Convince

Chapter 13

Letho took out a gleaming dagger and cut up the grave hag. His movements were as fluid as those of a butcher who had complete understanding of the anatomy of all livestock. Letho cut out its eyes, ears, and those mysterious lumps. He laid them out in a neat row on his blue cloth, then dug out a few twisted, misshapen pieces of meat and shook them. "Lucky find. This hag's mutagen is ripe enough to make some potions."

"What are those, witcher?"

Letho gave Roy silent praise after the boy asked him the question. He killed that grave hag in its death throes without even blinking, and he didn't even look away when we dismembered it. What an oddity. Anyone else would have vomited their stomachs out. Including adults. Roy's bravery and courage piqued Letho's interest. "This one has potential."

Letho pointed at the parts he cut out, telling Roy their names and explaining their use to him patiently. Roy listened in silence, frowning occasionally as he mulled over what the witcher told him.

"Right, Roy. Do you have a family?" Letho asked, sounding nonchalant.

"I'm living with my parents."

Letho was disappointed to hear that, and he hastened the dismembering of the grave hag.

The gas from Letho's bomb, which had been thrown into the cabin earlier, had dissipated after an hour, and they entered the late gravekeeper's abode.

What was once a place humans could comfortably stay in was now an eerie, horrifying hellhole. Filthy mud covered the walls, roof, and floor of the place. Some of it even dripped off the ceiling like glue. The abode, once warm and well-lit, was now humid and dark. Here and there, canisters and bizarre containers lay haphazardly. The grave hag seemed to have been making something before it had met its grisly end. The bones of humans and small creatures hung on the mud-caked walls.

After Roy saw what was hanging on the innermost wall, he rushed to it.

"Brandon."

Nothing was left of the fat, snotty child who used to pester him about magic tricks, save for his rotten corpse. It was pierced by a black spear, making him a human flag.

The eyes on his dried, sunken head were gouged out, leaving two gaping holes that stared back at Roy. His mouth was open in fear, and Roy could imagine the terror he'd felt when he was alive.

Roy closed his eyes and took a deep breath before taking the corpse down carefully. He hugged it without any feeling of disgust, as if he couldn't smell the stench of mold and rotten meat. "I'm sorry. If I had been more patient and didn't say that to you…"

Then, a big, warm hand patted his shoulder. "Be at peace. You have avenged them," the witcher consoled him, which was a rare case.

A short while later, Roy buried the corpses of Seeger, Fletcher, and Brandon. With the help of the witchers, he managed to finish their tombstones.

'Here lies Seeger, the blacksmith of Kaer, the son of Skellige. His courage was proven in battle. Died September 1260 in a valiant battle against a grave hag.'

The other grave had two names carved on them.

'Fletcher, butcher of Kaer. A loving father who chose to show but not tell it. Brandon, friend of the Rooster Slayer, future bard and magician. He shall shine as bright as a star in the kingdom of Melitele. Died September 1260.'

***

After laying the dead to rest, Roy went back to the village with the witchers. Susie and Moore came up to him in tears, and they insisted on giving him a checkup. The witchers brandished the ugly head of the grave hag, showing it to the villagers before taking their reward from the village chief and One-Eyed Jack.

The cemetery monster crisis had come to an end with the grave hag's death, but something else happened.

Much to the surprise of the villagers, the witchers didn't immediately leave after receiving the reward. Instead, they went to the inn and stayed in a room.

After the grave hag had been killed, the villagers had directed their fear toward the witchers. Whispers traveled the village, most of them showing their disgust and hatred toward them.

"The monster's killed, and they took their reward. Why aren't those mutants leaving?"

"Look at them. They look evil. This can't go on, chief. You have to find a way to chase them out. We can only let them stay for one night at most."

"Parents, beware. Don't sleep these next couple of nights. At least wait until they leave. I heard witchers love to take kids away and turn them into disgusting mutants."

When Roy heard the ignorant words of prejudice from the villagers, he shook his head in disdain and left the crowd. He went to the inn where the witchers were chugging ale and chatting with Jack. To be precise, Jack was the one doing the talking, bragging about his Gwent skills.

Jack, who had stayed on the Skellige Isles for decades, didn't have the same inexplicable hatred for the witchers, unlike the villagers.

"That damned brat, Roy. It's impossible for someone to be that skilled in Gwent. He won sixty crowns from me. Sixty! Witchers, you're better than me in Gwent. Can you teach that brat a lesson for me?"

***

An hour later, Letho's perpetual poker face faltered for a moment, and he took out a handful of crowns from his satchel. "Fifteen crowns." He sighed. "That's a tenth of the reward gone."

"Alright, child. You've won your crowns, now let us talk business. You do not fear us, and you approach us of your own volition. Why is that? Are you interested in the tale of witchers? Which one would you like to hear?"

Letho and his companions exchanged glances and sat around Roy, their interrogatory gazes fixed on him.

Roy's heart skipped a beat, but he didn't hide his intentions. The boy smiled and told them honestly, "So you've realized. My goal is to become a witcher. If I'm right, you live long lives, are always healthy, never fall sick, and possess unimaginable strength."

Every Witcher 3 player had the dream of becoming a witcher. He could still remember what Flourens Delannoy wrote in his book "Fairy Tales and Stories".

