3

"Hey! White hair, fancy another round?" The dwarf, with his fiery red hair and large rosy nose, triumphantly pocketed the seven or eight ducats from the card game, addressing Geralt with a grin. "This is a new game we've dwarves come up with. It takes a sharp mind and a bit of luck from the gods to outplay the others."

"If you're done playing, make way for someone else. My luck's on fire today, and I'm set to rake in a mountain of gold coins," he added, his grin widening. Geralt, though silent, seemed intrigued by this new form of entertainment.

He set aside the Gwent cards the dwarf had temporarily lent him, pulled out five ducats from his pocket, and placed them on the table. In his gravelly voice, he said, "I've still got some coin left. Whether you can take it or not depends on your skill."

The dwarf chuckled. "I like your spirit, Whitehair. Name's Horton."

As he spoke, Horton pulled out two ducats, tossed them to a halfling nearby, and said cheerfully, "Pete, get me and my new friend here two mugs of Vizima Champion. You can't fully enjoy Gwent without a good drink in hand." Wayne, standing nearby, was amused to see Geralt making a new friend through a game of Gwent.

However, Wayne had been occupied in an underground pond for quite some time, searching for the entrance the monster might have used. His clothes were soaked in mud, and even his underwear was stained with grime and blood, leaving him itchy and uncomfortable.

Realizing he needed a wash, he made his way back to his tent, grabbed a change of clothes, and headed outside. By the river, Wayne began scrubbing himself clean, determined to rid his body of the filth acquired during his investigation.

Despite the lingering chill of early spring in the north, Wayne's mutated body—thanks to the Trial of the Grasses—made the cold bath bearable, if not exactly pleasant. After cleaning up, Wayne returned to the camp to find that Horton had amassed a considerable stack of gleaming ducats, totaling in the hundreds.

As Wayne prepared to leave, he noticed a change in Geralt's demeanor. While Geralt maintained his usual calm exterior, his eyes had reddened, and his normally stoic face struggled to conceal his emotions. His hand, gripping the Gwent cards, trembled slightly, and his lips tightened—a clear sign that he'd taken some heavy losses.

After yet another defeat, Geralt, with a hint of resignation, tossed his Gwent cards onto the table. Controlling his emotions, he admitted, "Alright, Horton, you win. I'm tapped out. Must be my injuries affecting my game. No matter, we'll have a rematch tomorrow."

The dwarf, unfazed by Geralt's losses, cheerfully instructed the halfling Pete to bring them each a large mug of Vizima Champion. With a wide grin, he declared, "Challenge me anytime, Witcher. Just so you know, I'm the reigning Gwent champion in this camp! Hahaha!"

Geralt rose, wincing slightly as he patted his empty purse with mock pain. "Is that so? How interesting."

Rubbing his chest, Geralt noticed Wayne returning from his bath. Casually, he remarked, "Wayne, I'm going to lie down in the tent for a while. Don't rush into anything for this afternoon. We'll talk it over later."

Wayne nodded understandingly, giving Geralt a reassuring look before heading slowly toward the tent. The camp's doctor had assessed Geralt's injuries, determining that while they weren't life-threatening, two of his ribs were cracked, and his internal organs had taken a severe hit.

For an ordinary person, recovery might take a month or two of rest. But with the regenerative abilities of a Witcher like Geralt, the doctor estimated he'd be back to normal in about a week.

After Geralt left, Wayne glanced at the campfire where Horton sat. Without Geralt's participation, the other elves and dwarves who had been watching chose not to challenge Horton to a game of Gwent. Whether it was due to a lack of funds or fear of Horton's skill, Wayne couldn't say.

After a brief pause, Wayne decided to approach Horton, who was now absorbed in his drink and packing up the Gwent cards. "Hey, Horton," he called out, "that game you were playing looks pretty interesting. Mind teaching me how to play?"

Horton looked up, showing no surprise at seeing Wayne. Pointing to the seat opposite, he remarked, "It's you, young Witcher. I know you."

"You've got a good relationship with our leader, Toruviel, and you've been helping us deal with the monsters in the ruins," Horton acknowledged. "Want to play Gwent too? No problem, I'll teach you!"

"We young dwarves left the Mahakam Mountains not just to see the world but to spread the joy of Gwent cards far and wide," Horton explained. Wayne kept a polite smile but didn't speak. As a seasoned player who had collected every Gwent card in the game, he hardly needed someone else to teach him.

But it was only 1250, and Gwent hadn't yet become a widely popular pastime. Even Geralt, who knew just about every gambling game out there, had only encountered Gwent for the first time today.

No one could have predicted that this card game, invented by the dwarves, would evolve into a massively popular phenomenon, captivating people around the world. Perhaps it was due to the efforts of dwarves like Horton and his companions.

Half an hour later, Horton, the once-cheerful dwarf, was no longer smiling. The dynamics of the Gwent game had shifted dramatically.

Tugging at his red beard with regret, Horton realized his fortune had taken a turn. The over 100 ducats he had triumphantly amassed, along with the more than 150 crowns he had saved, were now all in Wayne's possession. Not just money, but even his cherished pipe, gemstone ring, and finely crafted iron battle axe—items that had been his companions for decades—were now Wayne's winnings.

Yet, like any gambler, Horton maintained faith that this was just a temporary setback and that it wouldn't be long before he reclaimed his losses.

What no one had expected was that the young Witcher, who claimed not to know how to play Gwent and didn't even have his own deck, would end up winning over a dozen consecutive games. He managed to defeat Horton, the strongest Gwent player in the camp, to the point where the dwarf nearly lost his pants.

Could this be the legendary act of "playing dumb to catch the tiger"? However, Wayne's focus wasn't on his victories. After winning these games against Horton, he was surprised to discover that a new skill had emerged among his professional abilities.

Gwent LV1: Luck +1.

A simple notification, but its implications were significant.

This skill didn't just fall into the category of auxiliary abilities; rather, it elevated to the level of a core Witcher skill, akin to swordsmanship, Signs, and mutation levels.

Its effect would enhance his luck against supernatural forces—a revelation that left Wayne pleasantly surprised.

Obtaining a new ability filled Wayne with joy. Glancing at the bearded dwarf, Horton, who had unwittingly brought him this stroke of good luck, Wayne toyed with the finely crafted iron battle axe a few times. With a smile, he remarked, "Horton, though I appreciate your axe and pipe, I don't smoke, and axes aren't really my specialty. So, how about we strike a deal?"

Upon hearing this, Horton instinctively covered his empty purse and asked innocently, "What kind of deal, Witcher?"

"First of all, I don't have a penny to my name," Horton stated matter-of-factly. "Cleaner than the arse of a dwarf on a horse. If you want to keep playing, I'll have no choice but to pull out the gold tooth from my mouth and join you for another round."

Wayne was momentarily taken aback by the dwarf's straightforward response. Placing Horton's pipe, gemstone ring, and finely crafted iron battle axe in front of him, Wayne gently pushed them in his direction. In a persuasive tone, he suggested, "I'm quite fond of Gwent, and I'm willing to help you dwarves spread the game. However, without my own deck, it's challenging for me to fully enjoy it."

"How about this," he proposed, "I'll return your belongings, and in exchange, you give me half of your Gwent cards. What do you think?"

Horton reflected on Wayne's offer, his expression conflicted. The pipe, the axe, and the gemstone ring were cherished possessions that had accompanied him for many years, making him understandably reluctant to part with them. On the other hand, the Gwent deck in his possession had been earned through considerable effort, each card acquired through hard-fought games against fellow dwarves.

After deliberating for a few moments, the dwarf ultimately chose to keep his beloved belongings. After all, while cards could be won anew, the sentimental value attached to his possessions was irreplaceable.

Horton was straightforward in his decision. After making the deal with Wayne, he didn't resort to any tricks but instead directly handed over half of his Gwent cards. The collection comprised over forty cards, including two relatively rare ones.

During this era, Gwent cards were still in their early stages, with limited varieties and no distinct factions like Nilfgaard, Skellige, Scoia'tael, or monsters. The game had not yet undergone the extensive development and categorization seen in later years.

While the Gwent cards were still in their early stages with basic rules, the gameplay was relatively complete. The battles across the camp added an unexpected layer of fun, making it an enjoyable pastime.

A few hours later, as Toruviel led a team to clean up the underground pond and organize guard assignments, she was astonished to discover the half-elf Witcher, whom she held in high regard, engaging in bets across the camp with the small card game the dwarves loved to play. Men, women, and children alike were drawn into this card game.

The most exasperating part was that Wayne was highly skilled and exceptionally lucky. In just one afternoon, he managed to empty the pockets of numerous residents fond of gambling. He even won some personal belongings from the gamblers, nearly stripping one unfortunate opponent of his last pair of pants.

Toruviel couldn't help but feel a twinge of embarrassment. If she hadn't intervened in time, those disgruntled gamblers might have resorted to actions that would have caused even greater embarrassment for her.

Wayne himself realized he was getting carried away, but he couldn't be entirely blamed for it. He discovered that upgrading his Gwent skill and obtaining the luck attribute didn't require the prolonged and dedicated effort of mastering skills like swordsmanship and Signs. Instead, proficiency increased only through wagering against others and winning.

From his afternoon experiment, Wayne deduced that defeating an ordinary person who had no understanding of the game and merely played randomly wouldn't lead to any improvement in his Gwent skill level.

