Do You Want to Learn? I'll Teach You

"Although I would love for you to begin your research right now—" The witcher shrugged, gripping the donkey's reins as he walked along the road. "—I'm afraid I have to deal with this Kikimore first."

"Hmm, a Kikimore." He Shenyan looked with interest at the giant monster, which resembled a spider. Its dark brown carapace was rough and uneven, one of its four long legs was missing, and two rows of sharp spikes grew along its back.

"What? You're interested in it too? I'm afraid I have to take this thing to the local mage's tower first and let him have a look." The witcher said casually.

"I'm not interested in it. To be honest, I think such ugly monsters should be exterminated." He Shenyan's words made the witcher turn his head in surprise. He said, "Kikimores are ugly, but there are things uglier than them. I don't think you have the time to kill them all one by one."

"What, you took that seriously?" He Shenyan said with a smile, following behind the witcher with his hands behind his back.

"Mages usually don't joke," Geralt said.

"Well, like I said, I'm a bit different."

Geralt remained noncommittal.

They arrived at the foot of the granite tower. A large door knocker hung on a grayish-white wooden door decorated with rose-colored patterns, shaped like a flat, bulging-eyed fish head. It held a copper ring in its sharp-toothed mouth. Geralt silently gave the taste of this Master Iliom, whom he had never met, a low score. He stepped forward and said, "Excuse me, is Master Iliom home?"

After a long moment, the fish head moved its tooth-filled jaw, spat out a puff of vapor, and said in a dull voice, "Master Iliom is not receiving guests. Wait! Wait! Who are you?!"

The fish head's eyes suddenly moved, staring fixedly at the man in the black robe standing behind the witcher.

He Shenyan offered an innocent smile, looking at Geralt for an explanation. The witcher turned away, annoyed, intending to leave this bizarre tower and put the fish head out of his mind.

A completely different voice suddenly emerged from the fish head's mouth: "Stop! Please turn around! Aha, it's you, Geralt! Who is that gentleman with you?"

Geralt glanced at He Shenyan, deciding to let him introduce himself. He gestured for him to proceed. He Shenyan smiled; he didn't speak, but simply stood where he was and snapped his fingers.

The door swung open on its own, revealing thick darkness behind it. He Shenyan gestured for Geralt to enter. The witcher couldn't tell if this was two mages competing, but he was more concerned about whether that Kikimore could be traded for some coin. Gold bars couldn't be used in a tavern; they had to be exchanged for currency at a dwarven bank in a big city.

The fish head let out a brief whimper and vanished in a puff of blue smoke. Geralt led the donkey inside the dark tower with He Shenyan. In an instant, a brand-new landscape unfolded before them.

The orchard was in full bloom with white and pink flowers, overflowing with the scent of rain. A colorful rainbow split the sky in two, connecting the lush treetops to the distant blue mountains. A neat little cottage sat in the middle of the orchard, surrounded by dense hollyhocks. Geralt looked down and found himself standing in knee-deep thyme.

He Shenyan said in the tone of a critic, "Passing grade."

"What does that mean?"

"It means he's doing alright with this kind of low-level illusion. At least he's not a charlatan who only knows a couple of parlor tricks. Consider this me verifying the goods for you. Don't mention it."

Well, even though he claimed to be a special kind of mage, they were identical when it came to arrogance, Geralt thought to himself.

A voice said, "Oh! How did you—never mind, it doesn't matter. My good sir! Please, come over! I have prepared fine wine! Right in front of the house!"

They walked into the orchard, weaving through the trees. Geralt's keen senses detected movement to his left. He turned his head and saw a completely naked blonde girl carrying a basket full of apples walking through the bushes. The witcher watched the girl's retreating back intently, staring without pause. He Shenyan said lightly beside him, "Stop looking, that's a scarecrow."

"What?"

"Just an illusion, my friend."

The witcher promised himself that no matter what happened next, he would not be surprised again.

"Finally, you've arrived! Greetings, my good sir! And you, Geralt, my old friend."

"Stregobor!" Geralt was still taken aback.

In his long life, he had seen thieves who acted like councilors, councilors who acted like beggars, prostitutes who acted like princesses, princesses who acted like cows, and kings who acted like thieves. But Stregobor always—by any standard or concept—looked like a mage. He was tall and thin, slightly hunched, with extremely thick brown eyebrows and a long, hooked nose. He always wore a black robe that dragged on the ground, a detail that hadn't changed even after years of not seeing him.

The sleeves of his robe were exaggeratedly wide, and he held a long staff topped with a crystal. Every mage Geralt knew was different from Stregobor, but the surprising fact remained: he was a genuine, authentic mage.

They arrived at the porch surrounded by hollyhocks and sat down on wicker chairs beside a white marble table. The blonde girl with the apple basket walked up, smiled, then turned and walked toward the orchard, her waist swaying. Geralt continued to stare at her intently.

"My good sir, please forgive my lack of a proper welcome. May I ask what brings you here?" Stregobor's enthusiastic attitude made Geralt realize something. He didn't rush to talk about his Kikimore, but instead watched the blonde girl continuing to pick apples in the flower field in silence, listening closely to their conversation.

"Nothing much, I'm just wandering around."

"I understand, I understand. Someone with your immense magical power must have their own purposes. Old Stregobor is merely a second-rate mage."

"Ha!" He Shenyan let out a loud laugh.

He pointed at the blonde girl and said, "This is not something a second-rate mage could do, Mr. Stregobor. No need to probe, and no need to be overly humble. Just talk to me normally. I am not the type to despise everything once I have gained power. As you can see, I am—"

He snapped his fingers, and the girl transformed into a red-haired woman wearing tight black leather, with fiery red lips and a face more beautiful than any princess Geralt had ever seen, not to mention her figure. Just as both Stregobor and Geralt stared with wide eyes, they heard He Shenyan say, "—also quite well-versed in this."

Stregobor forced himself to regain his composure. He said dryly, "Er, my good sir, please forgive me. But you—you, how did you just do that?"

He Shenyan looked at the old man and said softly, "Want to learn? I'll teach you."