Prologue: The Witcher

The conjunction of the spheres and the battles between worlds where one race wanted to rule over the other brought a huge change to the universe. What were once separate worlds, races, and destinies transformed into one world with various races and different fates.

Among those races, there existed one that became well-known among the others—Witchers. Killing beasts for coin. Taking the jobs that no one could or wanted to complete. They were despised and even ostracized for it by the people because of fear. But it wasn't their fault. No. The job needed to be done, and ironically, the same people needed to be protected from the beasts that roamed the one world where different races now co-existed.

However, after a time, the war started once again, and they were forced to fight...

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He saw flashes of past memories in his dream, the good and the bad.

All of a sudden, he was standing in front of his home, and whispers surrounded him. He turned right, left, front, and back—where were they coming from exactly?

And all of a sudden, she appeared before him, a translucent figure of a beautiful woman with blonde hair and different-colored eyes.

"I've missed you," she came face to face with him and stroked his cheek. He softly grunted in response.

"Beth,"—he closed his eyes and held her hand on his face—"I need you."

Time stood still for what felt like a millennium to him. The soft, slender fingers that were touching his face, he missed their warmth and love. Memories once again started to race through his mind, only happy memories with her.

And he opened his eyes.

A panicked face, bloodshot eyes that matched the color running down her nose, and tears that painted her a broken woman. "You're cursed..." she whispered with a quiver.

He awoke.

"Beth..." he whispered.

"Mmm..." He heard a small, quiet groan to his right. There, lay a woman. And to his left, there was another one.

***

"Beer, please." The witcher had come down from one of the rooms upstairs into a small bar. Nothing exquisite. Nothing special. Just a simple beer after a good fuck. Not wanting to sit, he leaned on the counter. A guy sat two chairs down from where he was with a tankard in his hand, talking to another man. Another leaned on one of the wooden columns beside the counter.

"Here ye are." A tankard was handed to him by the bartender.

"Thank you." The witcher took the drink, took a sip, and looked around aloof. This place wasn't only a bar, it was also a brothel; the most popular one in the area. There were some women in the corners of the bar and near the tables swaying their assets to gain interest and hopefully make money that night. There were also moans from a few women upstairs

"Cursed..." With nothing specific to think about, his mind wandered to a word he had heard over and over again in his dreams. He took another drink of his beer and looked around again. Cursed? Yes, he had come to terms with it a long time ago. Always rushing through things even though he always had time. Thinking over and over again even though there was always a tomorrow.

He took another swig to clear those thoughts, emptying his tankard.

"Bartender, another, please."

"Different type or the same one?"

"Same."

"Comin' right up."

He took a look around the place, it was full. It was nighttime, it was the custom in areas like this one, especially under a disgusting kingdom like Asura. He came to this specific kingdom in order to trade what he had from home but he dreaded being here.

"Those damn Greyrats..." he thought.

"Here ye are." The bartender gave him his drink.

"Thank you." The same drink, the same taste. He put his tankard down on the counter. He noticed the moaning had dialed down a few minutes prior and looked to where the stairs were. A woman came down while fixing her dark, wavy, red hair and her grey gown along with her beige shawl. However, something was off... she smelled like blood.

After her, a woman with blue hair came down. A black cape around her shoulders and a brown satchel on her right. The witcher caught sight of a dagger being put in it.

He took note of that but didn't seem to care. It wasn't the first time he'd seen something like this. These types of events usually happened.

However, before he could dive further into his suspicion...

"Looky here, looky here. What a fine lady... How much, missy?" A man naked from the waist up asked a young lady who was huddled together with three more in a corner. This caught the man's attention. He had seen them huddled together in the corner a few minutes earlier, thinking that they might be new to the business since one was gripping the hand of the other, her lip quivered.

"Uh... T-t-two s-s-sil—" However, before she could answer, he interrupted her.

"Hey, bartender! How much for her services?" The man turned towards the bartender and asked with his thumb pointing behind him.

The bartender stopped pouring a drink and answered the man. "They're new,"—he pointed behind the man—"so yer looking at 6 silver per each one." He gave their prices like he was selling material goods, greed was written in his eyes and grin. This confirmed what the man had thought—they were new.

The tall man said with excitement, "I'll be taking this one then!" It looked like the man could afford the service.

"Just a second! That one's mine! I've been eyeing her for some time now."

"Hell no! That one's mine! I'll pay double!"

"Hey, you brutes! All of them are mine! I want a full service!"

A man turned around and faced the one who had said that. "I had dibs on two of them, ya buffoon!"

"Whadda ya fools talkin' 'bout?!" Another man yelled with anger. "That pretty one right there is mine!" However, he was so drunk he spoke in slurs, so it came out as, "Warrayafoolstagginbouf?! Tathfreffyoneightereishmine!"

"That one's mine, ya bunch of hooligans!"

And eventually, a huge commotion began over the "new goods." The bartender only grinned deeper at this, after all, the person who managed to pay more was important to his pocket.