"I wish for neither riches nor fame, neither power nor influence. I wish for a horse, as black and swift as a nightly gale. I wish for a sword, as bright and keen as a moonbeam. I wish to overstride the world on my black horse through the black night. I wish to smite the forces of Evil and Darkness with my luminous blade. This I would have."

Crossing over to the world of "The Witcher" was one of his wishes in life.

"Hold it," Serrit interjected. "If I'm understanding this correctly, you're saying you admire mutants? Is that true?" He looked at Roy closely. "Are you sure you aren't thirty, Roy?"

"Who told you witchers were admirable? Yes, we might be strong, long-living, and free from disease, but that doesn't mean we live admirable lives." Serrit chuckled. He rolled his eyes and took a gulp of his liquor. "Being a witcher is a curse," he spat, almost crazed. "We're shackled for life, doomed to a grisly death. You shouldn't envy us. It should be the other way around. People despise us because of what we are. You don't have to go through that. Our lives are filled with nothing but hatred and misery. One moment we're living, but the next, we might just be running for our lives."

Roy's face stiffened, and he moved backward. He couldn't get used to Serrit's grumpy demeanor, sharp retorts, and facial expressions. It was unbecoming of a witcher. Serrit acted much younger than his age. He's more like Lambert, Geralt's friend.

Letho and Auckes crossed their arms, keeping silent as Serrit tried to dissuade Roy.

"Boy, you're a good child, so here's some advice. Stay in the village. Give up on going on adventures and killing monsters. It's not every day someone will defeat the monsters for you so you can take the last hit." Serrit chugged some more liquor. "You'll know I'm doing this for your own good once you get married and have a child in a few years."

Oh, he thinks I killed the grave hag just to get a taste of adventure?

"Serrit is right," Letho agreed, but he sounded crestfallen. "If you want to be a witcher just because of the strength and monster killing, there is no need for further conversation. This is a path paved with pain, and pleasure is nowhere to be found. You have your own family, so just live your life as a normal human. Take that advice."

"But at least you can protect yourselves," Roy retorted, unwilling to give up. Before this, the only way he could've gained EXP was by taking great risks. But now, he was shown a more professional, comprehensive, and effective way to gain power. Roy felt the need to grab that chance, because he wouldn't get another. He could also see the witchers hesitating.

"If I'm stronger than an average human, I won't become prey to things like that monster. At least, I won't get dismembered like my friend and mentor were."

"Don't worry about it. I've been in the witcher business for years, and I can tell you this for sure." Auckes downed his beer and let out a hearty laugh. "Those monsters are going to thin out quickly, unless the Conjunction of the Spheres happens again. If it does, we'll have a monster crisis on our hands. If not, most monsters won't come to hunt in Kaer. Your village is going to enjoy many years of peace from now on. There is no reason to worry."

"But monsters aren't the only threats. Humans, disease, and wars are equally as dangerous." Roy's retort quieted the witchers.

A long while later, Serrit mocked, "You're one peculiar child. What's even in that head of yours? You're certainly acting older than your age — and by a lot — and you were showing bizarre signs in the cemetery. Are you a paranoid person? I've never seen anyone wish to become a witcher of their own volition. You're a fool."

"I'm just precautious." Roy drank some of the dwarven liquor, and the alcohol gave him liquid courage. "Whether you believe me or not, I've been dreaming about horrifying things since I was a child. All I see are bloody, unfortunate events burning the earth. The dreams have gotten more frequent over the last few years." Roy paused. "Something tells me a great war will come in three years, and bodies will pile as high as mountains. I think I should learn how to survive before that happens, eh? Witchers are fine mentors, or at least, that's what I think."

"You lie, child." Serrit scoffed. "That is but a story you've woven. You can dream of the future? But you're not a seer."

"I knew you wouldn't buy it." Roy shook his head and sighed. He wasn't lying, for the first Northern War would start in the year 1263, a mere three years away. Maybe the war has already started somewhere else.

"I just want to be that bit stronger. Enough to keep me and my family safe. I don't have to be as strong as veteran witchers. I just need to send Dad and Mom to Novigrad. They can live a better, safer life there."

Letho tapped the table with his pudgy fingers. "You don't know what witchers have to go through."

"I know of their infertility and the Trial of the Grasses. It's almost certain death."

Letho froze after hearing that, and his companions' expressions changed. "How do you know that? Have you run into other witchers before?"

"I dreamed of it, but I guess you won't believe me."

"Of course we won't, but I can see you're serious about becoming a witcher," Letho answered solemnly. "You have one last chance to think this through, brat."

"No need for that. I've been thinking about this my whole life." Well, even if I train with witchers, it's not guaranteed I'll become one. Not a bad backup plan though.

Letho looked at his companions, who nodded at him. Then he extended his big hand toward Roy. "We'll be leaving Kaer tomorrow. Will you come with us then, brat?"

Roy shook Letho's gigantic hand, but he pretended to hesitate. "Yes, but not now. I need to make enough money and settle my parents in Novigrad — "

"If you can trust us, Serrit and Auckes will escort your parents to Novigrad," Letho interjected, and he waved his hand at Roy. "They have business in that city. You got one thing right: Novigrad is safer than Kaer." Letho had given him the answer he'd wanted.