Wilderness Night Talk

"Here, mash it up and apply it yourself." Letho expressionlessly tossed a plant with orange-red petals to Roy, a subtle smirk playing on his lips as he watched the younger man rub his thigh in frustration.

After leaving Kaye Village, the bald giant had ridden his horse for dozens of miles. It wasn't until dusk that he finally stopped in a desolate wilderness.

Roy's inner thigh throbbed with pain. Lifting his pants, he saw it was covered in bright red bloodstains, a large patch of skin chafed raw by his rough trousers.

His Health had decreased by 5 points in the template, now standing at 37. His Constitution was worse than that of an adult; he wouldn't be able to ride a horse for several days until the wound healed.

"A person like me, who can't even ride a horse, has to share a mount with a freak like a Witcher. I must be tired of living."

"Master Letho, what kind of herb did you give me?" Roy grimaced in pain, chewing vigorously on the herb in his mouth. It tasted good, not bitter like most herbs, with a faint, refreshing sweetness.

"Marigold. Ever heard of it?" Letho tossed a dry branch into the campfire and patiently explained, "It relieves pain and prevents infection. You can find it anywhere outside of towns."

Roy's gaze shifted, and he secretly took note of the Witcher's words. Part of the reason he embarked on this path was for this practical knowledge. Witchers lived for many years, and their experience and memories were like a treasure trove that he intended to extract bit by bit to fuel his own growth.

Letho tossed him a few pieces of dry, tough jerky, then, taking a swig from his wineskin, chewed his own meal in silence while gazing at the distant twilight. Soon after, he unbuckled the long sword on his back, rested his arms behind his head, and lay down on the grass.

The sky was his blanket, the earth his mat; he appeared carefree and at ease, as if this place were his home.

Living rough in the wilderness was commonplace for a Witcher.

A faint scent of alcohol wafted past Roy's nose, and he couldn't help but swallow.

"Can I have a taste?" His thigh, smeared with herbs, felt sticky and awkward. He very consciously took the wineskin and took a sip. As the liquid went down, his eyes widened, and he stuck out his tongue like a toad.

"What is this taste!" A strange mix of spicy and sour made him involuntarily spit it out.

Letho's expression turned stern. "Brat, if you can't hold your liquor, don't waste it. This bottle took a lot of effort to get from Boclan. It's the 'East of the East.' Ordinary people wouldn't have the chance to taste this kind of tribute-grade wine in their lifetime. You should cherish it."

"I don't think much of it; this wine isn't good," Roy said honestly. "The fruit wine at the Old Captain Tavern is much better, even the Dwarven spirit is better than this stuff!" He changed the subject. "You mentioned Boclan earlier. If I remember correctly, that place is in Toussaint Duchy? Have you been there? Did you meet Duchess Anna Henrietta? Is she as beautiful as the legends say?"

Toussaint was where the "Blood and Wine" story would later unfold. Roy was deeply impressed by its fairy-tale-like beauty, not to mention the numerous higher vampires, the orgasmic "cloud-shaking," and the beautiful face of the duchess.

"I didn't meet the Duchess, but I did meet her husband, Duke Raymond..." Letho said, glancing at Roy in surprise. "Brat, where did you, a country bumpkin from Aedirn, even hear the Duchess's name?"

Toussaint was located within the Nilfgaardian Empire and had no connection to Aedirn. Letho was increasingly convinced that this brat was peculiar and hiding some secret.

"I've told you the answer long ago, but you refuse to believe it."

The Witcher naturally didn't believe such nonsense about premonitions from dreams.

Roy hugged his arms and moved closer to the fire, rubbing his palms together. "Master Letho, are all Witchers as long-lived as you?"

"Most of them die on monster contracts or in various battles. Less than half probably live to be fifty."

Roy smiled slightly. He knew the Wolf School had an old monster over two hundred years old, and who knew about the other schools?

"Do you regret it now?" Letho suddenly turned and looked straight at Roy. "This path might lead to an even quicker death than being a farmer."

"To be honest... a little."

"Hmm?" A faint killing intent emanated from the bald giant.

Roy quickly corrected himself, saying seriously, "Sorry, I drank too much. How could I possibly regret it?"

"Two old friends have already sent your parents to Novigrad as agreed. If you dare to change your mind halfway..." Letho's tone was clear. "The School of the Viper doesn't have as many lunatics as the School of the Cat, but we show no mercy to those who deceive or use us."

"Calm down, Master Letho, let's change the subject."

"I heard Witchers carry two swords. Why do you only have one on your back?"

Letho's expression stiffened further. "You should understand that each school excels in different areas. The School of the Viper prefers to use short swords and poisons to defeat enemies."

