5

Observing the enigmatic magic runes hovering around the treasure vault fade away, Francesca released a soft exhale. She wiped her pale forehead, though no sweat marred her brow, and turned to address Toruviel.

"It's alright, Toruviel. The seal is complete, and I'm going to open the treasure room now," she reassured. "This gate originally relied on a magic node for power and could only be opened by a special spell from an elven warlock, so it has remained well-preserved for thousands of years. When the human armies attacked, they likely didn't manage to take anything from here. To open it now, I must inject my own magic into the seal."

The elf sorceress explained briefly, then gracefully raised her right hand. Her slender fingers glowed with magic as she traced an intricate rune in the air, uttering a spell in the ancient elven language. As she chanted, a potent magical force gradually infused the metal gate of the treasure room under her command.

Amidst a low hum, an ancient elven rune illuminated on the metal gate of the treasure house. The continuous infusion of magic intensified the brilliance of the rune. The humming persisted until Francesca had injected sufficient magic, and then, with a creaking of ancient mechanisms, the door of the treasure house, dormant for millennia, swung open.

As the dust settled and Toruviel laid eyes on the contents of the treasury, she immediately covered her mouth in surprise. Illuminated by torchlight, ten immense treasure chests were quietly arranged in the center of the room, filled with countless gold and jewels that retained their seductive luster even after thousands of years. Even a simple farmer, unaccustomed to such wealth, could imagine the immense fortune present.

However, in contrast to Toruviel, Francesca displayed no surprise at the sight of the gold. Instead, she shook her head with a sigh. For the elves, such gold held little value. The elves' former empire had possessed wealth surpassing that of the current human kingdoms. The splendor and beauty of elven cities, unmatched by any human town, couldn't withstand the onslaught of barbaric humans, leading to the elves becoming a minority race like the dwarves. In the face of violence, only violence could counter it. Unfortunately, her kindred had grasped this truth too late.

Francesca's gaze swept across the treasure chests until she noticed numerous pieces of magical equipment adorning the walls and four colossal metal golems stationed at the corners. She nodded slightly and pursed her lips. Though the treasure house had been protected by magic for a thousand years, its contents remained undamaged. The ancient magical equipment and the four formidable metal golems were indeed the true treasures.

After a moment of contemplation, Francesca turned to Toruviel and said, "Don't you have an agreement with the Witchers to give them a quarter of the spoils? Although this treasure belongs to our people, we should wait until they arrive next time."

...

The next day, in the old city of Vizima, Wayne carefully stowed all his valuables into a magic storage bag, securing it around his neck for safekeeping. He carried only a small purse with a few dozen Orens in his waist pocket for regular expenses. As for the snacks from another world, he concealed them under the bedboard, even deploying an Aard Sign to push it deep , to ensure they remained undiscovered.

With the magic storage bag, Wayne felt a significant improvement in his capabilities. This enhancement wasn't in terms of physical attributes or combat skills, but rather in his ability to carry essential tools. A Witcher's strength often relied on external gear—swords, alchemy bombs, potions, and formidable armor, all of which played crucial roles.

These tools, such as swords, alchemy bombs, and potions, were valuable but delicate materials prone to damage in battle. Ordinary Witchers could only carry a limited amount, restricting their usage. The magic storage bag addressed these issues, allowing Wayne to carry various potions and store dozens of alchemy bombs of different types without fear of damage.

This enhancement significantly bolstered his ability to confront risks, providing him with diverse solutions for emergencies. Reflecting on his good fortune, Wayne couldn't help but marvel at how quickly he acquired such a valuable piece of spatial equipment.

After breakfast, instead of heading to the city hall to address the matter of buying a house, Wayne consulted a somewhat hungover Geralt for a blueprint of the Wolf School's master silver sword design.

The item in question wasn't a finished product but a hand-drawn replica based on Geralt's memory. It encompassed the sword's design concept, equipment appearance, and material configuration diagram. Due to the strict requirements, it had to be executed by a master blacksmith with exceptional skills.

While the master-level silver sword wasn't the pinnacle weapon of the Wolf School, it was more cost-effective, had more accessible materials, and was easier to maintain compared to master-level equipment. This made it more suitable for everyday tasks. Wayne didn't want to find himself in a situation where the cost of repairing a master-level weapon exceeded the reward for slaying a few monsters.

Leaving the Fox Tavern, he followed the address given by Declan Leuvaarden for more than ten minutes until he reached a dwarf blacksmith shop in Vizima. The shop was still open, and three sturdy dwarves, dressed in thin clothes, toiled with large hammers, forging iron objects on the anvil next to the stove. Judging by their shapes, these items were likely knives and agricultural tools used by civilians.

This was customary in the Middle Ages. Unlike in games, blacksmiths primarily crafted tools such as iron pots, kitchen knives, and hoes for farmers and residents. Confirming the address, Wayne, wearing a friendly smile, singled out a young dwarf who appeared the most approachable among the three and inquired, "Is Master O. Henry present? I was recommended by his friend, Declan Leuvaarden, and I wish to commission him to create some equipment."

The young dwarf, momentarily taken aback by Wayne's question, scratched his head with fingers covered in iron filings and then replied in a straightforward manner, "Henry played Gwent all night. After winning our wages, he drank half a barrel of dark beer. He probably hasn't woken up yet."

"However, getting him to craft equipment for you is nearly impossible. The items he crafts are never for sale; he only creates equipment for individuals he chooses. Even if many dwarf apprentices plead with him, he never agrees."

Upon hearing this, Wayne frowned, realizing that obtaining a master-level silver sword from this craftsman was indeed a formidable challenge. Nevertheless, since he was already here, there was no reason to back down. Regardless of the outcome, he had to give it a try.

Maintaining a friendly smile, Wayne handed the young dwarf the letter of introduction given by Declan and said, "No problem. I'll wait here. Once Master O. Henry wakes up, please pass this letter to him for me. Also, let him know I'm a Witcher seeking to forge a master-level sword. We can discuss the terms, no matter what they are."

With that, Wayne patted the young dwarf on the shoulder and whispered in his ear, "My friend, you can also put in a good word for me. Regardless of the outcome, I'll invite you to the best tavern in the city, and we'll drink until you're satisfied."

Upon hearing Wayne's promise of being invited to the best tavern and drinking to his heart's content, the young dwarf's eyes lit up. He nodded eagerly and said earnestly, "Alright, you wait here. Actually, Master O. Henry is my uncle, and I'll plead with him for you. Whether he grants me this favor or not depends on your luck."

Observing the young dwarf as he made his way into the blacksmith's shop, Wayne couldn't help but silently commend his good fortune. It was unexpected that by randomly choosing a seemingly ordinary dwarf, he had found someone willing to assist him—a rare stroke of luck.

Instead of idly waiting for the outcome, Wayne approached the other two dwarves who were still engrossed in their work, carefully observing their forging process. Learning the art of forging had long been part of his plan, but finding a skilled blacksmith proved challenging due to the high cost of equipment repairs.

Wayne believed that, with the system's assistance, regardless of his innate talent, learning forging techniques would eventually lead him to become the most formidable blacksmith in the world, crafting advanced equipment that surpassed all others. While this process might demand considerable time and energy, the extended lifespan of a Witcher made his aspirations achievable.

Approximately ten minutes later, Wayne saw the young dwarf emerging from the blacksmith's shop, sporting a distinct slap mark on his face but a cheerful smile. Approaching Wayne, he chuckled and said, "Witcher, you've got some luck. My uncle asked me to bring you to him. By the way, I'm Andrew. Remember to buy me a drink when you're done. I'll be at the Kingfisher Tavern; they say the spirits there are top-notch." Wayne nodded, returning the smile, and replied, "Of course, Andrew, my name is Wayne, and I won't forget this promise." Money was of little concern to him, and if Andrew proved to be a person worth befriending, Wayne intended to frequently invite the straightforward and honest dwarf for drinks. Perhaps it could lead to an opportunity to learn forging.

The blacksmith shop was sizable, featuring a furnace and anvil at the entrance, a substantial warehouse in the yard, a coal storage shed, and living quarters for the dwarf blacksmiths. Guided by Andrew, Wayne traversed two courtyards before reaching the dwelling of Master O. Henry.

Upon entering the yard, Wayne heard a robust voice bellow, "Andrew, get out of here and go to work. You've already owed me two months' wages for playing cards. If you're lazy, I might even ban you from drinking." Following the sound, Wayne spotted a bald dwarf, standing less than 1.5 meters tall but with muscles like cast steel. Seated on a stone pier, the wrinkles on his face were prominent, and he sported a snow-white beard tied into three braids. Smoking a pipe, he impatiently scrutinized Wayne.

Upon hearing the reprimand, the robust Andrew, who appeared quite strong, gestured at Wayne like a little rabbit encountering a big bad wolf, reminding him not to forget the promised treat. He hastily made his exit.

Master blacksmith O. Henry cast a disdainful look at his nephew's retreating figure, snorted, and then directed his attention at Wayne, asking bluntly, "Half-elf Witcher, this is the first time I've seen you. Which school of Witchers are you from?" After contemplating for a moment, Wayne responded truthfully, "I come from the Wolf School, Master O. Henry." The dwarf master blacksmith bit his pipe, exhaled a puff of smoke, took a couple of seconds to reflect, and then sighed as he spoke.

"I haven't heard of it, but 30 years ago, I met a Witcher from the Griffin School, and he commissioned me to create armor. It took half a year just waiting for him to collect the materials. That set of master-level armor not only requires the high skills of craftsmen but also requires the right temperature of the furnace. For this reason, I had to spend a lot of money to upgrade the furnace to meet the requirements of that set of armor. When the armor was finally finished, I couldn't help but burst into tears. It was the most satisfying piece of work from my youth."

Having said that, O. Henry looked at Wayne and asked, "So, Witcher, what piece of equipment do you want to build? Are the blueprints ready?"

Wayne nodded, then took out the blueprint copied by Geralt from his arms, handed it to the dwarf blacksmith, and said, "The drawing is here, Master O. Henry. If you need it, my companion still has a finished product for your appreciation."

