Underwater breathing...
Arwen slowed his steps.
He surveyed his surroundings. The space was cramped, with a triangular dead end ahead, and he could see little lizards crawling through the gaps between the stone bricks.
This spot lay between Kaer Morhen's outer walls and the castle. It was secluded, and no one noticed him.
"Install."
Arwen said the word silently in his mind.
A white orb immediately filled the empty slot in the mutagen section, with a spectral image of a drowner at its center.
In an instant, a tingling sensation rose from his cheeks, and his muscles began to writhe as though they had come alive.
Arwen touched his face. His skin felt slightly rough, no different from usual.
"Phew..."
He silently breathed a sigh of relief.
If installing this drowner mutagen had given him gill-like features on his cheeks, he would probably have ended up lying in Kaer Morhen's laboratory before long.
Arwen did not linger. He resumed running around the walls.
With each breath, Arwen felt that his body had grown considerably lighter.
It was the boost from the drowner mutagen.
Arwen quietly assessed it. The overall effect was not great; at most, it felt as though he could shave a few seconds off a thousand-meter sprint.
His gaze shifted to the panel.
[Drowner mutagen (white) x1, remaining drowner mutagen: 25%] [Notice: upgrading the drowner mutagen requires drowner mutagen x10]
Arwen was not surprised. After all, when he had seen that he could obtain 125%, he had already considered the possibility that mutagens could be upgraded.
The small speed boost now did not mean it would stay that way. The future looked promising.
Besides, what he most looked forward to now were the mutagens dropped by other monsters.
How overpowered would mutagens from basilisks, wraiths, or even dragons be?
He finished fifteen laps.
Arwen washed his face, rested briefly, and walked through the castle doors. He sniffed slightly, and the smell of rotting wood filled his nose.
At the front left of the hall, a huge shaft of light shone in from outside, illuminating a heap of collapsed stone bricks.
The whole of Kaer Morhen had gone without repairs for a long time.
"Arwen, come over here!"
Paul and the other apprentices stood a short distance away.
Arwen quickened his pace slightly.
"Arwen, how did you do it? Just now, you actually killed four drowners all by yourself! Gods!"
Although Paul and the others had been punished with running laps, they had kept watching Arwen.
The bloody scene had been a powerful shock to their eyes.
Horton went straight up and hugged Arwen.
"My brother, if it weren't for you, I'd probably have been clawed by a drowner, just like Blyde."
Arwen briefly hugged him back, then quickly pulled away.
"I just got lucky. Geralt tossed me a silver sword."
At those words, Blyde silently lowered his head and looked at the bandages wrapped around his right hand.
Aiken folded his arms. "I told you, I clearly saw Geralt throw him a silver sword, but you wouldn't believe me."
"If I had a silver sword, I could do it too."
Everyone present exchanged glances at his words, and the atmosphere gradually grew charged.
Arwen looked into Aiken's hostile cat eyes and merely smiled.
"Aiken's right. Without a silver sword, I really couldn't have killed those four drowners."
The other apprentices visibly froze. Going by the usual pattern, this was an outright provocation.
Fists were the only answer to a provocation, and the other apprentices would get to enjoy a show as well.
Winston, who had been in Arwen's group earlier, twitched his nose, catching the aroma drifting from the kitchen ahead.
"My brothers, take a sniff. That's bacon! If you ask me, we should stop talking about drowners, sit down, and enjoy lunch."
With Winston smoothing things over, Paul immediately raised his hand. "Exactly. I want a glass of green juice. A toast to Arwen and our health!"
"To our health."
Arwen echoed the toast and walked past Aiken, leaving him standing there with his eyes wide and his fists clenched.
Arwen looked relaxed and took none of it to heart.
What was the point of him, with an adult's soul, taking a rebellious thirteen- or fourteen-year-old child seriously?
He walked to the front right of the hall, where a long wooden table stood. Its surface was covered in cuts and scratches, clearly showing its considerable age.
Wooden trays were neatly arranged along one side of the table, each holding a bowl of vegetable stew, a large serving of bacon and eggs, and brightly colored green juice.
In the middle of the table sat a basket woven from strips of wood, filled with black bread.
Arwen's mouth watered. Lunch looked pretty good.
Vesemir and Geralt emerged from the kitchen. The food on their trays was the same as the apprentices', except that wheat beer replaced the green juice.
Vesemir and Geralt sat opposite the apprentices.
Once the head of the household had taken his seat, Arwen and the other apprentices immediately picked up their cutlery and began wolfing down their food.
After clearing his plate, Arwen drained his green juice in one go. It tasted strongly of herbs and was fairly refreshing, not particularly unpleasant to drink.
"Master Vesemir, tell us a story."
Winston spoke while rubbing his belly.
The other apprentices chimed in.
Vesemir put down his wooden spoon.
"All right, listen closely."
"Is it about a monster? I want to hear about a wyvern!"
"A basilisk."
"No," Vesemir said. "It's about a werewolf."
Vesemir was undoubtedly a man of considerable experience. He told them a love story about a werewolf and a country woman, along with knowledge concerning the werewolf curse.
The story took strange twists and turns, but its ending was not a happy one. Both the werewolf and the country woman died.
The werewolf died in a hunt by royal hunters, while the country woman was denounced by the villagers and sent to the stake by a priest, where she was burned alive.
Arwen listened, utterly engrossed, while Geralt fetched another bottle of ale for Vesemir to wet his throat.
As for the apprentices, the witcher code strictly forbade drinking before adulthood.
"That story was so moving."
"Tell us another, Master Vesemir."
Vesemir tapped the table with his fingers. "Enough, children. You have alchemy lessons this afternoon. Time to rest, and don't let me catch you dozing off later."
The apprentices let out drawn-out, odd cries, while Arwen quietly began clearing away the dishes and cutlery.
The atmosphere reminded him of his childhood days in the countryside. It was harmonious and comfortable.
Arwen and the apprentices finished clearing the tableware and returned to the apprentices' room together. According to the schedule, they had an hour and a half to rest after lunch.
After a full morning of training, everyone fell fast asleep the moment they lay down.
Vesemir and Geralt stood at the door, the latter's voice low.
"These wolf pups really never let you rest easy."
"Isn't that just what you wanted?" Geralt said. "Didn't you always complain that Kaer Morhen had no apprentices left?"
"Still, quite a few in this batch passed the Trial of the Grasses."
After Geralt finished speaking, he and Vesemir both fell silent.