Persuading

Letho drew his gleaming dagger and expertly began dismembering the Grave Witch's corpse, his technique no less skilled than a Butcher's handling of livestock.

Eyeballs, ears, unknown lumps of flesh – each was placed neatly on a spread-out blue cloth. He then pulled several fist-sized, twisted masses from the Monster's abdomen, weighing them in his hand.

"Good luck. This Grave Witch is quite old; its mutations are perfect for supplementing my decoctions."

"Master, what are these?"

Letho looked up at Roy with surprise. The boy had calmly delivered the killing blow to the struggling Grave Witch and showed no fear at the Witcher's bloody work of dissecting his prize.

What an anomaly!

Anyone else, even an adult, would have vomited by now.

The boy's courage and boldness stirred a ripple in the Witcher's heart.

"He's a promising one."

Letho pointed to the dissected parts, patiently explaining the name and use of each to Roy, who listened quietly, occasionally furrowing his brow in thought.

"By the way, Roy, who's in your family?" Letho asked casually.

"My father, mother, and I live together."

Letho felt a pang of disappointment and sped up his work, quickly processing the valuable parts of the Grave Witch.

About an hour later, after the alchemical fumes in the tomb had completely dissipated, they entered what had once been the tomb keeper's home.

What was once a normal human room had been transformed beyond recognition by the Monster, covered in filthy clay, making the space damp and dark. Pots, jars, and strange vessels were scattered everywhere, suggesting the Grave Witch had been brewing something in its final days. The clay walls were adorned with the gruesome skeletal remains of humans and small animals.

It looked eerie, terrifying, and bloody.

As Roy's gaze fell upon the innermost wall, he suddenly quickened his pace and rushed towards it.

"Brandon..." Or rather, the snot-nosed, clingy little fatty he once knew, was now just a decaying corpse impaled on a dark wooden pole, hanging like a tattered flag.

His skin-and-bones, shriveled face had its eyes gouged out, leaving two dark, empty sockets. His mouth hung slightly agape, hinting at the extreme terror he must have felt in his final moments.

Roy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He carefully dismantled the skeletal remains, holding them close without any hint of disgust, as if he couldn't smell the pungent odor of rot and decay.

"I'm sorry... If only I had been more patient with you back then..."

At that moment, he felt a warm hand placed on his shoulder.

"Grieve, but know that you have avenged them," the Witcher said, offering comfort in an uncharacteristic manner.

Not long after, Roy finished burying the bodies of the blacksmith and the Butcher. With the Witcher's help, he inscribed the tombstones.

He had initially wanted to find the grave of the Butcher's late wife to rebury the family of three together. Unfortunately, the graveyard had been so severely damaged by the witch that it was unrecognizable, and he couldn't find it. He could only bury the Butcher and his son together.

Pusig

Kaye's blacksmith, son of Skellig

Proved his courage between life and death

Died in September of 1260, in a valiant battle against the Grave Witch

Below are two epitaphs on one tombstone:

Fletcher

Kaye's Butcher

Great love, yet unable to express it.

Brandon

Friend of the Rooster Killer, future star Bard and Master of Illusions

Will bloom in the realm of the Goddess

Died in September of 1260.

After tidying up the graveyard, Roy followed the Witcher back to the village. The elderly couple tearfully rushed over, fussing over him and checking him thoroughly.

The Witcher then presented the hideous skull of the witch to all the villagers and collected his reward from the village chief and One-Eyed Jack.

At this moment, the disturbance caused by the Monster finally came to an end. But nothing was truly over.

The villagers were surprised to find that the three Witchers, after receiving their bounty, did not leave immediately. Instead, they rented a room at the tavern and decided to stay temporarily.

With the threat of the Grave Witch gone, the villagers' behavior became strange again. They began pointing and whispering at the Witchers, speaking ill of them with great disdain...

"The Monster is dead, and they got their bounty. Why haven't these three mutants left yet?"