The master dwarf blacksmith took the drawing, snorted disdainfully, looked at it for about half a minute, and said, "To tell you the truth, that human merchant has no standing with me, and I have no friendship with you. However, since you are a half-elf and a Witcher, I can give you two choices. The first one: you prepare the materials yourself, and I can help you finish this master silver sword.

However, meteorite iron, dimeritium metal, and moon dust, as required in this blueprint, are all quite rare materials. You can try your luck in the market and see if you can buy them. As for the second option, as long as you get me something, I can prepare these materials for you, and you won't even need to pay the wages."

"Of course, this item is also quite rare. I've approached many of my contacts, but there's no way to buy it. There is a very old red wine in Toussaint. If you help me get a bottle of this fine wine, I'll help you for free."

Hearing these two choices, Wayne couldn't help but frown slightly. He didn't know much about the materials for the sword or the red wine of Toussaint, and he didn't dare to say which choice was easier. So, he considered it for a while and said in a compromising tone, "Master, whether I choose the first option or the second option, you'll still need to complete this work. How about you start forging now, and I'll collect those materials and items? No matter which one I complete, you won't suffer a loss."

Master O. Henry thought for a while, realized that this was indeed the case, snorted, and said, "Come on, smart kid." The dwarf licked his lips and added, "In fact, I prefer you to choose the second option."

Wayne nodded with a smile. In fact, he was also inclined towards the second option. Establishing a good relationship with a master dwarf blacksmith was beneficial for him and even for the entire Wolf School of Witchers.

Master O. Henry was a straightforward person. After negotiating terms with Wayne, he drove him out of the blacksmith shop without extra pleasantries. To fulfill the blacksmith's request, Wayne didn't want to stay any longer. After leaving the blacksmith shop, he immediately sought out the person with the most connections he knew so far, the wealthy merchant Declan Leuvaarden.

As a merchant from the south, Leuvaarden naturally had more channels than northern merchants to obtain Toussaint's fine wine. Wayne's luck was good; Leuvaarden's house hadn't been built yet, and he happened to be resting in the tavern today.

Upon hearing that Wayne had come to see him, the portly merchant received him warmly. But this time, there was a request; Wayne took the initiative to pay the bill in advance and ordered a bottle of expensive red wine, which Leuvaarden did not refuse.

After the food and drink were served, the two chatted while drinking. Before Wayne could bring up the topic of Toussaint wine, Leuvaarden took the initiative to ask, "Has Master O. Henry agreed to your request, Wayne?"

Wayne didn't beat around the bush; he told what had happened in the morning and sincerely asked, "Leuvaarden, do you have a channel to buy that wine? Or is there a way to acquire meteorite iron, moon dust, and dimeritium metal?"

After hearing the words, Leuvaarden thought for a few seconds, then shook his head regretfully and said, "Sorry, Wayne, all I deal with are bulk raw materials; those rare forging materials are not within my network."

He pondered for a few seconds and then said, "However, if you want to buy a bottle of rare red wine, I can help. But I estimate that it will take at least two months from the time I send out the request, and then it will be specially transported from Toussaint. And the cost will be higher than the ones on the market. If you can accept that, I can assist."

"It will take two months to transport it back from Toussaint..." Wayne pondered for a few seconds. This approach would not only take up to two months but also cost more money, and he'd end up owing Declan Leuvaarden a favor. It was really not worth it and could only be considered as a last resort.

"Thank you for your help, Declan, but I want to visit the market first to see if I can find the forging materials I need. If necessary, I'll trouble you again."

Declan nodded kindly, indicating he didn't mind. He used his thumb to turn the jewel ring on his index finger. After a moment of thought, he suddenly smiled and said, "But Wayne, I did hear a bit of gossip. In five days, Temeria's royal advisor, Keira Metz, is planning to host a birthday party at her residence. This beautiful sorceress is very fond of wine and jewelry, and she has a wide network of contacts. Maybe in her wine cabinet, there's a bottle or two of the fine wine you need. If you want to give it a shot, I can help you get an invitation. Are you interested?"

Hearing this name, Wayne was momentarily stunned and suddenly remembered that this was the sorceress who might end up burnt at the stake in Novigrad. From her depiction in the games, Keira was portrayed as a sorceress with a good heart. She was the type who loved luxury, romance, and was rather straightforward. Compared to other sorceresses skilled in manipulation, Keira's abilities were relatively shallow, and she was almost outwitted and killed by ordinary people.

After receiving this unexpected news, Wayne once again expressed his gratitude to Declan, but he didn't dwell on it. Sorceresses were symbols of trouble, and he had no connection with Keira, so even if he reached out to her, it might not yield the desired outcome. Thus, this plan could only be regarded as a backup.

After bidding farewell to Declan, Wayne left the Kingfisher Inn. He sought out the dwarf Andrew once more and, after arranging to share an evening drink, asked about other blacksmith shops in Vizima. Only peers truly understand peers, and for someone like Wayne, who was a layman in the trade, finding these rare materials in such a large city was incredibly difficult. He could only rely on his newly-acquainted dwarf blacksmith friend for any useful leads.

Unfortunately, the news from Andrew was also disappointing. "Sadly, my friend, dimeritium, also known as anti-magic metal, isn't something blacksmiths or shops always have in stock. As for Meteorite Ore and Moon Dust, those are both rare and extremely difficult to come by. They're worth at least a few hundred orens. No blacksmith shop consistently has these materials. Even if you place an order, it could take one or two months to arrive, and even then, it's up to luck whether you can get them." Seeing Wayne frown, the young dwarf scratched his chin and added, "However, I've heard that some sorcerers use these materials to craft magical equipment. You might want to ask them."

Hearing the same result again, Wayne was left somewhat helpless. It was clear from the current situation that sorceresses held many of the higher-level resources. As the most powerful organization that had dominated the northern magical field for thousands of years, the Brotherhood of Sorcerers was like an insurmountable mountain for many.

Throughout the afternoon, Wayne didn't give up and kept wandering around various shops in Vizima, but unfortunately, he still came up empty-handed. In the end, he could only accompany Andrew to drink at the Kingfisher Tavern before heading home to rest, feeling dejected.

After all, Vizima's old city was just an inland town. In the past, it was too small and rundown to be considered prosperous. The merchants passing through weren't as frequent as those in the capitals of other kingdoms, which led to a shortage of various supplies.

Since he couldn't find what he needed in the market, and Wayne didn't want to wait two months, he finally decided to go with his backup plan and contact the sorceresses in the city. According to the information he had, King Foltest currently had three royal advisors: Keira Metz, Triss Merigold, and Fercart.

Having played the games and read the novels, Wayne knew a bit about Keira and Triss. But as for the sorcerer Fercart, the most notable thing about him was that, in the future, he would defect to the Nilfgaardian Empire and perish. He had no significant records, no special talents, and left little impression. After much deliberation, Wayne decided to start with Keira. Whether he obtained the wine from her or sourced the Meteorite Ore and Moon Dust through her contacts, it would be a satisfactory outcome.

Moreover, Wayne had another idea in mind. The issue of the striga in the city had gradually become the most troubling matter for King Foltest. As a Witcher, Wayne didn't intend to present himself to King Foltest, nor did he plan to accept this commission proactively.

Things that are easily obtained are often undervalued. However, if he became entangled with Temeria's royal advisors, when the situation worsened, the sorceresses might introduce him to the king. At that point, he could employ the strategy of playing hard to get, waiting for Foltest to invite him personally. Only in that way would his assistance seem more valuable and avoid suspicion.

Thinking of this, Wayne took out a quill and paper and began to write a sincere letter of introduction. He also decided against asking Declan for an invitation to the birthday party, as that would be too passive and conspicuous. A Witcher shouldn't be too high-profile; it might easily provoke hostility. He intended to establish private contact with Keira first, hoping that the mere mention of a Witcher would pique her interest.

That night, Keira returned to her mansion from the palace. Due to the construction of the new city, not only the city hall but the entire Kingdom of Temeria was quite busy. As royal advisors, she and Triss were, of course, deeply involved.

Not only was she responsible for assisting the king with governmental affairs, but she also had to arrange various magical defense facilities in the newly built palace and address supernatural events in various regions. It could be said that she was very busy. However, Keira found this busyness enjoyable.

She was the type of woman who loved luxury, power, and the respect of others. Though she had only been a royal advisor for a few years, compared with the monotonous academic life at Aretuza, this feeling of being in the spotlight and wielding power made Keira feel that her decades of hard work had finally paid off.

"Lady Keira, someone delivered a visiting letter today; would you like to see it?" Hearing the maid's inquiry, Keira was lying in a bathtub covered with rose petals, letting the warm water flow slowly over her smooth skin. She stretched and asked lazily, "Whose letter is it, Maisie? If it's from those merchants or wealthy citizens, don't bother me with it. They're just greedy fools who don't know their place and want a piece of the new Vizima."

The maid named Maisie looked at the envelope, hesitated for a moment, then said, "It was sent by a man, but the signature on the envelope is unusual—Witcher Wayne. Lady Keira, do these legendary witchers really exist? Are they the ones who kidnap and kill children?"

Keira was stunned for a moment before sneering, "A Witcher? How rare. And Maisie, don't believe those silly market rumors. You common folk can live safely outside the city without being devoured by monsters thanks to the work of these Witchers."

"Interesting, show me the letter. Even for me, I've only read about Witchers in books. It's said that they are master swordsmen who know a few magical tricks and have undergone mutations." Saying this, Keira subconsciously licked her lips and asked, "By the way, you said it was a man; does he look strong?"

Wayne didn't expect Keira to respond so promptly. The very next day, the maid delivered her reply. Unlike Wayne's tactful and subtle approach, Keira's message was direct: she was interested in meeting the Witcher, Wayne. They arranged to have dinner that evening at a high-end club called "Red Kite."