However, if Wayne emerged victorious against a skilled Gwent player, he could gain one or two points of proficiency based on their expertise. Unfortunately, repeatedly winning money didn't contribute to proficiency growth like accumulating points did. It seemed that proficiency rewards could only be obtained by securing victories in the card game.

Having achieved his goal through these tests, Wayne scratched his head with a feigned apologetic expression. He turned to Toruviel with a sincere look and said, "I apologize, Toruviel. I just learned this new game, and I got a little carried away. It's very interesting, and maybe you should take the time to learn it. It will exercise your thinking ability and make you sharper."

"As for these personal items," he continued, "you can take them back and return them to your people. Just let them know you bought them from me; they'll likely appreciate it even more."

However, the elven woman frowned slightly upon hearing Wayne's words. She then took out a hundred ducats from her belt pouch, handed them to Wayne, and said, "Just do as you said, Wayne. But I won't take these things for nothing. You won them fair and square; you deserve them."

Wayne shrugged indifferently at Toruviel's actions. Moving away from the topic of Gwent cards, he addressed the matter at hand. "Even though my companion Geralt is injured, I will continue to assist you in clearing out this ruin."

"Of course, if I'm the only one handling the cleanup, I'll need to be more meticulous, and it might take a bit longer. I hope you don't mind," Wayne assured.

Toruviel, being quite sensible, recognized the need for a Witcher after observing the morning battle. Without a Witcher's assistance, accomplishing the cleanup with the elves and dwarves under her command would likely require significant sacrifices.

As for the time it would take, that was of little concern. After all, non-human races generally had longer lifespans, and time wasn't as urgent a matter for them.

The following day, Wayne restocked his supplies and resumed his work, spurred on by Geralt. To ensure Wayne's safety in battle, the White Wolf even temporarily lent him his silver sword.

This silver sword was adorned with countless inscriptions and had a special metal alloy incorporated into it. Compared to ordinary steel swords, it was light, sharp, and exceptionally durable.

It's said that Geralt considers this silver sword his most valuable piece of equipment, surpassing even his armor or mount. Before each battle, he carefully weighs his options and only opts for the silver sword when he's certain it's necessary.

Under normal circumstances, he's reluctant to take it out at all, keeping it well hidden. During battles, Geralt is exceptionally cautious, ensuring the sword doesn't get chipped or damaged. The cost of repairing the sword is often higher than his task rewards.

Reflecting on the expression in Geralt's eyes as he lent the sword—like someone lending their wife—Wayne wanted to laugh, but he was also moved.

Despite their relatively short time together, the Witchers of the Wolf School held strong values of loyalty and righteousness. Though not bound by blood, their camaraderie surpassed that of brothers.

In a harsh and unforgiving era, having a group of sincere and loyal companions was undeniably heartening.

Crossing the arched stone bridge above the pond, Wayne noticed it led to another dark corridor adorned with exquisite murals. A group of elves and dwarves, armed and vigilant, stood guard on the terrace outside, prepared to fend off any monsters that might emerge and threaten the residents. As the fully-armed Wayne approached, the elves and dwarves nodded respectfully, clearly admiring the Witcher's prowess.

Unlike the ordinary residents in the camp, these warriors understood the power of a Witcher. The memory of the previous day's battle, where dozens of Drowners were slain, still lingered vividly in their minds. Normally, it would take a group of over twenty people to handle such a large number of monsters.

Yet, two Witchers had dispatched them nearly unscathed. The wounds on the Drowners indicated that each strike had been lethal—a level of skill beyond the reach of ordinary individuals.

Seeing the respect from the dwarves and elf warriors, Wayne couldn't help but smile, a hint of pride swelling in his heart. After all, who doesn't appreciate respect, especially those like Witchers, who risk their lives to rid the world of monsters? However, in this world, sensible individuals are rare, often outnumbered by the foolish and the arrogant.

Entering the corridor, Wayne found himself enveloped in pitch darkness, but the cat potion allowed him to see clearly. Given that this ruin had been undisturbed for thousands of years, it was logical to assume that any traps set back then might have deteriorated.

Wayne proceeded cautiously, sword in hand, and soon emerged into a massive room resembling a banquet hall. The hall was enormous, with no windows, but the surrounding walls were adorned with exquisitely carved marble reliefs. The ceiling, in particular, featured a sprawling landscape composed of various bizarre sculptures.

While the hall once likely housed fine furniture, time had reduced the wooden pieces to dust. Only some metal objects remained, faint traces of their original form still visible.

As Wayne took a step forward, intending to explore further, the medallion on his chest suddenly vibrated, accompanied by a faint buzzing sound, much like a vibrating mobile phone. Startled, Wayne immediately halted, gripping his sword tightly as he carefully surveyed his surroundings. Though this was his first encounter with such a phenomenon, his experiences in both the game and Vesemir's teachings had prepared him for this moment.

The medallion's continued vibration signaled the presence of a Sorceress nearby or at least some residual magic in the area. Narrowing his eyes, Wayne moved cautiously along the wall, aiming to reach the rear of the banquet hall to uncover the source of the magical trace.

Recognizing the skill of the ruin's designer, Wayne speculated that a Sorcerer must have either created the site or had significant involvement in its construction.

As Wayne approached the banquet hall's dance floor, the sound of cracking rocks echoed from above. Before he could react, a powerful gust of wind accompanied by a falling boulder descended from the ceiling.

In an instant, Wayne's instincts kicked in, and without hesitation, he rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the incoming attack.

Boom! Ka-Ka-Ka!

The thunderous crash of the colossal boulder striking the ground sent a shudder through Wayne. He quickly regained his balance, propping himself up with one hand, and looked up to identify the source of the attack. To his surprise, an unsightly creature, resembling an obese goblin, now occupied the spot where he had been standing.

This grotesque monster, composed entirely of gray-blue stone, had an expressionless face, flickering fluorescent eyes, and a pair of malformed wings on its back. It bore no resemblance to any normal monster Wayne had encountered before.

But with just one glance, Wayne recognized what it was.

A gargoyle, a type of stone statue known for being incredibly dangerous. Carved from granite or marble, gargoyles can withstand immense damage and possess superhuman strength. A single blow from their boulder-like fists could crush even a man clad in heavy armor. Not even those out of their reach are safe, as gargoyles can hurl chunks of stone with deadly precision.

Dealing with them was no small feat, as ordinary weapons would barely scratch the surface, potentially damaging the wielder's blade instead.

Fortunately, past Witchers had thoroughly studied this monster. The weaknesses of gargoyles were well-documented in the books of Kaer Morhen, which Wayne had diligently studied. Targeting their fragile joints and using a Witcher's silver sword were the key strategies for defeating them.

While cutting through a gargoyle with a silver sword wasn't as clean as slicing through flesh, sufficient accumulated damage could still bring the creature down. Additionally, gargoyles were vulnerable to anti-magic bombs. When covered in the dust of these bombs, they would lose control as the magic within them was disrupted.

Recalling these records, Wayne knew that despite their thick skin and immense strength, gargoyles were not invincible. Their slow movements made them vulnerable, especially to someone with Wayne's agility. Exhaling lightly, Wayne picked up the silver sword Geralt had lent him, cast a strengthened Quen shield on himself, and then laid a large Yrden magic trap on the ground, anticipating the gargoyle's next move.

The gargoyle, having just landed, stood motionless, seemingly confused. Perhaps due to centuries of inactivity, its internal mechanisms were slow to react. For over ten seconds, it remained stationary, until Wayne nearly took the initiative to attack. Finally, the massive creature began to waddle towards him.

As the battle commenced, Wayne quickly realized the gargoyle wasn't as formidable as he had initially feared. The creature's reactions were sluggish, and with Wayne's enhanced abilities, his swordsmanship rivaled that of a Cat School assassin master. He easily rolled and leaped behind the gargoyle, avoiding its powerful but slow attacks. Each time the gargoyle turned to face him, its back joints had already been struck several times.

After skillfully evading several of the gargoyle's blows and trampling attempts, Wayne maneuvered behind the creature once more. On his seventh attempt, he delivered a series of precise slashes to the gargoyle's back joints with his silver sword.

Unable to withstand the onslaught, the colossal gargoyle finally crumbled. Its limbs, neck, and torso, which had resembled a structure of stacked stones, were reduced to scattered fragments across the ground.

Among the shattered remains, Wayne noticed a fist-sized, red-and-green crystal-like object. It was the heart of the gargoyle, a magical item that served as the power source for the stone statue.

Though not incredibly valuable, the gargoyle's heart could fetch a decent price if traded with scholars or Sorcerers interested in magical artifacts. It could provide enough funds for an ordinary person to live on for several months. Wayne picked up the crystal, a thoughtful expression crossing his face as he considered its potential value in future transactions.

After slaying the gargoyle, Wayne didn't linger, nor did he return to the camp. Instead, he continued exploring the banquet hall. As he ventured deeper, he realized that this underground ruin was likely once a palace of the elven royal family. The exquisite and luxurious statues and murals supported this theory, as such grandeur could only have been afforded by those who ruled the elves.

It was unfortunate, Wayne thought, that despite the elves' long history—tracing back to the time of the White Ship's landing by the Pontar and Yaruga rivers thousands of years ago—so much of their history had been lost. The brutal wars between elves and humans had erased many records, and countless secrets had been buried in the dust of history. Perhaps only the ancient elves who survived from the Age of Migration knew the true story of this place.

Age of Migration was the period during which the Aen Undod elves split into two distinct culturals groups. The Aen Seidhe came to the shores of the Continent on their white ships and landed by Pontar and Yaruga, about two thousand years before the arrival of humans.

