System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 184
The White Wolf spent one night in the Witchers’ little house, then took his leave the next morning.
A man who normally slept soundly had, for once, earned himself two dark circles under his eyes. His face was drawn, heavy with worry.
“Go look at yourself in a mirror, Geralt. You look more worn out than the cobbler next door. Take my advice, go back and sleep properly. No man ever thinks clearly after one night without rest.”
Roy smiled. “You ought to stay in Cintra a while longer. The liquor here is strong enough, the women hot enough, and Boss Orin would be delighted to show you around. While you’re at it, you can take your time thinking over my proposal.”
“That’s enough.” Geralt shook his head, his eyes bloodshot. He had not slept all night, having spent every hour thinking it over. “I’m perfectly clear-headed. I’ve already made up my mind. And now I’m more certain than ever that only the young could come up with an idea this mad.”
“Geralt, what are you being modest for? Witchers live long lives. At your age, you’re still a young man.” Roy thumped a fist against the Witcher’s well-built chest.
“That’s enough, you little bastard, stop talking.” The White Wolf rubbed at his tangled hair, looking annoyed. “I must have been cursed by a Grave Hag or tricked by a Drowner to follow you to Cintra. All I wanted was to play a few rounds of Gwent and make a few new friends ... then you had to start babbling about rebuilding Kaer Morhen, about a Brotherhood. Now my head is full of nothing but this absurd nonsense. But I can’t give you an answer yet.”
Truth be told, even now Geralt still regarded the proposal as a fantasy. But his teacher, Vesemir, would certainly be willing to meet a few new friends.
At the very least, he ought to hear the old man’s thoughts and bring him the message.
Geralt spoke in a low voice. “This is too important. I have to return to the keep and ask every member of the Wolf School what they think. As for the conclusion...”
“Yes?”
“If fortune favors us, and Vesemir, Lambert, and Eskel all return to Kaer Morhen before winter, I’ll bring you our answer this winter.” Geralt paused. “To be honest, kid, don’t get your hopes up. Unless all their wits desert them at once.”
“How will you notify us? We drift from place to place. We may not be in Cintra by then.” Roy seemed not to have heard the second half at all.
“Before the end of this year, you’ll need to go to Novigrad and look for a man called Dandelion. In a brothel, a tavern, an opera house, somewhere, you’ll find that amorous poet. I’ll leave the answer with him, and he’ll pass it on to you.”
“Dandelion in Novigrad?” At once, Roy pictured a handsome poet with two little moustaches, full of swagger and hot air. “Then it’s settled!”
He held out his hand to the White Wolf. Geralt stood there with both hands on his hips, glared at him, and only then grudgingly took the offered hand of friendship.
“I’m starting to regret ever meeting you, hopeless kid,” said the White Wolf. “Still, I ought to warn you once more. Give up this childish dream. It will never come to pass.”
“If you keep going, without question you’ll end up a laughingstock for every Bard in the land.”
“How will I know if I don’t try? I’m young. I can still afford to fail.” Roy spoke with complete conviction, though inside he felt far less certain.
But the Witchers had to change. If no one else would do it, then he would, even if he ended up a joke.
He understood well enough that the idea could not be realized at this stage. Still, leaving an impression on the Witchers around him was no bad thing.
When he raised the matter again later, it would carry more weight.
“But if it succeeds, everyone here will feel proud, because you ... witnessed the birth of an age!”
“Then I’ll wait and see.” The White Wolf shook his head, a sigh barely audible in his throat, and gave a wave. “I hope you manage to astonish me.”
“Letho, Orin, Kael, I have to bring the Dryad queen’s answer back to Venslav in Brugge. If I delay any longer, that mad king may well have my head.”
“Farewell, all of you!”
The three of the Viper School waved him off, though their expressions were strangely stiff.
“Geralt, I’ll wait for good news from you! And lastly, don’t forget to see Ciri!”
The White Wolf turned and walked away, still muttering under his breath, “I must be mad ... mad...”
...
“Hah...” Roy looked up at the sky, not yet fully bright, and clenched a fist. “The butterfly’s wings are finally beginning to stir the storm. White Wolf, don’t disappoint me.”
“Kid, any agreement you made with the White Wolf on your own has nothing to do with me, Kael, or Orin.” Letho’s low voice rang out. “You’ll have to keep that appointment in Novigrad yourself.”
