They came in sudden, and they left with style—those three friends from the School of the Viper. And they'd even left Victor a precious gift.
Not long after leaving Kaer Morhen, his stock of stamina potion ran out, and Victor had started worrying about the decline in his conditioning results. The School of the Viper's stamina potion formula just happened to patch that weakness perfectly.
Thinking back on how they'd met—lending a hand, talking by the lakeside, sharing ingredients, then drinking and trading stories—this was the first time the boy had ever had real contact with witchers outside the School of the Wolf. In the past, those other schools had only been ink on paper. Now they were undeniably real.
Standing before the city gate, he drifted into thought for a moment—absurd reflections on schisms between schools, racial hatred, professional hatred. Then a fine drizzle began to fall like the sky itself was shooing him along. Victor quickened his steps through the gate tunnel, hurrying back through the rain to his home in the Temple Quarter—because it suddenly occurred to him that Shani might still be waiting for him.
Along the way, he vaguely heard two children humming a ballad…
"When Raffard strode forward, the city gates rose before him, and Vizima welcomed its true master."
…
He pushed the door open and stepped inside. Thankfully, it was a bit late—Shani had already gone to work at the hospital. Otherwise, just imagining having to explain why he'd been out socializing again and come home reeking of booze made his head hurt. But when he saw the note she'd left on the table, along with a handmade breakfast, Victor felt nothing but gratitude toward her.
He went upstairs and pushed open the second-floor door. Angoulême was still sleeping like the dead. Catherine, standing by the window with a face full of world-weary concern, tilted her head to observe him. After confirming it was Victor, she lost interest immediately, turned away, and went back to staring moodily at the rain threading down the glass.
Victor crept a little closer and listened to the girl's steady breathing. He clicked his tongue, then returned to his own room. He'd meant to just collapse and pass out on the spot, but he truly couldn't stand the stink of alcohol and sour sweat on himself. So he went outside, drew water in the rain, and rinsed himself off before coming back in—then he slept straight through until afternoon.
…
Victor, it's time for me to go to work.
Angoulême is recovering very well. I have to say, your work as an alchemist is far more reliable than a witcher's.
You didn't come home all night, and I can guess you were probably drunk as a lord again, stinking of wine. But this time I'm not going to scold you.
During the physical check I did before leaving, you were the healthiest person I've ever seen. Your strength is far beyond that of a grown adult—and that's with you having only just come back from being injured along with Angoulême.
So I admit it: I need to reevaluate the physical structure of a witcher apprentice. And I can't keep holding you to a child's standard in your behavior—especially since you clearly have a mature mind to match.
But you still need to remember to eat breakfast!
Your faithful friend,
Shani
…
When he woke, it was just past noon. Victor went to the kitchen and casually stirred together a few apple pies in a pot for lunch, then headed down to the basement, pulled out the alchemy materials he'd sorted beforehand, and slung the whole bundle onto his back.
With those supplies—plus the "vampire blood" he'd obtained yesterday—he could finally complete Kalkstein's alchemist task and claim the stage reward: an improved formula for the focus potion.
After confirming that the "Happy Growth Method" actually worked, increasing the upper limit of his mental strength wasn't the issue anymore. Still, a stimulant like the focus potion—something to temporarily top him up when he got foggy and unfocused from alchemical fatigue—was valuable on a strategic level.
As long as he didn't get his mental strength instantly drained to the point of passing out, then before the stimulant built up too much resistance, he could clearly tinker his way into making things he'd never been able to complete before due to lacking endurance.
Walking through the Temple Quarter streets, the light rain had just cleared, the air fresh and clean. Victor soon arrived at Kalkstein's alchemy workshop.
As he opened the door, he faintly heard children singing somewhere not far off, a cheerful little rhyme:
"Black turnip, black turnip—heave-ho, heave-ho, black turnip!
Heave-ho, heave-ho, it won't come free!
Little girl, come quickly—come, come help me pull the black turnip!"
The tune was light and bouncy, and it made Victor's steps go a touch stiff. In his head, he started thinking about whether he could write a couple of nursery rhymes with educational value, then teach them to the children—before pushing the door and going inside.
