System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 183
“For the sake of a little girl, you drank poison?”
“By the gods!” Orin’s comical voice rang out. His gaze turned so sharp it looked ready to bore Roy straight into the floor. “Lad, I misjudged you. Turns out you’re not hopeless at pleasing women after all. You’re this young, yet already sly enough to know how to win a girl’s heart, even staking your life on it! I bow to your skill. Next time...”
Orin gave Roy’s shoulder a heavy slap and made his promise. “Next time I go to Aretuza looking for sorceresses, I’m taking you with me. Provided dear, generous Keira is still there.”
Geralt gave the loudly yammering Orin a baffled look, then turned to Kael in confusion, raised a finger, pointed at his own head, made a small circling motion, and silently asked the question with his eyes.
Kael nodded. “Something went wrong during mutation. At times he can’t quite keep his emotions in check. But broadly speaking, he’s an optimist.”
“And you still keep him around.”
“He’s my brother, that’s why. As the elder brother, I just have to work harder.” Kael sighed. “Witchers are already wretched enough, cut off from ordinary folk and forced to deal day in, day out with cunning, vicious Monsters. If we don’t know how to huddle together and hold each other up, how are we supposed to survive in this world? Don’t you agree, White Wolf?”
The White Wolf fell silent, and only spoke after Roy filled his cup with Dwarven Spirit.
He downed the liquor in one swallow, let out a breath, and then said, “Apart from returning to Kaer Morhen each winter to see the few old comrades still alive, I don’t meet another of my kind for the rest of the year.”
“Kaer Morhen?” Roy’s eyes lit up at once. “The Wolf School’s hidden stronghold?”
Geralt nodded. On that point, he did not hide anything. “That’s right. Kaer Morhen lies in the north, in Kaedwen. But long ago, after a sudden assault...” Geralt paused, a trace of sorrow surfacing in his eyes, “Kaer Morhen was left overgrown and broken.”
Roy understood. That assault had been launched by elven Witchers who had defected from the Wolf School.
“Then, ahem...” Roy licked his lips, took an excited gulp of liquor, and promptly choked on it, coughing again and again. “Geralt, let me be frank. As you can see, the only people the Viper School can gather together at present are me, Kael, Orin, and Letho, four men, count them on one hand. Forgive the blunt question, but how many are left in your Wolf School?”
In an instant, the eyes of the other four all turned toward Geralt.
“This...” Geralt hesitated. “There’s never been any bad blood between the Wolf School and the Viper School. No need to hide it from them.”
“It’s all right if you’d rather not say, Geralt. We understand.”
“No, there’s nothing to hide. There are four left in the Wolf School. Me, Eskel, Lambert, and our teacher, Vesemir.”
Letho, who had been silent until now, leaned hard back into his chair and gave a bitter smile. “So it isn’t just the Viper School. Even the Wolf School is down to four.”
“What kind of age is this? Are Witchers truly going to die out to the last?”
A bleakness too bitter for words rose in all their hearts.
The four big men were all around eighty. They had been trained and raised in their schools from childhood, had witnessed their schools’ rise, and now their decline.
The knot of feeling in them could hardly be put into words.
Roy alone was different. He had joined the Viper School less than a year ago. His attachment to it was not yet so deep that he could drown in grief for what had been. He could only look forward.
And in his mind, he was already planning the future of Witchers.
“Men of the Viper School,” Geralt said first, pulling himself together, “unless I misremember, your home wasn’t in the Northern Kingdoms.”
“It used to be in the south. Nilfgaardian territory, a fortress called Gvaed. But that place has fallen into ruin as well, and there are still people eyeing it, meaning to seize the fortress for themselves.”
“Then why come to Cintra?”
“The reasons are complicated. Our first aim is to rebuild the school,” Letho said in a low voice.
“That’s right.” Kael’s eyes were resolute. “No matter the cost, we will rebuild the Viper School.”
At those words, the White Wolf shuddered inwardly.
He could not help asking himself, if the Wolf School ever came to such a pass, would he have the same resolve as these men before him?
“Do you see now, Geralt...” Roy caught the absent look in the White Wolf’s eyes and suddenly raised his voice, “that’s the difference. You’re always running, always settling for whatever comes. You only think of resistance when the deadline is upon you.”
“And us? Even if it means breaking precedent, we’ll still charge straight into the fire and force change with our own hands.”
“What do you mean?”
All the Witchers fell silent and looked at the young man standing straight beneath the dim yellow lamplight, his face still boyish.
“The Wolf School hasn’t had it easy either. But Geralt, have you ever once thought of improving your school’s condition?”
The White Wolf parted his lips, then lapsed into silence once more.
“No...” Roy shook his head. “You’ve only ever been playing hide-and-seek with fate. You won’t even accept your own Child of Surprise.”
“If the chance existed, would you be willing to try rebuilding Kaer Morhen?”
“I’m only an ordinary Witcher. What could I possibly do?” Geralt shot back, displeased. He did not understand why this young Witcher had suddenly started lecturing him.
“Then listen to me.” Roy turned his gaze across the Witchers, dark gold pupils glinting with a strange light.
“Do you know your history? Long ago, the sorcerers who now live across northern and southern kingdoms in fine clothes, serving as royal advisors, were once branded evil by those same kingdoms, hunted down, tied to pyres, and burned to charcoal.”
“Of course. That’s history. I like history.” Kael nodded.
“In those days, sorcerers were like rats in the street, hiding, scurrying, clinging to life. Their plight was even more miserable than that of Witchers today.” The boy’s voice rose and fell, full of force. “Until several mighty sorcerers took the lead and founded the Brotherhood of Sorcerers, uniting most of the spellcasters’ strength. Only then did sorcerers, that group who wielded the supernatural, truly gain a foothold on the Continent and begin to develop with some stability.”
“What exactly are you trying to say?” Orin had begun to grasp his meaning. His face turned serious.
“Ever since I first set out with Letho, I’ve been watching and thinking.” Roy tilted his face up toward the ceiling, his back to the other four men. “And a question has never left me. I cannot understand why no Witcher ever stood up and told the others with the same eyes, we need unity.”
“That is why the Witcher schools are now nothing but loose sand, each fighting alone, and yet all ending the same way, heading toward extinction.”
Roy drew a deep breath. His dark gold eyes swept across the four men, and there seemed to be fire dancing in them.
Then he asked, one word at a time, “If sorcerers could unite and form the Brotherhood of Sorcerers, why can’t Witchers do the same?!”
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