Roy continued to stare at him, and Letho spread his hands, a rare hint of helplessness in his voice. "I guess you know this already: one is a steel or Meteorite Iron longsword, and the other is a Silver Sword that can be easily wielded with one hand."

"The steel sword is for fighting humans, and the silver sword is to counter monsters sensitive to precious metals?" Roy asked.

Letho shook his head. "That's too absolute. Silver does counter some monsters, but steel is more effective against others."

"As for why I only have a steel sword on my back, do you know how much a Silver Sword costs, even if it's not pure silver, but plated steel or meteorite iron? The Viper School is not in as good a state as it used to be. All resources must be used wisely, such as investing in your training."

Roy's heart skipped a beat. He wasn't sure if being the focus of a Witcher's attention was a good or bad thing.

"A suitable Silver Sword is too far off for me. Actually, I'm more interested in crossbows. Master Letho, are you familiar with this weapon? Can you teach me?"

After more than a month of hunting, he still hadn't mastered ranged combat skills, which he deeply regretted.

Compared to melee weapons, ranged weapons like bows and crossbows matched his strongest attribute, Perception. Incidentally, for the skill point he gained upon reaching level 2, Roy had invested it in a new skill. "Observation" had become LV2, and his Perception bonus had increased to 2 points.

"You're asking the wrong person, brat. Crossbows and hand crossbows are the specialties of the School of the Cat and the Bear School," Letho said, looking out into the night beyond the campfire, his eyes deep as if recalling someone familiar. "I'm not an expert, but after living for decades, I know a thing or two. I'll teach you in a couple of days."

As he spoke, Letho took a bag of brown powder from his pouch and drew a circle on the grass, enclosing the horse, campfire, and both of them.

Roy's nose twitched, detecting a faint, sour smell.

"Whose excrement is this?"

"Good discernment, brat! Pterodactyl droppings. Sprinkle this, and ordinary wild animals won't come in. You can get a good night's sleep."

Roy wrinkled his nose. The smell wasn't as bad as what he'd encountered when he was a butcher's apprentice; he could tolerate it. But as the cold night wind blew, he couldn't help but shrink his neck.

"Master Letho... could you stop calling me 'brat' or 'kid' from now on? Just call me by my name."

Such titles always gave him the illusion that he was still a snot-nosed child.

"Then you'll have to work hard to earn my respect, and I'll consider changing how I address you," Letho replied without looking up. "Starting today, you have to get used to all of this. If you're cold, move closer to the fire."

"Now, brat! I have to teach you your first lesson as a Witcher apprentice."

"Talk less, think more. Never reveal your weaknesses to others, not even those closest to you... Shhh—"

Letho suddenly put his index finger to his lips, making a shushing gesture. Roy quietly pricked up his ears.

"Awooo..."

A long wolf howl, approaching from afar, and in the blink of an eye, dozens of pairs of glowing eyes, like fireflies, appeared dozens of feet from the campfire.

Roy held his breath, quietly gripping and stringing his hand crossbow.

The strange pupils stared at the campfire, peering and moving left and right, but they seemed to be suppressed by some invisible force, hesitating to approach the circle on the ground.

Letho's fingers traced a pattern, and he cast an Axii Sign towards the horse beside him. The horse, which had been snorting and restless, was immediately calmed and stood still obediently.

The wolf pack's roars lasted only two minutes. In the end, they didn't dare to charge and retreated with mournful whimpers, disappearing into the depths of the night.

"Pterodactyl droppings, they work quite well." Roy's mind began to race. With the Witcher Letho as a free super bodyguard, and the surrounding Pterodactyl droppings to ward off beasts, he could comfortably farm Experience if he utilized the current conditions well. The wild animals here were far more numerous than in the woods around Kaye Village.

This meant a massive amount of Experience Points. Anyway, he still had some fresh meat and Anesthetic Powder left in his spatial storage.

"Look here, brat!" Letho's deep voice suddenly rang out. The latter, without a second thought, followed his command.

Then, an inverted double-layered triangle symbol filled his entire vision. Roy was overcome by an extremely strong drowsiness. He closed his eyes and found himself completely disoriented and bewildered.

The Axii Sign was maintained for a moment. During this time, the Witcher's lips moved, and he said a long string of words to the dazed boy.

As for what he said, it was carried away by the night wind, and he couldn't hear it clearly.

Afterward, Letho let out a sigh of relief, dispelled the Sign in his hand, and cracked his thick fingers like carrots as he pressed down on the boy lying on the ground, fast asleep.

Looking at the still childish face under the firelight, his rugged features softened subtly.

He could barely remember the last time he took on an apprentice... it seemed to be more than thirty years ago. Unfortunately, that child didn't even make it past the first round of the Trial of the Grasses.

Would this mysterious little brat be any different?