By the time they returned to Old Graz's home, Geralt had already gotten up to exercise.
Watching Witt come in, Geralt's nostrils twitched. He leaned closer, sniffed at Witt, and teased, "So you sneaked out all by yourself first thing in the morning to have some fun, eh?!"
"What are you talking about?" Witt pushed Geralt away and tossed him the coin pouch from inside his clothes. "I went out to find somewhere to sell the griffin's head."
Geralt hefted it, then opened it and looked inside. "This much money? A griffin's head isn't worth this much..."
"What are you thinking?"
Witt then told Geralt about his conversation with Sabrina and the details of the commission he had accepted from the succubus.
After hearing him out, Geralt nodded. "That's true. These succubi wouldn't hurt humans, because it would do them no good at all. I've met one or two succubi living in Novigrad, and they never caused anything like this there."
"What is it? What happened?" Old Graz emerged from his room. Mages lacked the powerful constitution of witchers, and after his drunken night, the old mage had slept until now.
After listening to Witt recount the story again, Old Graz nodded. "I've heard about this too, though I don't know much about the details. Let Hector investigate for you first. He knows this area well."
"Sorry for the trouble, Hector," Geralt said to Hector, who was combing Old Graz's hair.
Hector's gaze was somewhat evasive at first, but then he hurriedly said, "It's no trouble, Master Geralt. I've wanted to see how you witchers hunt monsters for a long time. You know, Master Dandelion's poems mention you all the time."
"There's no hurry. If I don't eat soon, I might become the first old mage to starve to death." Having finished tidying himself up, Old Graz patted his stomach and led the three of them into the kitchen.
Before they even entered, the rich aroma of food wafted out, making even Witt, who had not been particularly hungry, feel the emptiness in his stomach. He had not noticed at all that he had spent an entire afternoon in Sabrina's shop.
When they pushed open the door, the pot of chicken and potato chunks was bubbling away. Several large pieces of sweet bread and slices of cheese sat on the table, with some cut fruit in the middle.
This was the first time since his rebirth in the world of witchers that Witt had seen food worthy of being called dinner, and he could not help feeling his appetite stir.
Vesemir's approach to cooking was to stew everything edible in a single pot. It was simple and convenient, and while it could hardly be called tasty, it certainly filled the stomach.
Toward the end of dinner, Hector left on his preliminary investigation, while Geralt took his share of the money and went out to enjoy himself some more, leaving Old Graz and Witt at the table.
Having finished eating long before, Witt leisurely sipped his soup as he waited for Old Graz, who ate with elegant manners. Clearly, he knew the other man had something to say, so he had deliberately stayed behind.
Once Old Graz set down his fork, Witt drained his thick soup in one gulp, breathed out a warm breath, and said, "Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Graz. This was the best dinner I've ever had."
Old Graz smiled politely. "If you like it, you could stay in Ban Ard for a long time to come and have dinners like this."
Understanding the meaning behind his words, Witt gave a faint smile. "I'm sorry, Mr. Graz. I'm a witcher, and I probably won't be changing professions in the future."
"Ah, why choose a profession like witchering, with all its dangers and so little recognition? Your magical talent ranks among the highest I've ever seen. If I'm not mistaken, you must be a 'Source.' You should know what that means, but does your witcher mentor know you're a Source?"
Sources were people born with exceptionally outstanding magical talent. Once they became mages, such people were more powerful than ordinary mages. This magical talent did not come entirely from heredity, and there were currently conflicting views in the world of witchers about what gave rise to Sources.
One thing was beyond doubt, however: such powerful talent brought with it a deadly danger. When Sources cast magic for the first time, they usually caused destruction on a massive scale. Moreover, their extraordinary sensitivity to the magic of Chaos made them constantly see visions and hear whispers. Without proper guidance, this ability would gradually drive them mad.
Witt did not know whether he was the Source the old mage spoke of, but being able to absorb a Place of Power and engrave an ancient elven rune on the back of his hand was by no means ordinary. The power of that magical eruption had also been formidable. Had it not been constrained by the Igni Sign, the entire Place of the Elements might have been destroyed.
"Vesemir knows, and so do Geralt and the others. The old man told me not to use this talent lightly, to avoid unnecessary danger." Witt recalled the old witcher's instructions before his departure.
Old Graz nodded. "Your mentor is right. Using your talent recklessly is no different from spending your own life in advance. In the end, you'll either die from a magical backlash or fall victim to someone else's covetousness."
With that, the old mage looked at Witt and said in all seriousness, "Witt, will you really not consider becoming a mage? If you think I'm not skilled enough, I can introduce you to Hen Gedymdeith of the Chapter of the Gift and the Art within the Brotherhood of Sorcerers. He is the oldest living mage, fully five hundred years old. As far back as when humans landed on this continent, he received instruction from elven sages. He is one of the most powerful mages alive."
Looking at the earnest old mage before him, Witt was reminded of old man Vesemir. But he truly had no intention of becoming a mage. Signs were already enough for him, and being a witcher meant far more to Witt than simply having a job.
"Mr. Graz, please allow me to decline your kind offer. Vesemir, Geralt, and the others are my family. Now that the Time of Contempt is near and the world is in turmoil, I can't leave them behind to spend a long time studying magic. Of course, if I have enough time in the future, I'll come to you for instruction," Witt said earnestly.
"Ah, very well." Old Graz sighed. He, too, knew the prophecy of the elven sage Ithlinne. As a member of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers, the old mage understood better than ordinary people that the outbreak of war was imminent.
"In that case, might I make a small request?"
Glad that Old Graz had not once again suggested he become a mage, Witt smiled casually. "As long as you don't want to dissect my corpse right away, I can accept any condition. Haha."
"Could you give me some of your blood? I don't need much, just a little." After saying this, Old Graz hurriedly added, "Don't worry, it's only for a study within the Brotherhood of Sorcerers. There has always been disagreement among mages researching the origins of Sources. Some favor the theory of bloodlines..."
Witt knew there was some truth to this view, because supposedly almost all bearers of Elder Blood were Sources, and most Sources also possessed a considerable measure of elven sage blood.
"No problem, Mr. Graz." Witt nodded in agreement. Besides, he also wanted to know whether he truly carried dryad blood.
Witt did not think he possessed Elder Blood. Elder Blood manifested as a dominant trait only in female descendants.