"Prophecy" is a forecast or declaration of what will happen in the future.
It is not an inference that follows scientific laws, but a prediction gained through inspiration by someone with the power of foresight.
And in the world of witchers, in the spring of 1270, after the widely known Ithlinne's Prophecy and the Curse of the Black Sun, the third prophecy to shape the world was born at Kaer Morhen in the Blue Mountains of Kaedwen, later known to posterity as the Burning Omen.
Burning Omen
Know this, when Whoreson Junior dies, when Temeria burns, when the White Wolf awakens, the Elder Blood shall return to the world.
, Sapience Ignis
...
Time passed quickly, and ten days after the White Wolf and Angoulême left,
Leo had all but recovered from his grievous injuries. His body had always been sturdy, and with the help of potions he recovered well. Before long, he was able to get out of bed and move around.
After that, Leo and Victor, being close in age, quickly became the sort of friends who could talk about anything, at least Leo thought so.
Vesemir, however, saw it differently. In his eyes, the warm-blooded young apprentice had already been thoroughly managed, body and soul, by the more mature and seasoned boy.
Of course, that was not really a bad thing. Victor meant no harm. It was simply the gap in experience and mindset between them that made their positions so clearly defined.
And taking the boy as a model to learn from was not a bad choice. At the very least, it was better than Lambert. His sharp tongue was a terrible example.
That afternoon, in Kaer Morhen keep, beneath the slanting light of the setting sun, the alchemist Victor was stirring the great cauldron in the back courtyard, melting down damaged furniture to remake it, while Leo and Vesemir handled the hauling and decorating.
"...Vesemir, I'm not worried about the problem of getting home. From the drifting fragments I've seen of the future, once Whoreson Junior in Novigrad dies, once Temeria is wiped out by Nilfgaard, and once Geralt regains his memories, that will be when Ciri comes home!"
Victor spoke with complete confidence, but Vesemir only looked baffled. "So, child, you're not just an alchemist, you're a prophet too?"
"...Uh, a limited prophet. I can see fragments of the future, but I can't make precise prophecies." Much as he wanted to keep up the mystic act to the very end, Victor was still an honest person. Who knew when he might accidentally make a fool of himself again, best not to sound too certain.
Vesemir nodded with a smile. "Not bad. You may have become slicker and more flamboyant after your travels, but at heart, you're still that good boy who sticks to the facts."
"What exactly do you think I am? Can I hear this misunderstanding for myself?"
"The Last Dovahkiin?"
"That is me!"
"Siren-Bane and Giant-Slayer?"
"Also me."
"Slick and flamboyant."
Listening to the old master and the boy trade banter, Leo laughed like a fool. But if anyone asked his opinion, he liked Victor Stormborn best, along with the Bare-Handed Bear-Ripper.
The first sounded mysterious, the second valiant. Especially the second, he had hunted bears himself, but not once had he ever considered using his bare hands.
And at that very moment, a seven-colored glow flashed, and another reclining chair rose from the cauldron. "Done! This is Vesemir's custom fireside recovery chair! Leo, carry it into the hall and put it by the hearth," Victor ordered.
...
Happy times passed all too quickly.
That night, in the keep's trial chamber,
this room existed solely for carrying out the Trial of the Grasses. Inside were an iron bed for strapping someone down hand and foot, a gag ball for stuffing into the mouth, shackles for wrists and ankles, thick syringes and fluid tubes for injection, iron trays for catching leaking bodily fluids, and the like.
In the past, all mutations had been performed directly in the laboratory, but Victor did not want to see those grim auxiliary tools in his alchemy workshop, so he had simply set up a separate trial chamber.
Accepting that evil exists does not mean embracing it. That was the view of that Novigrad scumbag, Mr. Whoreson Junior.
And now Leo sat in this room, with Victor seated the same way across from him. The boy was here to conduct a final confession.
"Sorry, Leo. I know you already made your choice. But I didn't hear it from your own mouth, so as the brewer of this batch of the Grass Draught, I have to confirm it one more time."
Leo closed his eyes and bowed his head slightly.
"Hotheaded young man, listen carefully. The Trial of the Grasses that comes next will be a journey of extreme physical and mental torment, one that will last at least seven days.
And once it begins, no matter what happens, you will no longer be human. If you fail, there's no need to say it, death. Vesemir will not let you remain frenzied or deformed for long.
And even if you survive the mutation, long-standing prejudice, provocation, and false rumors have made witchers people the world either fears or hates. No matter how you see yourself, most people will treat you as an outsider.
