The screech of tires was the last thing Keith Whitestone heard before the world turned into a kaleidoscope of shattering glass and twisting metal. He remembered the blinding headlights of the car—a sleek sedan that had veered off course—the sickening thud of impact, and the cold sensation of his life leaking onto the asphalt.
Then, silence.
Keith's eyes snapped open. He wasn't on a road. Above him, a dense canopy of ancient, gnarled trees blotted out the sun, leaving the forest floor in a perpetual, emerald twilight. He scrambled to his feet, hands flying to his chest. His school uniform was shredded and soaked in dark crimson, but the skin beneath was flawless. Not a scar remained.
"I should be dead," he whispered. "That car... I felt my bones break."
As he stood, a searing white light flared in his vision. He recoiled as symbols burned themselves into his retinas like a holographic ghost.
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[SYSTEM BOUND: WITCHER ALCHEMY MODULE]
[HOST: KEITH WHITESTONE]
[STATUS: RECONSTRUCTED]
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A flood of sensory information slammed into his mind. It wasn't a list of recipes, but a vast, raw library of Knowledge. He suddenly understood the "essence" of things—how to extract Vitriol from petals or Rebis from a liver. He knew the theory of how Witcher Potions worked, but he had no recipes. He would have to experiment, mapping the flora of this strange world to the alchemy of the Witcher's.
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[PROGRESSION TRACKER ACTIVATED]
[EARN SYSTEM POINTS (SP) FOR EVERY ITEM CREATED. EXCHANGE SP FOR ADVANCED KNOWLEDGE & EXPERTISE.]
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Three objects materialized on the mossy roots before him:
A heavy, soot-stained Common Cauldron of thick iron.
A leather roll containing 9 empty glass vials.
A small, unremarkable Spatial Pouch that hummed with a slight magical frequency.
As he gripped the pouch, the system delivered a chilling notification.
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[ENVIRONMENTAL SYNC COMPLETE]
[WORLD ANALYSIS: THIRD AGE OF MIDDLE-EARTH]
[WARNING: MULTIPLE ENTITIES FROM 'THE CONTINENT' DETECTED IN LOCAL REGION]
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A low, wet gurgle echoed from a nearby thicket. A blue-grey, skeletal creature emerged, its bulbous eyes fixed on the "outsider." It was a Drowner. Keith realized with a jolt of adrenaline that the System's activation had triggered a ripple across this world; the monsters of the Witcher's world were no longer just stories—they were already here, stalking the shadows of Middle-earth.
To survive, he would have to use the Knowledge he was just granted to create his first brew before the creature reached him.
Keith watched the Drowner creep closer, its webbed feet slapping against the damp loam. Panic was a luxury he couldn't afford. His eyes darted around, the System's Knowledge highlighting the world in a new, clinical light.
Near a cluster of rotted roots lay the carcass of a farm dog—likely a victim of the very creature stalking him. Keith didn't hesitate. He lunged for the body, his hands shaking as he used a sharp piece of jagged stone to scrape away the Dog Tallow. Nearby, he spotted a patch of bright, fluffy Blowballs. The System pulsed: [Substance Identified: Aether].
With the Drowner only meters away, Keith threw the tallow and the crushed Blowballs into the iron cauldron. He didn't have time for a fire; he used the high-proof sanitizer from his bag to trigger a chemical reaction.
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[CRAFTING SUCCESSFUL: BASIC NECROPHAGE OIL]
[+10 SYSTEM POINTS EARNED]
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He smeared the pungent, greasy sludge onto a sturdy, broken tree branch. As the Drowner leaped, its mouth agape with needle-teeth, Keith swung. The oil hissed upon contact with the monster's flesh like drops of water on a red-hot skillet. The branch, which should have snapped, tore through the creature's neck as the oil dissolved its magical essence.
The Drowner collapsed, twitching, before turning still.
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[THREAT NEUTRALIZED]
[+25 SP: FIRST KILL]
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Breathing hard, Keith pulled his pocket knife and set to work. He harvested the Drowner Brain, the grey matter pulsing with a faint, oily light. As he explored the immediate clearing, he found more than just Middle-earth plants; the forest was now dotted with Ranogrin—a sturdy herb from the Continent. Further in, he found a Dead Wolf, its body fresh. He carefully extracted the Wolf Liver and other vital organs, his pouch swallowing the gruesome trophies without adding a gram of weight.
He spent the next hour huddled over his cauldron, working with focused intensity. Using the tallow and the herbs he'd gathered, he filled his remaining vials.
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[CRAFTING SUMMARY:]
2 Vials: Necrophage Oil (Effective against necrophages)
3 Vials: Insectoid Oil (Effective against insectoids)
3 Vials: Beast Oil (Effective against common animals)
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All 9 vials were now full. He was no longer just a schoolboy in a torn uniform; he was an alchemist armed for a world that had suddenly become much more dangerous.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long, skeletal shadows through the trees, Keith realized he needed to find civilization. He packed his cauldron into the Spatial Pouch and gripped his oil-stained club.
Keith emerged from the treeline into the rolling, green hills of the Shire. The transition was jarring; the oppressive gloom of the forest gave way to well-tended gardens and round wooden doors set into the hillsides. Near a stone bridge, a group of Hobbits stood huddled over a patch of vibrant, purple flowers—Sewant Mushrooms—that had appeared overnight.
"Never seen the like in all my years!" one gesticulated. "Sprouted up like a bad dream, they did!"
When Keith approached, his uniform torn and stained with drowner blood, the Hobbits let out a collective gasp. However, seeing he was just a lad, their natural hospitality took over. Keith quickly realized the Shire was a Safe Zone, a place where he could finally think without a monster at his throat.
He looked at his nine vials. He needed better gear than a wooden branch. "I'm a... travelling apothecary," Keith lied. He pulled out a vial of Beast Oil. "This will keep the wolves away from your livestock. One smear on a fence or a blade, and no beast will come within ten yards."
The Hobbits, weary of the "strange beasts" rumored to be prowling the borders, were eager buyers. They didn't have much gold, but they had plenty of silver pennies. Keith headed to a local tool-shop—since Hobbits had little use for swords—and used his earnings to purchase a pair of heavy, high-carbon steel cleavers. They were balanced for butchery, but in Keith's hands, they were deadly implements.
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[TRADING COMPLETE]
[NEW GEAR: TWIN STEEL CLEAVERS]
[SYSTEM UPDATE: ALL ALCOHOL BASES UNLOCKED]
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A rush of technical clarity filled his mind. He now held the perfected knowledge of Alcohest, Dwarven Spirit, and Mahakaman Spirit. He knew exactly how to distill any fermentable source into the high-grade bases required for professional-grade potions.
With his vials empty and his pockets jingling with silver, Keith sat by the fire of a local inn. He had the coins and the safety, but he knew the monsters wouldn't stay at the borders forever. He checked his System Points (SP), ready to exchange them for the next level of his alchemical evolution.