Wayne, being a Witcher, wasn't particularly concerned with uncovering these historical mysteries. His focus was on the sheer scale of the underground complex, with its numerous chambers, rooms, and guardians like the gargoyles. The presence of various monsters lurking in every corner only added to the complexity and danger of the exploration.

In this dark environment, he had to remain constantly vigilant, not only to avoid being ambushed by monsters but also to navigate the labyrinthine corridors, which was both time-consuming and exhausting. This slowed his progress considerably; after an entire day of exploration, he had only managed to search one banquet hall and a few adjacent rooms, slaying three gargoyles and more than a dozen Archespores in the process.

When he finally returned to the camp, dragging his weary body along, Toruviel immediately approached him. Wayne didn't hold back and shared his progress and speculations with the elf leader.

After discussing the exploration plan with Toruviel and exchanging a few words, Wayne returned to his tent for some much-needed rest. The following days settled into a grueling routine: gathering and refining potions, battling monsters, collecting spoils, resting at camp, and then resuming exploration in the afternoon. His days were so packed that he barely had time for anything else.

Despite the demanding schedule, Wayne didn't neglect the quest system, which rewarded him with experience points for daily activities. Each day, before venturing into the ruins, he would accept a standard combat quest from Geralt, earning a few experience points and a modest treasure chest for his efforts.

In stark contrast to Wayne's tireless routine, Geralt was enjoying a more luxurious lifestyle during his recovery from chest and rib injuries. Though confined to the camp, Geralt's free spirit didn't allow him to rest idly. He quickly developed a passion for the Gwent card game, borrowing decks and a sizable sum of ducats, and forming a connection with a half-elf widow, with whom he spent his evenings in enjoyment.

Meanwhile, Wayne, driven by his pursuit of strength, not only completed his daily tasks but also dedicated time to relentless skill development. He pushed himself constantly, honing his abilities without any breaks. However, the underground ruins had limited challenges. By the seventh day of continuous fighting and clearing, this expert-level commission was nearing its end.

Only one final area remained unexplored. As Wayne prepared himself and defeated the last two gargoyle guards, his attention was drawn to a massive metal gate crafted from an unknown material. The black gate, now covered in cobwebs and dust, still exuded an aura of strength. Despite the passage of time, there was no sign of rust, indicating its extraordinary durability.

After ensuring no other enemies were nearby, Wayne cautiously approached the metal gate. But as he neared it, the medallion on his chest unexpectedly began to vibrate once more.

An unfamiliar magical energy emanated from behind the door. Simultaneously, the system's emotionless voice echoed in his mind:

Ding! A high-concentration magic energy node is detected. Absorbing it will grant three ability points.

Note: Absorbing this energy node will result in its permanent destruction, causing the spatial structure to collapse and forming a dimensional crack. Choose carefully.

Wayne quickly realized that behind the imposing metal door lay the Circle of Elements he had been searching for.

He hesitated for only a moment before making his decision. He was exploring alone, with no witnesses around, and no one could predict what he might encounter in the ruins. Wasn't this a rare opportunity?

With that thought, Wayne made his choice without further hesitation.

In an instant, the magical energy on the other side of the gate surged toward him, drawn by an unknown force. His body, defying the logic of sorcerers, rapidly absorbed the magic power like a whale consuming its surroundings.

The terrifying speed at which he absorbed the magic formed a massive mana vortex around him. However, this phenomenon was fleeting. About five minutes later, Wayne sensed that he had regained control of his body. The magical power had dissipated, and he felt as though his body had been nourished by the very essence of life.

All his fatigue, injuries, and mental exhaustion vanished, as if he had been reset to his optimal state. Most significantly, the ability points in his status column had surged from two to five.

By afternoon, Wayne had returned to the camp. Toruviel, who had been waiting for him, approached and asked about his exploration, "Did you finish exploring the ruins?"

"Yes," Wayne replied, "except for the last building, which is locked by a metal gate. I've checked all the other areas. There won't be any more monsters emerging from the ground to attack you."

Regarding that building, Wayne added, "I suspect it to be a treasure vault. There seems to be a deactivated magical node inside, which doesn't pose a threat at the moment. But the door is incredibly strong. I tried several methods, but I couldn't get it to open. It might be that time has damaged the internal lock mechanism."

Things were indeed as Wayne described—the gate to the treasure vault was formidable, fortified by magic, making it impossible for anyone to pry open. Even if there were issues inside, it seemed they would remain confined within the vault.

Toruviel nodded in amazement at Wayne's explanation. She was silent for a few seconds before saying, "Thank you, Wayne. You've done us a great favor."

"Please wait here for a moment. I'll bring someone to conduct one more patrol of the ruins. If that last structure proves to be truly unopenable, we'll consider this commission officially completed," Toruviel declared.

After saying this, she looked Wayne in the eyes and asked, "What's your next step? Where do you intend to go? Are you planning to remain in Kaedwen?"

Wayne contemplated for a moment and, deciding there was nothing worth hiding, shrugged and replied, "I'm not sure, Toruviel. Geralt's injuries are nearly healed, so our plan is to leave Kaedwen as soon as possible."

"As you know, the locals here aren't particularly welcoming toward non-humans and Witchers. So, we intend to follow the Pontal River, heading toward Temeria first. From there, we'll assess our options and take on commissions as they come."

Upon hearing Wayne's words, Toruviel sighed. After a moment of hesitation, she reached out and gently touched Wayne's face. Through their time together, she had come to recognize the considerable potential within the half-elf standing before her—an individual who surpassed many of her own kind in terms of wisdom and insight. For a long-lived race, achieving mastery in swordsmanship during one's teenage years was something to be proud of.

Moreover, Wayne wasn't just a skilled swordsman; he had a physique that surpassed ordinary individuals and wielded magic, elevating him beyond ordinary sword masters. In Toruviel's view, he was a strong man, far better than the frail sorceresses she had encountered. She found her time with Wayne enjoyable and couldn't resist asking, "Are you really not considering staying here, Wayne?"

"If it were you, you'd bring more hope to our people, and I could really use your help."

Wayne met her gaze, but after a moment, he shook his head slightly without saying a word. Toruviel withdrew her hand with a hint of helplessness and said, "Well then, Wayne, you have your own path, and I won't pressure you."

"The reward for this commission should be settled as per our prearranged agreement—ducats or a quarter of the loot from the ruins," Toruviel explained. "If you opt for the former, I can provide it to you right away. However, if you choose the latter, the value is likely to be higher. But processing those spoils will take time, and we won't have an exact value until then. Your reward will be delayed for a while. If you trust me, I'll ensure the funds are sent your way once the processing is complete."

Wayne nodded, knowing Toruviel wasn't playing any tricks. He had explored the entire ruins himself and knew exactly what treasures were there.

Time is the most powerful weapon. Countless powerful warriors, sorcerers, or kings have all turned to dust before it. Perhaps these ruins were invaluable thousands of years ago and held countless amounts of wealth, but now, except for some precious metals that resisted corrosion and oxidation, everything else had decayed into waste.

And it would take time to transform the relics into usable wealth. Wayne waved his hand and said to Toruviel, "Don't trouble yourself, Toruviel. I'll opt for ducats."

"By the way, there's one more thing. I wonder if I could trouble you with it?"

Toruviel, her expression slightly serious, responded, "What is it? If it's feasible, I won't refuse."

Wayne waved his hand, signaling for Toruviel not to take it too seriously, and said with a smile, "It's just a small favor, nothing too serious. I was wondering, do you happen to know any elf sorceresses? The loot here holds significant historical value. Perhaps you could sell it to them and secure a better price."

"And if you're acquainted with them, you could also help me sell those gargoyle hearts. I remember these items are highly coveted within the sorcerer community."

Toruviel hesitated for a few seconds. She had initially pledged not to disclose this information casually, but due to her trust in Wayne, she eventually spoke up. "I can try to help, Wayne."

"I know a lady who is a powerful sorceress. The reason why I and other residents can stay in these ruins is because of her help. If she's interested, I'll sell your gargoyle hearts to her, and I'll find a way to get the money to you."

"No, no, you don't need to find someone to deliver it," Wayne quickly waved his hand. "We Witchers need to accept commissions everywhere, and I don't even know which kingdom I'll be in."

After a brief pause, he continued, "Before this winter, I will return to Kaedwen. If you're still here at that time, then transfer the money to me."

…

After successfully concluding the expert-level commission, Wayne found himself in high spirits. Geralt's injuries had largely healed, allowing him to move freely.

According to their agreement before departure, Wayne generously divided the 750-ducat reward, giving 375 ducats to Geralt. This gesture was meant to strengthen his bond with the White Wolf. The sum was substantial, enough to sustain both of them for an entire year if used solely for sustenance.

Instead of leaving immediately after completing the commission, Wayne stayed at the camp for an additional two days. After ensuring the safety of the ruins, he bid a solemn farewell to his first friend, Toruviel.

During these two days, Wayne wasn't idle. He tended to his black mare, whom he named Lucifer, and sought out Toruviel once more for guidance.

Toruviel eagerly agreed to Wayne's request, and the two of them, along with Lucifer, ventured into the forest to practice riding. Before saying their goodbyes, Wayne gained a foundational understanding of riding and acquired a complementary skill called Riding.

Riding LV1: Compatibility with the mount +1.

On the day of their departure, Wayne and Geralt, each atop their respective mounts and laden with their belongings, stood at the camp's exit. They bid farewell to Toruviel and the acquaintances they had made during their stay.