Though surprised by the Sorceress's swift action, Wayne didn't hesitate. Rather than don his usual armor, he visited a barber shop and a tailor in the city to spruce himself up. Although not accustomed to the formal attire of medieval nobility, after some grooming, he successfully transformed from a rugged warrior into a handsome young man with a heroic demeanor. Even Geralt teased him, saying he looked more like the young heir of a noble family than a Witcher.

"Red Kite" was a prestigious club located in the affluent district, offering dining, entertainment, and various services such as massages and accommodations. The club spanned three floors, each with only four spacious private rooms. The luxurious interior was staffed by more than a dozen professional servants, and popular music was played by skilled bards. It was akin to a five-star hotel in medieval times, and naturally, it was not cheap. Only the wealthy or influential citizens of Vizima could afford to frequent such a place.

Arriving at the club ten minutes early, Wayne was informed by a maid waiting at the entrance that Keira had already reserved a private room. With no other option, he followed her to the luxurious suite, feeling like a young man being spoiled by a wealthy woman.

This was Wayne's first time in such an intimate and opulent setting. Whether it was his imagination or not, he couldn't shake the feeling that the rooms exuded an air of luxury and mystery.

After waiting awkwardly for seven or eight minutes, Wayne heard the sound of light footsteps. Accompanied by a pleasant female laugh, a beautifully dressed woman entered. She wore a red, low-cut gown that revealed her delicate collarbone and the upper curves of her bosom. Petite and refined, with short, bright golden hair and a proud glint in her eyes, she was none other than Keira Metz, the current advisor to the Temerian royal family.

Seeing Wayne's slightly embarrassed expression, Keira's eyes sparkled with amusement. She smiled and said, "So, you're the Witcher, Wayne?" Wayne politely invited her to sit at the table, smiling as he replied, "Yes, Keira. It's an honor to be invited to dinner by you."

The maid who had been attending to them discreetly asked the chef to bring in the food and wine once the two guests were seated, then exited the room, waiting outside for further instructions.

Keira covered her mouth and smiled slightly, her blue eyes twinkling as she began asking Wayne about his experiences as a Witcher, her curiosity as innocent as a little girl's. Wayne didn't refuse her, recounting some of his experiences that wouldn't betray the secrets of his profession.

For instance, he shared stories about the rigorous training at Kaer Morhen, the troublemakers in Kaedwen, a significant gambling match at the Floating Harbor, and battles with various monsters. At the same time, he casually brought up topics related to the Aretuza Academy, engaging the Sorceress in conversation.

Despite their different worlds—Keira being a Sorceress who dealt with books and nobles, and Wayne a warrior often found among farmers and monsters—their shared human curiosity and Wayne's commendable conversational skills made their interaction surprisingly pleasant.

After several rounds of drinking, Keira, who had downed an entire bottle of fine red wine, licked her red lips in satisfaction. She ran her fingers from her collarbone down to her chest, looking at Wayne with a flirtatious gaze. "It's been a lovely evening, Wayne. I've been so busy lately, and sharing a delightful dinner with a humorous Witcher like you has been a rare treat. But I doubt you came to see me just for a chat. Is there something you need? Perhaps a Sorceress's help?"

Watching Keira's seductive eyes and provocative gestures, Wayne, inexperienced in such matters, found it hard to remain composed. He cleared his throat and adjusted his posture before replying, "You're truly perceptive, Keira. Indeed, I have a reason for seeking you out."

Keira's gaze lingered briefly on Wayne's midsection, her smile growing more playful. "Go ahead, Wayne. I'm in a good mood tonight. As long as your request isn't too outrageous, I might just consider it."

Ignoring the potential double meaning in her words, Wayne chose to explain his situation in the form of a story. He detailed the agreement he had made with the master dwarf blacksmith O. Henry and then sincerely asked, "Keira, I've heard that you are an elegant lady with a fine taste in wine. I've come to see if I might purchase a bottle of Toussaint's finest from you. Of course, if it's inconvenient, I'd be grateful if you could sell me some meteorite and moon dust, or perhaps your Sorceress friends might have some for sale. I need these materials for forging weapons."

Keira remained silent for a moment, swirling the red wine in her glass with delicate fingers. Then she looked into Wayne's eyes, smiled, and said, "No problem, Wayne. I like your straightforwardness. Though we've only just met, I believe we could become friends in the future. As a gesture of goodwill, I'll give you a bottle of Toussaint's red wine to help with your troubles."

With that, the Sorceress picked up the napkin on the table, dabbed her lips, and smiled warmly. "But now I'm feeling a bit tipsy. As a gentleman, shouldn't you offer to take me home?"

The next morning, Wayne emerged from Keira's mansion, holding the bottle of Toussaint's red wine she had given him. He couldn't help but feel a bit emotional. The Sorceresses of this era were indeed affluent. A bottle of such fine wine could fetch at least 2,000 orens on the market, more than the price of a good horse.

Yet, Keira had given it to him, a man she'd just met, without a second thought. Of course, as a Witcher, Wayne knew that Keira saw potential value in him. A small favor now might lead to greater rewards later. Nonetheless, Wayne couldn't help but develop a good impression of Keira. After all, when someone helps you, it's important to be grateful.

Wayne decided that if Keira ever found herself in trouble and required assistance within his moral boundaries, he would not hesitate to lend a hand. With this commitment in mind, Wayne made his way to the master dwarf blacksmith O. Henry's shop. As a Witcher, he was eager to possess a master-crafted silver sword of his own.

The next afternoon, at O'Henry's dwarven blacksmith shop.

"Haha, kid, I've got three times as many points as you, and you only have three cards left! Hahaha." The dwarf master, who had just lost six games in a row, finally saw hope for victory. He stroked his beard in satisfaction, took a sip of Toussaint red wine, and let out a hearty laugh.

Wayne, sitting opposite him, remained calm, a knowing smile on his lips. He played a Rain card, forcing all siege equipment on both sides down to a single point and wiping out the dwarf's highest-scoring cards. Then, he placed a Commander's Horn on his ranged row, doubling its points. Finally, under the astonished gaze of the dwarf master, Wayne played another Commander's Horn on his melee row. With just three cards, he turned the tables and won the game.

Wayne picked up his glass of red wine, taking a leisurely sip. The sweet taste, tinged with a smoky aroma, lingered on his tongue. He glanced at the enormous wine bottle and remarked, "Master O'Henry, this bottle is enormous—I'm surprised even a dwarf's throat could manage it."

O'Henry's bronze face flushed slightly at Wayne's teasing. Just as he was about to retort, Wayne spoke again, his tone now serious.

"Master, I know you were joking. But I've won the Gwent game as agreed. Now, I wonder if you can grant me a small request."

Suppressing his embarrassment, O'Henry, though a bit irked by his loss, responded curiously, "It's a small matter, of course, I can promise you. But I'm curious—why, as a Witcher, would you want to learn forging techniques from me instead of hunting monsters for commissions? You could earn much more with your Witcher work."

In response, Wayne drew the master-level silver sword crafted by the dwarf master from its scabbard, revealing the gleaming blade etched with intricate, mysterious runes. The sword had taken O'Henry two days and nights, assisted by several other dwarf blacksmiths, to forge. Its craftsmanship could intoxicate any warrior who laid eyes on it.

After a few seconds of admiring the blade, Wayne replied, "Master, it's one of my ambitions. As a warrior, I want to wield the most powerful weapons and armor in the world. But more than that, I want to learn to forge them myself."

"Forge the strongest weapons and armor in the world?" O'Henry was momentarily taken aback by Wayne's words. After a moment of contemplation, he chuckled and then, with a serious expression, added disdainfully, "You cheeky brat. I've specialized in blacksmithing for seventy years, and even I wouldn't make such a bold claim. Yet here you are, spouting nonsense without knowing the first thing about forging."

After his brief tirade, the dwarf lit his pipe, taking a deep draw of the rich tobacco, and exhaled with satisfaction. "Well, boy, I don't care about your reasons. We dwarves always keep our word. From today on, you can come to my blacksmith shop anytime to learn forging techniques. If you have questions, ask me or the others. You don't need to be my apprentice—we don't go for such formalities. Just bring me some good wine in the future, and I'll be content."

With his goal achieved, Wayne offered a few compliments to Master O'Henry, but the dwarf blacksmith didn't take kindly to flattery and booted Wayne out of his room with a string of loud curses.

Master O'Henry was truly a man of his word. A master-level silver sword of the Wolf School, including materials and labor, would cost at least a thousand Orens. Geralt had once mentioned that his silver sword was forged in Novigrad for 300 crowns—savings that took him three years to accumulate. With one crown equaling roughly seven Orens, Wayne's sword was indeed a valuable piece of equipment, one of the priciest for a Witcher. Yet, after accepting the bottle of Toussaint red wine, Master O'Henry didn't even mention payment, generously sharing the fine wine with Wayne.

"A true dwarven friend," Wayne thought, avoiding the bustling crowd as he made his way back to the Fox Tavern, where he was currently staying.

As he stepped into the tavern, a cute maid hurried over to greet him, her face flushed as she handed Wayne a letter. "Wayne, this is an invitation from Lady Keira. She invites you to her birthday dinner in two days."

Wayne took the letter, smiling warmly at the maid. "Are you feeling better, Maisie?" he asked. Maisie's face turned an even deeper shade of red. She had been caught up in the middle of the night by her mistress, Lady Keira, and, as an ordinary human and a virgin, had fallen asleep after barely lasting two hours. When she awoke the next morning, both Lady Keira and Wayne had already left. But the memory of the Witcher's powerful presence and boundless energy was something she would never forget.

Blushing, she whispered, "Thank you for your concern, Wayne. I'm feeling much better. I must get back to my duties at home, but please allow me to leave first."

Before she could turn to leave, Wayne added apologetically, "Maisie, please convey my apologies to Lady Keira. Unfortunately, I have an important matter to attend to and won't be able to make it to her party. But I'll prepare a special birthday gift for her and hope she'll understand."

