Chapter 28: Geralt's Introduction
The contract board was nearly empty.
Geralt of Rivia stood before it, amber eyes scanning the sparse postings with growing curiosity. In most cities, the board would be cluttered with monster contracts—drowners in the sewers, ghouls in the graveyards, the endless churn of creatures that kept witchers employed. Oxenfurt's board held exactly three listings, all high-tier threats that required specialized preparation.
"Someone's been busy."
He'd noticed the pattern during his approach to the city. Fewer monster signs along the roads. Cleaner settlements. Farmers who spoke of problems being "handled" rather than "endured." In his experience, that meant either a very active witcher working the region or something more organized.
The tavern keeper at the Drunken Scholar provided answers.
"The Covenant of Blades," the man said, polishing a tankard with practiced efficiency. "Guild that's been operating out of the old dock warehouse for about a year now. Run by some kid—barely sixteen, looks younger—but don't let that fool you. They've cleared more nests in six months than the city guard managed in five years."
"A kid."
"A kid who killed a basilisk solo. Who broke a merchant conspiracy that had been operating for years. Who trained a bunch of nobodies into actual fighters." The keeper shrugged. "Strange times make strange heroes."
Geralt ordered ale and listened to more stories. The guild had a reputation for reliability over spectacle. They took contracts others rejected as too boring, too small, too unglamorous. But they completed everything they accepted, and they charged fair prices.
"An adventure guild with ethics. Rare."
He finished his drink and set out for the dock warehouse.
Finn's Perspective
The Member Locator pinged something unusual.
Not a guild member—the signal was different. Stronger. A presence approaching the headquarters that registered as significant without triggering Danger Sense.
I looked up from the contract schedules I'd been reviewing with Mira and Viktor. "We have a visitor."
"Who?" Viktor moved toward the door, hand near his sword from reflex.
"Someone important. Let me handle the introduction."
The door opened before I could reach it.
White hair. Cat-slitted eyes. Two swords crossed on his back. The Wolf School medallion hanging from his neck.
"Geralt of Rivia. The White Wolf. The Butcher of Blaviken. Ciri's adoptive father and the most famous witcher on the continent."
I'd known this moment would come eventually. Meta-knowledge made it inevitable—Geralt spent time in Oxenfurt, had connections here, would eventually notice a guild operating in his territory. I'd prepared for it. Rehearsed responses. Practiced not staring.
None of that preparation stopped my heart from hammering.
"Geralt of Rivia." I kept my voice level. Professional. "Heard you were in the area. We try not to compete for contracts witchers would handle better."
Geralt studied me with the assessing gaze of a predator evaluating potential prey. Or perhaps potential threat. With witchers, the distinction was academic.
"You're the guild master."
"Finn Colen. Yes."
"Young."
"I've been told." I gestured toward the meeting area. "Would you like to discuss business, or is this a social call?"
The directness caught him slightly off-guard. Most people either feared him or fawned over him. I was doing neither—at least, not visibly.
"Business," he said, following my gesture. "I'm curious about your operation."
Mira appeared with water and bread, her instincts for hospitality overriding her obvious nervousness around the legendary witcher. Viktor took a position near the door, not threatening but present.
"What would you like to know?"
"Why the low-tier contracts? You've got fighters capable of handling real threats." Geralt's eyes tracked the guild hall—the training area, the equipment storage, the contract board with its organized postings. "But you've been taking sewer work and pest control."
"Because those problems affect more people than griffin nests. A dozen drowner infestations cleared saves more lives than one dramatic monster hunt." I poured water for both of us. "And because building reputation through reliability creates more opportunity than chasing glory."
"Practical."
"Survival usually is."
Geralt drank. His expression remained unreadable, but something in his posture had shifted—evaluation becoming interest.
"You're clearing contracts I might have taken."
"Lower-tier ones, yes. We're not equipped for the serious threats—basilisks, griffins, anything with significant magical components." I met his eyes directly. "Which brings me to a proposal."