"Look at them, they don't look like good people at all. This won't do, village chief. We need to find a way to get rid of them soon! Let them stay for one night at most!"

"Families with children, be careful! Don't sleep tonight or tomorrow night until they leave. I heard Witchers like to steal children and train them into disgusting mutants!"

Roy, hearing the villagers' foolish and prejudiced remarks, shook his head in disdain. He then left the crowd and ran to the tavern, where he found the three Witchers enthusiastically drinking with One-Eyed Jack, chatting, or rather, One-Eyed Jack was loudly boasting about his Gwent skills.

This old captain, who had lived in Skellig for decades, did not share the superstitious, unfounded prejudice against Witchers that most of the villagers in Kaye Village held.

"That brat Roy, I don't know if he started practicing Gwent in his mother's womb, but he's won sixty Crowns from Old Jack in a row."

"Since you learned masters are here, Old Jack, could you please help me teach that brat a lesson!"

An hour later, Letho's eternally stoic poker face twitched. He pulled a handful of Crowns from his pouch.

"Sigh, 15 Crowns. That's a tenth of the quest reward gone."

"Alright, kid, you've won enough money. Let's talk business. You're not afraid of us at all, and you even came over to talk to us. What's up? Interested in Witcher stories? Which version do you want to hear?" Letho exchanged a look with his two companions. They unceremoniously gathered around the boy's table, staring intently at him.

It felt like an interrogation.

Roy's heart skipped a beat, but he didn't hide his thoughts. He smiled and said directly, "You saw through me? I do have some ideas... As far as I know, you have long lives, are healthy and full of vitality, basically never get sick, and possess Strength unimaginable to ordinary people..."

As a former player, who doesn't have a Witcher dream? He still remembered the Witcher's motto vividly: I want a horse as black as night and swift as the wind; I want a sword as bright as the moon; I will ride my black horse at night; I will slay all evil with the sword in my hand.

Transmigrating here, this was also one of his heart's desires.

"Wait... if I heard correctly, you're envious of 'mutants'? I need to confirm," Cerret suddenly interrupted, his amber eyes scrutinizing Roy from head to toe. "Roy, you're not really thirty years old?"

"Who's been spreading that nonsense to you! Those 'mutants' are powerful, don't get sick, live long, and are worth envying!?" Cerret suddenly scoffed, rolled his eyes, and took a huge swig of spirit, completely losing it. "Let me tell you, being a Witcher is a curse, a misfortune you can never escape. You shouldn't envy us. I envy this carefree country life, not being inexplicably hated and reviled, not having to face death and escape every time I open my eyes!"

Roy's expression stiffened, and he shifted his upper body back slightly. He wasn't used to Cerret's volatile temper, sharp words, and expressive face. This guy didn't seem like an old man of seventy or eighty at all; he was quite similar to Geralt's good buddy, Lambert.

Letho and Oakes crossed their arms, like silent statues, letting their companion speak.

"Kid, you seem alright. I'll kindly advise you... Stay in the countryside. Don't always think about adventuring and killing Monsters. Not everyone will always be at the front lines to chop off the Monsters' limbs and leave the head for you to finish off," Cerret took another swig of wine. "In a couple of years, when you get married and have kids, you'll know I'm doing this for your own good."

Did this guy still think he killed the Grave Witch just to satisfy the boy's adventurous spirit?

"Cerret is right," Letho spoke, a hint of regret in his voice. "If you only admire the Witchers' superb skills and are interested in Monsters, there's no need to continue this conversation."

"Walking this path, there will definitely be more pain than happiness. You still have family. Live well, be an ordinary person. This is my advice to you."

"But at least you can protect yourselves..." Roy retorted unwillingly. Compared to the previous path of nervously grinding for Experience, a more professional, comprehensive, and efficient path of Strength now lay before him.

He strove to grasp it firmly.

And he could feel that the three Witchers were also hesitating.

"If I possessed Strength greater than ordinary people. At least I wouldn't be hunted like my friends and teacher... by that bastard... leaving not even a whole corpse."