Maisie looked up at Wayne in surprise. An invitation to Lady Keira's birthday banquet was a coveted honor, one many would dream of attending. Yet here was Wayne, politely refusing it. As Keira's personal maid, Maisie couldn't sway his decision and simply replied, "I'll relay your message, Wayne. But I think Lady Keira is truly looking forward to your presence. If possible, please reconsider."

Wayne sighed inwardly. If not for the fact that many high-ranking figures in the kingdom would be attending the party, he might not have refused. But he wasn't ready to draw the attention of the powerful just yet. "Sorry, Maisie," he said sincerely. "I really have something important to attend to. Please express my heartfelt apologies to Lady Keira."

Seeing Wayne's genuine regret, Maisie reluctantly nodded. "In that case, I'll convey your apology to Lady Keira." With that, she hurried off, leaving the slightly chaotic slum behind.

As soon as the girl exited the tavern, Jaskier, who had been observing with great interest, whistled loudly and sang out, "Wayne, the ruthless Witcher! How could you refuse the invitation of a lovely maiden? If it were me, I'd make sure she fell madly in love with me. Only memories as sweet as honey can answer the passion of a fair maiden!"

Wayne ignored Jaskier's playful banter and walked over to the table where Geralt was sitting. He took a seat opposite the White Wolf and downed a glass of cold beer. Geralt raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile flickering on his usually stoic face. "What's the matter, Wayne? If you're having second thoughts, you can still catch up to that girl. Did you spend a good night with her?"

Wayne rolled his eyes, not bothering to explain that he had actually spent the night with two women, one of whom was a Sorceress. He placed the master silver sword crafted by Master O'Henry in front of Geralt, then took out two light crossbows from his belt, laying them on the table as well. "My silver sword is ready. These two crossbows are prizes I won from the blacksmith. You can pick one as a gift from me."

The White Wolf raised an eyebrow, ignoring the crossbows and instead picking up the master-level silver sword. He drew the blade, examining it closely, and couldn't help but admire it. "Exquisite craftsmanship, excellent materials—this is truly a fine sword. It must have been forged by a master weapon smith."

Wayne shrugged, a hint of pride in his smile. "Not a penny, Geralt. You might not believe it, but I won it with my little Wayne"

In the world of men, boasting about conquering a challenge, especially one involving a woman, is a source of lifelong pride. Wayne briefly recounted last night's escapade to his good friend, leaving out Keira's true identity. Instead, he simply described Keira's beauty and passion, Maisie's shyness, and the intense night that followed. Under the envious gazes of Geralt and Jaskier, he downed his cold beer and said, "It's all trivial. I'm still no match for you in this respect. There's a legend in Vizima's brothels about a certain white-haired macho. I've heard some girls are willing to entertain you for free."

After praising Geralt, Wayne's expression turned serious as he changed the subject. "By the way, Declan Leuvaarden's commission starts the day after tomorrow, right? I'll take the first week on duty. It's perfect—I want to test this sword." He had another reason for volunteering: it would conveniently allow him to avoid attending Keira's birthday party.

Geralt took a sip of beer, nodding. "Alright, then I'll handle the second week. I just got a commission myself. Some monsters have been found in the sewers of Vizima's New City. I checked it out yesterday, and I believe it's a Kikimora."

"Honestly, the sewers in the new city are a maze, and no one has managed them for centuries. With all the construction going on, I wouldn't be surprised by what kind of monsters emerge."

Wayne nodded in agreement. Knowing the history that lay ahead, he understood Vizima's future was far from peaceful. In ten years, due to the Wild Hunt brought back by Ciri, a plague would break out, decimating the population. Coupled with the toll of wars, coups, and other calamities, perhaps only half of the city's original residents would survive twenty years later.

As the two were chatting, a young man in sackcloth entered the tavern. He approached the counter, exchanged a few words with Old Vimmie, and then, guided by Vimmie, made his way to Wayne's table. The young man's skin was tanned, and though it was early spring, his clothes were damp with sweat, indicating he worked long hours under the sun.

He respectfully greeted Wayne and handed him a letter, saying, "Wayne, you've got a letter from City Hall." Wayne glanced at the letter and recognized the sender as Peter, the administrative officer he had met a few days ago. He couldn't help but smile. It seemed Peter had grown impatient after being ignored for a few days, so much so that he had written to arrange dinner at the tavern tonight. Wayne decided to address the matter of his house, which had been pending for days. He handed two coppers to the young man as a tip and tucked the letter away.

Geralt, watching the messenger leave, asked, "Whose letter? Something happen?" Wayne smiled, shaking his head. "It's about the house. We should have a place to stay soon."

Geralt, however, showed little interest, replying lightly, "Although I should remind you, we Witchers have never needed a permanent home. But your decision is your own; I won't stop you."

Later that evening, following the address on the letter, Wayne arrived at a tavern near the wealthy district. Upon entering, he quickly spotted Peter, the refined officer, sipping red wine and listening to a bard's performance with a contemplative expression. After exchanging pleasantries, Peter, even more enthusiastic than during their last encounter at City Hall, got straight to the point.

"Several days have passed; I wonder if you've decided on which house to buy?" Peter inquired, swirling his wine glass.

Wayne took a sip of his beer, wearing a somewhat embarrassed expression, and spoke hesitantly, "To be honest, Peter, I initially planned to buy a high-end house, both as a residence and as an investment in Vizima. But a few days ago, a friend of mine encountered a financial crisis. I lent him a substantial sum, so now I'm afraid I don't have enough funds for the house."

Peter's face grew anxious. Securing Wayne's purchase of a high-end house was crucial for Peter to outshine the top administrative officer and advance his career at City Hall.

Trying to persuade Wayne, Peter pressed on, "Wayne, the new city is still under construction, and there are discounts available. In the future, people from across the Kingdom of Temeria will want to live in Vizima, driving up property values. If you miss this opportunity, you'll regret it."

Noticing Wayne's thoughtful expression, Peter quickly added, "As for the funds, I know a dwarf banker who could help. If you use the house as collateral, you should be able to borrow the necessary amount."

Wayne, however, shook his head at the mention of borrowing from the dwarf banker. "Sorry, Peter, I'm not keen on taking loans from bankers. They're all vampires, and with my unstable income, taking on debt could ruin me."

Peter, growing more desperate, tried to gauge Wayne's financial situation and willingness to cooperate. He asked directly, "Wayne, if you don't mind me asking, how much Orens can you gather right now? Let me know, and I'll see how I can assist you."

Feigning a bit of embarrassment, Wayne replied, "I can probably scrape together a bit more than 2,000 Orens. Other high-end houses might be out of my reach. I'm thinking of buying that house with the rumored issues. I have a Sorceress friend who might be able to help if the problems aren't too serious."

Peter was momentarily taken aback but quickly composed himself. With a smile, he said, "Wayne, don't take me for a fool. I've looked into your background. You're a Witcher yourself; maybe you could solve any issues with that house on your own, right?"

Wayne, seeing the shrewdness in Peter's eyes, abandoned some of his pretense and chuckled. "Haha, Peter, you're quite perceptive. But my interest in that house has nothing to do with my profession. I'm in no hurry. Perhaps I'll wait a month or two. As the house's reputation spreads, I might get it cheaper. However, if other officials approach me in the meantime, I won't turn them away."

Peter's expression shifted slightly, but he quickly resumed his warm demeanor. Pouring Wayne another glass of wine, he said, "Haha, Wayne, there's no need for such formalities. Leave it to me—I can handle the paperwork tomorrow. I'll give you a 10% discount; that's the best I can offer."

He continued, "And if you have any friends looking to settle in Vizima and buy shops, houses, or land, send them my way. I'll ensure they get the best deals."

After reaching an agreement with the administrative officer Peter, Wayne promptly purchased and moved into a new house in New Vizima. Joining him in the spacious residence were his two friends, Geralt and Jaskier, each with a room of their own.

Before the move, Wayne briefed Geralt and Jaskier about the Godling Lala's family. Both expressed goodwill towards the demihuman race, assuring they would not harm the little Godling.

The druid elder Keinster, after nearly a week of recuperation, had his health restored. Formally bidding farewell to Wayne, the old man prepared to undertake the long-delayed task of establishing a new druid ring in the forest by Lake Vizima. After discussions with Wayne, he decided to leave Vizima City together when Wayne headed to the lumber camp.

On the eve of leaving Vizima, Wayne adhered to an agreement and spent five hundred Oren to carefully select a gemstone earring from a city jewelry store, sending it to Keira's mansion as her birthday present. Although he had considered giving the Sorceress a gold pocket watch, its intricate craftsmanship marked it as a medieval masterpiece, revealing details that could be potentially problematic.

Keira, however, seemed indifferent to the gift's value. During Wayne's visit to her mansion, the elegantly dressed Sorceress engaged him in an intimate evening. Even the poor maid, Maisie, was unwittingly drawn into the activities when she brought them supper. Exhausted after two hours, Maisie eventually succumbed to sleep.

The following morning, as they parted ways, Keira, now dressed in an elegant gown, not only forgave Wayne for missing her birthday party but also presented him with an expensive bottle of wine.

Holding the valuable bottle, Wayne bid farewell to Geralt, who wore a similarly complex expression. After packing his belongings and donning his equipment, Wayne mounted his steed, Lucifer, and left Vizima City alongside the old druid Keinster.

Lake Vizima, nestled in the Izmina Valley, is the largest inland lake in the Kingdom of Temeria. Serving as a crucial water source, it connects the tributaries of the Pontar River, supplying abundant freshwater and fish to Vizima City and its surrounding communities.

The lake's rich resources have enabled the city to support a substantial population. The widespread irrigation of lake water and nourishment from rainwater have given rise to a vast swamp surrounding the immense lake. An expansive forest has also flourished, teeming with wild animals, spirits, and ghosts, each occupying distinct territories.

However, over the past year, the situation has changed.

The establishment of New Vizima created a substantial demand for timber. Driven by economic interests, numerous logging camps were established around the primeval forest, leading to a surge in tree cutting. The ecological disruption caused many wild animals to be displaced, forcing them into territories occupied by others. The resulting chaos prompted previously hidden monsters in the forest's central area to attack loggers who disturbed them.

