Three days later.
On the balcony, the black-haired boy stood tall in a white cotton shirt.
A brown container sat before him, planted with a small silver herb. Its stalk drooped, its vitality waning.
Under [Alchemy Perception], a faint silver halo radiated from the moonlight grass. Its magic was severely depleted.
Without the aid of its magic, Arwen feared he would have fallen to Old Spearhead's fists.
He moved his right hand and murmured a spell, gathering a stream of water in the brown growing dish.
The dry black soil grew moist. Like a drought-stricken plant receiving long-awaited rain, the moonlight grass's silver halo became lively.
He had specially brought it from the underground growing chamber at Kaer Morhen.
Arwen murmured to himself, "According to the Handbook of Magical Plants, as long as its magic hasn't been completely drained, moonlight grass can still slowly recover its magic by absorbing moonlight."
[Herbal Alchemy experience +1!]
Arwen glanced at the panel.
[Herbal Alchemy Lv2: 685/1000]
After a year and a half, the progress bar was well over halfway full.
He stretched, looked ahead, and took a breath of fresh air.
Tissaia de Vries had chosen the room with great care. The balcony offered a perfect view of Kaer Morhen's front courtyard and the winding Blue Mountains, magnificent beneath white clouds and snow.
"Knock, knock, knock..."
Someone knocked on the door.
Arwen went to open it.
Paul stood at the door, clean and tidy from head to toe, looking nothing like his usual self during their apprenticeship.
"Come on, you're the only one missing."
Arwen smiled. Vesemir had arranged a banquet tonight to celebrate Arwen and the others successfully obtaining their witcher medallions.
"Let's go."
Arwen stepped out and closed the door.
Paul said excitedly, "Arwen, do you know what Vesemir has arranged for tonight?"
"What?"
"Brown bear meat! A whole bear, and venison too. Vesemir hunted them in the mountains half a month ago."
"Oh, and East of East from Toussaint, Champion beer from Vizima, dwarven mead, and whisky."
Arwen sounded slightly surprised.
"Brown bear meat? This is the time of year when they fatten up. Master Vesemir must have had to put in some effort."
"East of East from Toussaint-that's an incredibly precious wine."
"Heh, you even know that? I think that's what Vesemir said. He said he was practically bringing out everything he'd stashed away."
"Do you know why?"
"Why?"
Paul cleared his throat and imitated Vesemir's voice.
"Damn it, all five of you passed this Trial of the Mountains. That's never happened in any previous group of apprentices. I'm throwing a grand banquet. Lads, you're allowed to get thoroughly drunk tonight."
"Anyway, we broke the record! Arwen, it's thanks to you that Vesemir decided to hold this lavish banquet to commemorate this moment."
"Tonight, we're definitely getting you so drunk you can't walk."
Arwen rubbed his nose and smiled helplessly.
Evening came.
Vesemir stood and raised his wooden cup.
The orange-red firelight illuminated his weathered old face.
"Lads, to your health. Cheers!"
"To our health!"
After several cups of strong liquor, the banquet gradually grew lively. Everyone spoke of the future, while some complained, red-eyed, about the hardships of the past few years.
Some mourned Blyde and thanked Arwen for killing the Foglet to avenge him. Others sighed in uncertainty.
The voices around the wooden table grew quieter and quieter...
Thud!
Arwen glanced at Paul beside him, who had been determined to drink him under the table. Paul lay slumped over it, his mouth greasy from eating, mumbling nonsense.
He had drunk quite a lot himself, but with the mental power boost from [Dual Souls], he forcibly suppressed his drunkenness.
His gaze moved to Vesemir across from him. As the head of their family and a veteran of many drinking bouts, this amount of alcohol was no challenge to him.
He nodded. "Eskel, take them back to their rooms."
"Arwen, come with me."
The two passed through the spiral staircase and reached the second floor.
Vesemir opened an iron door. A thick smell of sword oil wafted from the dim room.
"Have you settled on tomorrow?"
Arwen nodded. "Yes. It's almost October. I want to leave before heavy snow seals off the mountains. That way, it'll be easier to reach the main road and find a town or an inn."