…
Kalkstein's workshop was just as dark as ever, and his method of checking how fresh the materials were was just as… indecent.
After licking the leftover blood off his fingertips clean, the twitchy alchemist snapped back into the posture of a scholarly authority. "Very well done, apprentice Victor. The reward I promised you—the formula is in that manuscript on the second shelf. From the right, it's the fourth slot. I tucked it inside.
"And that stack of manuscripts is also what I'm recommending you read next. I've observed what kinds of books you borrow most often, and what you habitually look up. I believe that material is exactly what you've been searching for."
Kalkstein's words made the apprentice pause. Victor blinked, then bent at the waist into a full ninety-degree bow in thanks.
Because in that vast and endless sea of books, finding the right information wasn't easy. And an alchemist as knowledgeable as Kalkstein wouldn't joke about scholarship—if he said it would help, then it would help immensely, far more than Victor's own needle-in-the-ocean search for scattered fragments of knowledge.
Victor took the book down from the shelf. The instant he saw the manuscript's cover, he almost couldn't stop his fingertips from trembling.
Records of the Effects of Herbal Reagents on the Human Body.
At first glance, the title looked plain and harmless—but the word "effects" might as well have been replaced with "mutations," because the author's name was unmistakable—
Alzur—the father of the Trial of the Grasses.
Cradling the manuscript with reverence, Victor opened it. Sure enough, tucked inside was the formula for the improved focus potion. And at that moment, as if he sensed something—
Victor abruptly turned around.
Kalkstein had somehow moved to his side without Victor noticing. His faintly atavistic features held not even a trace of their usual comedy now. "Child. I don't know why you want to study this, but I must warn you—this is not a good subject of research.
"Alzur's success was an inevitability built on countless bloody experiments, a choice forced by the needs of a darker age. Knowledge itself has no good or evil, so I won't forbid you from studying it.
"But I must give you this advice: under its guidance, sooner or later you'll be unable to resist conducting experiments on humans. And then righteous knights will kick in your door, bind you to a stake, and burn you alive.
"Believe me—if I ever see that scene, I won't feel the slightest bit of pity for you.
"Every witcher that exists now has meaning and value. But humans no longer need them as much, so every new witcher created is innocent—and unnecessary.
"I don't think it's a shame for the technique of 'making them' to be buried forever."
Looking at Kalkstein's severe expression, Victor knew the man meant well. So the boy rubbed the bridge of his nose and decided to answer him head-on.
"Thinking of witchers as manufactured weapons or tools is wrong to begin with. I believe they're still human.
"Every witcher I've met—at least the ones I've encountered—might have their flaws in all sorts of ways, but they're also decent people.
"Melitele above! The most evil things I've ever seen didn't have beast-like pupils. The filthiest crimes I've ever witnessed were committed by people swinging axes—not by silver swords.
"I don't believe a few physical mutations can deny the essence of being human. Whether someone is human should depend on their humanity."
Kalkstein fell silent for a long time—then snorted out a laugh. "You should become a philosopher. Your thinking in philosophy is far more dependable than your alchemy craft."
And with that, alchemist and apprentice looked at each other and smiled.
Kalkstein turned and walked back toward his workbench. After only a few steps, he stopped again. "Oh—when you first came here, I was discussing the Catriona plague with a mage. Do you remember that?"
Victor nodded. "I do. He looked like he was desperate to use the privy—opened a portal and left in a hurry, not even stopping to say thanks or goodbye."
Victor's blunt mockery made Kalkstein burst into laughter. "Don't mind it. He's the sort of fool of a scientist who gets lost in his research. That hint I gave him must have led to an excellent breakthrough—he sent me a message asking for your name, and I told him.
"He asked me to pass something on: would you be willing to go to his laboratory as an assistant? I think it's an excellent topic to research, and a very good learning opportunity."
Victor raised his eyebrows. "Where is he working?"
"At the moment, in the Velen region. Baron Vserad had a mage tower built for him."
The apprentice gave a mild smile. "Let me think about it."
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