Maybe I Can Help

Kraun's house, backyard.

The space was small, measuring only about ten square meters.

He had already tidied up, with the miscellaneous items piled together.

"Big Brother, you'd better be careful. I won't hold back. When it comes to earning money, I have to maintain a professional attitude."

Alan said with a grin, waving his training sword.

"Then you'd better put some effort into it!"

As soon as Kraun finished speaking, he lunged toward the boy.

Alan stepped back half a step and swung his sword to parry.

The moment they clashed, both were secretly startled.

Kraun was surprised that even though he had exerted eighty percent of his strength, the boy had parried it with ease.

Alan, on the other hand, was shocked that the force of the opponent's sword made the web between his thumb and index finger ache.

Although he was only thirteen, his physical fitness was already approaching the limit of an ordinary person; he only needed the necessary potions to undergo the Trial of the Grasses.

Big Brother is definitely not inferior to me in terms of physical fitness.

The boy's expression turned serious, his focus becoming as intense as when he trained with his teacher.

Kraun let go of all reservations and attacked with abandon, his swordsmanship sharp and agile.

Alan defended flawlessly, launching counterattacks from time to time that forced Kraun into a flurry of frantic movements.

An hour passed, and the two stopped to rest.

Kraun summoned the golden wall to check his training results.

Basic Swordsmanship: 724/5000; Tier 3
Cross Sword: 816/2000; Tier 2

Seeing that both skills had made significant progress, he felt a surge of joy: "This money was well spent!"

His Basic Swordsmanship proficiency had increased by over 100 points, and his Cross Sword by 60 points.

"Alan, how are you so strong?" Kraun ladled two bowls of herbal tea from the pot and handed one to the boy.

This was a herbal tea he had concocted himself, meant to clear heat, detoxify, promote fluid production, and quench thirst.

The boy took the large bowl, sniffed it, licked a drop, and then tilted his head back to drink it all.

Seeing his reaction, Kraun chuckled.

"So cautious—are you afraid I'd poison you?"

"Just habit. Witchers are immune to most poisons," the boy said righteously.

His expression quickly fell: "I haven't undergone my first Trial of the Grasses yet, so I don't count as a true Witcher."

"What exactly is the Trial of the Grasses? Is it some kind of mysterious ritual?"

Kraun guessed that this trial was similar to the ritual knights used to sublimate their life force.

"It's good. It tastes a bit bitter at first, but there's a hint of sweetness at the end," Alan said, setting down the bowl. "The Trial of the Grasses involves drinking a magical potion called 'Grasses.' This potion alters the apprentices' physiological structure, granting us greater strength and speed, as well as the ability to cast simple spells."

"Apprentices must undergo this trial to become true Witchers."

"Sounds similar to how other professions advance to the transcendent level."

"There are differences," Alan said, his eyes dimming. "Among all professional advancements, the most dangerous are those of the Witcher and the Spirit Controller. You should know this, Big Brother. The success rate for Witcher apprentices is only thirty to forty percent, and it's even lower for Spirit Controllers."

Kraun nodded slightly. He didn't know how orthodox Spirit Controllers achieved their status, but he knew that even with his specialized skills, he had barely survived his own ordeal.

If that night spent fighting the Evil Spirit for his life were to happen again, he wasn't sure he could be the one to have the last laugh.

"You haven't chosen to undergo the trial—is it because you aren't fully prepared?"

He became increasingly curious about Geralt's true strength. If Alan had such power before even undergoing the trial, enough to firmly suppress him—a cheater—he couldn't imagine how badly he would be crushed in a fight against a full-fledged Witcher.

Sometimes, a tiny increase in strength and speed yields vastly different results.

For instance, a wooden board requires a specific amount of impact to be broken; if you fall just short of that force, you simply cannot do it.

"Well, I reached the standard for the trial a year ago. I've improved even more since then, and I've pretty much tapped out my physical limits. I haven't undergone the trial because there is no suitable Alchemist to brew the Grasses Potion for us."

"For certain reasons, my teacher and I left Kaer Morhen, the holy land of Witchers. This potion requires a qualified Alchemist to brew. The Alchemists my teacher knows aren't confident in making this niche, Witcher-specific potion. We only have enough materials for two attempts, and she doesn't dare take the risk."

"Maybe I can help in the future. I'm already proficient in brewing transcendent-level potions like the Blood-Boiling Potion."

Alan offered a polite smile and said nothing.

I'm being looked down upon. Kraun didn't explain; the joy of a cheater is something others cannot imagine.

He finished his tea and stood up: "There's still an hour of training left. I'd better hurry."

Since he'd paid for it, he had to make the most of it!

The two resumed their sparring.

As they clashed again, Alan immediately felt the difference; the opponent's swordsmanship had become even more fluid and agile.

He had felt this way toward the end of their first sparring session, though he had dismissed it as an illusion at the time.

The boy focused his mind further, bringing out eighty to ninety percent of his true strength.

The door creaked open.

Geralt glanced over, continuing the movements he was already performing.

The Witcher wore only a pair of shorts, revealing perfectly defined muscles brimming with explosive power.

He was currently applying a red ointment to his body.

"How was it? Easy money this time, right? Help me with my back," he said, handing the ointment jar to his student.

"It wasn't easy," Alan replied, taking the jar and skillfully applying the salve to his teacher.

"At the start of the spar, I used seventy percent of my strength and felt like I had plenty to spare. By the end, I was using eighty or ninety percent, yet I still couldn't fully suppress him. My impression is that he is improving at every single moment. Teacher, do people like that really exist?"

Geralt straightened his back and pondered for a moment. "Perhaps it is an additional ability granted by his Spirit-Taming. If Kraun had possessed such talent from the start, the church priests would have discovered him long ago."

"His affairs aren't exactly secret. I learned from the innkeeper that his herbalist skills were originally quite mediocre, yet now, he is actually doing business with the Gisai merchants. The Gisai may be stingy and mean-spirited, but they have a sharp eye for talent."

Alan recalled the encounter for a moment and smiled. "The way you put it, I don't think his words of comfort to me were a joke."

"What did he say?"

"He said he could help refine Grasses Potion," the boy said, sealing the jar and patting his teacher on the shoulder. "All done. If his herbalism can progress as rapidly as his swordsmanship, then perhaps it really isn't impossible."

The Witcher looked out the window with a distant gaze and said softly, "Winter is almost upon us. We will be staying in this town until the ice and snow melt; we have time to wait and see."