The Tavern and Gwent

Beneath the night sky over Kaye Village, the lights were out in nine out of every ten homes. The men slept with their arms around their wives, while the children gazed out at the sky through their windows, counting sheep. With a torch in hand and a rusty steel sword at his side, the night watchman, Thompson, began patrolling the entire village, driving off any beasts or bandits that might have come prowling—and raising the alarm if need be.

The only places still brightly lit were the village chief's house and the shabby little tavern in the center of the village—the Old Captain Tavern.

Every so often, a vigorous bachelor who hadn't yet settled down or had children would come here to while away the time with a drink. When the mood struck, he'd call over the tavern keeper, One-Eyed Jack, a man with a thick black beard who loved to boast about his days at sea in Skellig, back when he was young, and challenge him to a game of Gwent.

Under the candlelight and glow of the fireplace, a handful of figures sat scattered around the Old Captain Tavern.

Roy stood before the Gwent board, his eyes shining as he gazed at the neat stack of cards.

These were the real deal!

Gwent had originally been invented by dwarves looking for a way to pass the time. But its simple rules and varied, entertaining gameplay had soon won everyone over. Nobles and common folk alike enjoyed playing a few rounds after a meal.

The cards featured images of popular legendary figures.

For instance, Emperor Enzhir of Nilfgaard, King Foltest of Temeria, Demavend, the crowned king of Aedirn, and Queen Meve, the beautiful ruler of Leria and Livia...

Each Gwent card was painstakingly crafted by dwarves using their exceptional skills. The illustrations and materials were beyond reproach, making the cards virtually impossible to counterfeit. The rarest ones, made by dwarf masters, were miniature works of art.

A standard Gwent card cost one or two crowns, and general stores in various places usually stocked at least a few. But certain rare cards could buy you a house in Aedirn's capital, Fangerburg, and few collectors were willing to part with them.

Roy had been watching for a while. The games had featured Nilfgaard, Northern Realms, and Skellig decks, but he hadn't seen a single Monster or Scoia'tael card. Monster cards were all rare, while the Scoia'tael...

At this point in the timeline, the Northern Wars had yet to begin. The Scoia'tael, who would help Nilfgaard attack the northern humans in strike teams, had yet to make a name for themselves. Naturally, there were no Scoia'tael decks yet.

The Scoia'tael deck probably wouldn't be added to the Gwent pool by some dwarf master until after the Northern Wars.

"Roy, why aren't you home asleep at this hour? What are you doing wandering around the tavern?" One-Eyed Jack's large, hairy hand was just about to come down on Roy's head when Roy nimbly sidestepped it.

Roy gave him a winsome smile. He was only thirteen, after all; there was no shame in acting cute if it worked. "Uncle Jack, I'm waiting for Brandon. He promised to let me try some fruit wine tonight." In truth, he was there to keep his promise and teach Brandon a simple magic trick he'd learned online before crossing over.

But now he had a way to make some money, too. No longtime Witcher 3 player could escape becoming addicted to Gwent.

One-Eyed Jack's weather-beaten, wrinkled face broke into an ugly grin. "That little fatty steals money from home to drink every few days. Good thing I water down his fruit wine. Otherwise, old Fletcher would've smelled the booze on his breath and beaten his backside black and blue. Don't you go learning bad habits from him!" As he spoke, a glint flashed in his single eye, and he deftly tossed a pale Gwent card onto the board.

At the same time, his opponent's face turned pale!

"Take this—Frostbite! All melee units become one! Hah! Thirty-five to twenty. Old Olt, this round's mine!"

A pile of copper coins clattered onto the table beside Jack.

The farmer across from him looked glum. "My luck tonight's worse than Covir's salted fish. I'm done!" With that, he slipped out the door.

Roy seized the opportunity to fill the empty seat, and he and One-Eyed Jack stared each other down.

"Find somewhere else to sit. My old buddy's almost here, and today I'm going to bankrupt him. I'll leave him with nothing but his underpants!"

"Uncle Jack, we're just sitting around anyway. Why not let me play you? We can call it a warm-up before the real game."

Jack shook his head. "You have Gwent cards?" What ten-year-old had the money to collect them?

"Who in the whole village doesn't know that Jack the old captain is a Gwent collector? You've got such a huge collection—you must have duplicates. Be a good sport and lend me enough to make a deck, would you?" Roy clasped his hands together and gazed at him hopefully.

"Whatever happened to that shy, adorable little boy? Why'd he suddenly have the village bricklayer plaster his face with cement?" Jack sighed and raised a hand as if to slap him, but then seemed to remember something and paused.

"Consider it a favor I owe you... You can borrow them, but old Jack doesn't play Gwent without stakes. Let's get one thing straight: if you lose a round, you'll clean the tavern once."

"What if I win?"

"One crown."

