The Gradually Withering Witcher

Long ago, a maverick mage named Cosimo Malaspina concocted a mutagenic elixir in the laboratories beneath Kaer Morhen.

After Cosimo, his student Alzur—a powerful mage renowned throughout history—continued refining the elixir. Using magic to control the progression of the mutation stages, he successfully created large numbers of witchers.

But at some point after Alzur, the legacy was severed, and all the magical knowledge and power vanished with it. Though the witchers still had herbs and the Trial of the Grasses, still had laboratories, and still knew the elixir formulas, they no longer had mages who understood how to control the mutations.

Thus, the mortality rate of the Trial of the Grasses remained unbearably high from then on.

Until now. The dust-covered bottles and jars in the laboratory, the stills and furnaces... all were revitalized in the hands of their new master, Victor.

Fifteen days after the first snowfall—Snowy Night

"See this bowl? These are the beggar's tick mushrooms we ground up yesterday. After fermenting overnight with bear fat and formic acid, they turned into this. Now we mash the Endrega embryos into paste, mix them evenly with the beggar's tick mushroom we just took out, then pour boiling dwarven spirit over it while it's still hot. Filter out the liquid, then chill it for one minute."

"Isn't it beautiful?" Victor lifted the crystal-clear, emerald-green Thunderbolt after chilling it and handed it to Lambert, who had been waiting nearby. Deliberately lowering his voice, he said, "Drink, witcher! This is your destiny." Even if no one understood it, that did not stop him from making the reference and entertaining himself.

Ignoring Victor's strange tone, Lambert had gradually become immune these past few days to the bizarre humor from east of Zerrikania.

He downed the Thunderbolt potion made through the so-called improved process in one gulp. His face turned deathly pale, his pupils dilated and bloodshot, his breathing became shallow, and his heartbeat accelerated. Adrenaline surged through him, filling his entire body with strength.

Feeling the potion's effects within his body, he pumped his fist excitedly. "Damn it! I know I said this yesterday, but I'm saying it again today—Crown above, you little brat, you're a damn genius! No wonder the old man handed the whole laboratory over to you."

Victor merely smiled. Once he got used to it, Lambert's profanity had a certain charm to it. Really, aside from his bad temper, foul mouth, arrogance, and love of arguing, he was pretty easy to get along with. At least, Victor did not find him difficult.

"The toxicity's been reduced by about a quarter, but the effect hasn't weakened at all. Vic, this stuff is incredible. Maybe you could make a few more bottles for old Lambert?"

"Of course. But including yesterday's Blizzard potion, I'll need a little help—some fresh ingredients... You understand?"

"Oh! Young Master Victor, you know that though it's freezing outside, old Lambert is always happy to serve you." As he said this, he deliberately bent at the waist in an exaggerated bow, like a butler greeting a noble.

Victor did not stand on ceremony either. Affecting the manner of a nobleman, he daintily pinched a slip of paper between the tips of his index and middle fingers and handed it over. "Here's the list of materials I need. I'll leave it to you, Butler Lambert."

It had to be said that people truly did have affinities with one another. It made some people feel as though they had known each other forever from the moment they met, while others remained strangers despite knowing each other for years. The past half month had proven that Victor shared no shallow bond with the two witchers who had returned home.

Victor yawned and rose to his feet. "All right, time to go back to my room and sleep."

"Hey! It's still early, isn't it? Aren't you going to make something else and broaden my horizons?" The potion's effects had clearly left Lambert with excess energy.

Victor put out the fire and rinsed the residue from the filter. "No. I need to sleep at least six hours every day. At my age, I should really be getting eight. Go find Eskel and play with him instead."

Lambert was somewhat annoyed at being refused, and could not help unleashing his sharp tongue. "Fine, fine, go sleep, you milk-drinking little brat!"

But it had no effect on Victor. "I drink milk, and I'm proud of it. Warm milk helps me sleep better, grow taller, and have thicker hair."

The key words in Victor's reply made Lambert freeze. By the time he realized he had been mocked, Victor had already gone far away.

"Dogshit, does milk really work? Hey! Herbal master, besides drinking milk, do you have any other good advice?"

"How about adding half an hour of stretching exercises before bed?"

With only two more people, Kaer Morhen had become far livelier. While Victor and Lambert bickered in the alchemy laboratory, Eskel and Vesemir sat chatting beside the fire in the main hall.

"Victor from Bell Town, east of Zerrikania, is truly an extraordinary boy. I can understand why Master dared to let him hunt alone. Aside from his body not being fully grown, his ability to act and handle himself fully rivals that of an adult."

After using the poker to adjust the firewood in the hearth, Eskel settled back into his recliner, took a sip of cream beer, and let out a satisfied burp. "His skill at making furniture alone is anything but ordinary."

Vesemir did not respond. He had no way to explain that this recliner had been boiled out of the massive cauldron in the backyard a few months ago. He had watched Victor throw in piles of wood scraps, rotten timber, and weeds, stir them together, then turn decay into wonder by boiling up a beechwood recliner.

That sight had truly made him sigh that if one lived long enough, one might see anything.

After that, Victor had clearly been plotting all along. He relentlessly pushed for a complete replacement of the furniture, and in only a few short days, raised the quality of life in the old castle from poor to middle-class.

Life afterward had undoubtedly become more comfortable, but furniture that belonged in an upper-middle-class residence needed an explanation for appearing here. So before winter arrived, the two of them agreed to explain it with "Victor, master carpenter."

They had even fabricated Bell Town east of Zerrikania as his birthplace. After being brought here by Ciri, he happened to be following the local custom that required young people to spend several years training away from home, so there was no rush for him to return.

In any case, even people from Zerrikania were rare in this era. Anything farther east was simply impossible to verify.

Faintly hearing Victor and Lambert bickering, followed by the sound of Victor going upstairs and shutting his door, Eskel smiled. "He's such a likable lad. His gifts, abilities, and temperament are all first-rate, but I still find it hard to imagine why Master placed his trust in him so quickly."

Taking out a pipe, packing it with tobacco, and lighting it, Vesemir smoked at his leisure. "Heh heh, there are really only two reasons. The first one, you know already—it's Ciri.

"If you could have seen the expression on her face when she entrusted Victor to me, Geralt might have wanted to draw his sword and cut Victor down, while Lambert would have laughed at Ciri for a long time. They've only lived together for half a year, but I'd dare say Ciri would be willing to live with Victor until the end of the world."

Eskel raised an eyebrow. "Love? How old is he?"

"When she brought him here, she probably simply saw him as a younger brother. But now that they've been separated, who knows? Time can catalyze many things into different forms. Victor's height now, for example, is vastly different from what it was half a year ago."

The snow outside the window grew heavier, and the howl of the cold wind could be faintly heard. Yet with the newly replaced window frames and lattices dutifully holding the line, the main hall—which had once leaked drafts from every side—was as warm as spring this year.

"And the second reason?"

Vesemir smiled with a chuckle. "That happened on our first day together. After reading the introductions about us on the bookshelf, he said he respected us... respected our struggle against monsters."

Eskel's hand paused as he held his cup.

Vesemir continued, "Though he refused to become a formal apprentice, when he spoke of respect, I could feel that he meant it sincerely."

The fire crackled. Eskel took a drink of beer and wiped his mouth.

The fire crackled. Vesemir narrowed his eyes and exhaled a ring of smoke.

"Winter will pass soon enough. What happens next spring? Will you stay here and keep training him, Master?"

"No. Though he hasn't said anything yet, I have a feeling he'll leave this place next spring."