Before leaving, Toruviel stepped forward to embrace Wayne, giving him a gentle parting kiss on the cheek, and presented him with a meticulously crafted gift. It was an exquisite longbow made from a special wood, with a total length of nearly eighty centimeters. Elvish inscriptions adorned the bow's body, and the bowstring, made from the leather of an unknown species, was remarkably resilient.

This gift had been specially prepared for Wayne after she learned of his interest in archery. At the same time, bows and arrows were the most potent weapons for the current elves. Perhaps, there was a hidden hope in Toruviel's gesture—that Wayne would not forget his heritage and would lend assistance to more elves in the future.

After exchanging warm farewells, the two Witchers, Wayne and Geralt, carried their generous rewards and gifts from their newfound friends. With the watchful eyes of everyone upon them, they disappeared into the depths of the forest.

The Pontar River, also known to the elves as Avion y Ponte al Gwennalen, meaning "the river of alabaster bridges," is one of the largest rivers in the North. Along with the Yaruga to the south, both rivers originate in the Blue Mountains and flow from east to west across the Northern Kingdoms, emptying into the sea near Oxenfurt and Novigrad.

The Pontar River flows through four nations, forming the northern border of Temeria and Aedirn to the south and the southern border of Redania and Kaedwen to the north. The area where these four countries converge is known as the Pontar Valley, or simply Pontal. The river also serves as the most prosperous waterway in the Northern Kingdoms. Many scholars argue that the nation that controls the Pontar River could become the wealthiest in the entire north, solely by leveraging trade taxes along the river.

Consequently, the struggle for control over this vital waterway is a frequent and intense endeavor among the Northern kings. Disputes, and even bloody conflicts over the ownership of the Pontar River, occur every few years.

Having left the non-human stronghold behind, Wayne and Geralt traveled south, taking on contracts and exploring the lands. With ample funds at their disposal, they faced no worries about food or lodging, living in relative comfort.

To avoid unnecessary trouble, they intentionally bypassed large human towns, known for potential conflicts, and focused on accepting contracts and acquiring supplies from small villages. Their goal was to minimize conflicts with the Kaedwenians. Despite their caution, they were attacked and swindled several times by Kaedwenian thugs.

However, these hooligans, armed with dung forks and wooden sticks, posed no real threat to two master swordsmen who could wield Signs. But after each skirmish, Wayne and Geralt had to leave the scene quickly to avoid being caught by soldiers, which could lead to a larger conflict—an annoyance they could do without.

Neither Wayne nor Geralt wished to remain in the Kaedwen Kingdom any longer. They made their way to a port town near the Pontar River and found a merchant ship bound for Novigrad. Their plan was to sail directly to a floating port town in Temeria.

After some initial refusals from merchants who seemed biased against them, they finally found a captain willing to take them on board. The captain, a Skellige named Wesker, was a large, bear-like figure with a bald head, rough features, and sharp, energetic eyes—clearly not a simple-minded warrior. His most striking feature was his thick, weed-like black beard, earning him the nickname Blackbeard.

When Wayne and Geralt requested passage on his ship, Wesker only took a few moments to agree, though he laid out conditions. In addition to helping protect the ship during potential battles, he required Wayne and Geralt to pay 150 ducats each for their passage. Considering the need to accommodate two people and their horses, along with providing food and a reasonably sized room, Wesker considered the price fair.

While chatting with Wesker, Wayne and Geralt discovered why the captain treated them so favorably. Taking a bold swig of dwarf beer, Wesker wiped the spilled drink from his beard and spoke in his rough voice:

"I know many fools on the continent hate Witchers, thinking they're thieves and freaks. They even shamelessly blame them for the disappearance of children. But in our Skellige Isles, Witchers are highly respected. They're valiant warriors, fearless fighters who've vanquished many powerful monsters and saved countless islanders. Their tales are immortalized in numerous poems," Wesker mused, his eyes distant.

"When I was a teenager, I encountered a master Witcher. My family and I were fishing at sea when we were attacked by a flock of harpies. The monsters killed my brother and father. To protect my mother, I fled for my life. But as we were desperately trying to escape, it was that Witcher who saved us."

"He wore a medallion with a griffin on it. I don't know his name, but after he killed the monsters, he left without saying a word or asking for payment. But I know he was a good man. Compared to those hypocritical and despicable noble knights, he was the true chivalrous warrior."

After listening to Wesker, Geralt remained expressionless, but Wayne could see the complex emotions in his eyes. In this world, many misunderstand Witchers and harbor ill intentions, but those who have been helped by them will at least remember their kindness.

Much like Martha, whom they helped not long ago, this old woman would surely remember who, for a meager fee, helped her find her two sons and secure her family's future.

The journey along the Pontar River went smoothly. Apart from some unsightly Drowners trailing the ship and occasionally attempting to attack the lower decks, they encountered no significant threats.

They sailed westward along the river, passing through the large towns of Vergen and Hagge, finally arriving at the port of Flotsam in Temeria on the afternoon of the eighth day. During their time on the ship, an interesting incident occurred.

Wayne and Geralt, both avid players of Gwent, discovered that Captain Blackbeard, along with many of the sailors, were also fans of the game. According to Wesker, Gwent was already well-known in the free city of Novigrad. The dwarf bankers in Novigrad were actively promoting Gwent cards, aiming to replace traditional dice gambling with this new form of entertainment. They had even invested in organizing several small Gwent tournaments.

The crew, accustomed to traveling far and wide, were more open to new experiences than those who stayed in one place. The allure of such an intriguing game provided them with an enjoyable way to pass the time.

Wesker confidently claimed that even in Novigrad, he was a well-known Gwent master and unafraid of any challenge. Unfortunately for him, this time he faced a Witcher blessed with luck and a high level of skill at Gwent.

In just one night, Wayne used his Gwent cards to win back the boat fare for himself and Geralt, pocket some gold coins, and acquire a few rare cards. If Wayne hadn't shown mercy to the good-hearted captain, he might have gambled for a few more days and ended up owe ing the merchant ship to wayne.

Geralt, having lost over 200 ducats to Wayne, even swore never to play against his junior again without first assembling a much stronger deck.

Wayne simply shrugged in response. With his skill in Gwent improving, his luck growing stronger, and his collection of powerful cards expanding, it was unlikely that Geralt would ever beat him at the game—unless Wayne allowed it.

Floating Harbor is a port town in the Kingdom of Temeria, nestled in the Pontar Valley. Built along the upper reaches of the Pontar River and surrounded by dense forests and thickets, it serves as an important trade toll station for the region. With an army stationed year-round, every ship passing through must pay a trade tax, contributing to the unusual prosperity of this remote town, positioned near the border between Temeria and Kaedwen.

Wayne and Geralt disembarked at the port, bidding farewell to the generous, bearded Captain Wesker of Skellige. As they entered the town, they observed that despite its small size, the town was bustling with activity. The population was diverse, with humans, elves, and dwarves coexisting relatively peacefully. Unlike in other parts of the world, the non-humans here didn't seem to suffer from the usual discrimination; their smiles suggested a life relatively free from hardship.

The streets were lively, filled with a mix of finely dressed merchants, curious tourists, and rough-skinned sailors. Shops of all kinds lined the streets—blacksmiths, bookstores, clothing stores—creating an impression of a town that, while remote, had access to all the essentials.

It was clear that the trade along the Pontar River had brought life to this town. As they walked through the bustling streets, Geralt, ever the adventurer, was immediately drawn to the largest tavern in sight. The three-story building looked a bit worn from the outside, but its interior decorations hinted at an owner who cared about appearances.

Outside the tavern, several scantily clad young women leaned against doorways and windows, offering enticing glances to passersby. Geralt, clearly tickled by their attention, nudged Wayne with a sly smile. "Wayne, let's rest here for a couple of days before heading to Vizima. After being on Wesker's boat for so long, I'm numb all over, and we've been living on little more than soup and water. It's time for a proper meal."

Wayne gave Geralt a contemptuous look, knowing full well what the White Wolf truly sought. But they were companions, and part of that bond meant accommodating each other's needs without interference. Nodding, Wayne agreed, "Alright, we'll rest here for two days. Let's also see if there are any commissions in the area."

Wayne, more interested in honing his skills in Gwent than indulging in tavern pleasures, watched as Geralt's eyes lit up at the sight of the women. He didn't rush into the tavern but instead approached the women outside, charming two young girls with ease. With his arms around their waists, he wore an expression of contentment.

With plenty of coin in their pockets, they opted for the two best rooms available. Geralt wasted no time and, with a knowing smile from Wayne, escorted the two women upstairs to the second floor.

Watching Geralt's retreating back, Wayne snorted in disdain. As Witchers, their mutated bodies had a metabolic rate far faster than that of ordinary humans. This granted them superior drug resistance and recovery speed but also heightened their hormones, necessitating frequent outlets for their desires. This was one reason many Witchers had peculiar, often erratic, personalities, and why they were often drawn to women. Many Sorceresses also found Witchers desirable partners because of their robust physiques and boundless energy.

Wayne, however, had no interest in such distractions. After Geralt left, he purchased a bottle of top-tier cherry mead from the bartender, found a clean seat, and began observing his surroundings. The tavern was spacious, filled with merchants, sailors, captains, tourists, and locals—around fifty people in total. The air buzzed with laughter, banter, boasting, drinking, and the occasional brawl, creating a lively and vibrant atmosphere.

