Camping (End)

"You know, that was my best meal in years." - Lambert said, but later seems to remember something and continued. - "What good will it be for me to go back? I bet none even lived up to this day and in case they are, they won't recognize me at all."

The fact that he initiated the continuation of the talk was... surprising to say the least. Despite always complaining and evident hate for the witchers, he developed it because of some resentment to destiny and not the folks themselves or what they made him to be.

Coupled with that, lingered a serious resentment on personal level. Seems like it is about Geralt after all. If just comparing years, Geralt was already a White Wolf, an old man, when Lambert was just born. Maybe he saw a fatherly figure in him during training and was heartbroken to find it was only a duty, thus he wanted to prove himself being better, to surpass Geralt in both fame and swordsmanship. A shame the target he chose as his goal was a bit out of the norm.

Over the years it all converted and transformed into the mess of a heart he has now.

"It is a good way to draw a closure." - said Alan. - "You know, Lambert, as I see it, you are simply jealous and feel unsatisfied, however, it seems to be so all over the place, that you yourself can't tell what exactly you are jealous of and what you really want to achieve. The problem is you simply see things in shallow manner, like some people see you, witchers, as monsters without realizing what you do to uphold livelihood of common people."

"Tch, another brain eater." - complained Lambert from the get go. But he somehow couldn't bring himself to treat the boy in front of him like an actual kid. He was to much of a freak and enigma for that.

"But he is not wrong on many points here, pal." - Coen said, while staring into the fire. - "You know, I'm the current youngest witcher in the world who undergone mutation. And actually if we fight, I'm way weaker than you in swordsmanship, Lambert. My mutation went a bit wrong and I wasn't able to assimilate with mutagens well, my current enhancement is not as strong as others. But I understand that every person in the world has his or her own place where we can do something good." - he took out a flask of wine and made a gulp, passing it to Lambert. - "To my mind, as long as you are honest and work for your share of food instead of stealing it or harming innocents for it, you are alright." - he ended simply.

That was the longest speech Alan heard from Coen outside of professional work. Despite being with him for about a month Alan could say that although friendly, Coen wasn't exactly a talkative guy, who will pour his heart out. He can joke and be a great drinking buddy, but actual heart to heart talk is a rare occasion. Well, most of the witchers are like so. Lambert's blabbering are not included, it is spite, not speech.

"You seem to miss some point, mister obvious." - said Lambert. - "I don't hate witchers, I know that we are needed and saw not once or twice what happened when we were late. But every time I receive glares from all around and fear in the eyes of the ones I meant to save, I just can't help it. Let's be straight here, we receive chicken feed and hate for how much we really do. It's just not worth it, doing all this shit."

"So, I don't get it. Do you have problem with being a witcher or with how world around you works?" - Coen looked at Lambert with inquiring gaze, with usual calmness and received the flask back to take a sip.

"Both, I guess." - after some contemplation Lambert sighed. - "I mean, who will want to do the job, that not only pays like shit, but life threatening and what you got in exchange is spite and cocky attitude of some hunoldians who just beg you to make their stature lacking a whole head in department of height."

"It's not wrong to want to hear a simple and sincere gratitude if you save someone's life. But same goes for all. People can't live without food, but do lords thank commoners producing it with real attitude? Or maybe guards on the gate duty who always stand there all the time are basking in glory? Lambert, if you look around with clear eyes, you will see more gazes of envy and jealousy directed on you in one town than you thought possible to even exist in the whole world." - said Alan, wrinkling his nose to the smell of wine. Not like Coen will even let him drink after what happened last time.

"We are still young Lambert. If you want recognition, don't try to compare yourself with someone like Geralt, who is more than a century old. He had his own share of shit in younger days too, you know." - Coen seemed to come to peace with himself for some time unlike Lambert, and added to what Alan told them. - "I say, take it in your own pace and learn to enjoy life. And why don't you join us. You see, that kid here already got himself involved with some serious trouble."

"You don't know the half of it..." - whispered Alan inaudibly to himself, remembering a sinister laugh of Vilgefortz, that might as well start haunting him during sleep. If he slept eventually... the man is a real creep.

"That kid is trouble himself." - mumbled Lambert, already preparing to enter meditation, while Coen will guard first. Than he looked at Alan with rare seriousness and said before closing his eyes with strait back while positioning his hand on his bent knees. - "Be careful not to enter the eyes of mages, they will skin you alive, kid."

