Under the training of royal wizards bought by the crown with great wealth and the lords who raised them, those adopted children gradually walked different paths.
After drinking the new potion, everyone reacted differently.
Some became strong and brutal like bears.
Some became sensitive and swift like cats.
Some carried venom in their blood, dark as serpents.
Some gained the unity and skill of wolves.
They each bore distinct traits, and over the years, new categories appeared.
The legion seemed as if it would only grow stronger, but suspicion from the crown and rejection from common folk led to its destruction.
They began leaving the kingdom, wandering the lands.
Those who encountered them gave them a name—witch hunters.
In some places, they were called demon hunters.
In essence, they belonged neither to wizards nor to Muggles.
The side effects of that potion caused the legion to dwindle, leaving only a few of different bloodlines who still carried on the work of slaying magical creatures, taking in the forsaken children of chance to pass on their legacy.
Sometimes they also played the part of witch hunters—for not all wizards were kind.
The tunnel finally came to an end, and John had seen the whole of that history.
He stood in silence for a long while. At the end lay a vast chamber.
There, his grandfather and John's uncles were already waiting.
His grandfather smiled warmly, kindly. "Yadani, you've seen that history, haven't you?"
Looking across at the gathering, John realized that aside from his mother, all of the Jovonovich children were present.
From his small bag, he drew out the vial of potion—the same substance those people once drank.
Behind his grandfather loomed a castle, built within the heart of the mountain.
"Jovonovich are witch hunters?" John spoke the answer aloud.
His grandfather only smiled, beckoning him closer.
For an instant, John thought perhaps they had discovered he was a wizard, and his grandfather meant to hunt him down.
But on second thought, that seemed unlikely, so he simply walked forward.
The aged grandfather led John into the castle. At its heart stood a spring, and beside the spring, a sword was embedded deep in the ground.
John recalled the murals' tale of the spring's sorcerer.
Clearly, that sorcerer could never have lived so long.
"This is our origin—and the Jovonovich line is about to end." Grandfather sighed.
Inside the castle, John could see old, timeworn weapons. Once, this had been the domain of witchers.
But now, all they could do was remain hidden.
His uncles, too, fell into silence. They were likely the last generation of witchers.
A tall silver wolf appeared within the castle, settling gracefully by the spring.
It padded over to stand at Grandfather's side.
"Once, we traded with a sorcerer and gained extraordinary power. But that power came bound with a curse."
"Among the witcher schools, only the wolves had the strength to unite all. I once had another wolf—but she abandoned the role of alpha."
Grandfather moved to a tall chair and sat, his hand stroking the silver wolf's head as he spoke in a daze. "I once thought everything would end… until your birth brought me a joy I had never known."
His eyes fixed on John, his voice trembling. "You are a child of accident, Yadani."
Alpha?
A child of accident?
John frowned, not understanding why he was being told this.
Aleksei stepped forward and explained, "Great power comes with a vicious curse. That curse is the severing of bloodlines."
"Your mother—my sister—she was once one of the Jovonovich. And yet, you were born."
"Wait… are you saying you're not Grandfather's children?" John looked up at his uncles.
By that logic, didn't that mean Grandfather had no children at all?
Grandfather nodded. "The Jovonovich have never passed on through blood, Yadani."
"You are the only one."
John froze. So he really was, in every sense, a child of accident.
He quickly asked, "Then my mother—what about her?"
"She was once the best among us, the leader of the Silver Wolf line," Sergei said with a sigh. "But then she fell in love with a foreigner, and for that, she gave up everything."
"Cough, cough." John choked at the word.
Foreigner?
His father didn't even get a name in this story—how pitiful.
"Back to the point," Grandfather looked at John, the kindness in his voice replaced by solemnity. "Yadani Jovonovich, are you willing to accept yourself?"
Not just him—his uncles were all watching too.
Some of them looked eager, others worried.
[Ding, challenge mission unlocked: Bloodline Awakening. Reward: +1 free attribute point, Blessing: Leader]
Hearing the mission prompt, John fell silent for a moment before asking, "I want to know—what exactly is a witcher's task nowadays?"