After a few minutes of observation, Wayne spotted his target—a portly businessman dressed in a silk robe, with a small, round fur hat perched on his head. His features were densely packed, making him unattractive, yet the friendly smile on his face seemed genuine. But it wasn't his appearance that caught Wayne's attention; it was the exquisite leather bag hanging from his belt, swaying slightly as he moved. Inside the bag was a Gwent deck, and from the looks of it, the businessman was a fellow enthusiast.

Approaching with the wine bottle, Wayne exchanged glances with the man and, with a kind smile, placed his own Gwent cards on the table. "Sir, drinking alone can be rather dull. How about a game of Gwent to liven things up?"

The businessman's bodyguards tensed as Wayne approached, but the man signaled them to relax. He scrutinized Wayne from head to toe, his shrewd eyes lingering on Wayne's amber, cat-like pupils for a few seconds before breaking into a businesslike smile. His voice, slightly high-pitched, carried a friendly tone. "A Witcher who plays Gwent? How could I refuse? My name is Dalanke Revardon, a businessman from the south. A pleasure to meet you, Witcher."

Wayne didn't waste time with pleasantries. He sat across from the fat businessman, pulled ten ducats from his pocket, and placed them in the middle of the table. "You can call me Wayne, Mr. Revarden. I'm just a Gwent novice with a hand full of common cards. Please go easy on me, and don't embarrass me too much."

The fat businessman's smile widened as he nodded kindly. "That's a simple request, Mr. Wayne. I'm also quite new to the game. We can chat while we play. I'm very interested to hear about the adventures you've had as a Witcher."

When Geralt descended from the second floor, feeling refreshed, he immediately noticed a peculiar atmosphere permeating the entire tavern. A crowd had gathered around a table, their attention fixed on something with hushed intensity. The usual lively commotion had been replaced by an air of concentrated intrigue. Even those not directly involved couldn't help but cast occasional glances toward the spectacle.

Curious, Geralt moved closer to see what had captured everyone's attention. Suddenly, exclamations erupted from the onlookers, followed by a hearty laugh and a sigh. A voice spoke out, clear and somewhat resigned:

"That was quite the game, Mr. Wayne. The deck I painstakingly assembled after spending a considerable amount has actually lost to your simple cards. It's a lesson well learned—humility, caution, and never underestimating an opponent. As per our wager, these three hundred Orens are yours."

Geralt had already guessed what had transpired. Sure enough, as the surrounding drinkers marveled at the gambling spectacle, he approached the table. There, Wayne sat across from a businessman, a modest smile on his face, as he replied humbly:

"Thank you for the game, Mr. Levardon. You are an honest man, a quality that is admirable. However, according to the rules of Gwent, as the winner, I believe I am entitled to draw a card from your deck as my reward, correct?"

"Will you uphold this tradition?"

Hearing Wayne's request, Levardon's expression twitched slightly with regret. As a businessman from the southern Nilfgaardian Empire, he understood the importance of honoring agreements, even if it stung. Forcing a smile, he responded loudly:

"Of course, Mr. Wayne, you won the game fair and square, and I will honor our agreement. Feel free to choose any card from my deck."

Levardon piled up his Gwent cards and handed them to Wayne, signaling him to draw a card. Wayne, without hesitation, selected the special hero card he had been eyeing, then looked at the pained businessman and said with genuine appreciation:

"Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Levardon. This card will surely serve me well in future games. I enjoyed our match, and I'm glad we could share such an exciting moment over Gwent."

"It's still early; why don't we enjoy dinner together and play a few more rounds afterward? How does that sound?"

The corner of Levardon's mouth twitched. In the previous game, he had already witnessed Wayne's exceptional skill and luck with Gwent cards. He knew better than to continue betting without a significant advantage. As a businessman, engaging in ventures destined to lose money was a luxury he couldn't afford.

The rotund businessman shook his head, feigning distress, and replied with a mix of truth and excuse, "Sorry, Mr. Wayne. In two days, I'll be transporting a large shipment to Vizima City. Tomorrow will be quite busy, so I must rest and prepare for the work ahead."

Wayne nodded, pretending to be disappointed, but he knew it was just an excuse. He didn't push further. Instead, he took out a dozen or so of the Orens he had won, tossed them to the bartender, and loudly declared to the surrounding drinkers, "I'm feeling lucky today and in a great mood. Drinks are on me! But don't thank me; thank the generous Mr. Levardon."

Excited cheers filled the tavern as news of free drinks spread. The crowd erupted in compliments toward both Levardon and Wayne, and the genuine praise helped ease the stiffness in the businessman's expression.

Wayne glanced outside and noticed that it was still early, the sun yet to set. Despite winning two out of three games against Levardon, he realized that losing one was inevitable, given the odds. Nevertheless, reaching a Gwent proficiency level of five brought him great satisfaction. With many skilled Gwent players still in the tavern, Wayne saw them as valuable opportunities to further hone his skills. There was no way he would let such a chance slip by.

"Everyone, I haven't had my fill yet. Let's play a small game. Anyone who knows how to play Gwent can join in for just one Oren as a registration fee. Whoever wins can take one hundred Orens, and until the three hundred are gone, everyone has three chances. Of course, the loser will follow the rules, and I will draw a Gwent card as a trophy."

He shot a glance at those who seemed unimpressed by the announcement and continued with a hint of indignation:

"Spread the word to everyone in the floating port. I'll be here for two more days. The challenge remains open until I leave."

In the Kingdom of Temeria, one Oren could be exchanged for a hundred copper coins, and it took only a dozen copper coins to buy a family's daily bread. The temptation of three hundred Orens directly attracted everyone in town who knew how to play Gwent.

As Wayne's announcement spread, the tavern quickly filled with people eager to win big or simply watch the spectacle. The mayor, who oversaw the floating port, initially considered shutting down the gamble, but after witnessing the participants' enthusiasm, he opted for a less confrontational approach. He deployed a dozen soldiers from the barracks to maintain order in the increasingly crowded tavern.

The atmosphere was electric, with a steady stream of challengers and undiminished enthusiasm from the onlookers. The game continued for four hours without losing momentum.

Standing beside Wayne, Geralt kept a serious expression, his steel sword resting in its scabbard. His tall stature, white hair, and sharp eyes exuded an air of intimidation. Watching Wayne's victories and the growing pile of Oren on the table, Geralt leaned in and whispered:

"Wayne, you're drawing too much attention today. Winning this much money will surely catch the wrong eyes. We don't want trouble with the authorities or any local gamblers."

Wayne glanced up at Geralt, recognizing the truth in his words. Flashing that much gold in public was bound to attract trouble. However, in those four hours, he had defeated over forty Gwent players, advancing his skill level from two to three. His luck had also improved slightly. The rapid progress excited him, and the high-stakes gamble presented Wayne with a rare opportunity to quickly elevate his Gwent card skills. How could he possibly let it go?

He nodded reassuringly to Geralt, then checked the time—it was almost midnight. Standing up, Wayne addressed the surrounding crowd and the remaining contestants:

"Everyone, it's getting late now. I'm genuinely moved by your enthusiasm."

As he spoke, he casually pushed out seventy or eighty Orens from the pile on the table and handed them to the squad leader and tavern owner, who had been observing the game from the sidelines.

"Thank you for your hospitality. Since you all think so highly of me, I'll be a generous host. Tonight, everyone here can eat and drink as much as they want. There's no limit on beer or barbecue, and the cost will be covered by this money."

"After a good night's rest, we'll continue our games tomorrow after lunch."

Wayne's generous gesture immediately drew cheers from the onlookers. Despite having no direct stake in the substantial bonus on the table, the common folk were delighted to receive a free feast of wine and meat, along with the spectacle of an exciting gambling game. For people in the Kingdom with limited entertainment options, this was akin to a grand celebration. As for those with malicious intentions, witnessing Wayne generously allocate a quarter of the coins from the table to entertain the crowd significantly diminished the jealousy and greed in their hearts.

The following day, Wayne awoke in the finest room the tavern had to offer. Upon descending to the first-floor lobby, it was nearly noon. As he looked around to check if Geralt was present, a voice—somewhat amusing yet clear and melodious, like singing poetry—broke into his ears.

"Geralt, is this the youngest Witcher of your school, Mr. Wayne?"

"Wow, blond hair, a handsome elf boy, a Gwent master, and a Witcher."

"In just one night, he was the talk of the town. Everyone is talking about his generosity, his good luck, and his unparalleled Gwent skills."

"Such an excellent person, I'm going to include his name in my poetry; it's going to be fascinating."

"By the way, he doesn't have a nickname yet. I also want to think of a resounding nickname for him, just like the nickname 'White Wolf.' In the future, this will definitely become a legendary title, resonating throughout the Northern Kingdom."

Hearing the lively voice, Wayne instinctively turned toward the source and locked eyes with a young man dressed in flamboyant attire. The stranger sported a purple hat adorned with vibrant feathers and colorful aristocratic tight-fitting clothes. He looked handsome and had a romantic demeanor.

Despite their lack of prior acquaintance, the man acted like a friend who hadn't seen him for a long time. He stood up, waving enthusiastically, and called out:

"Join us, Wayne! Geralt and I have been eagerly awaiting your presence. The major event is just around the corner, and we're here to enjoy a drink and refresh ourselves. This afternoon, I plan to assist you in orchestrating this grand spectacle. This gambling event will definitely become an unforgettable memory for the residents of the Floating Harbor."

Geralt, who was sitting next to him, seemed to know the young man's character very well. Seeing Wayne's slightly surprised face, he cast a glance that suggested not to make a fuss. Although there was no expression on his face, it still revealed a sense of embarrassment.

