Departure and Return

November 6, 1260.

Roy, bundled in a thick earth-yellow cotton coat, sat on the edge of Wols Tavern's rooftop, legs dangling and swaying in the air, holding a painting in both hands.

It depicted two faces pressed together in a shared smile—Roy and Toya.

On the first of November, he'd sneaked the girl away from the Miller couple and brought her to the dwarf wine merchant's big house, where they'd enjoyed a lavish New Year's feast.

The scene was still vivid in his mind.

The two of them had drunk their fill of mead, belted out a jumble of off-key songs, posed as models for a lousy painter, and joined a crowd of bearded dwarves—men and women alike—circling the bonfire in the courtyard, hand in hand, dancing the Mahakam-style "Furnace Dance" late into the night.

The next day, Toya, waking from her first-ever hangover, was put on a carriage bound for Aretuza.

"Roy, once I'm there, how will I get in touch with you?" Before leaving, the girl leaned out the carriage window, grabbing his arm. Her small, round face was on the verge of tears, and her dark, glistening eyes flickered with excitement, unease, and reluctance.

"Witchers have no fixed home." Roy patted her little head and joked, "In a few years, if I get the chance, I'll visit you at Aretuza. By then, I hope you can show me some real magic."

"It's a deal!" Her voice carried a hint of playfulness for the first time. "Once I'm back to normal, if you don't show up, I'll hunt you down all over the world!"

Outside the memory, Roy tucked the painting into his space and squeezed the silver chain around his neck.

Not long ago, he'd finished his courses at the House of Cadell and said goodbye to Faywen, Tom, and Cadell himself. The headmaster must have had his reasons—the Revolutionary Army had gone completely silent lately. Maybe the leader's corpse had scared some of them off.

The New Year in Edessberg had passed peacefully, with no more parades, protests, or street brawls.

Roy had given up the mill room. He'd taken the Millers' daughter away without leaving them a single coin—punishment for how they'd treated her. If they wanted to come after him, they were welcome to try, as long as they could find him.

He didn't plan to keep working at the market either. His study of Common Script had reached a stopping point; his vocabulary was enough to understand the contents of the Witcher's notes. He intended to focus on cracking the potion formulas in them.

He climbed down from the rooftop and entered the tavern's main hall, a strange sense of familiarity washing over him.

The New Year had passed, but the tavern's revelry was still going strong.

Against the wall, a Bard in pointed leather shoes and striped tights plucked at his Lute, spinning out a melodious tune.

On the dance floor, a crowd of burly men clutched mugs of beer frothing with white foam, swaying their bodies wildly to the music.

Foam splattered, light and shadow tangled. Several heavily made-up women in tight corsets, baring expanses of pale skin, hoisted their puffy skirts. Occasionally, amid men's flirtations, they'd half-scold, half-laugh with harmless retorts, then giggle and extend teasing fingers.

In one corner of this lively tavern, however, sat a figure who didn't belong. Before him, a table meant for four was covered with a dozen full glasses of various colors, yet he was the only one drinking.

Under Letho's gleaming bald head, his stern face made him look as if he were in a sealed room. His broad, sword-laden frame sat like a boulder, exuding a chill that warned others to keep their distance.

"Drinking alone here? Let me keep you company..." With a coquettish laugh, a shapely woman pressed herself against the man's right arm.

Letho turned to glance at her. The familiar smile thawed his expression slightly. "Sorry, not in the mood today. Next time, I'll take you up on it..."

"Oh, how heartless—acting so distant after just over a month... I still remember that strong body of yours vividly."

"Hehe, why's your arm so stiff? Relax, leave it all to me..."

The woman smiled sweetly, resting her head on his shoulder as if they were old friends. Then she craned her neck, noticing the dried patches of blood on his leather armor that still gave off a strange smell.

But Witchers were like that; the woman wasn't surprised.

Her gaze dropped further. On the floor by the Witcher's right hand sat a bulging, oversized bundle that looked ready to burst. Its blue surface seemed to show faint traces of damp red. Curious, she asked, "What's that?" She reached for the bundle, but her hand was stopped mid-motion by a muscular arm that gripped it firmly.

"Woman, curb your curiosity. Don't ask about things you shouldn't."

Letho's tone remained flat, but the unfamiliar warning in his eyes made the woman flinch like a mouse spotting a cat. Her body trembled, and she rose uneasily.

She bit her lip, shooting the Witcher a resentful glare. "All business, no pleasure—don't expect me to keep you company next time! Hmph!"

With that, she slipped into the dance floor, laughing and joking with other men.

Letho wasn't bothered. Women were always just passersby in his life, a bit of spice.

Suddenly, he felt a shift. His amber eyes cut across the dance floor and locked onto a gaze from the opposite side.

"Kid, has it been a year since we last met? How'd you shoot up so fast?" The Witcher looked at the boy approaching him, gesturing with a thick hand to his own chin. His sharp senses told him this child had changed a lot. His frame, once thin, had become balanced and full of energy. His eyes were bright and black, his complexion ruddy—his spirit and vitality were clearly a cut above before.

An ordinary person would need half a year to a year of nonstop training to achieve such a physical transformation. But this boy, from the day he left Kaye Village to now, had barely been two months.

"I remember it's been over two years, not one. Or is it a month and two years?" Roy plopped down beside Letho, grabbed a glass of sweet-and-sour fruit wine, and took a couple of sips. "So, after living on my own in Edersberg for so long, have I passed your test?"

"You've managed to live pretty comfortably on your own." The Witcher nodded.

Roy's gaze shifted to the strange bundle the woman had noticed earlier. He sniffed like a hound.

"You left me alone for over a month just for this?"

"Guess what's inside?"

Letho's eyes gleamed with a testing light.

"You've treated it well enough to get rid of most of the smell, but a fishy, gamey stench doesn't fool me. The bundle's got... hmm... monster organs and tissues, right?"

Letho tossed the bundle straight at him. Roy fumbled to catch it, pried open a gap, and his arm jerked—he nearly dropped it on the floor.

The first thing he saw was a big eyeball, fist-sized, its surface smooth and dry. Reaching a hand behind it, he felt long, thin, crimson nerves and capillaries like sandworms.

Roy glanced around, saw no one was watching, stuffed the eyeball back in, and carefully pulled out a furry yellow beast claw. The underside had springy pads like a cat's, and three curved, pitch-black toes as sharp as hooks, hard to the touch, each as long as an outstretched human palm.

Roy could almost picture how easily those claws would slice through a man's leather armor and rip out his entrails.

Aside from the eyeballs and claws, the bundle also contained an oval heart and a bloodied, mangled beast's skull, stripped of its long beak and covered in a mane of brown lion's fur.

"A Griffin..."

The massive bundle was stuffed full of the Griffin's most valuable body parts.

Roy's lips moved slightly.

"You spent over a month hunting a Griffin... was it to prepare Pre-medication for me?"

A flicker of gratitude stirred in his heart. The man had actually gone off to take on a Griffin alone.

Griffins were proud, troublesome Monsters with keen senses, powerful bodies, claws and beaks as hard as steel, and no obvious weaknesses. They posed a lethal threat to any Witcher.

Roy also felt a twinge of regret. Even if he couldn't have joined the fight, witnessing it up close would have been a priceless experience.

"Were you hurt?"

"The process had its twists, but the outcome was perfect." Letho shook his head. "Come on. I'll teach you how to break down these materials, and see if you've been slacking off lately."