observing along the way. Even without supernatural senses, he could still try to piece together what had happened here through simple observation.

Among the corpses scattered everywhere, several had wounds that made it obvious beyond question that they had been killed by ordinary blades. Sirens could not use knives. Ice trolls might wield crude heavy weapons like clubs or iron bars, but they did not use blades either, and an ice giant would hold a steel sword like a toothpick.

From that alone, Victor could tell that the giant-slaying party that had escaped death had suffered a mutiny here. That was hardly strange. If Wolfgang had not been dealt with by Victor the night before, the number of rebels would probably have been even greater. It was entirely possible the traitors had launched the uprising here because they knew something had happened to Wolfgang in the rear. Otherwise, if he had caught up from behind, the blow would have been even more overwhelming, and things would not have devolved into mutual slaughter.

Then Victor saw a corpse dead atop a roof, its spine broken by a beam, still hanging there. There were also quite a few who had clearly fallen and smashed their heads open. That could only have been the work of sirens, so had something happened to the Hornwall horn too?

Then again, several bodies had been smashed straight into stone walls. Such strength was beyond any human. It could only have been an ice troll or the ice giant, making that part easy to understand.

Finally, there were overturned wagons with supplies strewn all over the ground. Another longship here had been destroyed as well, smashed into several pieces by the lakeshore. Its mast had been snapped off and used as a weapon to pin people to the earth.

That meant that of the five longships that had set out so proudly from Kaer Trolde, only one remained unaccounted for.

And the most likely answer was...

Mist shrouded the lake, laying a thin veil over it. Victor's gaze seemed to cut through time itself, witnessing how the last group of survivors had desperately boarded the final ship, escaped the monsters, crossed the icy lake, and sailed for Dorve, once the most prosperous town on Undvik.

Still pressing forward without hesitation, so Hjalmar was still alive. The boy's eyes sharpened like an eagle's.

"Captain, I had a look around. No one survived, but I found the remains of the Maki brothers!" Vigi's voice called from behind him.

"Take me to them."

...

Both Maki brothers had died at the hands of monsters. Thanks to Vigi being a local, he could identify them. Otherwise, Victor himself truly would not have been able to tell which was which.

He carefully searched every pocket on their bodies but found nothing. Then he undid their armor and checked their chests and stomachs. At last, on the younger brother, he found a sheet of letter paper. Some parts of the writing had been smeared by blood, but the signature at the bottom remained clearly visible.

After reading the contents, the boy flicked the letter, folded it, and put it away in his herbal satchel.

"Vigi, is there any route that can get us to the far shore? We need to get there as fast as possible."

"Under normal circumstances, there'd be a boat straight across from here. But with things like this now, the only option is to go through the mine, pass through Clan Tordarroch Forge, then take the plank path down the mountain."

Victor took out Viper Vitality Broth and a Tawny Owl potion and handed them to the scoundrel. "Caves are dark anyway. We'll light torches and push on through the night, then rest inside the forge.

Tomorrow, I'm going to catch up to Hjalmar!"

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