'I already kind of did and I doubt they have time for me. But thanks for the tip. It encouraged me to no end, yeah.'

"You go rest too, tomorrow will be a long road." - Coen didn't comment but he clearly was wary of what might come because of that self centered bunch of people.

But Alan knew there was nothing to worry about for several years to come. Both witchers just had no idea about Sodden Hill and how this battle pummeled the whole mages society to the ground and smeared it with dirt and blood. Although the North won in the end, they paid a price and part of them faced trials for treason. They got their hands tied with Sodden Hill and even several years from now, after so many casualties, their community will be in turmoil. Even Vilgefortz won't act personally for now, as for his cronies, let them come, as long as it is not the man himself Alan has his own share of confidence to take care of them.

"I need to train." - he shook his head and went away with a steel sword he got himself with Coen's help.

"In that case let me help." - witcher smiled and threw him a wooden equivalent of it. It was quite heavy, made from a special iron wood from Nazair, the best training gear one can find.

Alan took the stance and they started their spar. Only after an hour he dropped to the grassy ground while panting. Coen on the contrary stood where he was with no visible fatigue.

"Witchers." - smiled Alan bitterly.

"You are wrong, Alan." - said Coen seriously. - "In terms of physique you are approaching me, it is your stance, the way to use force of the sword and your muscles that make you that exhausted. You perform quite a lot unnecessary moves, when being pressured with stress of actual close combat. If you ask me, I will say it is easy to dominate you in battle. But that is how a newbie is, no matter how talented. You learned much, but lack fluidity of experience and further expertise. It all comes with time and dedicated training."

Alan nodded with grumpy attitude. Couldn't he hold off his punches? That is annoying like hell! But as soon as he sat to meditate his bloodline and mind showed how adaptive they are. That goes even for forming muscles and strengthening of every aspect of the body.

He is becoming stronger at an alarming rate and already exceed normal adult by far.

"Hey, kid, want me to teach you?" - Lambert opened his eyes. - "I think two hours for meditation instead of sleep is enough for a freak like you, yeah?"

Alan merely nodded and stood up with a training sword, noticing a predatory signature smile of any witcher he knew, on the lips of wolf school youngest member.

When they started the spar, Alan immediately saw the difference.

'No wonder school of the wolf is hailed as the best swordsmanship school of witchers. Every school has their own style and strengths. Wolf one is famous for their mastery of sword, like griffin excels in signs and manticore in alchemy. Chimera seems to be very good at alchemy too, but the real power of theirs, as I see it, is the runecraft.'

Lambert packed one hell of a punch albeit being the weakest of the wolves. His movements were more accurate and unpredictable, what is more, wolf school swordsmanship seems to forte the most efficient way of killing. Lambert knew exactly how much force to put in every blow and how wide angle of a swing should be to achieve the best.

It had not only utilized every inch of environment, but seemed to lock target on it's tracks, limiting how much opponent can do and forced one to be trapped inside the rhythm. Very frustrating feeling as if you could have done many things but ended up not fast enough, not agile enough or simply out of turn for it.

'Ah, what a pain.'

"Wolf school swordsmanship is really way different." - praised Coen watching over their spar with rapt attention.

'That is right, all the more I can't comprehend how the hell Vilgefortz defeated Geralt in the book without even using spells, only wielding a staff. This is somewhat unscientific. How can he overpower the strongest witcher alive on his own field? What the hell is this Vilgefortz?'

On the other hand that showed Alan that without magic he is just that – stronger than average adult with a somehow adequate swordsmanship, but not even close to true masters of their respective craft. Let alone witchers.

'Same can be with magic. I really need to stop being complacent, because even signs I saw are quite strong. Naturally by logic my spells can't be weak, but they are not that strong either. I need to figure out how magic in witcher works, because one can even plunge a whole coastline into chaos of a storm here. On the other hand Isu magic is more intuitive one, based on thoughts and it requires good amount of imagination training even for me, but I see nearly endless potential in it. What if I combine the two somehow?'

What Alan really was frustrated about is his bloodline. He felt power. No, not quite good way to express the feeling it gave properly. It was as if inside his body a nuclear reactor was working, but he can only extract a fraction of it. It is like sitting on a pile of gold only to know it's not yours to take.

And what one need to enhance bloodline power?

Train the body and meditate. Again and again. Doing it under mushrooms even better.

"Hey, Wolfie, in your stance, now!" - barked Lambert. Hearing the unique address Selena often used Alan suddenly smiled.

"Heh, you are into it alright."