"Come and sit, Wayne."

"This is Jaskier, a friend of mine who just arrived today by boat."

In reality, Geralt didn't need to provide an introduction. Wayne, having engaged in the game and delved into the original tales, already deduced the identity of this young man.

Dandelion, the renowned poet. Speaking of which, this guy is also a legend. He is obviously just a powerless poet, but he seems to have a certain destiny connection with Geralt. They always meet in various strange ways and then embark on some weird adventures.

Although he always brought all kinds of troubles to the White Wolf, when he got along with him, he was an absolutely reliable friend and a good brother who would never betray Geralt when he was in real danger.

In the future, "Geralt of Rivia" would become famous in the north, and the image of the Witcher would start to improve in many people's hearts, thanks to the hard work of Jaskier.

Balabala, balabala, from before the meal to after the meal, it didn't stop for several hours. But Jaskier is also very good at causing trouble. He never seems to have stage fright, or he naturally likes to attract other people's attention. After lunch, he jumped up and said that he would help Wayne organize the afternoon gamble. He took out a lute and sang poems in the tavern, loudly greeting the onlookers who were waiting around and the participants who wanted to join the gamble.

Jaskier is a young man with exceptional talent for poetry. His humor and ability to evoke emotions through melodious music and fluent poems captivate the masses. Occasionally sprinkling jokes into his performances, he effortlessly brings laughter to the surrounding residents.

The residents of Floating Harbor had never seen such a poet before, and they were all attracted by Jaskier's temperament as if he were the protagonist in this gamble.

Wayne found it amusing and looked at Geralt, who had been quietly sipping his drink beside him. He smiled and remarked, "Is he always like this? He seems like quite an interesting character, and traveling with him must be quite entertaining."

Geralt shrugged with a hint of helplessness in his tone. "It's more than just entertaining; he's a troublesome character. I've known him for less than a year, and I've been sent to prison twice because of him."

"However, he is a worthy friend. He won't harbor prejudice against us Witchers like others. Despite causing trouble, he'll never betray his friends."

Geralt took another sip of spirits and said to Wayne, "After finishing the big game today, let's get out of here quickly. Due to the riot you caused, the mayor is already quite dissatisfied with us. He even refused to let me accept a commission. He also subtly threatened that if we didn't leave soon, he'd have soldiers throw us in jail."

"If you don't want to end up in jail with me or become a wanted criminal, then wrap things up here quickly, and let's leave."

Wayne nodded at Geralt's words. His primary goal was to gain experience at the Gwent card level. Once the big game was finished, his purpose would be achieved, and there would be no need for further conflicts with the local mayor.

This incident served as a reminder to him that if he intended to organize such influential events in other places, establishing good relationships with local authorities was crucial. It would be best to inform them in advance. No manager likes troublemakers, and Wayne understood that avoiding such issues would help him maintain a positive reputation as a Witcher.

In the largest tavern of Floating Harbor, Wayne's grand gambling event reached its climax. Unlike the previous night's match, word of the big game had spread far and wide, drawing nearly the entire town's population to the venue this afternoon.

The onlookers held their breath, eagerly following the developments of the game. The sheer number of participants exceeded the capacity of the large tavern, with even the brothel on the second floor unable to conduct business. Women dressed in flashy and revealing attire were sprawled along the staircase railing, engaged in hushed discussions about the grand event unfolding below.

Over a dozen soldiers strategically positioned themselves at the four corners of the tavern, gripping their weapons and observing the unfolding game with keen interest. Their expressions mirrored the astonishment shared by many.

Some latecomers could only stand helplessly outside the tavern, sharing in the lively atmosphere inside through the windows.

Jaskier, adorned in flamboyant tights, clutched his lute passionately, singing and hollering to the crowd.

"Ding ding ding!" he shouted.

"Victory streak! The Witcher from the School of the Wolf, Mr. Wayne, has won again. The prize money at the scene has reached as high as 430 Orens. Are there any challengers left?"

"It was a legendary victory, a miracle worthy of an epic!" Jaskier's voice rose in excitement.

"If someone can put an end to his winning streak, that person will undoubtedly become the hero of Floating Harbor, eternally inscribed in its history. What are you waiting for? The lucky one might be you. Everyone anticipates your triumph!"

"Come forward! As long as you possess an Oren and a Gwent deck, you have the chance to become that hero!"

Encouraged by Jaskier's provocative flattery, some Gwent players who had been hesitant due to Wayne's impressive winning streak regained their courage. A young merchant was the first to stand up, tossing an Oren onto the table. He grabbed his Gwent cards and sat across from Wayne with a confident smile.

The new round of gambling began swiftly and concluded just as fast. In under five minutes, Wayne claimed a beautiful Gwent card from the defeated young merchant. However, another challenger promptly stepped up to take his place.

But the residents of Floating Harbor and the visiting tourists were just ordinary people. They weren't genuine Gwent masters, nor did they possess a complete set of powerful rare cards like the wealthy merchant Levardon.

Wayne, on the other hand, had drawn a hundred cards from the losers during two consecutive days of bets. While his deck might have lacked those extremely rare and powerful cards, it had undergone numerous adjustments, reaching near perfection.

Wayne's Gwent level, bolstered by his Cheat system, had also reached level four after numerous battles. With the added benefit of four points in luck, facing ordinary opponents almost felt like cheating; he could acquire any card he desired.

The duration an average player could withstand against him essentially depended on when Wayne decided it was time for them to fail. Despite Jaskier's encouragement sparking interest among some Gwent players, witnessing Wayne defeat five consecutive challengers was enough to dissuade anyone in the tavern from daring to challenge this formidable Gwent player any further.

The registration fee for an Oren wasn't expensive, but it was enough for a few good meals. Rather than wasting it in vain, people preferred to stay and do other things. Finally, after no one challenged Wayne for more than ten minutes, Jaskier, flushed with excitement, announced in a high-pitched voice:

"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed residents of Floating Harbor," Jaskier proclaimed with fervor, "I hereby announce the conclusion of this unprecedented, earth-shattering Gwent tournament. Our champion is none other than our Witcher from the School of the Wolf, Mr. Wayne!"

"In this grand gamble, he defeated over a hundred challengers consecutively without a single defeat. He has earned the title of a truly exceptional Gwent player."

"He shall become a legend in Floating Harbor, etched into the memories of all for ten, twenty, fifty, or even a hundred years. He is the true champion of Floating Harbor."

With those words, Jaskier set aside his lute, raised his hands, and clapped them together to capture everyone's attention. He then announced with enthusiasm, "Now, everyone, I have excellent news to share with you. You are in for a treat. Our champion is not only skilled but also a generous and kind soul. Since no one could claim the full prize, a whopping 430 Orens, he has decided to reward the tavern owner with half of the prize as a token of appreciation for everyone's enthusiasm."

"Starting today, every resident of Floating Harbor can enjoy a free glass of ale courtesy of the generous champion until the money is depleted. Let's all raise a cheer for this commendable act of generosity!"

Amid Jaskier's spirited encouragement, the surrounding residents erupted into excited cheers at the prospect of free ale for the next few days. Perhaps in the future, they might forget the Gwent master who won hundreds of Orens in the tavern, but the memory of the Floating Harbor champion who treated them to free ale would likely linger in their minds.

The lively atmosphere, however, proved to be short-lived. Shortly after the conclusion of the big game, the crowd began dispersing under the watchful eyes of the soldiers. With night already upon them, the residents, content with their free ale, joyfully departed in small groups. Their satisfied expressions revealed the excitement of participating in such an entertaining competition.

Wayne and Geralt, mindful not to cause any trouble, had already packed their belongings, gearing up for an early departure the following morning to continue their journey.

Their next destination was Vizima, the capital of Temeria, housing the king's palace and attracting a diverse population of nobles, wealthy merchants, soldiers, gangsters, and the impoverished. Vizima stood as the most affluent hub in Temeria, where a mix of peculiar events unfolded regularly, offering a large number of commissions—perfect for Witchers like them.

Upon discovering that Geralt's next destination was Vizima, the poet Dandelion expressed a desire to accompany them. He also shared a piece of news with Wayne and the group. The wealthy merchant Levardon, who had lost to Wayne at the gambling table, was set to depart with his caravan the following morning, heading for the same destination—Vizima.

Upon hearing the news, Wayne's eyes lit up, and he immediately said he would speak with Levardon to see if he could take on the task of providing security. He didn't care much about the reward; it was more about traveling with a large group, which offered the comfort of a carriage and food.

The most important thing was that it provided an opportunity. Wayne had always reminded himself that to become stronger, he had to seize every chance. The lifespan of a Witcher might be long, but without seizing opportunities to grow stronger, he could end up as just another corpse in an unfortunate accident.

Negotiations with the businessman Revardon went smoothly. As a southern merchant, he held a natural curiosity about the northern regions and lacked the common northern prejudice against Witchers. When he learned that two Witchers were willing to accompany him, he readily agreed. Revardon was quite generous, offering a reward of one hundred Oren and hiring the Witchers as guards to escort his caravan.

The journey from the Floating Harbor to Vizima would take about five days, with no significant dangers expected along the way, making the reward fair. Although Revardon appeared to be a generous and affluent businessman, Wayne remembered that in the future, Revardon would become the representative of the Nilfgaard Merchant Union in the south. He would be stationed in Vizima, overseeing trade in the north and likely serving as a spy.