Following the route provided by Declan Leuvaarden, Wayne rode continuously. Upon entering the primeval forest, the druid elder Keinster officially parted ways with Wayne. Expressing gratitude for saving his life, Keinster shared the approximate location where he intended to build the druid ring before disappearing into the forest.

Watching Keinster's departure, Wayne couldn't help but wonder if this old man would establish the druid camp in the Vizima Forest as depicted in The Witcher more than a decade later.

After riding for another half-hour, Wayne finally reached Leuvaarden's logging camp. The sprawling lumberyard employed hundreds of workers, both human and dwarf, with a few elves among them. The extensive clearing of the forest left an unsightly scar on the landscape, resembling the bite marks of a giant beast.

As Wayne approached on horseback, a middle-aged man in a long robe, his expression anxious, hurried over. He scrutinized Wayne for a few seconds before speaking with a Southern accent.

"Excuse me, are you Wayne, the Witcher?"

Wayne dismounted with a kind smile, nodding in confirmation. "Yes, I accepted Leuvaarden's commission and came here."

The middle-aged man visibly relaxed, giving Wayne a slight bow. "Welcome, Wayne. I am Ozick, the deacon appointed by the esteemed Leuvaarden to manage the daily affairs of this logging camp. Leuvaarden informed me in a letter that you are a formidable fighter who can assist us with the challenges we face. He instructed us to collaborate fully with your efforts."

After a moment's hesitation, Ozick bowed again, making a sincere request. "I hope it's not too presumptuous, but Wayne, could you begin working now? Three of our loggers went missing this morning, and it's been two hours. They are all family men from Vizima City, with wives and children depending on them. If you can locate them, you'd be saving three families. I hope you'll consider my request."

Ding! Task triggered: [Search for the Missing Lumberjacks], Expert level. Accept/Decline.

Wayne furrowed his brow. He hadn't expected to receive an expert-level task immediately upon arriving at the worksite.

Seeing no reason to refuse, Wayne mentally accepted the task. His expression shifted from initial kindness to a more serious demeanor. "Of course, it's my job, Ozick. Please take me to the site where the incident occurred and provide me with any information you have. Time is of the essence. Every second of delay reduces the chances of those workers surviving."

Observing Wayne's professional attitude, Ozick's respect for him deepened. However, Wayne's youthful appearance contrasted sharply with the hardened mercenaries Ozick had encountered before. If something went wrong, Ozick knew he'd have a hard time explaining it to Leuvaarden.

After a brief moment of consideration, Ozick hesitated and asked, "Wayne, do you need me to gather a group of loggers to accompany you? Although they aren't soldiers, they're strong workers and might be able to assist."

Wayne, picking up his master-level silver sword that had yet to taste blood, and pairing it with the steel sword given by Vesemir, didn't outright reject Ozick's offer. Instead, he replied seriously, "I don't need them for now, Ozick. I have to assess the situation at the site before making any decisions. This primeval forest is full of dangers, and sending a large group might lead to more casualties."

Noticing Ozick's continued hesitation, Wayne offered a faint smile. "Don't worry about my safety. Despite my youthful appearance, more monsters have fallen to my sword than you might imagine."

Observing Wayne's unwavering confidence, Deacon Ozick refrained from further remarks and promptly led the Witcher to the site where the three missing lumberjacks were last seen. It was an unremarkable clearing at the forest's edge, but unlike other logging stations, this one ventured deeper into the woods. Perhaps that's why the lumberjacks vanished here.

Upon reaching the scene, Wayne immediately held his breath and focused, utilizing his acute Witcher senses to search for clues. Initially expecting a subtle and unsolved case, Wayne surprised himself by discovering scattered logging axes in the grass within ten minutes. The ground was marred with messy footprints, and a faint scent of fresh blood reached Wayne's keen nose. Leaning in, he discerned the scent of sweat, a greasy aroma tinged with rust—human blood, but not in large quantities. It was evident that some lumberjacks had been either killed or injured.

Instead of hastily following the blood trail to locate the missing lumberjacks, Wayne squatted down, meticulously studying the disorderly footprints. Soon, he discerned important clues—large, four-fingered imprints reminiscent of massive beasts, ruling out the possibility of wild bears or wolves.

Ozick, standing nearby, noticed the footprints were larger than a human palm and sank deep into the ground. Realizing that a colossal and ferocious monster had attacked the lumberjacks, he couldn't help but express concern and ask Wayne about it.

"Wayne, can you identify what kind of monster it is?" Ozick inquired.

Wayne, stroking his smooth chin, recalled the knowledge he had acquired at Kaer Morhen and affirmed, "It was a werewolf that attacked them. However, I find it peculiar. What could have driven a werewolf to target these loggers? Loggers who have just arrived here typically have no connection with these cursed creatures."

Ozick, unfamiliar with the term "werewolf," was a confidant from the southern kingdom who had recently arrived with Declan Leuvaarden. He expressed his ignorance of the various monsters in the north. The middle-aged deacon pondered aloud, "Werewolf," before suggesting, "Wayne, are you confident you can locate this werewolf's lair? Should we go to the city and inform the guards to handle it?"

Wayne shot a mildly amused look at the naive Southerner. He knew well that the guards in the northern city were unlikely to pay attention to incidents outside the city, and even if the city hall did take notice, under the influence of wealthy businessman Leuvaarden, a mere team of guards would be dispatched.

Given the werewolf's formidable stature, towering meters high, razor-sharp claws capable of tearing through ordinary chainmail, and resilience that defied conventional damage, Wayne doubted the effectiveness of a standard guard force. Even with silver weapons, the guards, unless they were all seasoned warriors, would at best leave a few scars on the werewolf. Werewolves, being cunning and vicious cursed monsters, posed a significant threat even to fledgling Witchers, leading to fatalities at their hands.

It's no surprise that the system rated this task as expert-level. Thankfully, Wayne possessed a magic storage bag containing all the potions, bombs, and sword oil needed to confront a werewolf. With the master-level silver sword crafted by Master O'Henry, Wayne remained confident in facing an ordinary werewolf.

Rising to his feet, Wayne addressed Deacon Ozick, "Deacon Ozick, werewolves are formidable monsters transformed from cursed humans. Until I return, it's best not to venture into the forest. I wouldn't want to come back to find more casualties."

Ozick, aware of Wayne's expertise in handling monsters and respecting him as a friend of their boss, Leuvaarden, nodded promptly. "Certainly, Wayne. I will organize the loggers to focus on tasks that don't require entering the forest today. But please, exercise caution. You're the boss' friend, and if something were to happen, the boss wouldn't spare me."

Wayne acknowledged Ozick's concern and, considering the inconvenience of taking his mount, Lucifer, into the forest, handed over the care of the horse to Ozick without further pleasantries. Without delay, Wayne set to work, tracing the scent of blood and following footprints into the forest.

Evidently, the werewolf lacked experience in evading pursuit, as it left an easily traceable trail. About an hour later, Wayne, guided by his heightened senses, arrived at the outskirts of the forest near a hunter's hut far from the small town on the outskirts of Vizima. The lingering scent of blood and fresh footprints suggested that the injured logger and werewolf had entered the hut approximately half an hour ago. Wayne contemplated the situation, wondering what he would find inside.

Yet, Wayne refrained from hastily entering the hut to assess the situation. Instead, he sat cross-legged in the concealed grass outside the cabin. Retrieving the storage bag by his side, he carefully extracted three bottles of potion, a vial of sword oil, and three alchemy bombs.

Among the potions were the Thunder Potion, enhancing strength and damage; the Swallow Potion, for injury restoration; and the Elixir, which amplified Sign damage. Wayne's mutation level, currently at level four, limited him to consuming three Witcher potions simultaneously. Beyond that threshold, the strain on his body would become burdensome. Nevertheless, with his proficiency nearing its peak, Wayne anticipated unlocking a professional specialty skill that would allow him to endure another potion for additional potent enhancements.

Suppressing the unpleasant odor of the potions, Wayne closed his eyes and swiftly consumed them during a brief meditation. The concoctions promptly invigorated his body. The Thunder Potion notably increased his strength, causing a slight muscle enlargement and dulling his pain perception in correlation with heightened strength.

Drawing his silver sword, Wayne meticulously coated the blade with cursed sword oil and discreetly stowed the second steel sword and scabbard in the grass. This precaution was essential; excess equipment only hinders combat efficacy in reality, unlike in games. Additional swords and scabbards would impede his agility and attack capabilities.

Only when all preparations for the impending battle were complete did Wayne take a measured breath, step out from the concealed grass, and approach the main entrance.

It was unwise for Wayne to impulsively enter the cramped hut, engaging in combat with a massive monster with thick skin and flesh within such confined quarters. Instead, he opted for a strategic approach, shouting, "Werewolf in the house, you've been exposed. I am a Witcher, and I came here to deal with you. If you have anything to say, you can come out and talk to me."

This method served the dual purpose of drawing the werewolf out of the house while allowing Wayne to understand the motive behind the werewolf's recent attack on the lumberjacks at a distant lumberyard.

In response to Wayne's call, the room remained silent, yet his keen hearing detected a creature with heavy breathing gradually approaching the door. Through a tiny crack, Wayne could even catch a glimpse of the thick gray hair on the tall figure. Just when he suspected the werewolf might be incapable of speech due to anger-induced madness, a hoarse, angry roar erupted from the gate.

The werewolf bellowed, "Witcher, I have heard of your kind. You are monster killers. However, this matter is none of your concern. I am acting for revenge. My wife, Paula, died in the forest, naked and wounded, blood staining the ground. When I found her, she was dying, and she told me that several loggers had assaulted her. She was the one I loved most. She didn't even despise me for being a werewolf. I must avenge her."

Upon hearing the werewolf's furious and sorrowful howls, Wayne remained composed and responded calmly, "Seeking revenge for a loved one is understandable, but involving and harming innocent people is never justified. If you still possess any trace of human rationality, release the woodcutters you've captured, and I can help you find those responsible for your wife's death. But if you've become a murderer, killing the innocent, you're no different from the villains who harmed her."