"Wasn't it two crowns a round just now?"

Before old Jack could glare at him and start blowing his top, Roy clapped a hand over his mouth.

Soon, he had a Northern Realms deck of thirty-five Gwent cards: thirty-one ordinary unit cards with a strength of no more than six, and four weather cards. There were no rare hero cards—not a single one.

The cards felt wonderful in his hands. Their surfaces were smoother than a girl's skin, and he almost didn't want to let go.

Roy had no idea what cards One-Eyed Jack had in his own hand.

The game began. At some point, Brandon had sneaked over to the table, where he watched alongside a muscular man over six foot four—one meter ninety—with dark reddish skin.

The two quietly watched the game unfold.

At first, Roy played slowly, taking his time with each card, while Jack stood with his arms crossed, looking nonchalant as he played at lightning speed.

Just as expected, Roy lost two games in a row.

As time passed and one game followed another, the tables turned completely. Jack stared fixedly at the board, playing with increasing difficulty. His face darkened with every move.

"You little bastard! You're cheating!"

Half an hour later, Jack roared and sprang to his feet. The muscles in his face were taut, his cheeks red, and he looked like a raging lion.

But a brawny arm, its muscles hard as rock, quickly pushed him back into his seat.

"Boss, I've been keeping an eye on him the whole time. I swear the kid didn't cheat!"

Pusig looked utterly certain, but a smile he couldn't quite conceal tugged at his lips. He was glad to see his old boss, who always beat him, get taken down a peg!

Roy gave the sturdy, red-haired man a grateful look.

The man was Pusig, a blacksmith living in Kaye Village who repaired farm tools for the villagers. Roy had heard that Pusig used to be a sailor aboard One-Eyed Jack's ship. The two of them had run a cargo ship in the Skellig Islands, and after Jack retired, Pusig had followed him to settle in the countryside of Aedirn. But Pusig wasn't a local. He'd been born and raised in Skellig, and he was a very straightforward, fearless man.

"Little Roy, you should be thanking the horse that knocked you over!" Pusig gave him a pat on the head. "Before, you were like a pampered little girl. Now you've finally got a bit of man in you."

Back to Gwent: in half an hour and eight games, One-Eyed Jack had lost five rounds. A "fortune" of five crowns had piled up in front of Roy—more than an apprentice could earn in a month of work.

"Unbelievable! Goddess Melitele above, are you really so fond of this brat? My hand was two whole tiers better than his, yet I lost five rounds. No amount of skill can explain that!"

One-Eyed Jack was still unwilling to accept it. He glared fiercely at Roy, who wiped away an imaginary bead of sweat and wondered if he'd been too reckless.

He really had been cheating, using his Storage Space again. Each time, he'd secretly stashed two weather cards away, then, at just the right moment during the game, quietly swapped them for cards in his hand. Freezing all the strength his opponent had painstakingly built up felt amazing.

"I'm just lucky!" Roy tried to keep his voice steady. "No one in Gwent is more blessed by the Goddess of Fortune than I am."

"Damn it!" Jack slammed his fist against the wall. "If that hateful female thief Sasha hadn't stolen my 'Mysterious Elf' a few days ago, you never would've beaten me!"

Sasha?

Roy visibly froze at the name. He suspected he'd encountered this character while playing the game, but for the moment, he couldn't remember.

Then little fatty Brandon's eyes darted about, and he called out loudly, "Sasha—is she the woman who rode into Roy on a horse last time?"

At that, One-Eyed Jack suddenly quieted down. "Forget it. If I hadn't chased after that woman, she wouldn't have panicked and crashed into Roy. I'll let you off the hook for today."

Roy understood. No wonder Jack had said he owed him and agreed to lend him the Gwent cards. The whole thing had started because One-Eyed Jack's rare card collection had attracted a thief. That was what had led to Roy being hit by the horse—and transformed.

"Little Roy, come play me again at this time tomorrow. I refuse to believe you'll keep getting this lucky. Sooner or later, I'll catch you cheating!"

Roy readily agreed. He'd made five crowns in just half an hour. Why would he turn down a sucker who was practically begging to be taken for a ride? This old captain was every bit as addicted to Gwent as the dwarves who'd gambled away everything they owned.

Brandon joined in, tugging at his sleeve. "Roy, Roy, hurry up and teach me that magic trick!" As he spoke, he fished a handful of fragrant, slightly sweet yellow snacks out of his belt pouch and stuffed them into Roy's mouth.

"Mmph... These are pork cracklings. Are they good?"

"Whenever Fletcher slaughters a pig, he renders some cracklings for snacks. Teach me the trick, and I'll bring you snacks every day."

Looking at Brandon's innocent, childish, chubby face, Roy smiled and couldn't resist smoothing down a lock of hair sticking up on his head.

"Let's get started. I still have to go home and sleep in a bit."