Unlike some Nilfgaardian officers who advocated for slavery and destruction, Revardon preferred a more subtle approach. He hoped for stability in the North, maintaining its industry in a less advanced state, making it a region where southern businessmen could acquire resources and offload goods, obtaining wealth peacefully and sustainably.

The journey proceeded without incident. Revardon's caravan was large, consisting of around forty to fifty individuals, including guards and workers. The caravan included numerous horse-drawn and donkey carts, making it an imposing force that would deter any would-be thieves.

For five days, the group traveled through the wilderness, taking rest stops in villages where they bought agricultural products and other supplies. Wayne even assisted a village in dealing with a large brown bear, and in appreciation, he prepared a dish of steamed bear paw, which was well-received by everyone, especially Jaskier and Revardon, who were experiencing Wayne's culinary skills for the first time.

On the morning of the sixth day, they passed through a forest and finally arrived at the outskirts of Vizima.

Vizima, the capital of the Northern Kingdom of Temeria, is ruled by King Foltest. Located at the crossroads of vital trade routes, the city was established along Lake Vizima in the Ismina Valley, a tributary of the Pontar. Once an elven city, it fell under human occupation, leading to the destruction of the splendid elven structures. However, the magnificent and extensive sewer system left by the elves is still in use.

The city is divided into several densely populated districts, hosting thousands of residents and travelers from all over the world. Vizima boasts well-established infrastructure, featuring castles, shopping centers, temples, blacksmiths, merchant stalls, banks, workshops, hotels, and brothels, making it a symbol of prosperity in the Northern Kingdom.

Unlike others, gazing at Vizima City from a distance triggered memories in Wayne's mind—memories from his past life when he had lived within these walls. Of course, these weren't his own memories but rather those of the original body's owner, a half-elf boy. In his early years, he had lived in the slums of Vizima, where his mother, an elven prostitute, struggled with severe illness. Unable to care for her young child and unwilling to subject him to the harsh life of the slums, she entrusted Wayne to Vesemir, who was in Vizima on a commission.

When Vesemir took Wayne away, his mother, Martha, was already close to death. Even ten years later, the location of the poor woman's burial site remains unknown.

Jaskier, riding at the front on horseback, was happily humming a tune when he abruptly turned to Wayne and Geralt, pointing toward Vizima City. "Hey! Geralt, Wayne, look, Vizima seems to be constructing a new city. There are a lot of people working over there."

Wayne and Geralt followed Jaskier's gaze. Indeed, they saw workers laboring on a piece of land adjacent to the old city of Vizima. The foundations of numerous structures had been laid, with simple shacks scattered around the construction site. Construction materials had been transported from various directions, forming substantial piles. The scale of the site suggested that the new city would be several times larger than the old one.

The businessman Revardon, seated in a nearby carriage, chimed in, "That's New Vizima over there. Since last year, King Foltest has been preparing for its construction. Mayor Velerad is overseeing the planning. The news of this new city is what drew me here with my caravan. For businessmen like me, a new city means countless business opportunities—the wealth we all seek."

Geralt stroked his stubble-covered chin thoughtfully. "I recall that beneath this land lies a sewer system built by elves. It's quite extensive, with ancient ruins buried underground. There are likely many hidden monsters. If they intend to build a new city on top of it, they'll need to clear out those monsters. They'll need a Witcher. This could be a good commission."

Jaskier, inspired by the prospect, swiftly retrieved his lute and began playing a melody. "Marvelous! It's another epic occasion. I shall observe closely and craft a new poem for the founding of New Vizima. The residents of Temeria will adore it."

Revardon, clearly impressed by Jaskier's talent, promptly promised that if Jaskier's new poem met his expectations, he would arrange a performance and invite many celebrities to witness it, elevating Jaskier's status in the upper circles. This promise thrilled Jaskier, prompting him to sing and dance while subtly praising Revardon—an act that left Geralt with goosebumps.

Amidst their lively banter, Wayne's mind began to wander.

Unknown to many, Wayne, having played the game and delved into the original book, knew that King Foltest's urgency in constructing New Vizima stemmed from the cursed fate of his daughter, Adda. She was destined to awaken from the grave and transform into a formidable Striga at this time.

Given her status as the king's daughter, Adda enjoyed Foltest's protection, preventing others from slaying her. However, with no known method to lift the curse, she was left to roam freely. Due to her monstrous nature, the Striga frequently ventured out of her tomb during the night, attacking the royal city and nearby residential areas, resulting in a gruesome toll.

This ongoing menace created a dreadful legend in the old city of Vizima, with dozens, if not hundreds, of victims falling prey to her claws annually. Simultaneously, King Foltest faced animosity and curses from other nobles, undermining his rule.

In the original narrative, this dire situation persisted for an extended period. Numerous powerful sorcerers and Witchers attempted to break the curse, only to fail repeatedly.

King Foltest even offered a high bounty, but no one could complete the task.

It wasn't until years later that Geralt of Rivia passed through the area and finally found a way to lift Adda's curse, turning her back into a human princess. Because of this, he met the sorceress Triss Merigold and gained the friendship of King Foltest.

However, due to Wayne's intervention, Geralt had come to this kingdom ahead of schedule, and many things in the future would undoubtedly change because of it.

Due to the bustling construction of New Vizima, the old city of Vizima was experiencing a surge in activity. Crowds of workers, farmers, travelers, and merchants formed lines to enter the city, contributing to a remarkable flow of goods coming in and out daily.

To maintain order in the royal capital, King Foltest had dispatched a force of 500 soldiers to station in the woods a few kilometers outside Vizima. Their duties included assisting the Mayor and upholding law and order within the city. Wayne speculated that, beyond these official duties, the king might have stationed troops nearby to quell potential discontent among the nobility.

Despite facing criticism regarding his personal life, King Foltest, among the northern monarchs, stood out as one of the relatively wise rulers. Wayne acknowledged that the swift conquest of the North by the Nilfgaardian Empire was facilitated, to some extent, by the actions of less competent leaders.

Levardon's caravan queued near the city gate for almost half an hour, undergoing inspection and supervision by a contingent of soldiers before finally entering the city. With the caravan's arrival, Wayne considered his escort mission concluded. He approached Levardon on horseback, exchanged thanks with the plump merchant, graciously accepted his reward, and bid farewell to the southern entrepreneur.

However, as they parted ways, Levardon said enthusiastically, "Mr. Wayne, before my new house is built, I will be residing at the Kingfisher Hotel. I hold great admiration for the skills of a Witcher like yourself. In the future, I am confident that we can find opportunities to collaborate. I hope we can stay in touch and build a fruitful relationship."

"If you have a confirmed address, kindly send someone to inform me. I have a commission in the near future that I would like to entrust to you."

"Rest assured, the reward will be quite generous, so please do not hesitate to accept."

Wayne, learning of Levardon's upcoming commission, expressed his willingness to accept. He shook hands with the hefty businessman, wearing a friendly smile, and assured him, "You can trust in my character and strength, Mr. Levardon. As long as your commission aligns with the principles of Witchers, I will not refuse. Moreover, my visit to Vizima is not solely for commissions. There might be other matters in the future where we can cooperate."

Levardon, intrigued by Wayne's words, showed surprise and interest. Witchers were known for their transient nature, and he wondered what other forms of cooperation they might engage in. Nevertheless, Levardon maintained his amiable demeanor, nodded, and said, "Very well, Mr. Wayne. I also look forward to our future collaboration."

After parting ways with Levardon's caravan, Wayne rejoined Geralt and Jaskier.

Jaskier, growing impatient, circled on a borrowed donkey, winking at passing women, playing his lute, and showcasing his singing voice. Geralt, leaning against a tree with a straw in his mouth, observed the passers-by. Approaching Geralt, Wayne handed him a small purse containing fifty orens and inquired, "Now that we're in Vizima, Geralt, what are your plans?"

The White Wolf spat out the grass root, casually stashing the money bag in his pocket. He shrugged and spoke in his hoarse voice, "We're Witchers, what else can we do? Let's find a place to live first, then check the city hall or nearby taverns for potential commissions. Also, locate the blacksmith and the brothel. These two places are crucial for us Witchers."

Jaskier, upon hearing this, chimed in, "Haha, brothel, yes, brothel. Believe me, Geralt, even though it's my first time in Vizima, I can guarantee that the girls here will soon fall in love with me, the great poet Dandelion. When the time comes, if you say you are my friend, maybe you will get a discount."

While Wayne anticipated their lighthearted approach, he couldn't help but sigh at their carefree attitude. After some thought, he suggested, "Geralt, you and Jaskier can check for commissions in the city. I'll handle some matters in the slum area. Let's meet at the city hall gate in the evening."

Geralt glanced at Wayne thoughtfully, nodded, patted him on the shoulder, and left with Jaskier. With a substantial amount of money on hand, Geralt was in no hurry to find commissions and could afford to enjoy some leisure and equip himself. Witchers of this era rarely entertained far-reaching plans; most lived for the present, indulging in a life of eating, drinking, and occasional companionship with women.

Once separated from the duo, Wayne found himself alone again after a long while, experiencing a mix of loneliness and freedom.

Following the faint recollections in his mind, Wayne swiftly located the slum where he had spent his childhood. The area consisted of low wooden houses, uneven and rundown, with puddle-filled and excrement-laden roads. Residents, adorned in tattered clothing, wore thin expressions as they moved about. Shops were scarce, limited to vendors peddling small carts of daily necessities. Occasional shouts and curses emerged from obscure corners, adding a semblance of life to the destitution.