The werewolf's anger flared even more at Wayne's words. He roared through the wooden door, his voice seething with conviction, "You're just like the legends say—a monster without emotions. For revenge, I don't care if my hands are drenched in blood. These people refused to cooperate with me; they are accomplices, covering for the murderer. Until I find the one responsible, I won't hesitate to kill every woodcutter in this area."

Wayne understood that the werewolf's mind had been consumed by rage and vengeance. This wasn't just a single attack; the werewolf had extended his hatred to all woodcutters, likely due to the difficulty of pinpointing the true culprits among them.

Wayne silently fortified himself with a Quen sign, then took an alchemy bomb from his belt and called out, "If that's how it is, werewolf, come out."

"Maybe revenge is just an excuse, and you simply enjoy killing," Wayne taunted.

Unable to suppress his bloodlust, the werewolf roared, bursting through the door and charging toward Wayne.

Wayne remained focused, swiftly hurling the alchemy bomb. It exploded, not with gunpowder, but with a dense cloud of silver-white dust, enveloping the werewolf in a glowing mist.

This was a Moon Dust bomb, crafted from silver powder mixed with demeritium and special herbs—highly effective against magic and curse-bound creatures like werewolves, as well as formless entities like ghosts. It inflicted continuous damage on the werewolf, impairing his regenerative abilities and leaving him vulnerable.

The werewolf, caught mid-air, howled in pain and snarled, "Despicable Witcher!"

Wayne was unfazed. Adhering to the Witcher's code, he employed any means necessary—poison, traps, bombs—to defeat monsters. As the werewolf lunged, Wayne sidestepped, drawing his silver sword and aiming for the werewolf's unprotected belly. He slashed swiftly, his cursed blade slicing deep into the creature's flesh.

The wound oozed blood, the cursed sword oil seeping in to damage the werewolf's internal organs. Lacking any martial skill, the werewolf relied solely on his feral instincts.

Despite the pain, the werewolf continued his assault. Digging his claws into the ground, he twisted his body and lashed out at Wayne with blinding speed, his claws as fast as a swordsman's strike.

Wayne, balancing his sword with both hands, deflected the werewolf's claws, then drove a powerful kick into the creature's wounded side, causing blood to spatter. The werewolf howled in agony and staggered back.

Wayne took the opportunity to cast an Igni sign with his left hand, sending a burst of flames toward the werewolf. The fire ignited the werewolf's matted fur, spreading quickly across his body, intensifying his suffering.

In a frenzy of fear and pain, the werewolf flailed his claws wildly, trying to keep Wayne at bay. But Wayne kept his distance, retrieving a Dragon's Dream bomb from his belt and hurling it at the creature.

The bomb exploded, fueling the flames even further. The werewolf was thrown to the ground, his body engulfed in fire, his flesh charring.

Wayne saw his opening. He rushed forward, gripping his silver sword with both hands, and drove it straight into the werewolf's heart.

The blade shattered bones and pierced flesh with ease. Blood sprayed as the sword cut through ribs, reaching the werewolf's heart.

The werewolf, now in excruciating pain, staggered backward, dropping to one knee. His body was covered in silver powder and flames, his heart and abdomen grievously wounded. Even with his werewolf resilience, he couldn't withstand such injuries.

Kneeling, the werewolf clutched his heart with a bloodied claw. His vision blurred, his eyes nearly blinded by the flames. Gasping for breath, he spoke in a hoarse voice:

"Witcher, I am not a monster. I was just a man seeking vengeance for my wife. In my rage, I killed a few woodcutters, but I can't stop. If I die, who will avenge my wife, Paula? She was a good woman who didn't deserve what happened to her."

Wayne, still holding his silver sword, pointed the tip at the werewolf's head, releasing a heavy breath. Although the battle had lasted only a few minutes, each moment was fraught with danger.

Without the strength boost from the Thunder Potion, Wayne might not have been able to fend off the werewolf's claws. His thin chain mail would have been no match for the sharp claws, and a strike to the abdomen or chest could have meant serious injury or death.

As he looked at the dying werewolf, Wayne remained vigilant for any last-ditch attack. He asked, "You're going to die soon, werewolf. Perhaps you can share what you've discovered. After your death, I may be able to bring justice to your wife by making those who harmed her pay."

The werewolf, on the brink of death, responded with a bitter laugh, spitting out blood before speaking hoarsely, "There are no clues. What can I find in this vast forest? All my wife mentioned were three men—one bald, one with a black beard, and a thin one. I haven't found anything else."

Wayne nodded, acknowledging the difficulty of solving such a crime in the wild. "I will do my best to find the murderers and bring them to justice. Do you have any last wishes?"

The werewolf raised his head, though his burnt eyes could no longer clearly see Wayne. In a sorrowful tone, he said, "Witcher, my wife is buried in the yard. After you kill me, please bury us together. If you find the murderer, come back to pay your respects and share the good news."

Wayne nodded solemnly. With a serious expression, he looked at the werewolf, now devoid of resistance. He raised his silver sword and mercifully ended the creature's suffering.

Witnessing the massive wolf head roll to the ground, Wayne silently released a sigh of relief. It marked his first encounter with such a formidable monster. As the effects of the Witcher's potion gradually waned, he began to feel a slight strain in his arm joints, accompanied by a tingling pain throughout his muscles.

Reflecting on the battle, Wayne acknowledged that attempting to directly block the werewolf's claw attacks with a sword was too taxing. He resolved to prioritize evasion when facing similarly powerful monsters in the future. Fortunately, the werewolf ultimately accepted its fate and refrained from launching a final, desperate counterattack. Despite the potential challenges in uncovering the truth behind the incident, dealing with an aggressive dying monster would have been even more perilous.

Wayne sheathed his blade, returned the silver sword to his belt, and gazed at the werewolf's lifeless body. He hesitated briefly, then decided against dissecting it for materials. Recognizing the creature's intelligence, ability to speak, and its role as a devoted husband, Wayne found the idea of harvesting its organs too cruel, at least for now.

Stepping over the werewolf's remains, Wayne ascended the wooden steps and entered the hunter's lodge. Although it appeared ordinary to the naked eye, with two bedrooms and a living room featuring aged furniture and decorations, Wayne's acute sense of smell detected the lingering scent of blood, leading him to the bedroom.

Upon reaching the bedroom, Wayne discerned the location of a basement beneath the wooden floor by tapping it with his scabbard, identifying a hollow sound. As he prepared to lift the concealed wooden door leading to the basement, his attention was drawn to an oil-painted portrait on the bedroom wall.

The portrait depicted a robust middle-aged man with short hair, tenderly embracing a young woman with long chestnut hair. Positioned between them was a bright-smiled boy of about ten years old. This revelation hinted that the werewolf still had a son, though Wayne remained unaware of the child's whereabouts.

Considering the infectious nature of the werewolf curse, which could be transmitted through bites or hereditary bloodlines, Wayne paused his descent into the basement. Instead, he searched the bedroom for clues. Leveraging his keen observation skills, he swiftly uncovered over 70 Orens hidden in a concealed compartment within a cabinet, alongside a letter resembling a suicide note.

After a moment of hesitation, Wayne opened the letter and perused its contents. Several minutes later, he returned the envelope and Orens to their original locations with a complex expression.

The contents of the letter revealed that the werewolf's original name was Meisis. Following the tragic death of his wife, he sent his grieving son to his aunt's house in town to recuperate. Determined to avenge his wife, Meisis began searching for the culprits in surrounding logging camps. Despite his efforts, he was unable to find any leads, leaving him frustrated, helpless, and filled with shame.

Recognizing the impending consequences of the werewolf curse within him, Meisis left behind the deposited Orens and the suicide note in anticipation of a grim fate.

"Save us." The desperate pleas of the living loggers echoed in the underground cave as they clung to the hope of rescue.

Wayne carefully observed the scene, noting the horrifying condition of the captives. The stench of blood and the sight of mutilated bodies painted a grim picture of the atrocities committed in this underground space. The two loggers with open stomachs had met a gruesome fate, their lifeless bodies adding to the macabre scene.

Steeling himself against the gruesome sight, Wayne decided to prioritize the rescue of the living. He approached the captives and began inspecting the hemp ropes binding their hands, searching for a way to quickly free them from their dire predicament.

Hearing the desperate cries for help from the woodcutters, Wayne observed that the six individuals matched the description given by Paula, the werewolf's wife. They all had bald heads and black beards, and the two deceased victims were relatively thin, likely the reason for their arrest. However, relying solely on these common characteristics would falsely implicate about one-tenth of the lumberjacks as potential murderers.

Using his sword, Wayne cut the ropes binding the woodcutters and gently lowered them to the ground. Assuring them that the threat had been eliminated, he identified himself as the Witcher invited by Deacon Ozick. Recognizing their injuries, Wayne advised them to rest in the basement while he informed Deacon Ozick to arrange for a doctor's assistance.

A bald-headed lumberjack, appearing older, expressed immediate gratitude, thanking Wayne for saving his life and expressing concern for his children's future. Witnessing the appreciation from the other surviving loggers, Wayne responded with a smile, offering words of reassurance and providing clean cloth strips for bandaging their wounds.

After giving these instructions, Wayne headed towards the basement exit. Unexpectedly, as he emerged from the wooden door, he was greeted by the sound of crying from outside the house.

"Father! Please, don't leave me! You and mother are both dead, and I am the only one left in this world."

Upon hearing the cries, Wayne's heart stirred, and he quickly deduced the identity of the distressed child.

Sighing inwardly, Wayne hesitated for a few seconds before taking a step out of the room. As expected, beside the decapitated werewolf's corpse, a ten-year-old child lay on the ground, crying inconsolably and pleading with his father not to leave him. Upon hearing the movement and seeing Wayne emerge from the house, the child was momentarily stunned. However, his sorrowful expression quickly transformed into one of hatred.