As a wizard, the idea of being sent to hunt wizards himself was… problematic.
"I understand your concern, child." Grandfather shook his head. "You carry magic in you, don't you?"
Clearly, his uncles had already noticed this the last time.
Grandfather smiled faintly. "We are not old relics. The witchers' very origin was inseparable from wizards."
"In Jovonovich history, what mattered most was clearing away the monsters that plagued the villages—not school-going wizards."
As he said this, Grandfather even winked, giving John the strange illusion he was facing Dumbledore.
Maybe it was just that old men enjoyed teasing the young. John hesitated briefly.
The witcher line was on the verge of extinction, and his grandfather had laid out both the pros and cons.
The potion carried the power to awaken bloodline strength, but also placed a tremendous burden on the body.
Gain and loss went hand in hand.
After thinking it over, John finally met his grandfather's expectant gaze—and slowly nodded.
Grandfather smiled. "In the presence of the Silver Wolf, Yadani Jovonovich, son of Jovonovich, shall undergo the Trial of Grass."
As his words fell, John saw the spring at the center begin to churn as if boiling.
After a while, the water stilled again.
John stepped closer, a strange pull rising in him, as though urging him to jump straight in.
"Drink the potion, Yadani," Grandfather said softly.
John took out the vial, gripping it tightly in his hand. He glanced around at his uncles, then finally pulled out the stopper and drained it in one go.
At first nothing happened, but as the seconds ticked by, pain and searing heat spread through his body.
Grandfather stepped down, moving toward John with his uncles gathered around him.
John's vision swam, his balance faltering before he steadied himself with effort.
"My child, Yadani—you are the Unexpected Son. The family's bloodline passes on through inheritance and succession."
The old man cut his palm, bright red blood dripping into the spring.
The other uncles did the same.
As the elder's blood flowed into the spring, it took shape—forming into a silver wolf.
Sheriozha, Valery, and Boris's blood turned into a brown bear.
Alexi and Igor's blood became a snake.
Andrei's blood took the form of a lion.
Anton and Rieg's blood became a blood-red cat.
Valentin's blood turned into a griffin.
"The blood of Jovonovich protects Yadani. The blood of the Witchers washes away all misfortune and curses."
As more blood poured in, the spring turned crimson.
John, his mind clouded, stepped toward the water.
All nine uncles knelt by the spring, pressing their hands to their hearts.
Grandfather watched John walk forward step by step, his voice drifting into something almost ethereal.
"Let blood and fire forge your strength—step forth as your true self, Yadani."
The Silver Wolf carried a bottle in its jaws and laid it before Grandfather.
Grandfather took it, uncorked it, and poured the black liquid inside into the spring.
Then he drew the sword resting beside the spring, gripping it with both hands, his expression solemn.
Under the watchful eyes of the half-kneeling Witchers, Grandfather's sword came crashing down against the stone at the edge of the spring.
Sparks burst forth, scattering into the air.
The moment they touched the blood-red waters, they ignited into roaring flames, setting the entire spring ablaze.
The uncles remained solemn, not flinching even in the face of fire.
John stepped fully into the spring and sank beneath the surface. The flames seared against his body, yet they could not harm him, nor could they wake him.
His consciousness sank with the waters, slipping into a hazy blur.
Everything before his eyes began to shift, and his body itself was changing.
Blood-colored waves washed over his vision like a baptism, and slowly, his awareness returned.
Along with it came voices, indistinct at first, then gradually clear.
It sounded like someone was calling his name.
"Yadani Jovonovich."
Grunt.. He slowly raised his head, his blurred vision sharpening.
Before him stood a castle—but there was no one around.
John's eyes snapped open. He was lying in the spring.
The difference was that everything around him was shrouded in gloom.
He rose to his feet and glanced outside.
"Grandfather? Uncles? Anyone?" he called tentatively, but there was no reply.
By the spring, the sword was still there, though now thick with dust, as if no one had set foot here for a very long time.
John wanted to check how much time had passed.
But just as he reached for his satchel, he froze.
A sound was drawing closer and closer.
He lifted his head. A dark shadow burst in from the tunnel.
The next instant, a gaping maw snapped open right before him.
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