The morning mist clung to the mountain passes like ghostly fingers as Geralt, Eskel, Jacob, Vicky, and Dick followed the winding trail toward the merchant camp. Their successful nekker hunt from the previous day had taken an unexpected turn when they discovered evidence of a much larger threat—tracks suggesting an entire pack had been migrating toward the trade routes.
Vesemir had initially planned this as a simple training exercise, but the scope of the potential threat demanded immediate action. "Thirty nekkers could slaughter an entire caravan," he had explained grimly. "We stop them here, or innocent people die."
As they crested the ridge overlooking the valley, Geralt's enhanced senses detected the acrid scent of nekker musk mixed with something else—human fear and blood. Below them, a merchant caravan of twelve wagons had formed a defensive circle, but they were clearly outnumbered and outmatched by the swarming creatures attacking from multiple directions.
"Formation seven," Vesemir commanded quietly. "Geralt and Eskel take the eastern flank, Jacob and Dick the western. Vicky, you're with me—support with Signs from the ridge. We hit them fast and hard before they can overwhelm the merchants."
The battle was brutal but brief. Geralt's enhanced strength—courtesy of his secret serums—allowed him to cleave through nekker hide with devastating efficiency. His friends fought with surprising coordination, their own subtle enhancements from shared tonics making them faster and more precise than ordinary trainees should have been.
When the last nekker fell, they had saved not just the current caravan but prevented the pack from reaching the main trade route where hundreds of travelers passed weekly. The grateful merchants pressed gold coins into their hands despite Vesemir's protests, speaking of families and livelihoods preserved by their intervention.
That night, as they made camp in the ruins of an old watchtower, Geralt felt a familiar warmth in his mind. The Destiny Point System activated with a soft chime.
"Significant destinies altered through direct intervention. Multiple lives saved; future casualties prevented. Award: 200 Destiny Points."
The DP counter in his mind updated from 0 to 200, reflecting both his previous balance and the new windfall. Next, the Alchemical Store expanded with advanced options:
Medium Grade Formulas Available (Cost 40 DP each):
Enhanced Body Fortification Formula
+2 Strength per serum dose
Effect diminishes after 20 doses
Cooldown Period: 2 weeks
Advanced Psychic Clarity Formula
+10 Max MP per serum dose
Effect diminishes after 20 doses
Cooldown Period: 2 weeks
Special Item (Cost 100 DP):
Space Ring (30 cubic-meter volume)
A compact, magically stabilized storage ring with 30 m³ capacity,
Perfect for safely storing herb bundles, monster parts, or multiple brews in a pocket-sized space.
Geralt's eyes widened. With 200 DP, he could secure both formulas and still have 120 DP remaining—even after purchasing the Space Ring for 100 DP. The ring would revolutionize their provisioning on long hunts.
He tapped Space Ring and confirmed the purchase. DP dropped to 120. Then he acquired both medium-grade formulas, bringing his DP to 20. His mind absorbed the complex brewing methods and ingredient ratios for the new recipes.
Summer's heat beat down on Kaer Morhen's training yards as Vesemir put his students through increasingly complex drills. What had begun as basic sword forms and Sign practice had evolved into sophisticated tactical exercises that tested not just individual skill but group coordination.
"A witcher fights alone," Vesemir announced as the five apprentices formed their morning circle. "But that doesn't mean he thinks alone. Every monster you face has been faced before. Every contract has precedents. Your brothers' experiences become your weapons."
Geralt watched the old witcher with growing respect and affection. In the months since their group formation, Vesemir had become more than an instructor—he was becoming a father figure, filling a role that had been absent from most of their lives.
"Tell me about drowners, Eskel," Vesemir commanded.
"Aquatic necrophages, Master. Vulnerable to silver and northern oils. They attack in groups but have poor coordination. Best approached with Igni to drive them from water onto land where they're slower."
"Good. Jacob—nekkers?"
"Insectoid tendencies despite mammalian appearance. Territorial but not intelligent. Vulnerable to Aard due to light bone structure. They dig, so watch for tunnel ambushes."
Vesemir nodded approvingly. "Dick—what about something more dangerous? Say, a forktail?"
Dick straightened, his usual cheerfulness replaced by serious concentration. "Draconid. Aerial advantage, venomous bite, armored hide. Crossbow with dimeritium bolts to ground it, then silver sword to the soft throat scales. Never engage without Golden Oriole to counter the venom."
"Excellent. Vicky—cursed creatures?"
Vicky's eyes lit up. "Depends on the curse type, Master. Lycanthropes are still partially human—aim to subdue and cure if possible. Wraiths require specter oil and Yrden traps to force corporeal form. Vampires..." she paused thoughtfully. "Higher vampires can't be killed, only bargained with. Lower vampires burn in sunlight and fear silver."
"Outstanding." Vesemir's weathered face showed genuine pride. "You're thinking like witchers now, not like children playing with swords."
That afternoon, he divided them into pairs for specialized training. Geralt found himself matched with Eskel for advanced sword work, while Jacob and Dick practiced Sign combinations and Vicky worked on theoretical monster identification.
"Your form has improved remarkably," Vesemir observed as Geralt and Eskel sparred. "Both of you move with unusual strength and precision for your age. Good nutrition and mountain air, I suppose?"
Geralt caught Eskel's eye and saw understanding there. His friend suspected something about the enhancement tonics but had never pressed for details. "We push each other to be better, Master."
"As it should be." Vesemir stepped between them, his own practice sword moving in demonstration strokes. "But technique without wisdom is useless. Tell me—when would you choose not to draw your sword against a monster?"
The question caught them off guard. Eskel frowned. "When... when we're outmatched?"
"Possible, but not what I'm looking for. Geralt?"
Geralt considered carefully. "When the monster isn't actually the problem. If a barghest is attacking because its territory has been invaded, maybe the solution is helping it find new territory instead of killing it."
Vesemir's approving nod warmed Geralt's heart. "Exactly. A witcher's greatest weapon isn't his sword or his Signs—it's his mind. Never forget that violence should be the last resort, not the first."
These lessons extended beyond combat. In the evenings, Vesemir would share stories from his centuries of experience—not just tales of glorious battles, but accounts of contracts solved through negotiation, problems resolved through understanding, and conflicts prevented through wisdom.
"I had a contract once in Oxenfurt," he said one night as they sat around the fire. "Supposed to be a ghost haunting the university library. Students were reporting books flying off shelves, cold spots, whispered threats. Standard wraith behavior."
"But it wasn't a wraith?" Vicky guessed.
"It was a lonely old librarian using minor telekinesis to get attention. Sixty years of cataloguing books, and nobody had spoken to him for months. I spent three days just listening to him talk about his work. Problem solved, no silver sword required."
Dick laughed. "Did you still get paid?"
"Triple rate. The rector was so relieved he didn't have to replace his entire library collection."
These stories became precious to them—windows into a world where witchers were more than monster hunters, where problems could be solved through compassion as often as combat. Under Vesemir's guidance, they began to see their future not as a grim duty but as a calling that could bring genuine good to the world.