With an angry glare, the child accused Wayne of being the perpetrator, claiming that his father, a good man, didn't deserve to be killed. Without waiting for Wayne's response, the child stood up abruptly and charged towards him in a fit of desperation.

Faced with the child's furious attack, Wayne refrained from drawing his sword. Instead, he adopted a complex expression and sidestepped to allow the child to vent his anger. Placing his palm against the child's head, Wayne prevented him from getting too close.

Despite the likely futility of explaining to a child, Wayne felt compelled to convey the truth. He spoke, "Your father was a werewolf. Blinded by anger in seeking revenge for your mother, he killed two innocent loggers. Those loggers, like your father, were also fathers to other children and husbands to other women, with families of their own.

It might be hard for you to grasp now, but your father was in the wrong in this matter. He paid for his mistakes. You, too, bear the blood of a werewolf, but it's not your fault. Control your anger and destructive urges, and don't let them cloud your reason. If, in the future, you commit similar wrongs as your father, I will have to kill you, like your father today."

Having spoken his piece, Wayne observed the child persisting in his desperate stance, clutching at his chainmail with immature hands, even drawing blood from his fingers in the process. Sighing inwardly, Wayne employed his left hand to make the Sign of Axi. With this, an enhanced version of mind control was forcibly introduced into the child's mind, eliciting a strong spiritual impact that caused the child's eyes to roll back, rendering him unconscious.

Wayne gently picked up the child's small body, gazed at the sky, and after contemplating for a few moments, carried the child in his arms. With a complex mix of emotions, he sprinted toward the location of the lumberyard in Leverdon.

That evening, after addressing the aftermath of the werewolf attacks, Deacon Ozick found Wayne by a small river. The Witcher was practicing his swordsmanship, executing a series of fierce, wolf-like maneuvers. Watching Wayne's skillful display, Deacon Ozick respectfully saluted before delivering his report.

"Wayne, the injured workers have been transported to the hospital for treatment. The doctors have confirmed that their injuries are not life-threatening. The bodies of the two workers who lost their lives have been returned to their families."

He then mentioned the child Wayne had rescued. "As for the child you brought back, we've located his aunt's house, and he is now under proper care."

Deacon Ozick hesitated before continuing, "The workers are reluctant to bury the werewolf's body. They believe the best course of action is to burn it."

Hearing this, Wayne sheathed his steel sword and turned to face Deacon Ozick, his expression serious. Speaking in a solemn tone, Wayne explained, using gestures to emphasize his points.

"Mr. Ozick, the workers may not fully understand the situation. Werewolves are dangerous creatures, cursed with malevolent forces. Even if their bodies are burned, these monsters can transform into vengeful spirits, continuing to threaten the living."

"The reason I propose burying him beside my wife and ask for your help in finding the real culprit is to ensure the eradication of the monster's lingering hatred. Only through this can he find peace."

Wayne paused, adopting a tone of helplessness. He emphasized the vulnerability of the lumberyards and their workers, who lived close to the forest.

"People in towns are relatively safe, but we in the lumberyards, especially the workers here, must live near this forest. We can't risk having another malevolent spirit—cursed, invisible, unafraid of swords, and relentless in its pursuit of the living."

As Wayne described the potential dangers of such spirits, Ozick, visibly frightened, couldn't shake the image of the werewolf's formidable corpse. The creature, with its massive body, razor-sharp claws, and terrifying wolf-shaped head, left a lasting impression on Ozick.

Faced with the terrifying reality, Ozick struggled to imagine the devastation that would have occurred without the Witcher's intervention. The mere thought of evil spirits haunting the area intensified his sense of urgency.

Acknowledging the gravity of the situation, Ozick pledged, "I understand, Master Wayne. I will approach the managers of the nearby logging camps and urge them to provide a list of loggers who might have been near the hunter's lodge three days ago, based on your descriptions. I will then invite you to help screen the list."

Wayne nodded in agreement, appreciating Ozick's commitment. As he watched the Deacon leave, Wayne reflected on the strategic misinformation he had used. Although some of it was untrue, he understood that such tactics could lead to a more favorable resolution, ensuring justice was served.

As rumors of evil spirits spread, the logging camp managers, driven by fear, became notably cooperative. Within days, they provided Wayne with a fairly accurate list of workers.

With the werewolf threat eliminated, Wayne's duties at the lumberyard became less demanding. Apart from occasional appearances of low-level monsters, there were no further attacks on the camps.

During his free time, Wayne engaged in daily tasks assigned by Deacon Ozick, earning rewards akin to a regular job. His routine included practicing horseback riding, foraging for herbs in the forest, brewing potions, and occasionally revisiting his archery skills. Life took on a pleasant rhythm.

The expert-level werewolf mission had been rewarding, granting him significant experience points and an expert-level treasure chest. This achievement propelled him from level five to level six as a Witcher. His physical abilities saw slight improvements, and he gained an ability point.

Wayne (16 years old)

Occupation: WitcherLevel: 6 (23/600)Ability Points: 6Attributes: Strength 18, Dexterity 23, Constitution 20, Spirit 23Skills: Swordsmanship LV5, Signs LV8, Gene Mutation LV4, Gwent LV4Special Bloodline: Elder Blood (weak, unawakened, requires ten ability points to activate)Subsidiary Skills: Archery LV2, Cooking LV5, Herbology LV3, Alchemy LV3, Riding LV3

Wayne's culinary skills had reached level five, and other skills, such as mutation levels from potion consumption and Gwent, had peaked at level four. With continued effort, Wayne anticipated breaking through to level five within a month, unlocking the opportunity to choose skill specialties.

However, the scarcity of ability points remained a challenge. Apart from the minimal points gained with each level-up, absorbing magic from the Circle of Elements was the only other way to acquire this potent resource.

Wayne pondered the risks of absorbing magic nodes, knowing it would cause damage to the space and create tiny cracks. He realized the importance of choosing his targets carefully to minimize potential repercussions.

On the fifth day of his duty at the lumberyard, Deacon Ozick approached Wayne with a serious expression, informing him that all the lumberjacks matching the provided descriptions and potentially present near the werewolf hut had gathered. A total of 53 individuals awaited Wayne's questioning.

Surprised by the efficiency of Deacon Ozick and the logging camp managers, Wayne acknowledged the rumors of evil spirits had likely motivated the businessmen to act swiftly, recognizing the potential impact on their lucrative operations.

Wayne expressed his gratitude to Ozick for the thoughtful arrangement and acknowledged the progress made possible by his assistance. He assured Ozick that Declan Leuvaarden would surely praise him upon learning the truth. Ozick, visibly pleased, smiled and replied:

"It's my duty to assist you, Wayne. I'm glad we could work together to resolve this matter swiftly. If you need any further help, don't hesitate to ask. The loggers are waiting in the dormitory. Shall we proceed?"

With gratitude, Wayne agreed to accompany Ozick to question the loggers and unravel the mystery surrounding the werewolf incident.

As Ozick had anticipated, over fifty loggers, wearing various expressions of guilt, fear, or nervousness, were guarded in several dormitories. Aware of the purpose behind their gathering, Wayne refrained from immediate questioning and instead discreetly observed them, noting those who displayed particularly strong emotions such as guilt, fear, or anger.

After half an hour of observation, Wayne turned to Deacon Ozick and requested a separate room for individual questioning. Ozick promptly arranged a spacious room, implemented security measures, and allowed the loggers to enter one by one for Wayne's inquiries, preventing any potential disturbances.

As a Witcher skilled in Signs, Wayne didn't rely on traditional interrogation techniques. Instead, he used the Axii Sign to hypnotize those he had marked, extracting the information he needed. The process went smoothly, with Wayne successfully narrowing down the list of suspects from fifty to a dozen.

The critical part of the operation was not just the questioning but identifying the culprits among the loggers. Wayne's spells allowed him to extract detailed confessions, ensuring that even if they later attempted to deny their crimes, the recorded evidence would stand against them. Exhausted but determined, Wayne continued his spellcasting, eventually capturing three key prisoners.

After approximately two hours, Wayne, resisting physical fatigue, concluded the interrogations. The three prisoners, who had confessed under the influence of the Axii Sign, were presented with irrefutable evidence of their guilt. Despite any potential protests, the criminals ultimately succumbed to the undeniable proof.

Deacon Ozick promptly grasped the situation and, with the assistance of guards, transported the three criminals and their signed confessions to the prison in Vizima. Their fate was sealed, awaiting execution on the gallows for their crimes.

Wayne's time at the lumberyard finally came to an end. The past few days had been unusually peaceful, with no further werewolf attacks on the camp or vengeful werewolf offspring seeking retribution. Wayne felt a sense of relief.

He briefly informed Deacon Ozick that Geralt would be taking over the duty in the afternoon. After a simple farewell, Wayne mounted his horse, Lucifer, and retraced the path back to Vizima.

Despite a week having passed, the city remained unchanged. The bustling atmosphere continued, driven by the ongoing construction of the new city, which created a demand for many workers. Employment opportunities had become more accessible, even improving the living conditions for impoverished families in the slums.

Upon reaching home, Wayne discovered that Geralt was already there. Shirtless and engrossed in carpentry, Geralt was wielding a hammer and saw, surrounded by a sizable pile of wood and thatch in the backyard.

Curious about the scene, Wayne inquired, prompting Geralt to explain somewhat sheepishly. Apparently, the horse had broken free from its reins the previous day, ventured into the front yard, and devoured a significant portion of the flowers and plants Wayne had planted.

To make matters worse, the mischievous Godling, Lala, had emerged from the well at night, displaying anger. Using some unknown magic, Lala caused the horse to experience diarrhea throughout the night, leaving the yard covered in manure.

Recognizing the need for a solution, Geralt had taken the initiative to purchase materials and planned to construct a stable in the backyard.

Wayne nodded in approval, not displaying any anger. With a vast area of 3,000 square meters, his residence had more than enough space for additional amenities. A stable, martial arts arena, and back garden would comfortably fit.

