The Witcher: My Own Path

My guide's knock on the heavy wooden door jolted me out of my reverie. Let's see who my mysterious benefactor is.

"Please!" I hear a young but strong voice behind the door. I had been following the old elf, but as soon as I crossed the threshold of the chamber, the young man got up from the elegant chair, resting his hands on the even more elegant desk, filled with books, parchments and scrolls. From the sheer number of documents, I can tell that he had or would have a lot of work. They say that witchers have no feelings, but that's not true, we have them, but it's not easy for anyone to make us show them on our faces, but in the last few days I had to use almost all my willpower to keep my face from revealing how surprised I was. A child, a youngster, a young man, not what I expected! I imagined a middle-aged man, two metres tall, with muscles as swollen as a horse's and scars decorating every inch of his body.To say that I was surprised by his appearance is an understatement, it's like saying that Lambert is handsome!

Sir Tyr, immediately after dismissing his subordinate, walked towards me with a slight smile and an outstretched hand. Then my instincts, honed by years of experience, subconsciously kicked in, the inside of his hand was calloused, covered in calluses, and they were not the kind of calluses you get from holding a pitchfork or even a sledgehammer. I had seen the hands of many craftsmen, but no, this hand belonged to someone who had spent countless hours wearing the skin away, layer by layer, holding a sword in his hand. My gaze automatically focused on his entire arm, trying to see other clues, but I couldn't see anything as the black silk robe covered him from the neck to the ankles. However, his posture as a whole did not escape my attention, upright, confident, flexible. The next thing that caught my eye was his steps, strong but not heavy, like a dancer's. The young man was a warrior, a light style, fast and precise, like the witcher cat school, in short. Behind the youthful appearance, handsome face and kind smile, there was a warrior... a dangerous one. When I come across someone or something that my instincts warn me about, I subconsciously reach for the medallion around my neck for additional information from it behaviour to determine how much the threat increases or decreases. The wolf-shaped medallion rested peacefully on my chest, letting me know that there was no magical fluctuation within a radius of a few dozen metres. I let out the accumulated air from my lungs and relaxed my muscles. At that moment, I realised how tense I had been. 

"Who are you, young man, that your mere presence has led my body to enter a state of the highest combat readiness?" I asked myself in my mind.

"Hello, Master Geralt, how is your day going? Did you get everything you needed at the inn?"

"Yes, thank you", I replied, shaking his hand firmly. I continued to stare into his eyes and face, trying to see what I always see on people's faces, no matter how nice or polite they are, namely fear, contempt and often disgust. I only saw an honest smile and curiosity, what is really... Interesting.

I also paid attention to the room itself. A large chandelier with half-burnt candles hanging from the ceiling, white walls as if recently painted with a coat of arms hanging on them, a golden anvil and hammer on a red background, the same as in the tavern and several other establishments I passed in the city. The bookcase was almost completely empty, a single bed hidden behind a makeshift wooden wall, a brand new carpet and a massive elegant desk where we were about to sit down. The room was almost completely empty, but quite spacious and new, as if someone had recently occupied this place, which is completely in line with the information I had gathered.

"Please sit down, master..."

'What do you want from me?" I asked directly. I don't like games, especially beating around the bush.

"Straight to the point? I respect that".

The young man pointed to a free chair with his hand and circled his desk, sitting down behind it.

"What I want from you, master of the witcher, is nothing extraordinary or secret. I want to hire you. You may not know this, but for some time now, I have been the owner of a rather large piece of land. Well, to call it "land" is a bit of an exaggeration. If you turn around and look out of the window, you will see the marshes stretching as far as the eye can see. It's my "land" and I want you to take care of the monsters that live there, or at least the stronger ones".

"Is that all? Because I think you're full of shit, Mr Knight!" I concluded, not hiding the sarcasm in my voice.

As a witcher, at least compared to those I know, I am quite young, but as a human (mutant) I would be considered more of a grandfather, so I have seen quite a lot. In my life, I have had the unpleasantness of associating with rich merchants and nobles who wanted to have their own witcher. Whether as a personal bodyguard, an assassin or even as a trophy to show off. I despise such people.

"Is that the only reason you offered me a VIP room, free food and alcohol, the best blacksmiths and other amenities, only to tell me later to hunt down a few drowners in a swamp where there is absolutely nothing and where no one in their right mind would go voluntarily?..." I paused briefly to let the arrogant young man realise how stupid this sounded, and I didn't hide the sarcasm or venom behind my words.

"Do you take me for a complete idiot? Do you want me to get rid of at least the stronger monsters? Wasn't it you, Knight of the Warm Morning, who didn't get rid of the Striga? With your skills, you should be able to handle the monsters in YOUR swamps on your own, so either tell me what you really want from me or don't bother me anymore!" I finished. My face betrayed nothing, I had neither the strength nor the desire to do so, I just looked the boy in the eye.

I noticed how the eyelid on his left eye trembled, I guess I hit a nerve.

The young man got up slowly, sighing from his desk as if the weight of the whole world was resting on his shoulders. He put his hands on the counter and leaned towards me close enough for me to smell his breath.

"Do you want to know the truth, GERALT?!" he asked with a steely voice. The polite tone and gentle smile evaporated. In that brief moment, the young man who sat in front of me disappeared, replaced by... Exactly what? His face didn't reveal anything, it was as blank as a mask, but there was fury in his eyes, I don't know if it was my imagination, but for a moment they took on a scarlet hue. I had the impression that the room had suddenly become cold, then he asked again.

"Do you know how long the Striga was on the loose in and around the capital? Almost seven years, seven fucking years! He spat through clenched teeth. "Do you know how many people were butchered, devoured and God knows what else by that monster?! Over three hundred! Children, women, men!!! Three years of preparation and planning, eight thousand orens spent on equipment and traps and poison, all covered in silver. THREE YEARS of worrying every day about how I could stop it! On top of that, drowners, wiverns, ghouls and many other monsters preyed on the inhabitants of Wyzima! So guess how many people have died over the years, Monster Hunter! If that's too difficult, how about I ask you when was the last time a witcher was here? You don't know? Then I'll fucking tell you: ten years ago, TEN!!! He screamed, his saliva sprayed on my face with every word he shouted, but I did not back down.

"So if I have to spend all my money to lure one of you to stay and hunt, even those fucking drowners, so that one more of these innocent simpletons survives another day, I'LL DO IT!!!" He looked me in the eyes for a moment longer, then sat down.

"Are you taking the job or not? If not, then fuck off!"