One month later, the Northern Realms were abuzz with impossible tales. The "White Wolf" was no longer just a monster hunter; rumors spoke of a silver-haired sorcerer who fought with the speed of a demon and the refined power of a Sage.
Geralt had tried to pay Jake in Novigrad Crowns, but the boy had simply looked at the gold bars in his suitcase and shook his head. "Use the power wisely, Geralt," Jake had said, his eyes already returning to a set of Steam Engine blueprints. "The world is changing. Make sure you're on the right side of the gears."
When Geralt finally rode through the crumbling gates of Kaer Morhen, he wasn't the weary hunter who had left. He felt balanced. His Mutated Flesh hummed with the high-frequency "Refined Magick" of the 16 Colleges. He hadn't just replaced Aard with the College of Force; he had mastered the Necromantic White to heal and the College of Phantasm to walk unseen.
Eskel, Lambert, and Vesemir met him in the courtyard, their Witcher Medallions vibrating with a strange, rhythmic intensity.
"Geralt?" Vesemir squinted, his hand on his sword. "The medallion... it's not reacting like there's a monster. It's reacting like you're a Source. What happened in the North?"
"You look different, wolf," Eskel noted, sensing the predatory calm radiating from him. "The rumors say you've been casting spells that would make Yennefer blush. No signs, no chants... just results."
Lambert snorted, crossing his arms. "Don't tell me you found a genie in a bottle. Or did you finally sell your soul to a crossroad demon for some real power?"
Geralt dismounted, his movements a blur of effortless Dexterity. He looked at his brothers—men who had suffered through the same Trial of the Grasses—and realized he could change their lives, too.
"No genies," Geralt rasped, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "I met an inventor. A boy who understands the 'logic' of our blood better than the mages ever did. He taught me that our mutations aren't a curse—they're an engine. And I'm going to show you how to start it."
Without a single word or a complex gesture, Geralt raised his hand. A shimmering Shield of Force erupted around him, solid as a castle wall, yet drawing only a fraction of his stamina.
The three Witchers stood in stunned silence. The "Super Witcher" had returned, and with him, the knowledge that would make Kaer Morhen the most dangerous place on the Continent.
Geralt led his brothers into the great hall of Kaer Morhen, the firelight reflecting off the golden eyes of three stunned Witchers. For hours, he spoke of things that sounded like the fever dreams of a mad alchemist, yet his presence was proof enough of the truth.
"It isn't just about 'Chaos' anymore," Geralt began, his voice echoing against the cold stone. He explained the concept of Aptitude—the fundamental law that Jake had shown him. "There are two forces in this world that cannot occupy the same space: Magick and Technology. One bends the laws of nature, the other reinforces them."
He told them about the Balanced Sword he couldn't touch and the Firearms that would explode in a Witcher's hand. He described the "Dead Zone" around Jake's workshop where Signs simply ceased to function.
Our mutations... the Trial of the Grasses didn't just make us faster," Geralt said, looking at Vesemir. "It turned our flesh into a biological battery—an artificial Source. We've been using it like a blunt club when we could have been using it like a scalpel."
Geralt demonstrated the "Refined Magick" Jake had taught him. He spoke of the 16 Colleges, from Necromantic White to Force. He showed them how he could now Heal his own wounds without the toxicity of Swallow potions.
"No chanting. No drawing from the world's Chaos," Geralt explained. "We use our own stamina—our Vigor—to trigger the effect. It's a science of the mind."
He told them of Jake Thompson—the boy in the "strange grey shroud" who carried a suitcase of Gold Bars and spoke of a world governed by logic. He described how Jake was arming the Aen Seidhe with Compound Bows and teaching Dwarves to forge lead-spitting iron.
"He calls himself a Technologist," Geralt said. "He's not a king or a conqueror, but he's building a power in the North that will make the Nilfgaardian Empire look like children with sticks. He's creating an 'Industrial' world, and in that world, traditional mages are obsolete."
Eskel sat back, his scarred face unreadable. Lambert paced the room, his hand white-knuckled on his hilt. It was Vesemir who finally spoke, his voice heavy with the weight of centuries.
"You're saying we aren't just relic hunters anymore, Geralt," Vesemir whispered. "You're saying this boy has given us the means to become the masters of our own nature."
"I'm saying the Northern Realms are changing," Geralt replied. "And if we don't learn the logic behind the gear, we'll be buried by it."
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION (JAKE'S SIDE)]
Knowledge Seed Sown: Kaer Morhen.
World Event Triggered: The Rise of the Refined Witchers.
Technological Aptitude (Global): +5% (The gears are beginning to turn across the Continent).