Vesemir sighed. "There comes a day when a young eagle's wings are fully grown, and it wants to leave the nest and soar. I understand."
"If it were Aiken, Paul, or the others, I wouldn't agree. But Arwen, I respect your decision."
"Go on. Choose your own silver sword and steel sword."
Arwen entered the room, his gray eyes gleaming like a cat's at night.
The room was filled with weapon racks, every slot holding a longsword coated in protective oil.
"The silver swords are on the left, and the steel swords are on the right. Start with the silver swords."
Arwen strode forward and reached for the nearest hilt.
"Phew..."
He took a deep breath and focused, activating [Blade Perception].
[School of the Wolf Witcher Silver Sword: a silver sword held in the Kaer Morhen armory, with a silver-plated steel core and elven runes inscribed on the blade. Fifteen flaws. Overall length: thirty-eight inches. Blade length: twenty-five inches. Weight: forty ounces. Center of balance: one inch ahead of the guard. Suitable for slashing.]
"Not much different from the silver swords I used before."
He reached for another.
The information came through, much the same as before.
He went through five weapon racks and thirty-four silver swords, but not one struck Arwen as outstanding.
Vesemir said quietly, "Child, over all these years, every witcher who left Kaer Morhen took a silver sword with him. The good ones were picked long ago."
"Besides, making a silver sword is a complicated process. Producing even one is no easy feat."
"And every blacksmith in the world knows that only witchers use silver swords. How many witchers can they meet in their entire lives?"
"So there are even fewer master blacksmiths who know how to make silver swords."
"Even my own silver sword was made by a gnome through a chance encounter."
Arwen sighed after hearing this. "I was being greedy."
With that, he picked up a School of the Wolf Witcher Silver Sword with only eleven flaws. "This one, then."
Vesemir's catlike pupils narrowed, and he chuckled. "Well, you've got a sharp eye, lad. That's the best of all the silver swords here."
"Go on, there's still your steel sword. I'll rebind the guard on this one's hilt for you."
Arwen murmured his assent and went to the steel sword section.
The variety of weapons here was visibly greater.
Two-handed knightly swords, one-handed swords...
"This is..." Arwen gripped a black wooden hilt. With its semicircular enclosed guard and curved blade, it looked just like a Persian scimitar from Blue Star.
Information came through from [Blade Perception].
[Zerrikania Mercenary Scimitar: a single-edged, curved scimitar forged by a traveling craftsman from eastern Zerrikania. Thirty-seven forging impurities. Overall length: thirty-seven inches. Blade length: thirty inches. Weight: thirty-two ounces. Center of balance: four inches ahead of the guard. Suitable for mounted slashing and swift cuts in combat on foot.]
"Zerrikania, also known by an alternate form of that name, is a mysterious country that reveres dragons."
"To get there, you have to cross the Blue Mountains to the east, then pass through an endless desert."
"I didn't expect to find even a blade like this here. Steel swords really are much easier to obtain than silver swords."
"But this doesn't suit me. It's too light."
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a long gray object resting alone on the innermost weapon rack.
Its blade was broad, and with the hilt included, it was nearly as long as he was tall. The other steel swords looked dainty beside it.
Arwen's heart skipped a beat. He strode over and examined it closely.
The double-fullered blade had no fancy patterns, exuding an ancient, brutal air.
Above it were a heavy octagonal guard and a hilt wrapped in animal hide.
He reached out and gripped the hilt. Its weight bore down on him at once, veins bulging along his forearm as he lifted it from the weapon rack.
Holding the sword horizontally before him, he used his left hand to wipe the dust from its blade with the oiled cloth at his waist. The [Giant Bloodline] within him pulsed in response.
[School of the Wolf Witcher Greatsword: forged by Bernjof of Kaer Morhen from smelted meteoric iron. Three forging impurities. Overall length: fifty-six inches. Blade length: thirty-eight inches. Weight: one hundred and twenty ounces. Center of balance: four inches ahead of the guard. Suitable for heavy cleaves and sweeping strikes. Comes with an armor-piercing effect.]