The Witcher World: The Path to Domination Begins in Velen

Gretka was standing in front of her, holding a thick, old pharmacopoeia that could be used as a shield in both hands, her mouth chattering away like a machine gun.

"Does this soup really make people fly? Why can dragonflies fly without drinking any medicine?"

The uncle who delivered the mail last time said someone saw little blue people dancing after eating poisonous mushrooms. Can poisonous mushrooms be used as medicine? Please, please teach me this!

She pointed to the spot where Kayla had just cast the spell, stood on tiptoe, and held the apothecary above her head. "How about I give you my doll?"

Kayla placed the teacup back on the table and said in a calm tone that seemed on the verge of collapse.

"Gretka, if you ask again, the next green bubble will come out of your nose. And that's not soup, it's for some brainless slug..."

After she finished speaking, she looked up and saw the two people standing at the door. Her gaze fell on Ron and she was about to speak when she saw the white-haired witcher behind Ron.

Her hand hovered above the teacup, her mouth opened and closed briefly, and Gretka took advantage of the moment to put the pharmacopoeia back on the table, then ran behind Ron's legs to hide, peeking out half her head to curiously examine the stranger.

"His hair is white," she whispered to Ron, though her voice wasn't actually quiet.

Kayla rubbed her forehead and forced out through gritted teeth, "Greteka!"

Geralt rubbed his temples, glanced at Gretka who was clinging to Ron's leg, then looked at Kayla and asked in a dry voice, "Kayla, what are you doing here?"

Kayla picked up her teacup, took a sip, and concealed most of the embarrassment on her face, reverting to her usual lazy yet sharp tone.

"Is that even a question? Of course, a certain sergeant tricked me into coming here with solid walls and a bedroom far away from the stake. Oh, and he even threw in a little slug as a bonus."

She gestured with her chin toward the little girl hiding beside Ron's legs. "Sergeant, could you please knock before bringing people to see how a sorceress raises a child?"

Ron leaned against the doorframe, not answering the question, and turned to Geralt, saying, "Kayla Metz, special advisor to Calard Manor."

Then, turning to Keira, he briefly added the second half of his sentence: "Geralt is looking for Ciri. You mentioned the clue about the elven ruins before; it will come in handy."

Kayla put down her teacup, crossed her legs, and resumed her usual languid yet sharp tone: "Oh, so now it's my turn to provide free intelligence? My lab isn't even a month old, and it's already becoming your intelligence hub?"

She turned to Geralt, the sarcasm in her eyes fading slightly, replaced by the shrewdness characteristic of a sorceress: "You're looking for Ciri? A masked elven mage also inquired about her whereabouts before."

She paused, looked at Geralt, and tapped the table lightly with her fingertips. "But even if you're looking for someone, could you please stop interrupting my lab sessions? My apprentices are already a headache enough."

A slight smile seemed to appear at the corners of Ron's mouth, but it vanished in an instant. Gretka, who was lying beside Ron's legs and had been staring at Geralt with curiosity, suddenly interjected, "Old man with white hair, your eyes are so strange!"

Geralt glanced down at her without explaining. Kayla, seeing Geralt's expression, knew that he had caught on to her earlier remark.

She rummaged through a pile of odds and ends on the table and pulled out a small cloth bag, placing it in Gretka's hand.

Inside the cloth bag lay a hand-carved wooden top and a green stone, its edges polished smooth from repeated rubbing. "This is what Ciri left for her before she left."

Gretka gripped the spinning top with both hands as if it were some precious treasure, then raised her other hand and gently tugged at Ron's sleeve.

That evening, Geralt did not return to Raven's Den; Ron had a guest room arranged for him near the courtyard.

At dinner, Geralt sat at the long table in the courtyard, opposite Cal and next to several soldiers who had just finished their drills. No one gave him a second glance because of his cat-like eyes. A young soldier handed him a bowl of porridge.

After dinner, a few lights were still on at the training ground. The commands stopped, and instead, the crisp sound of the bowstring snapping back could be heard as Fiona practiced extra.

The sound of forging hammers from the direction of the blacksmith's shop had stopped, leaving only the waterwheel turning, its low, rumbling transmission echoing in the night.

Geralt was awakened by commands from the training ground in the early morning. When he pushed open the wooden door to his guest room, the stone floor in the courtyard still retained the chill of the previous night. Several soldiers who had finished their night watch were sitting by the wall, talking in hushed tones.

Ron stood up from the low table, already dressed in his light armor. He didn't ask Geralt if he slept well, but simply turned his head towards the training ground.

Geralt followed, and the two walked side by side through the courtyard. Before they even reached the training ground, a woman's loud and forceful cursing voice rang out from the swordsmanship area.

"Wrist! Don't stiffen your wrist! Are you chopping wood or swinging a sword?"

Weiss was swinging her sword at a young recruit, who was struggling to parry with his sword raised in front of him, his shoulders hunched so low they were almost touching his ears. Weiss reached out and slapped him on the head.

"Relax!" The recruit shrank back, lowered his sword tip, and quickly raised it again.

Just as Weiss was about to continue, she turned her head and saw the Witcher next to Ron. She swallowed the rest of her sentence and paused noticeably, clearly not expecting to see Geralt here.

She took her hands off her waist, nodded at Gerald, and asked in a tone that was a mixture of surprise and worry, "White Wolf? How the hell did you find this place?"

Geralt withdrew his gaze from the recruit's still trembling sword and looked at Vice, saying, "Just passing by, popping in to see if you're still in the cage."

"A cage?" Weiss snorted. "Nobody dares to put me in a cage here." Her gaze swept over Geralt, past Ron, then back to Geralt, gesturing with her thumb towards the arena fence.

"Geralt of Rivia, the renowned Witcher swordsman. This is a rare opportunity; anyone interested in a challenge?"

Ron stood outside the sword-fighting area, not joining the reminiscing. Several blue-clad guards saw Geralt and stopped what they were doing, whispering among themselves. One of them nudged his companion's shoulder armor: "The White Wolf? What's he doing here..."

The regular soldiers practicing thrusting nearby also noticed this, their gazes falling on the white-haired stranger. The news spread from the swordsmanship area.

Someone ran a few steps toward the arena, only to be yelled back by Karl, "Get back here! The ranks aren't broken!"

More and more soldiers gathered at the edge of the training ground, but no one crossed the fence. At that moment, a guard who had just finished sparring put his sword on his shoulder and opened the door.

All eyes were drawn to the training ground. The guards had already stepped over the fence, tested the weight of the sword, and then looked up at Geralt with calm, unprovocative eyes, assessing their opponent.

Geralt unsheathed his silver sword from behind and leaned against the fence before heading to the weapon rack to pick up a sword. Vice leaned against the fence, a hint of amusement playing on her lips.

The others present exchanged glances, and several blue-clad guards nudged their companions with their elbows, saying, "That's Geralt of Rivia."

The soldiers outside the fence whispered among themselves, "The commander's personal guards—no one has ever been able to defeat them."

They noticed that the guards were standing more cautiously than usual, and their sword-wielding hands were subtly adjusting their positions, clearly indicating that they were ready for battle.