"I'm listening."
"Information trade. Witchers travel constantly. You see monster populations, behavior patterns, nest locations that nobody else would notice. That information has value to us—it helps us plan contracts, avoid threats beyond our capability, prepare for emerging problems."
"And what do we get?"
"Fair payment for intelligence. Ten crowns for nest locations. Fifteen for behavior patterns. Twenty for anything unusual—new species, changing territories, signs of organized monster activity." I pushed a small pouch across the table. "First payment in advance. Consider it good faith."
Geralt weighed the pouch without opening it. Ten crowns—enough to know I was serious, not enough to seem like bribery.
"You're buying what I'd give away for free to anyone who asked."
"Most people don't ask. Most people avoid witchers or worship them from a distance. I'm proposing a professional relationship where both parties benefit." I leaned back slightly. "Unless you have objections."
Geralt's Perspective
The kid was strange.
Not just young—plenty of people started dangerous careers early. But the way he held himself, the precision of his words, the complete absence of either fear or hero-worship. He spoke like someone accustomed to negotiating with equals, not someone addressing a legendary monster hunter twice his age.
"There's more to him than there should be. Secrets behind those calculating eyes."
My medallion had been quiet throughout the conversation. No magical threat. No hidden curse. Whatever made this boy unusual, it wasn't sorcery in the traditional sense.
"There's a griffin," I said. "North of here, maybe three days' travel. It's been hunting livestock, started targeting travelers last month. Someone posted a contract I was considering."
"We can't handle griffins. Not yet."
"I know. But you should know it's there—avoid sending your people into its territory."
The boy nodded, producing a small notebook and writing down the information. Quick, precise, the notation of someone who processed intelligence professionally.
"Thank you. That's exactly the kind of information that saves lives."
He slid the pouch back toward me. I hadn't asked for payment for the griffin warning.
"I said I'd pay for intelligence."
"You gave a warning, not a contract opportunity. Different category." His expression didn't change. "Though if you clear the griffin and have time afterward, I'd be interested in whatever you learned about its behavior."
"He's building a database. Accumulating knowledge systematically rather than chasing individual threats."
It was a smart approach. The kind of long-term thinking that most adventurers lacked. The kind of organizational capability that could eventually make this guild into something significant.
"You're planning to expand," I said. "Beyond Oxenfurt."
"Eventually. When we have the resources and the personnel."
"Novigrad's harder. More competition, more politics, more danger from human sources than monster ones."
"I know." He met my eyes with that strange, composed intensity. "But someone needs to handle the boring work there too. Might as well be us."
I stood, the meeting clearly concluded. The information trade was unusual but reasonable. The kid was unusual but not threatening. And something about his operation felt... clean. Purposeful in a way that most organized groups weren't.
"Finn Colen."
"Yes?"
"Don't die young. You're building something interesting here." I headed for the door. "I'll bring more information when I have it."
Behind me, I felt his attention follow until I was out of sight.
Finn's Perspective
Geralt's departure left a strange vacuum in the hall.
"That was Geralt of Rivia," Mira said, voice slightly unsteady. "The White Wolf. In our headquarters."
"I noticed."
"You talked to him like he was just... anyone."
"He is just anyone. A very skilled, very famous anyone, but still a person with interests and motivations." I returned to my contract schedules. "The information trade could be valuable. Witchers see things nobody else does."
Viktor was watching me with the evaluating expression I'd come to recognize. "You weren't nervous."
"I was terrified." The honest answer. "But showing fear to someone like Geralt would undermine everything we're trying to build. He needed to see a professional, not a fanboy."
"And the long game?"
"Geralt knows Ciri. When the Wild Hunt comes—and it will come—he'll be at the center of the response. Having even a professional relationship with him could matter enormously."
"The long game is building connections that might matter later. Geralt's one connection. There will be others." I set down my papers. "Now, we have more immediate concerns. Novigrad."
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