Observing Lala's affinity for the flowers and plants in the front yard, Wayne recognized an opportunity. Having collected numerous herbal seeds from the forest, he decided to build a greenhouse next to the well in the backyard. This would serve as a convenient spot for herb cultivation, eliminating the need to journey to the forest every time he needed ingredients for his potions. Lala would become his free gardener, tending to the plants.

Despite his desire to approach the legendary Lake Goddess, Wayne acknowledged the impracticality of forcing such interactions. The Lady of the Lake's sword possessed formidable power, making it an ideal weapon for any swordsman.

Turning his attention to Geralt, who was diligently working and seemed to be enjoying himself, Wayne noticed a missing presence. Inquiring about Jaskier's whereabouts, Wayne learned that the bard had left Vizima the day before. As a student of Oxenfurt University, Jaskier's vacation had ended, prompting his departure in a carriage. Geralt added a complaint about an Oren loan that remained unpaid.

Oxenfurt Academy stood as a prestigious institution in the Northern Kingdoms, located in the renowned city of Redania. It provided an avenue for ordinary people to acquire scientific knowledge. Notably, Shani, a renowned heroine, was a distinguished alumna of this academy.

Completing his carpentry work, Geralt wiped the sweat from his brow and turned to Wayne. He inquired if Wayne could build a stable, suggesting saving the task until his return. Curious about the recent events in the lumberyard, Geralt asked if Wayne had encountered any special monsters in the area.

Wayne hummed, scrutinizing the stable that Geralt had just finished laying the foundation for. The design appeared simple, but the thick wood used indicated that it would be sturdy once completed.

Recounting his experiences, Wayne informed Geralt of a werewolf that had kidnapped a logger on his first day at the lumberyard. The werewolf was cursed, loosing its mind, and Wayne ultimately had to kill it. Surprised, Geralt mentioned that his last encounter with a werewolf had been over 30 years ago.

Wayne nodded, providing details of how he had handled the werewolf, concealed the werewolf child, uncovered the murderer, and shared his thoughts on the tragic turn of events. He emphasized how the villains' actions were more detestable than those of monsters, turning what could have been a beautiful ending into a tragedy due to the three criminals.

Reflecting on the outcome, Wayne shared his regret about the lone orphan cursed to navigate a challenging life. Geralt, silent for a few seconds, sighed and regarded Wayne with admiration. It was evident that Wayne's humane approach resonated with Geralt.

Geralt expressed regret, citing Vesemir's teachings about the scarier nature of human hearts compared to monsters. He acknowledged the rarity of werewolf cases and the lack of an accurate method to lift the curse. The child, he noted, might endure a miserable life due to the curse.

At lunch, Wayne once again took charge of cooking, treating himself and Geralt to a delicious meal.

Other amenities in this home may not have been perfect, but the kitchen had been gorgeously outfitted from day one. The only drawback was that this medieval era lacked facilities like refrigerators. To preserve food freshness, one could only achieve this by constructing a cellar for storing ice in the future.

After a satisfying meal and conversation, Geralt mounted his horse and departed for the lumberyard, leaving Wayne alone at home. Wayne, however, didn't remain idle. He headed to his room on the second floor, closed the door, and initiated the process of opening the treasure chest.

Throughout the seven days of guarding the lumberyard, Wayne had acquired one expert-level treasure chest and six ordinary-level treasure chests. As he opened the treasure chests one by one, a disappointed expression appeared on his face.

Ding! Expert-level treasure chest, open. Obtained: 142 pieces of Oren.

Ding! Ordinary treasure chest * 6, open. Obtained: 71 pieces of Oren, three bottles of intermediate healing potions.

Intermediate Healing Potion: A potion made by an Azeroth alchemist. It can quickly restore a small amount of vitality and treat moderate internal injuries. The interval between uses is one hour.

It seemed that the luck from the previous time had waned. This time, among the seven treasure chests, the expert-level one did not yield much, but the ordinary ones produced three useful potions.

Wayne understood that the Azeroth healing potion differed significantly from the Swallow Potion used by Witchers. While it might lack the long-lasting effect of the Swallow Potion, the alchemical potion could be consumed by ordinary people without side effects, providing rapid relief. It could serve as a life-saving medicine for civilians with serious injuries.

After opening the treasure chests, Wayne took a hot bath at home, changed into lighter clothes, and visited Master O'Henry's blacksmith shop. Now that he was free, learning forging techniques became part of his agenda.

That afternoon, Wayne absorbed basic blacksmithing knowledge from Andrew the dwarf, and bought a simple furnace, essential forging tools, and some materials from the blacksmith shop. He then hired a bullock cart to transport the equipment back to his home.

By the time he finished unloading the cart and returned to his room, dusk had settled. Just as Wayne was about to take a shower and prepare dinner, a timid voice emerged from the corner of his room.

"Wayne, is that you?"

Startled, Wayne instinctively cast a Quen shield and directed his gaze toward the corner. There stood a purple-skinned little Godling wearing a wreath on its head, only half a meter tall and dressed in a special leather suit, looking at him with big watery eyes.

It was the little Lala. Wayne breathed a sigh of relief, adjusted his mood, and asked in a kind tone, "It's me, Lala. What's the matter?"

Hearing the familiar voice, Lala stepped out of the corner, gazing uneasily at Wayne. In a pleading voice, it said, "Wayne, you're a Witcher. My brother was captured by a group of Dagon worshippers at noon. My parents don't know where they are. I want you to help me rescue my brother."

Ding! Task Triggered [Save Godling Fitz], expert level.

Accept/Decline

The task had presented itself as an expert-level challenge, and Wayne's instincts urged him to accept it. However, his initial enthusiasm waned as he considered the circumstances. Lala was a devoted follower of the Lady of the Lake, and her elder brother had been captured by worshippers of Dagon, the malevolent sea god.

Wayne hesitated, uncertain if this was merely a routine kidnapping or a larger conflict between two deities. Lala, with her peculiar charm, looked up at him with pleading eyes, clutching his trouser leg. "Can you help me rescue my brother, Wayne? I don't know where else to turn," she implored.

Confronted with Lala's pitiful plea, Wayne weighed the situation carefully. Recalling the events from the original story, where Geralt had aided the Lady of the Lake in defeating the evil god Dagon, Wayne considered the potential benefits. Geralt had emerged victorious, gaining recognition as the Knight of the Lady of the Lake and being bestowed with the Sword of the Lady.

If Geralt, with his vulnerabilities, could defeat this so-called evil god, perhaps Dagon wasn't as formidable as the task's expert difficulty suggested. Wayne concluded that the danger might not be overwhelming and saw an opportunity to draw closer to the Lady of the Lake.

In this world, the Lady of the Lake was a mysterious being known as a Nymph, an elf born of nature. She often appeared as a beautiful maiden with magical powers akin to a Djinn, capable of granting wishes. These mythical beings could be found not only in lakes but also in mountains, forests, wilderness, and springs, with the Lady of the Lake being the most powerful and renowned among them.

In the past, numerous noble knights devoutly believed in the Lady of the Lake. To promote the five virtues of knighthood imparted by the Lady, they acted chivalrously across the continent, undertaking many noble deeds. Whether motivated by future benefits or a quest for justice, aiding the Lady of the Lake was always seen as a commendable choice.

With these considerations in mind, Wayne silently accepted the task. He then turned his attention to Lala and asked, "No problem, Lala. I'll help you. But before we proceed, you must share all the information you have. Describe your brother's appearance, identify the captors, and tell me where they took him. It would be even more helpful if you knew why the acolytes targeted your brother."

Relieved that Wayne was willing to help, Lala furrowed her brow in concentration. She crossed her arms as if recalling something important before explaining, "A few days ago, my brother mentioned that he stole something valuable from an acolyte and hid it in our house. Today, while fishing in the lake, he was surrounded by a group of acolytes. They demanded that he hand over what he had stolen, but my brother refused, leading to his capture."

She continued, "Being small, I managed to escape their notice by hiding in the aquatic plants. Later, I overheard the acolytes discussing their intention to take my brother to Black Tern Island and offer him as a sacrifice to their god."

"There are too many of them, and I don't know what to do, so I came to you," Lala added.

Upon hearing this, Wayne grasped the situation but found himself a bit distressed. Black Tern Island, situated in the middle of Lake Vizima, was a place teeming with life and untouched by humans. It harbored various animals and monsters, contributing to its mysterious ambiance.

However, reaching the island required a boat, and ordinary boatmen were reluctant to venture there. Witchers, unlike the acolytes, couldn't swim such a long distance to reach the small island in the center of the lake.

Facing this challenge, Wayne asked Lala, "Black Tern Island is in the middle of the lake. I can't reach it without a boat. Is there anything you can do?"

Frowning in distress, Lala contemplated the predicament. After a brief pause, her eyes suddenly lit up, and she exclaimed, "I've got it, Wayne! In the swamp village lives the Fisher King. He's also a believer in the Lady of the Lake, and he occasionally sails to Black Tern Island to meet the goddess. If we ask him for help, he should be able to take us to the island by boat."

Wayne nodded in agreement, recalling the existence of the Fisher King. This mysterious character appeared to be one of the Lady of the Lake's lovers. Trusting him seemed reasonable.

Observing the dusk settling in and the sun gradually descending, Wayne wondered if the acolytes could see in the dark as he could. However, the urgency of the situation pushed such considerations aside. Despite the acolytes' strength not being much greater than that of drowners, Wayne believed that with caution, there shouldn't be any significant problems.

As a Witcher, Wayne possessed considerable stamina, and even after a night or two without rest, he wouldn't feel overly tired. He gently touched Lala's head and assured her, "Okay, Lala, I've got a good grasp of the situation. Head home now, retrieve the item your brother brought back, and meet me by the lake outside the city. We'll head to the Fisher King overnight and attempt to rescue your brother before dawn."

Lala nodded in agreement, taking a few steps toward the door with her short legs. Before leaving, she glanced back at Wayne, expressing her gratitude, "Thank you, Wayne. You're such a nice guy."