Then he suddenly sighed, blaming himself. “And that’s on me too. I indulged you too much before, and that’s why you’ve grown up not knowing the height of heaven or the depth of earth. From now on, I need to change the way I train you and knock that arrogant conceit out of you.”
Roy’s heart sank. What was coming had finally come.
“You didn’t object.”
“But we didn’t agree either.” Orin, rarely stern, had set his face. “Roy, I’ll pretend you were drunk and a mule kicked you in the head. Don’t say such nonsense again.”
“I...”
“Young men always have their unrealistic dreams...” Kael’s iron-vice arms locked around Roy’s neck, dragging him in an instant out of his feverish fantasies and back into cold reality. “I understand you. Who hasn’t been wild and reckless in youth?”
“Kid, enough daydreaming. Now it’s only your own people left, let’s have a proper talk.” Letho raised a hand and cut off the others, then led the way back into the house. “Before you left, you said you were bringing back a friend. Did you mean the White Wolf? Most Witchers’ movements are a mystery, so where did you hear of his whereabouts?”
The bald Letho let loose a flood of questions.
“Unless you can see the future ... And for the past half year, all the strange things about you need a proper explanation.”
The three men of the Viper School folded their arms over their chests, three pairs of amber eyes fixed on the young man.
“I gave my word.” Roy took a deep breath and pleaded, “So naturally I’ll tell you the truth, every bit of the secret, because you’re my own people. But can you ... keep it for me?”
“Kid.” “Roy.” “Kid.”
“You need us to swear it?”
“That won’t be necessary.” Roy pressed his lips together, lowered his head, rubbed his face with both hands, and after a long silence finally looked up again. A flicker of hesitation passed through his dark gold pupils before he spoke. “Have you ever heard of Elder Blood?”
Letho and Orin looked puzzled, but Kael’s expression tightened.
“I’ve heard of it,” Kael said suddenly. “Elder Blood, descended from the prophecy of the elven Prophet, Yennefer’s prophecy...”
“Blood of the Sacred, Blood of the Cursed! Blood of the Slayer, Blood of the Savior! Blood of Birth, Blood of Death!” Kael recited it with measured cadence, then his tone softened. “Some ancient elves are born with extraordinary gifts for magic, space, and prophecy. As the years pass, those gifts grow stronger, until they awaken as elven Sages. Legend says Elder Blood runs in their veins.”
“But what does that have to do with you, kid?”
“I think you’ve already guessed. All those questions have one answer.” Roy exhaled. “Elder Blood.”
He had considered this explanation for a long time. Elder Blood could almost perfectly explain his spatial powers and his foreknowledge.
And these things would inevitably be exposed sooner or later while fighting beside the Viper School. To be more exact, Letho had already noticed something during their earlier time together.
Better to tell them outright and win their trust than keep dodging and hiding.
“Kid, if I understand you right,” Letho said in return, “you, the son of a peasant from the backwoods of Aedirn, are claiming to have inherited Elder Blood from the elves?”
“It sounds unbelievable, but I can prove it to you, right now.” Roy’s expression was complicated, but he wasted no words. He led the three men outside the room.
The morning sunlight in the yard was warm and gentle.
In the crude little courtyard, a slender young man in black leather armor reached into empty air. At once, a finely made hand crossbow appeared in his palm, though there had been nothing there before.
The bald Letho kept his composure, but the Orin brothers tensed, wondering if this kid had a Ring of Holding like Letho...
The thought had barely crossed their minds when a brief twang of a bowstring sounded in their ears. A silver flash streaked across the yard. The Viper School medallions at the three men’s throats caught a ripple of magic and gave a low hum...
Space itself wavered, barely perceptibly.
The onlookers shuddered all over, amber eyes widening to their limit.
The figure holding the crossbow had vanished into thin air.
“What in hell?” Orin licked his dry lips and spun around, searching ... At the far end of the yard, beside the stable, he saw a familiar silhouette. The boy was standing there, one hand stroking Vyrt’s mane, the other lifting the crossbow toward the three men.
“Was it an illusion?” The doubt rose again in him.
“Whsst—”
The bowstring twanged once more. The slender figure flashed. Roy vanished from beside the stable and appeared instantly at Orin’s side, tapping the man’s stiff shoulder, neither too hard nor too softly.
“This is the Elder Blood’s power of spatial passage ... Will you believe me now?”
The three burly men said nothing.
...
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