Every man in the bar wanted to receive the new employees' services. The man who leaned on the counter didn't care what would happen with them; he was only here for a simple drink and then he would head home, but the loudness did disturb him greatly. He looked toward the huddled young women again; their faces pale, scared of what was to come. One hid her face behind the one who stood at the front and started sobbing quietly.

He turned back. "That's how life is sometimes, you'll just have to get used to it," he thought apathetically. He raised his tankard once again, but...

The man who was seated two seats away from him nudged him. "So, hey, what's your opinion on this?"

"About what?" He put his tankard down.

"Whadda ya mean 'About what?' Don't yer eyes see this shit?" he asked angrily, alcohol stench pouring out of his mouth. The other man didn't turn to look at him making him growl.

"I don't care. I just want to drink," he answered nonchalantly.

"Don't you answer me like that, bastard! Tch, whatever." However, just to please himself, he slapped the tankard he had out of his hands, landing on the floor with a "Thunk!" and poured the rest of his beer onto the hooded head of the man; soaking him in alcohol stench.

"That'll teach ya, dumbass." He turned and went back to his seat.

The few who saw this chuckled and continued to see the bigger scene happening around them.

"Hey, I said those two are mine! Bartender, I'll give ya two gold coins for—"

"Whack!"

"That's what he gets. Now, listen up, shitheads! Those two are mine! I challenge anyone who says otherwise!" This man had interrupted the other by smashing him into the wall on the other side of the bar, flipping some tables in his path. He was tall and muscular with two big scars on his cheeks probably from a beast. He was decked out in fancy armor.

"Isn't that..."

"Yes, it's him, one of the famous adventurers..."

"Bret... He's here?!"

Murmurs all around.

"Why does it matter? This one here is mine. Bartender, you said nine, right?" The man who had started all of this racket asked the bartender.

"Ahem, the price was two gold coins." The bartender had raised the price.

"What?!"

The bartender backed away a little.

"Tch! Fine, whatever come wi—" The man was about to grab the young woman and hand the money to the bartender when—

A grunt and the man who was drinking a simple drink said, "One hundred gold coins for the four of them plus the one in that corner."

Silence...

"H-uh?! What was that, sir?" The bartender asked, trembling at the amount the man in front of him had mentioned.

He drank what was left in his tankard and put it down with a "Thud!" He backed away from the counter and looked him in the eyes. "One hundred gold coins for the four of them plus the one in that corner." He pointed towards one of the corners of the bar where the woman with dark, wavy, red hair had stationed herself at.

Everyone looked to where she was, a blush appeared on her face and she looked away.

"Huh?!"

"Damn it!"

"That bastard!"

"Impossible!"

Some men gave up while others refused to accept what just happened. And so, another commotion began.

Meanwhile, the four in the other corner grew a lot more anxious and terrified. The girl who was sobbing quietly began to cry loudly. The other three also began to shed tears at what they thought would be their soon-to-be fate.

The man uncovered his head. Long, milk-white hair bound with a hairband, pale white skin, amber eyes, what appeared to be a sword on his back, and lightweight armor created the image of an unusual adventurer. Overall, it was covered by a hooded, black cape.

"Ha—Hahahahaha! It's all a bluff, I'm sure—" The man blurted out in disbelief and was about to grab the young woman once again when...

A pouch hit the counter with a "Thud!" catching eveyone's attention.

"Here, bartender, one hundred gold coins. Now, if you excuse me, I have to go." He turned around and found everyone's eyes. Ignoring them, he moved forward towards the entrance.

The bartender snatched the pouch as soon as it hit the counter, like a predator who had been waiting for its prey to land in their trap. A maniacle laugh could be heard from him along with the words, "I'm rich! Rich, I tell you!"

"Grrrr!"

"Son of...!"

"Impossible! Simply impossible!"

"What did I just witness..."

"I-I-I-I don't..."

"Who the hell is this nobody!"

"Yeah!"

"That sneaky little son of a bitch!" Though everyone understood—through his tone—what the man was saying, it came out as "Thashneafyliffilshonofraaabishhh!"

No one could do anything but watch. What could they do? Offer more? Challenge the man? This was what one man had in mind. But who exactly was this white-haired man?

"Just a second, white-haired ass!"

The man stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Yes?"

The one who had yelled out was Bret, one of the famous adventurers. "Who are you? I must know. I chall—" However before he could finish his statement, the man cut him short.

"It's Geralt, Geralt of Rivia."

"Geralt of Rivia, I challenge you to a—"

"No. I only came for a simple drink, now I'm heading home." Those simple words just the man up—that or the aura he let ooze out shut him up.

Geralt turned his head back and continued his way to the entrance and stopped. "Hurry up and come outside my merchandise!" he called out over his shoulder.

The dark, wavy, red-haired woman was quick to follow him outside with a skip in her steps while the four young women unwillingly trotted outside, tears falling from their pale cheeks.

This story would be told for countless years, some even trying to replicate the incident but failing miserably.

Geralt of Rivia. Yes, this name and many more would become well known—very well known throughout the world...

But how exactly did it become so?...