The price of gaining power and a long life is that, by the dictates of society, you must scrape out a living through the hard life of monster hunting, or else descend into the shadows as a killer. Even if you try to change professions, you will still have to hide who you are.
Year after year, if you do not possess a powerful sense of purpose, you will end up lonely and exhausted. This is what it means to be a witcher.
So do you truly understand the choice you are making?"
Leo suddenly raised his head and opened his eyes to meet Victor's gaze.
"...I followed my master for many years. I mean my master from the School of the Cat, his name was Joël.
Some people say Cat School witchers are all assassins, drifters, or madmen. They say people should hate Cat School witchers, because they take assassination jobs.
But that's all a lie. I was raised by my master from childhood. He kept to his boundaries and never crossed the line.
He died fighting in a kikimore nest, and I will inherit the way he lived, so that his will can keep going through me."
Folding his hands over his chest, Victor closed his eyes and thought for a moment.
"I understand. That's a fine ambition, Leo, but you still have a lot to learn. Vesemir will guide you."
"Vic, I want to learn from you too. Defeating a frost giant before even undergoing mutation, there must be some special technique to it."
The boy rose with a smile. "Don't learn from me. My special tricks can't be copied. The master, or Eskel, they're the proper examples of what a witcher should be.
Come on, lie down on the bed. Let me take a careful look at your body."
...
After some time,
inside Victor's Alchemy Workshop, Vesemir was preparing the materials for the Grass Draught when he vaguely heard the boy's approaching footsteps, then the alchemist pushed the door open and came in.
Setting a sliced manticore venom gland aside, the master kept cutting mandrake root. "Back already? How did the talk go?"
Victor grinned. "Leo's got more resolve than I ever did, and his body is tough too. Cat School vitality broth really does have something special to it."
That caught Vesemir's interest. "What's that supposed to mean, child? You've drunk vitality broth from other schools?"
Walking up to the preparation table, Victor sorted through the ingredients one by one for a final check. "Yes. In Vizima I met Letho of Gulet, a witcher from the School of the Viper. They thought highly of me and were willing to share the recipe.
And from drinking the different broths, I get the sense that the Wolf School values balance, the Viper School values flexibility, and the Cat School emphasizes explosiveness.
I've never actually drunk the Cat School's, but even after Leo recently drank quite a lot of Wolf School vitality broth, the Cat School foundation in his body is still there. With just a little pressure, you can tell the burst power in his muscles is strong.
When I brew this in a moment, I want to focus on that direction. Instead of using the same fixed formula as before, I want to try making a potion tailored specifically to Leo's constitution, to turn him into a witcher who excels in explosive power."
Hearing the confidence in Victor's words, Vesemir nodded. "This is your improved Grass Draught. Brew it however you see fit." With that, he set down the mandrake root and gestured for Victor to take over.
Without the slightest hesitation, the boy stepped up to the cauldron while Vesemir moved back two paces and watched carefully, eager to see what this so-called custom tailoring looked like.
Then Victor moved boldly, dumping forktail spinal fluid, manticore venom glands, the tongue of an albino bruxa, bryonia, longleaf plantain, mandrake root, and other ingredients into the cauldron with a clatter. He did not bother shelling or peeling anything, nor did he care about proportions or exact measurements. He just plunged in the stirring rod and began mixing.
At first, seeing that scene, the veteran witcher master froze, then thought he understood.
No matter how many times he saw it, miraculous alchemy was always this unreasonable. So this so-called tailoring to a specific physique came from the alchemist's imagination shaping the result, not from any decisive difference in the raw materials themselves.
But just as he reached that conclusion, a new development corrected him. The boy pulled out something from his herbal satchel that had never appeared before, two large, bizarre chunks of meat. Judging by the color, they were certainly neither beef nor pork.
Vesemir said, "Wait, child. What are those two things? And what are they each supposed to do?"
Victor was bursting with confidence as he tossed the meat into the cauldron with two loud splashes. "The meat itself is useless to the potion. I'm after their Void traits. The details are a bit complicated, I'll explain them properly after I'm done. In short, frost giant meat provides Stability Focus, and troll mantis meat provides Excellent Results. Both are good for the potion's effects.
That's enough explanation for now. From here on, I need to give it everything I've got!"
Once he finished speaking, the boy focused his mind completely and let his imagination run free. Immersing his spirit, one with nature, he began using the cauldron to communicate with the world, submitting the finished product he desired along with the imprint of the principles that would govern it.
After practicing many times, he now understood something clearly. A lack of knowledge was not the reason alchemy failed.
The real culprit that crushed imagination was the alchemist's own awareness of his ignorance.