Deep within this impoverished neighborhood stood a two-story building perpetually illuminated by numerous oil lamps. The slightly ajar door hinted at a relatively clean interior. Men of modest means frequented the premises, their comings and goings accompanied by the audible panting and cursing of women within. This was the business establishment for the impoverished prostitutes Wayne remembered.

Several scantily clad women with somber expressions showcased their figures outside the house. Even when harassed by passing inebriates and rough men, they only garnered a few curses. Nearby, a handful of brawny men with tattoos and short knives or sticks fastened to their waists leaned against dilapidated wooden structures, chatting while casting menacing gazes at passersby. These individuals were members of local gangs, responsible for safeguarding the prostitutes—ensuring their safety, warding off exploitation from impoverished individuals, and collecting exorbitant protection fees to sustain gang life.

About ten meters away from the brothels stood a two-story tavern, weathered but with a slightly cleaner appearance. A signboard named it the Fox Tavern. Amidst the grime and squalor of the slums, only this tavern boasted a semblance of cleanliness. Steaming chimneys and the intermittent sounds of boisterous laughter and muffled curses emanated from within.

Upon spotting the tavern's name, Wayne's eyes sparked with recognition. In his hazy memories, Wayne had spent a period of his childhood working there, assisting the tavern owner with tasks such as washing dishes and serving drinks.

In addition to providing food and shelter, the job also offered a meager weekly salary of more than a dozen copper coins—a noteworthy aspect of Wayne's childhood memories. This place seemed like an ideal choice if he aimed to glean information about his past.

Contemplating this, Wayne treaded carefully, sidestepping the muddy puddles on the ground. He gently pushed aside the makeshift blanket at the tavern door, a feeble barrier against the cold wind, and entered the Fox Tavern.

Wayne, still clad in traditional Witcher gear, wore the distinctive blue-black light armor of the School of the Wolf. The half-body mail armor, with thick leather sewn over it, was both stylish and practical. A black cowhide belt wrapped around his waist, holding a dagger, a pouch for potions, and a waist bag. A finely crafted steel sword in a black scabbard hung from his right belt, and the iconic wolf medallion of his school was discreetly tucked into the armor.

With his imposing stature, muscular build, short dark blond hair, and amber cat-like eyes, Wayne presented the image of a formidable swordsman. His entrance into the Fox Tavern immediately drew the attention of the patrons and the innkeeper, momentarily silencing the room.

The people of Vizima, being more informed than those in rural areas, regarded Wayne with a mix of curiosity and caution. Despite the scrutiny, none dared to act rashly, choosing instead to feign indifference while continuing their conversations.

As a Witcher, Wayne was accustomed to such reactions and paid no mind to the stares. He approached the innkeeper and lightly tapped the wooden bar. The innkeeper, a middle-aged man in his 50s with short, salt-and-pepper hair and a long scar running down the left side of his face and across his lips, looked up. The scar was a stark reminder of a life lived on the battlefield. Wayne observed the selection of drinks behind the bar and the fresh game hanging on ropes before speaking.

"Yueke, get me a bottle of Vizima delight and some rabbit," Wayne requested, addressing the innkeeper by name. Yueke, glancing up, replied in a gruff voice, "Fifty copper coins. Pay upfront; that's our rule."

Wayne nodded, acknowledging the rule, but realized he had no small coins. He pulled out an Oren from his pocket and placed it on the bar. "One Oren, and throw in some extra beef," he suggested.

The innkeeper accepted the Oren, verified its authenticity, and softened his expression slightly. "Find yourself a seat. The food and drink will be served shortly," he said.

Wayne chose an empty table away from the crowd, set down his steel sword, and took a seat. As he settled in, the patrons, reassured by his lack of threatening behavior, returned to their drinking and chatter, quickly restoring the tavern's lively atmosphere.

Several minutes later, a limping woman in her thirties cautiously placed a mug of beer and a plate of roasted rabbit on Wayne's table. Wayne glanced up at her, his expression briefly changing as if recognizing something, but he made no immediate reaction. He picked up his knife and fork and began eating, listening intently to the conversations around him.

In the Middle Ages, information was often obscured, and most common folk had limited access to the latest news. A bustling tavern like this was a hub where people gathered to share and exchange information.

As a Witcher, Wayne's enhanced hearing was a valuable asset, allowing him to gather a wealth of information. Nearby, at a table not far from him, two men dressed as workers were deep in conversation. The younger worker, physically strong but visibly worried, asked the older one, "Hey Jason, did you hear about the new Vizima?"

"Yeah, I heard. To live in the new city, we'll have to pay a land purchase tax at the city hall. Then we can get a piece of land to build our own houses," the younger worker continued. "They've divided the entire area into three districts, with different land prices in each. Not only do we have to buy the land ourselves, but we also have to pay for the house construction. It's all designed to keep the poor and the rich separate."

The older worker, Jason, who appeared to be around forty, responded dismissively, "Isn't that obvious? Did you expect the king to build a house for you? It's King Foltest's generosity that we don't have to pay taxes for the city's construction. The nuns at the Church of Melitele told me that the district meant for folks like us is called the Temple District. The Church will also build a new chapel there. About half of Vizima's residents will live in the Temple District."

Jason continued, "Then there's the Trade District, but only nobles, wealthy merchants, and the king's officials can afford to live there. That's fine by me—living apart from those highborn types and shady merchants will make life easier."

The younger man scratched his head, clearly troubled. "But I just got married to Lisa, and all our savings are gone. How can I afford to buy land in the new city? Lisa's pregnant now, and I'm the only one working. I have no idea how long it will take to save enough."

Jason, noticing his friend's distress, tried to console him. "Don't worry, Rota. The new Vizima won't be finished for another year or two. The city hall will take care of the public facilities and city walls, but we'll have to build our own houses. You can borrow money to buy the land and work on the construction team. They pay well. If that doesn't work, you could rent a place. Staying in the old city isn't safe. You wouldn't want Lisa to disappear in the middle of the night, would you?"

Rota, realizing the gravity of the situation, nodded firmly. "You're right. Lisa's safety comes first. I'll sell our old house tomorrow and move to the new city, even if we have to live in a shack. It's safer there."

Jason, pleased with Rota's decision, added, "No need to find another place just yet, Rota. I've already bought land in the Temple District. I can't afford to build a house right now, but we can set up a tent. It's safer with more people, and I won't charge you rent."

Rota, surprised and grateful, said, "Thanks, Jason. You're a true friend. When I buy my land, maybe we'll be neighbors. I'll treat you to a drink." The two then shifted to more trivial topics, their conversation blending into the lively atmosphere of the tavern.

Wayne's attention shifted to a nearby table where three rough-looking mercenaries were engaged in a conversation. One of them, a man with decayed teeth, cursed under his breath, "Damn, times are tough. The King's army has set up outposts all over the forest, making it impossible to catch any of those fat merchants. It's messing with our business."

Another mercenary, bald with several scars on his face, quickly rebuked him. "Shut up, Rotten Teeth! You want the farmers to hear you? They'd snitch to the guards and have us hanged. And before that, I'll cut off your manhood and shove it where the sun don't shine."

Trying to defuse the tension, a thin, middle-aged man with a rat-like appearance intervened. "Calm down, Scar Face, Rotten Teeth. We're all comrades here. The boss sent us to the city for an important mission. Let's not screw it up over something trivial."

Rotten Teeth, realizing his mistake, avoided further confrontation and turned to the thin man, known as Mouse Eye. "Mouse Eye, did you find our target?" he asked in a hushed tone.

Mouse Eye glanced around cautiously before whispering, "With so many caravans in the city and guards spread thin, infiltrating one shouldn't be a problem. I've found a wealthy merchant dealing in high-end tableware. With the rich folks building new houses, fancy tableware is in high demand. This merchant's got a valuable load coming in from the Floating Port. He's hiring guards to protect it. It's exactly what the boss wants. He's leaving in three days, and I've already greased some palms to get us on the guard detail."

He added with a smirk, "Let the boss know. If we coordinate well, we'll be able to make a fortune."

Wayne sat quietly in the tavern, listening intently to the scattered conversations that filled the air. The benefits of his enhanced hearing were not confined to the battlefield; they extended into his daily life as well. His heightened senses gave him an edge in combat, making surprise attacks almost impossible, but they also offered unexpected advantages during mundane moments like this.

The patrons of the tavern, unaware of the Witcher with superhuman senses in their midst, spoke freely, their hushed voices barely above a whisper. Yet, Wayne could pick up even the faintest sounds, capturing snippets of information from the noisy room.

As Wayne enjoyed his meal, he overheard discussions about various topics: significant events in Vizima, city hall policies, the schemes of a group of robbers, and even whispers of a vampire. Over the past year and a half, the residential area near the palace had been plagued by wild beast attacks and mysterious disappearances. The city guards' vague responses had only fueled public panic, leaving many civilians afraid to venture out at night.

This atmosphere of fear had led to an unintended improvement in public security, as even gangsters and thieves avoided nighttime activities. However, the relocation of the palace and the ongoing construction of a new city sparked a sense of unease among the more astute residents. Some began contemplating leaving the city to escape the escalating supernatural threats that seemed to be closing in.

The nightly attacks by the mysterious beast continued to sow fear among the residents, with the authorities doing their best to conceal the truth. Unknown to the people, the creature wreaking havoc at night was none other than King Foltest's daughter.

As Wayne found this revelation intriguing, a young boy in tattered clothes entered the tavern. After scanning the room, he approached Wayne cautiously, avoiding the other drinkers, and said, "Sir, your horse has been stolen."