Chapter 215

Whether he chose a great sum of money or further strengthening for Aerondight, both were tempting, but there would be other ways to obtain such things in time. As for increasing his magic, the Witcher could think of no other path.

After giving it due thought, he chose the third reward.

“I knew that would be your choice.”

The Lady of the Lake brushed a slender fingertip across her white teeth, then flicked lightly.

A single round drop of golden blood flew from her fingertip and hovered before Roy, spinning in place.

He twitched his nose. A rich scent of grass and living things drifted over, intoxicating enough to make one reel. He had only to breathe it once, and warmth flooded his whole body, light and soft, more alluring than the finest vintage.

Roy stared at the drop of blood. His throat bobbed on its own. He forced down the craving rising in him.

“I am the daughter of the lake. My blood is rich in magic. With a special blessing laid upon it, its effect is no less than an Elixir. Swallow it, and your magic will grow stronger.” Viviane gave him a mischievous little blink. “You need not feel guilty. As the Knight of Lake Vizima, the stronger you become, the safer I am as well.”

Roy stopped hesitating.

He opened his mouth and drew in a breath. The drop in the air flew into him.

The liquid was nothing like the cold of lake water. It was close to the warmth of the human body, gentle, yet carrying within it a taste that seemed buried in the deepest part of memory.

The Witcher lingered on it. His eyelids grew heavier, his body slackened further, and the thoughts in his mind dissolved into muddled haze. It was as though he had returned to the time before birth, drawing up his knees and curling inward by instinct.

There was only the constant flow of warm liquid, like amniotic water, exchanging things between inside and outside his body.

He sank into deep sleep.

Time fled within the Magical Transformation, like sand running through fingers, impossible to grasp.

When the Witcher woke again, he felt only chill all over his body. He lifted his head and saw a full moon high in the sky, pouring down clear light and revealing where he was.

Black Gull Island, lonely and silent. There was no one on it but him. Not even an insect stirred. The whole place was as dead as a graveyard.

He stretched lazily, and every bone in him cracked in a lively string of pops.

There was a draft between his legs too. Looking down, he found his skin covered in a sticky, clotted layer of fluid. When he peeled it away, the wound on his shoulder had healed into a line of pink scars.

He had kept up high-intensity training for a long time now. The Witcher’s body had been honed lean and even. His muscles were not overly bulky, but they were hard, cleanly shaped, full of explosive force.

He had six neat ridges of muscle across his belly as well.

That, however, led to one problem.

He was standing there stark naked, slick and bare as an eel.

On Black Gull Island in the dead of night, the Witcher stood in the cold wind with a blank look in his eyes. After a long moment, a laugh drifted across from the surface of the distant lake.

“So the Lady of the Lake is punishing me for hiding things from her earlier?” He shook his head and sighed. “And she thought this would trouble me?”

He focused his thoughts into the space. In an instant, a brand-new set of linen clothes appeared in his arms, with a broad hooded cloak besides.

He had always liked to keep stores on hand against the unexpected.

He washed himself clean in the lake, changed into the new clothes, then sat down on a charred tree stump to inspect his status.