You know some weapon is hard to make, so naturally you fail to make it. If even you do not believe in your own vision, why would the world acknowledge it and return a creation to you?
So from that point of view, a fool who doesn't even realize how ignorant he is holds an absolute advantage when it comes to miraculous alchemy!
The simpler the fool, the stronger they are!
That was exactly what Grandma was like, a natural airhead. She never stopped to wonder whether something could be done, only whether she wanted it done, and that made her unbeatable!
Crafty as I am, I probably will never reach that realm of splitting heaven and earth with a single stick in hand, but with reason, perseverance, and emotion, I still believe I can make some pretty good things.
For example, right now,
the resplendent Wheel of Truth spell circle suddenly expanded from beneath the boy's feet, instantly covering the entire alchemy workshop, and it was still spreading outward.
Seeing this marvelous sight for the first time, Vesemir was briefly stunned. Fortunately, Victor had already explained the meaning of the circle to him before. This was the place where the alchemist communicated with the world. Inside the Wheel of Truth, a mage was immune to all attacks.
Finding it interesting, the witcher master tried moving his limbs and discovered there was no hindrance at all, but in the next moment, his expression turned serious.
The wolf medallion remained silent, so this circle was not magical in nature. Yet within it he could not sense any magic at all, and he was completely unable to cast Signs.
Pushing open the door, the master walked to the edge of the circle. The moment he stepped outside, his Signs returned. The moment he stepped back in, there was no response at all. The Wheel of Truth also had the function of nullifying magic, something Victor had not mentioned.
By the boy's explanation, the larger the circle's range, the stronger the finished creation. By that logic, Leo was very lucky indeed.
Vesemir then made his way to the trial chamber, where he could see the apprentice meditating inside, bringing body and mind into harmony.
After so many years, the Trial of the Grasses was finally about to be performed again. The witcher master was filled with emotion.
...
The next day, in the trial chamber with its six black walls, both the ceiling and floor had been coated in sound-dampening paint. There had been quite a bit left over after Luf's last experiment, and now it was all being put to use here. Oil lamps hung everywhere, filling the room with light.
On the iron bed in the center of the room, the experienced Vesemir and Victor worked together to bind Leo firmly in place with shackles on wrists and ankles, making sure that when the overwhelming pain struck later, his violent thrashing would not injure him.
Standing beside the iron bed, Victor narrowed his eyes as he looked at the apprentice who could no longer move. The wavering firelight cast shifting bands of shadow and brightness across his face.
"Leo, this is your last chance, your last chance to regret this.
I'm reminding you again, what comes next is seven days of suffering. And the success rate is probably between sixty and seventy percent. I can't make it any higher.
If you fail, the luckiest outcome will be dying on the spot. More likely, you'll end up paralyzed, witless, deformed, or mad. And no matter which it is, Vesemir will end your pain at once."
Leo remained calm, and the determination in his eyes was plain to see. "I have chosen."
The boy glanced at Vesemir, and the old witcher nodded in approval.
Victor lifted a bowl of green auxiliary potion and brought it to Leo's lips. "Then drink it, and step onto a new road in life!"
Gulp, gulp, gulp, the apprentice quickly swallowed the potion down.
Then Victor inserted the tube into his arm. The air trembled, and the new deep-green Grass Draught was silently driven into his veins. Wherever it passed, the green liquid mixed with the red blood and turned brown-black. Leo suddenly began convulsing violently, wracked by pain that sank into the marrow of his bones.
With practiced ease, Vesemir put the gag ball into Leo's mouth, while Victor steadily continued feeding the Grass Draught into him. Before long, the apprentice's eyes rolled back and he lost consciousness.
Based on what had happened last time, Leo should have already voided himself by now, but experience is valuable precisely because it keeps a person from repeating old mistakes.
Having made sure Leo had taken care of everything beforehand, all he was doing now was sweating through his clothes.
Once the injection of the complete solution was finished, Victor took a towel and wiped some of the sweat from Leo's body, then exchanged a glance with Vesemir. The two of them left the chamber.
They were both veterans with experience, and they knew very well that from here on, the apprentice could rely only on himself, forcing his way through the first stage of the Grass Draught, opening the limits of the human body.
This was the stage Victor worried about most. As for the second stage that followed, when the body fused with the mutagens, and the third stage when the effects asserted themselves again, he still had confidence in the power of the Void traits.
...
[Name: Grass Draught, Leo Version]
[Type: Concoction]
[Quality: Epic]
[Traits: Stability Focus, Excellent Results]
[Note: Hi folks, this is the all-new version you've never tried before. Just give it three minutes, and you'll be hooked like I was.]
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