And Henselt?
This rotten old man was bad news.
In the future timeline, the Nilfgaardian Empire in the south launched the Second Northern War.
In theory, after experiencing the First Northern War, all the northern kings should have understood the threat posed by the Nilfgaardian Empire and united.
And that was what the other northern kings did.
Only Henselt, king of Kaedwen, brazenly sent out his troops and seized Aedirn's territory while his neighbor was fighting the Nilfgaardians.
Afterward, he even shook hands with the Nilfgaardian army's marshal to confirm the partition of Aedirn.
He really had no shame.
"To the west of the Kingdom of Kaedwen lies the Kingdom of Redania. Its king is Vizimir II, known as the Just."
"King Vizimir maintains good relations with his neighbors and manages his country's economy well. More importantly, he takes a relatively open-minded attitude toward witchers."
"So in Redania, not only can we find plenty of work, but we also run into fewer people who refuse to pay."
"But if we're talking about where witchers can live most comfortably, one place is the martially spirited Skellige Isles. The islanders are a warrior people who revere strength. There's nothing drinking and fighting can't solve."
"Another is Toussaint, the fabled land of knights, a fairy-tale realm where wine and honey flow everywhere."
"The last is the Kingdom of Kovir and Poviss."
Lambert sighed. "Unfortunately, I've never had the chance to go to Toussaint. If you get to go there someday, don't forget to tell me about it when you come back."
"All right, go take a look. It should be ready."
Lynn walked up to the stone platform.
He confirmed that the medallion resting on it had finished charging.
He grabbed the medallion.
And the instant his hand touched the stone platform...
He suddenly felt an abundant surge of magic gathering into his hand from the platform.
Startled, he lifted the medallion off the platform.
The sensation of magic gathering in his hand immediately stopped.
After a moment's thought, he placed his hand back on the platform.
Before long, the sensation returned.
"What's wrong?"
Lambert's voice came from behind him.
"Nothing, but give me a moment."
Lynn thought for a moment and closed his eyes.
He focused on the sensation.
Then he discovered that, if he wished, he could let the magic gathering in his hand flow into his body.
Or he could simply walk away and ignore it.
But Lynn could feel that the magic gathering in his hand was very gentle.
Like a hot bath at just the right temperature.
After weighing it up, he let down his guard and allowed the magic to flow into his body.
The witcher medallion cradled in his palm vibrated from the flow of magic.
He could feel the stream of magic gathered by the Circle of Elements seeping into his body, bit by bit, along his arm.
He opened his status panel and discovered that his attribute points were beginning to rise as he absorbed more and more magic.
"So this works too."
Lynn's eyes lit up, and he drank in the Circle of Elements' magic almost greedily.
Until the magic entering his body began to slow, like a river running dry, before disappearing altogether.
He glanced at his status panel, only then realizing with astonishment what he had just gained:
Attribute points: 0 (69%) → 5 (0%)
Absorbing the Circle of Elements' magic had actually given him 431% experience.
Wild with joy, Lynn poured all of it into Signs without hesitation.
Signs (proficient) → (master/limit) New perk: Magic Absorption (increases magic recovery speed by 20%)
As the wording beside Signs on his status panel changed, Lynn felt the chaos magic inside him suddenly boil.
He instinctively raised his hand, and a fierce jet of blazing flame erupted from his palm.
Had he possessed this strength when fighting the swamp hag several months earlier, his master-level Aard Sign might have sent her flying outright, rather than merely making her stagger.
Not only that, but he could clearly feel the chaos magic he had consumed rapidly replenishing after casting the Sign, recovering considerably faster than before.
Nice!
"Lynn, you..."
If an ordinary witcher's Igni Sign was on the level of a lighter, then the flames Lynn had just unleashed could already be called a flamethrower.
Lambert stared, dumbfounded, at the Igni Sign Lynn had displayed.
Could he really be a genius?
By nightfall, both of them had returned to Kaer Morhen.
To celebrate Lynn passing the Trial of the Medallion, Vesemir brought out his treasured liquor.
Normally, Vesemir would not even let anyone touch those bottles.
Once, Lambert had tried sneaking into the cellar, only for Vesemir to chase him for several miles.
Of course, having liquor without food would never do.
Geralt and Eskel cooked personally, preparing a whole table of delicious dishes.
The aroma of meat filled the air, making Lambert's mouth practically water.
"Cheers!"
They sat around the table, the fire illuminating the smiles on their faces.
The mountains were cold at night.
But the cheerful atmosphere and the logs burning steadily in the fireplace drove away the chill.
That evening, Vesemir got drunk.
Together, they carried the old witcher back to his room in a flurry of hands and feet.
"You know, I've never seen Papa Vesemir drunk," Lambert said, turning to Geralt. "What about you, Geralt? When was the last time you saw Papa Vesemir drunk?"
"That was a very, very long time ago too. So long ago I can barely remember what it was about."
Afterward, the four returned to the hall and kept partying for a long time.
Lynn vaguely remembered that they seemed to have done some utterly ridiculous things too.
But he could not remember exactly what.
The next day, he did not wake until the sun was high, his head still foggy.
And his head hurt like hell.
He drank some water, then ran several laps around Kaer Morhen.
Only after spending a good while in the cold wind did his head clear considerably.
When he returned to the castle hall, he found it in complete disarray.
Geralt and the others had not even returned to their rooms, but had fallen asleep sprawled all over the hall.
Lynn quietly cleaned up after them, then carried them back to their rooms one by one.
When people kept wishing for some future day to arrive sooner, time would slip unnoticed through their fingers.
When they suddenly looked back, they would marvel at how quickly the days had passed.
When March of 1250 arrived, the mountains were still cold.
But the witchers were ready to set out.