Chapter Text
The tenth day after the Autumn Equinox, 1228 post Resurrectionem.
High in the Blue Mountains, a vast, crumbling castle stood among pine-covered slopes.
White clouds drifted past Kaer Morhen, where vines crawled across the mottled stone walls.
"Hah!"
Light shouts rang out one after another.
On the training ground, a lean figure swung a two-handed training sword again and again. The muscles in his arms were taut, and sweat had soaked through his white linen shirt.
Sweat dripped from his dark bangs, sliding down his forehead and over the bridge of his straight nose, revealing a pair of viper-like gray vertical pupils.
[Apprentice Swordsmanship Experience +1!]
A line of small text slid across the top of his vision.
He opened the System Panel.
[Name: Alvin Thyssen]
[Class: Witcher Apprentice]
[Age: 14]
[Mutagen: Not yet acquired]
[Apprentice Swordsmanship Lv1: 99/100]
[Special Talent: Dual Soul (Purple)]
[Dual Soul: As a traveler from another world, his mental power has been greatly enhanced. He possesses a photographic memory. Once his mental power reaches a certain level, he can perform Dual Casting.]
He only needed one more experience point to max out Apprentice Swordsmanship Lv1.
With that in mind, he threw all his focus back into training.
Only a month ago, he had been home alone at night, playing The Witcher 3 on his computer. The game's countless monsters, mysterious and beautiful Sorceresses, and strange, dazzling world had all fascinated him.
But that had only been a game. When he truly crossed over to Kaer Morhen and became a Witcher Apprentice named Alvin, he was left completely at a loss.
After several days of confusion, Alvin had no choice but to accept the cold reality before him. There was no computer, no comfort, only endless training day after day.
"Dong!"
A deep, resonant bell rang through the castle.
Alvin lowered his training sword and took a long breath.
Suddenly, someone nudged his right arm.
Alvin glanced sideways.
The other boy was about 1.6 meters tall, half a head taller than him, and wore the same Apprentice uniform. His face was covered in sweat. If not for his pale, almost sickly complexion and gloomy catlike eyes, he would have made a decent first impression.
Paul, a Witcher Apprentice, was the closest thing Alvin had to a friend among the six Apprentices.
"Morning sword training is over, Alvin. Come on, let's go to the kitchen and have some green juice."
Green juice...
An unpleasant memory quickly surfaced in Alvin's mind.
Witcher apprentices had to pass through four stages before becoming full-fledged witchers: The Choice, the Trial of the Grasses, the Trial of the Dreams, and finally, the Trial of the Mountains.
This green juice was a special broth that Witcher apprentices drank during the first stage, The Choice.
Its main ingredients were mysterious mushrooms, moss, and herbs grown in the Witcher laboratory. It sped up the apprentices' metabolism, and paired with six years of harsh training, helped them build powerful muscle tissue and bodies healthy to an almost absurd degree.
It sounded wonderful, but all of it happened while they were on a restricted diet.
Back on Earth, even a few days of fitness meal plans could make plenty of people complain bitterly, let alone six whole years.
Losing your mind was a mild outcome. One small mistake, and your organs could fail.
Alvin had once believed that witchers' violent tendencies were caused by those six years of dieting.
"No. I'm going to train a little longer."
Alvin picked up the training sword again.
He was only one point away from leveling up. He had no intention of stopping halfway.
When Paul heard that, he slung an arm around Alvin's shoulders and made a face with his finger.
"Oh, my friend, Master Vesemir isn't even here. Stop pretending."
"Let's go to the kitchen. We might even see that herbalist nun. She wears a cloak, but the skin on her wrists is whiter than the milk we drink. I'll bet you she's a real beauty."
Alvin looked at Paul's narrowed eyes, lifted his shoulder, and shrugged Paul's left hand off.
Paul snorted, bored.
"No fun. I'll go find the others. Don't blame me if I don't save you any green juice."
Alvin paid him no mind.
A herbalist nun?
So what if she was a Sorceress?
He had seen more than enough beauties on screens before.
Especially now, when he still remembered exactly how the original host had died.
The Trial of the Grasses was without doubt every Witcher apprentice's nightmare.
After drinking the special alchemical Decoction known as "Grass," the body and its physiology would undergo a complete mutation over seven days. The most obvious changes were the skin and catlike eyes.
And the entire process was full of agony and death.
A forty-percent survival rate was already considered extremely lucky.
Such terrifying risk naturally came with tremendous reward.
As long as one passed the Trial of the Grasses, aside from the catlike eyes, they would gain physical abilities far beyond ordinary people and reaction speed close to monstrous.
Unfortunately, the original host had failed to survive the final seventh day.
Fortunately, that had allowed him, a traveler from another world, to benefit from it.
Even so, he still did not dare grow careless.
After this, there were still two major Trials waiting for him: the Trial of the Dreams and the Trial of the Mountains.
Their mortality rates were still far from low.
The original host had suffered halfway through, only for Alvin to take over and continue suffering in his place.
With such pressure hanging over him, Alvin had no interest in looking at some herbalist nun.
The right answer was to obediently grind experience and survive the Trial of the Mountains.
Just as he was about to raise the training sword, Alvin caught the faint sound of footsteps behind him.
He turned his head slightly and saw Paul walking back with a miserable expression.
Alvin did not ask. The catlike eyes in his sockets contracted sharply.
A tall figure entered his view.
The man had combed his gray-white hair back. His face was aged, but his frame was broad and powerful, and two swords hung across his back.
Most frightening of all were those amber vertical pupils. Meeting them for even a moment was enough to send a chill through the heart.
Vesemir, Kaer Morhen's witcher swordsmanship master.
He was also one of Alvin's favorite characters in The Witcher 3.
"Come here, children."
Vesemir's deep voice rang out.
The six Witcher Apprentices scattered around the training ground quickly gathered in front of him.
Six pairs of catlike eyes, each a different color, looked up at Vesemir together like young wolves staring at the leader of the pack.
Vesemir swept his gaze over them and gave a slight nod.
"A month is enough time for you wolf cubs to get used to your new bodies. How do you feel?"
Alvin exchanged glances with the other five.
One of them thumped his chest with a fist, pride flashing in his catlike eyes.
"I feel great, Master Vesemir. If there were a Ghoul standing in front of me right now, I wouldn't be afraid. I could kill it."
"Me too. After training these past few days, I don't get as tired as before."
The apprentices chattered noisily, talking about the progress they had made over the past month.
Alvin stayed silent, his eyes fixed on Vesemir's still-stern face.
He had a faint feeling that something bad was about to happen.
Vesemir narrowed his eyes.
Not as tired as before?
Hah. Aside from the Trial of the Grasses strengthening their bodies, the main reason was that they had survived the fasting stage of The Choice and could eat normal food again. Both body and mind had been replenished.
Vesemir gave a low chuckle.
"Kill a Ghoul? Youthful arrogance indeed."
"Very well. Since you've passed the Trial of the Grasses, it's time you saw blood."
At those words, Alvin's right hand instinctively tightened around the sword hilt.
His ears twitched slightly. With hearing far beyond that of ordinary people, he picked up a series of dull sounds slowly approaching from behind.
It was the sound of iron chains striking the ground.
No, not only that. There was also a stifled, rasping hiss of breath.