"I won't take it from you for nothing." After saying this, Old Graz took a ring off his left index finger and handed it to Witt. "This is the Ring of Favor that White Raffard gave me when I studied under him."
"This is far too valuable, Mr. Graz." Witt hurriedly waved his hands in refusal.
"Take it." Old Graz set the ring directly on the table in front of Witt and began telling its story:
"An elven sage originally gave this ring to Mr. Raffard in praise of his noble, steadfast character. Mr. Raffard gave it to me after refusing coronation by the king of Temeria... now I'm giving it to you. When its bearer manipulates the chaos magic in the air, it soothes the other restless elemental forces, keeping the bearer from losing consciousness because of a surge of the wrong elemental force. It also seems to bring its bearer a little... good luck, haha."
Witt looked at the Ring of Favor on the table. It was an ancient magical ring, engraved with exquisite elven runes and giving off a faint glow. Even as an ornament, it looked worth a fortune.
A hint of longing flashed in Witt's eyes. He could sense the magic contained in the ring, and its ability to soothe magic was precisely what he needed most right now. He knew that possessing this ring would greatly improve his combat strength.
But he could not accept such a precious gift. The meaning behind it far outweighed its material value. Its former bearer, White Raffard, had been known as a sorcerer of noble character. Willing to arrange a future for an apprentice without magical talent and treat the injured despite the elves' hostility, Old Graz had not failed the hopes Raffard had placed in him when giving him the ring, either.
"Forgive me, but I can't accept this, Mr. Graz. It's too valuable." Witt shook his head in refusal. It was not that he did not want it, but that he feared failing Old Graz's expectations and the meaning the ring carried.
Seeing the struggle in Witt's eyes, Old Graz smiled and nodded, then said reflectively, "Witt, you needn't have any other concerns. When Mr. Raffard gave it to me, I had my worries too. I feared disgracing it. But Mr. Raffard said, 'Don't let the achievements of your predecessors bind you. You should forge your own legend.' I think, 'Standing firm in your convictions without misgivings is the meaning this ring carries.'"
"Accept it, Witt. I've carried that meaning for decades. It's time to hand the burden to the next generation."
"But..."
"How about this? Didn't you and Geralt accept a commission from Lady Sabrina? I'll speak to her and pay for this commission with the ring myself. I imagine the Daughter of the Kaedwen Wasteland won't mind such minor details," Old Graz said with a smile.
At this point, nothing Witt said could turn down this kindly old man's goodwill. "Mr. Graz, thank you."
"Then take it for now, as payment in advance. I'm sure its help will give you and Geralt something of an advantage when fighting monsters," Old Graz said with a smile. Over their days together, he had come to understand how the young man before him conducted himself.
Having agreed, Witt stopped hesitating and put the ring on his own left index finger as well. After all, he used his left hand to cast Signs.
The moment he put on the Ring of Favor, Witt felt his sensitivity to magic grow stronger. The four elemental forces in the air, originally chaotic and disordered, began to show some order to his senses. The four elements seemed to move along certain specific paths.
"Can you see it?" A gleam flashed in Old Graz's eyes. He had not expected Witt to improve this much so soon after putting on the Ring of Favor.
So this is a Source? How long did it take me to see this pattern back then? Half a year? Or a year? Old Graz wondered.
"Hmm..." Witt considered how to describe it, but with almost no knowledge of magic, all he could finally say was, "They've separated into four forms... moving according to some kind of... pattern."
Old Graz nodded in satisfaction. "Exactly. This is why you lose awareness when casting Signs."
"Normally, when you witchers cast Signs, you only use the chaos magic stored in your bodies after your mutations. That's not a bad thing. It means you're almost immune to the effects of dimeritium or magic-suppressing spells, and can freely wield silver swords containing dimeritium to handle all sorts of complicated situations." Old Graz pointed at the silver sword on Witt's back.
Witt knew Old Graz was entirely right, because witchers had a type of dimeritium bomb specifically intended for dealing with magical monsters. Of course, these bombs were just as effective against spellcasters.
"But you..." Old Graz shifted the subject and said to Witt, "Your situation is completely different, because your magical abilities aren't solely acquired. After a certain outburst of magic, your innate talent made your way of casting similar to a mage's, drawing energy from the chaos magic in the air to cast spells."
Witt nodded. He recalled that since absorbing energy at the Place of Power, apart from the Quen Sign, which had become muscle memory, his casting had gradually shifted from drawing on the magic stored in his body to taking chaos magic directly from the air. It seemed to be a natural process.
Suddenly, he understood why he passed out every time he cast a spell. He said slowly, "So I pass out because I draw the wrong elemental force from chaos magic, and that's the consequence?"
Old Graz nodded in gratification. As expected, Witt's comprehension was as outstanding as his magical talent.
"Exactly. That's precisely why. You should count yourself fortunate, Witt," Old Graz said reflectively. "Your mental strength seems to be exceptionally resilient by nature. That's how you've remained unharmed despite repeatedly losing awareness from drawing on the wrong elemental force."
Witt could not help smiling at this. This body of his contained the mental strength of souls from two different worlds, after all. Naturally, it was far more resilient than an ordinary person's.
"You can try casting a Sign right now. Use that defensive Sign. Quen? Is that what it's called?"
Witt nodded in reply, then stood and walked to an open space in the kitchen. He focused his awareness on his left hand, suppressing his muscle memory and choosing to draw chaos magic from the air.
Once he finished tracing the rune representing the Quen Sign with his hand gestures, the four elemental forces in the air flowed toward his left hand. Just as they were about to touch the rune, a glimmer flashed from the Ring of Favor.
The other elemental forces that had been pouring chaotically into the rune were stripped away, leaving only earth elemental force. The process was completed in an instant.
Bolstered by pure earth elemental force, the Quen Sign, which could previously only cover Witt's body, now expanded as Geralt's did, forming a tough, circular magical shield.
Witt did not lose consciousness as he had when casting before. He remained clearheaded, and a hint of delight flashed across his face.
Watching this, Old Graz gave a satisfied smile.