For a witcher, extensive knowledge of monsters and experience fighting them were just as important as a sword.
These were lessons their predecessors had learned in blood.
Failing to identify the monster they would face from the traces it left would not only make the fight unnecessarily difficult, but also show stupidity and ignorance.
"Today, the first monster we'll discuss is the ghoul."
"Ghouls are corpse-eating monsters that haunt cemeteries, the surroundings of ancient tombs, and anywhere the dead are buried."
"Because they enjoy the taste of fresh corpses, they can be found anywhere with newly dug graves: cemeteries, burial grounds, battlefields, and so on."
"Ghouls usually hunt in small packs, sometimes led by a giant ghoul."
"Given the chance, they also hunt the living, especially when they have the advantage of numbers."
In a room in the castle, Lynn listened attentively to Vesemir's lesson.
Once Vesemir had finished covering the entire chapter on ghouls, he closed the book and looked at Lynn.
"Lynn, do you remember the weaknesses of ghouls I just mentioned?"
Lynn barely needed time to think. "Only fire, silver, and bright sunlight can hurt ghouls."
Vesemir spoke approvingly.
"That's right. Witchers carry two swords, and the silver sword is the weapon used against monsters."
Lynn knew that.
He also knew that silver swords were not made of pure silver, but had silver-plated steel cores.
Silver could hurt the monsters that had come to this world through the Conjunction of the Spheres, but pure silver weapons were both expensive and impractical. A coating of silver on the surface of a steel sword was enough; there was no need to forge the weapon from pure silver.
Witchers did not merely need to hone their martial skills. Acquiring essential knowledge was just as important as mastering combat.
Witchers were usually lone wolves, while monsters always traveled in packs or possessed strength far beyond that of ordinary people.
Hunting monsters therefore required not only a sword, but brains as well.
Before setting out to slay a monster, a witcher needed to determine its type, name, traits, and weaknesses, so he could use the appropriate weapons and blade oils in the coming battle.
And if that judgment was wrong...
That was why so few died of old age in their beds.
After a pause, Vesemir asked another question.
"Then what's the difference between a ghoul and an alghoul?"
Lynn answered almost without hesitation. "The biggest difference is the three bony crests on its head."
Vesemir nodded. "Very good. Alghouls are far more dangerous than ghouls. Even the smallest wound inflicted by an alghoul will give you corpse poisoning. Now, which potion can treat corpse poisoning?"
"Golden Oriole," Lynn said.
Vesemir could barely hide the approval in his eyes. "Correct, but avoiding poisoning is better. So when fighting an alghoul, you mustn't engage it at close quarters. You need to keep your distance and launch a leaping slash at the right moment."
The days at Kaer Morhen were slow and monotonous, filled with daily sword training, studying monsters, and leaving Kaer Morhen to hunt animals in the mountains.
Animals gave Lynn very little experience, so he needed to save up for quite a few days to gain a single attribute point.
But he was neither anxious nor impatient.
Witchers lived long lives, and he was only thirteen. He had plenty of time ahead of him.
Perhaps killing monsters would yield more experience, but he knew his limits. Even though his swordsmanship had already reached the level of a full-fledged witcher, he was still an apprentice in every other respect.
He should therefore start cautiously.
After all, this was not a game, but a real world.
In the real world, he could not reload a save and start over.
Time hurried past amid all that activity.
Soon, winter, the coldest season of the year, quietly arrived.
Kaer Morhen stood deep in the Blue Mountains.
The Blue Mountains lay in the north of the Kingdom of Kaedwen, which meant harsher cold fronts and fiercer blizzards.
Unless something held them up, the other witchers of the School of the Wolf usually made every effort to return to Kaer Morhen to reunite and spend the winter.
This was Lynn's first winter since coming to this world.
The first snow came early.
At first, there were only fine flakes, but they soon turned into a blizzard that raged all night.
By the following morning, Kaer Morhen's walls were buried beneath the snowdrifts.
Lynn and Vesemir began shoveling snow before dawn, clearing a path.
By the time the sun rose, they were still at work when the sound of hooves and footsteps suddenly rang out.
Lynn and Vesemir both turned to look. Three men came through the castle gate, leading three horses laden with luggage and bundles.
The man in front had white hair, handsome features, and a tall build.
Though his chin was covered in a beard, it did nothing to diminish his good looks, instead lending him considerable masculinity.
The two dark-haired men behind him looked relatively younger.
One had a startling knife scar running from his eye down his cheek.
The other was an even more alarming sight, with half his face covered in scars severe enough to be called disfiguring.
"Geralt, Lambert, Eskel. Welcome home."
"Vesemir."
All three warmly embraced Vesemir.
Then they turned to look at Lynn.
"Is this the boy who survived the Trial of the Grasses?"
Before Lynn transmigrated, he had not actually been the only child at Kaer Morhen. There had been several others.
They had all been abandoned infants Vesemir had taken in.
But all the other apprentices in his group had died during the Trial of the Grasses.
The Trial of the Grasses was the second stage of the witcher trials, as well as a mandatory one.
Only by undergoing the excruciatingly painful Trial of the Grasses and surviving the subsequent mutations could a young apprentice become a true witcher.
Unfortunately, the survival rate for the Trial of the Grasses was extremely low, usually only thirty percent.
Even though Kaer Morhen's legacy was more complete than those of the other witcher schools, its survival rate was still only forty percent.
"Kid, looks like you were the best of those children," Lambert said with his habitual sarcasm.
Beside him, Geralt could not help putting a hand to his forehead. "Shut up, Lambert."
Lambert spread his hands.
"What? Did I say something wrong? Even if this kid passes that last bullshit trial, what good will it do? He'll be dead in some swamp within a year."
Vesemir spoke up then.
"Lambert, winter has only just begun. You don't want to spend the next few months stuck in a shabby old castle with a cranky old man, do you?"
Only then did Lambert finally shut his mouth.
"Don't take what Lambert just said to heart, lad. With us here, you don't need to worry."
Geralt crouched in front of Lynn, placed a hand on his shoulder, and spoke gently.
Lynn nodded.
In truth, even if Geralt had not said that, he would not have taken it to heart.
He knew very well that this was simply Lambert's personality.
He was hot-tempered, often rude, argumentative, and sharp-tongued.
Even the other witchers of the School of the Wolf could not stand his arrogance and his fondness for mocking people.
There were reasons for all of this.
Lambert had once had an irresponsible father. After a witcher rescued his drunken father, Lambert had been sent to Kaer Morhen as payment under the Law of Surprise.
But whatever faults he had, they were only on the surface.
In truth, he was loyal and cared about his friends. For his comrades, he was willing to take any risk.
Though he made no secret of how much he loathed Kaer Morhen.
When Kaer Morhen needed defending, he still came to help without hesitation.
Vesemir put his hands on his hips and gave his instructions.
"The chatting can wait until tonight. Lynn, lead Geralt and the others' horses into the castle. Then stay inside; there's no need to come back out. Review the lessons on monsters I taught you."
"As for you lot, you're back just in time. Go get some tools and help clear the snow."