"You're overthinking it... As a veteran Witcher, I can tell you clearly," the third Witcher, Oakes, drank some beer and gave a hearty smile. "Unless there's another Conjunction of the Spheres that brings in a large number of Monsters. Otherwise, the total number of Monsters in this world will continue to decrease. They won't always trouble Kaye Village. After this, the village will be peaceful for many years. There's no need to worry."

"But the threats to life aren't just Monsters, but also people, diseases, and wars."

Roy's words silenced the Witchers.

After a long pause, Cerret spoke sarcastically again, "What a strange kid. What's going on in that head of yours? You don't seem thirteen at all, and your performance in the graveyard wasn't like it either. Do you have persecution complex?"

"Never seen a fool like you actively coming over!"

"I'm precocious." Roy took a gulp of Dwarven spirit. The alcohol went to his head, and his courage grew.

"Whether you believe me or not, I've been dreaming of many terrifying things since I was a child... bloody and ominous encounters, especially in the last few years, the dreams have become more frequent?" Roy paused. "I have a premonition that this world will fall into chaos within three years, with widespread suffering. Before that, at least let me learn something useful? I think Witchers are good teachers."

"Get out of here, brat!" Cerret said disdainfully. "Stop making up stories to fool us, dreaming? Do you think you're a prophet?"

"I knew you wouldn't believe me." Roy shook his head and sighed, but he wasn't lying. In three years, in 1263, the First Northern War would begin.

Perhaps the curtain of war was already slowly being drawn.

"I just want to become a little stronger. Even if I don't have your superb skills, I at least want the ability to protect the people I care about... to send Old Mol and Susie to Novigrad, to live a safer, more comfortable life..."

Letho's thick fingers tapped on the wine table. "You probably don't understand what it takes to become a Witcher."

"I know about the Trial of the Grasses' seventy percent mortality rate, and the infertility defect."

Letho's expression stiffened upon hearing this, and the faces of the other two Witchers also became quite interesting. "How do you know all this so clearly? Have you met other Witchers?"

"If I said I dreamed it, would you believe me?"

"Stop talking nonsense! But we understand your attitude," Letho said solemnly. "Kid, I'll give you a chance to reconsider."

"No need, I've already thought it through carefully." What Roy was thinking was that studying with Witchers didn't mean he would 100% become a Witcher in the future.

But having this extra option was excellent.

Letho glanced at his two companions. They nodded at him, and then he extended his thick palm towards Roy. "We're leaving Kaye Village tomorrow, kid. Are you willing to come with us?"

Roy grasped Letho's palm, which was as large as a fan, but deliberately hesitated for a long time.

"Not yet, I need to save enough money and settle my parents." Letho waved his hand, interrupting him, and gave him the answer he wanted.

"If you trust Witchers, Cerret and Oakes will escort Old Mol and his wife to the place you mentioned, Novigrad. Coincidentally, they also have some business to attend to there. You were right about one thing, Novigrad is safer than Kaye Village."

"How about this?" Since he had accepted the outcome, Cerret's attitude was completely different from before. He grasped the viper pendant on his chest and said seriously, "Oakes and I will arrange a food stall business for Old Mol and his wife in Novigrad, ensuring they can settle down there. We brothers can guarantee this on behalf of the Viper School."

"That would be for the best."

Roy carefully observed the expressions of the two Witchers and breathed a sigh of relief. This was the best outcome he could have achieved.

"Helping me like this will cost you a lot of money."

Letho shrugged indifferently. "For the School of the Viper, wealth is far less important than a qualified apprentice. And I won't hide it from you, the school hasn't had any new blood in twenty years... The Law of Surprise has completely failed. Your performance against the Grave Witch showed great spirit..."

"An unprecedented child who actively seeks out Witchers. With such firm resolve, your chances of passing the Trial of the Grasses might be higher?"

"Although you're a bit older, it's better than nothing."