The night was pitch-black, and the calls of owls drifted through the pine forest.
In the Troll mountains, Vesemir and Eskel rode side by side through the ancient forest.
Hooves stepped over moss-covered green rocks. Blackthorn bushes grew thick around them, and the wind swept through their hair.
"Old man, I remember there were six apprentices at Kaer Morhen when I went down the mountain, weren't there?"
Vesemir lifted a branch blocking his path. After a moment of silence, he spoke in an even tone.
"Blyde. He was the son of a prostitute in the Kingdom of Kaedwen."
"Poor fellow. He never knew who his father was, and his mother abandoned him. On the fifth day after this year's summer solstice, he died at the hands of a monster."
He sighed. "The boy was fiercely competitive, but far too reckless. By the time I found him, he was already dead."
Hearing the name, Eskel recalled a gray-haired boy with fairly delicate features.
He vaguely remembered Blyde stealing bread from the kitchen out of hunger during [The Choice]. When Eskel caught him, he had given him a harsh dressing-down.
His mutated body suppressed the sorrow within him.
He had seen far too many companions' corpses.
The two crossed a narrow path formed by a fallen tree, one after the other, as the stream rushed noisily below.
Vesemir glanced at the stars overhead. "We're not far from the Circle of Elements. Eskel, how many apprentices do you think will make it here this year?"
Eskel tightened his grip on the reins and picked up the pace a little.
"According to the witchers' records from previous years, one or two."
Vesemir chuckled.
Eskel hesitated for a moment. "Am I wrong?"
Vesemir did not answer.
Eskel frowned, recalling the black-haired boy he had met on the banks of the White Stone River earlier that day.
"Arwen? Is it because of him?"
Vesemir turned his head. "Oh? What makes you think that?"
"He killed a Water Hag down the mountain. I examined the wounds. Very clean, very practiced. If it weren't for the missing witcher medallion, I would have thought it was your work or Geralt's."
"That boy is levelheaded," Vesemir said. "He never does anything he isn't confident of."
"He's also the strongest of the five apprentices, yet he never fights over anything. He's even willing to share the experience he gains from his daily training."
"Do you remember Aiken?"
"That blond, green-eyed brat? Of course I remember him. He once challenged me with a wooden sword, spouting something about knightly honor. I beat him until he was rolling around on the ground."
"Heh. Even a troublemaker like him is utterly convinced of Arwen's worth."
"Witchers aren't solitary hunters. They're a united wolf pack."
"Mere Drowners no longer pose a threat to them. As long as they don't anger Old Spearhead, I believe all of them can succeed."
Eskel was surprised. He rarely saw Vesemir hold anyone in such high regard.
"You mean he has the potential to lead Kaer Morhen, just like you?"
Vesemir snorted. "One trip down the mountain, and you've even learned how to flatter people."
"Heh. Here's to your good health."
"You damned brat. Keep talking like that, and you can come kiss my ass."
They both laughed. Vesemir squeezed his horse's flanks with his legs and looked toward the platform built from granite not far ahead.
"We're at the Circle of Elements." Eskel raised his head.
"Mm."
Two pairs of amber cat eyes turned toward the lake below the mountain.
In the pitch-black night, five youths in black leather jackets walked along the lake's edge.
The water reached their knees, and every step sent rings of ripples across its surface.
Killer Lake was also an unavoidable part of the route to the summit of Troll and the Circle of Elements, and it teemed with monsters.
But as long as they stayed out of the deep water in the center, they would encounter only low-level monsters like Drowners.
Arwen walked at the head of the group, forming a triangle with Paul and Horton as the vanguard clearing the way.
Aiken and Winston followed side by side, ready to fill any gaps and guard the rear.
The five kept scanning their surroundings with their cat eyes. Their silver swords had already been coated with necrophage oil and were stained with plenty of foul Drowner blood.
Dense reeds swayed in the autumn wind, and several pairs of eerie green eyes peered out from among them.
"Hrr! Hrr!"
A blue shadow lunged out, and silver light descended.
A Drowner's head fell into the water with a splash.
Arwen's expression remained calm. Several more splashes followed as the teammates behind him cut down the Drowners trying to break through their formation.
Crimson blood dyed the lake water red. Without stopping, the group advanced steadily.
After a year of working together, the five had grown increasingly coordinated. It took them only an hour to reach the opposite shore of Killer Lake.
Arwen looked toward a clearing beneath the pines ahead with his cat eyes, then glanced at the sky.
Dark clouds blanketed the sky, hiding the moon, but he could still roughly tell that it was just midnight.
He raised a fist, and everyone stopped.
"We're ahead of the time we estimated in our plan."
"We'll rest here for an hour. Eat a little dry food, apply sword oil if you need it, and check your [Cat] potions to make sure none are missing. We'll be entering the cave soon."
Aiken and the others immediately did as he said.
Arwen surveyed their surroundings. Even the slightest rustle would put him on alert.
Finally, his gaze settled on a pitch-black cave in the distance.
That was Old Spearhead's home.
There was no telling how many generations of apprentices had died at the hands of Old Spearhead, a Cyclops.
Some had simply been unlucky, while others had overestimated themselves.
Although he had a system, he knew his limits. With his current strength, he was absolutely no match for Old Spearhead.
The right thing to do was wait patiently until Old Spearhead fell sound asleep in the latter half of the night, then sneak past using the night vision granted by the [Cat] potion.
As for the Cyclops mutagen, tempting as it was, he still had to stay alive to enjoy it.
Better to grind experience like crazy first, then come back to defeat the stronger foe and claim it once he was completely confident.
As a transmigrator, why take risks? Minimizing risk is the right way.
"Arwen!"
Paul's voice pulled Arwen from his thoughts.
"Damn it, look over there." Paul pointed toward the summit.
Arwen focused his cat eyes in that direction.
At the summit, an enormous bank of fog swept rapidly toward the foot of the mountain like an avalanche.
"Fog's rolling in."
Arwen frowned, inwardly sensing trouble.
Fog would not only impair their vision but also give rise to terrifying monsters, greatly reducing the group's safety.
"Boohoo..."
A mournful sob suddenly rang out, making everyone's heart skip a beat.
"Aiken... boohoo... where are you?"
"It's so dark here... I'm so scared..."
"Someone save me... I'm so cold..."
Hearing the voice, Arwen's still gray cat eyes narrowed to pinpoints, and his hand instinctively tightened around his sword hilt.
He softly uttered a single word.
"Foglet!"