"They were left behind by a cabal of power-hungry, extremist mages many years ago."
"Using savage methods, they hunted, captured, and studied Witchers, attempting to replicate—and even improve—the mutation."
"Eventually, they crossed the line, so I… cleaned them up. These documents were part of the spoils."
Hen paused for a moment before continuing. "As for the grimoires you mentioned—ones devoted to the mind and spirit—"
"I don't have many; it's never been my main field," Karl replied. "Still, I do have a few. I'll sort them out when I get back and bring them over."
They exchanged a few brief remarks on magical theory and the nature of energy. Without further delay, Hen raised a hand, opened a portal, nodded to Karl, and stepped through, vanishing in the light.
Hen never doubted Karl's stated reason for wanting the Witcher mutation data and mind tomes—to bolster his forces against a powerful foe.
To a mage of Hen's level, worldly power was already within easy reach. If Karl were truly obsessed with authority, why would he spend most of his time alone in the sky or immersed in personal research? In Hen's eyes, Karl was a fellow seeker of knowledge—though their questions differed. He felt no concern that Karl might stray or harbor darker motives.
That afternoon, Hen returned to the estate carrying a half-height wooden chest treated with some magical means. Once the enchantments were lifted and the runes faded, the box revealed rows of ancient, leather-bound scrolls. There were hand-copied volumes and several tomes that faintly pulsed with psychic energy.
"Everything you asked for is here. The mutation data is messy—part lab notes, part failure analyses," Hen said, tapping the chest. "Some are scattered records from different Witcher schools. Only three mind tomes made it. One covers basic Psychic Probe, another details constructing mental defensive techniques, and the last is rather niche: it guides and amplifies a target's specific emotions. Use it with extreme care."
Hen's tone shifted as he added, "I still have Academy business to attend to, plus that mage who once researched immortality elixirs but now dabbles in demon-summoning and live-subject experiments needs immediate attention."
With that, Hen opened another portal and stepped through, off to purge the scum he had mentioned.
Karl received the priceless materials and began studying them at once. With inhuman speed and comprehension, he read every scroll and tome in the box. Within minutes, the pile was memorized and preliminarily digested.
He returned to the high sky, basking in sunlight. While replenishing his energy, he parsed, deduced, and calculated the knowledge in depth. He focused on the Witcher mutation system, hunting for flaws and possible improvements.
"Using Griffin Venom Glands as a primary catalyst? No—the toxicity's too strong; even with herbal buffers, the neural damage is irreversible."
"Replace Kastanie Leaves with Witchweed? Still no; the Chaotic Magic and toxins in Witchweed remain lethal to ordinary humans."
"Add Moonrose petals to stabilize mood? Too weak; they cannot fundamentally counter the mental shock of the Trial of the Grasses."
He muttered the names of herbs, monster fluids, and mutagens, mentally testing thousands of ratios and simulating divergent mutation paths.
At noon the next day, hovering in the air, Karl opened his eyes, brow tightly knit, and reached a disappointing conclusion. The Witcher—truly a failure, or at best a costly, imperfect route to power under the world's current rules.
Tens of thousands of simulations based on existing data and mutation principles had never produced a flawless Witcher. The process almost always entailed inhuman agony, emotional numbness, or sterility.
He gazed downward, sight piercing the clouds toward deeper truths. "This planet is steeped in Chaotic Magic. Nearly every alchemical herb—and many common plants—carries trace Chaotic Magic or natural toxins. With such materials, the Trial of the Grasses can never be gentle or perfect at its root."
"Enough," he muttered. "This path is closed for now. Better to press on with the breathing and meditation methods I designed for ordinary people."
Karl shook his head and set aside the idea of improving Witcher mutations. Compared with that route, the energy system he had conceived seemed far more feasible—and fully under his control.
Several days later, high in the sky, a satisfied smile returned to Karl's face. He breathed like an ordinary man, yet closer inspection revealed a peculiar rhythm—three short breaths, one long—imbued with a mysterious cadence.
He casually raised his left hand. As it swung, a warm, solid orange energy sheathed it instantly. The next instant, "whoosh"—the surface of that energy ignited with blazing golden flame.
He made a slicing gesture toward a thick white cloud in the distance. The orange energy and golden flame detached from his arm, forming a burning crescent blade that shot away at tremendous speed. The blade struck the cloud's center. "Boom!" No deafening blast—just a dull thud of violent energy.
The dense cloud split like butter under a red-hot knife, torn apart and dispersed, revealing the blue sky behind. At the edges of the scattered vapor lingered scorched traces.
"Not bad," Karl said with satisfaction. "The breathing method's invention went more smoothly than expected. Perhaps it's due to my strong affinity and control over solar energy?"
He savored the resonance between the unique breathing rhythm and the energy circuits within him. The connection was perfect, and the results were undeniable.
For hours, Karl continued refining his technique, feeling the warmth of the solar energy coursing through his veins. The Trial of the Grasses and the flawed Witcher mutations no longer mattered. He had created a method that was gentler, fully controllable, and perfectly suited to his own potential.
The skies above stretched infinitely, an endless canvas for his experiments. Each movement of his hand, each focused breath, brought the energy closer to perfection. The lessons of failure—the agonies endured by Witchers, the cruel miscalculations of previous generations—were no longer obstacles. They were simply data points, guiding him toward a superior path.
Karl's mind worked like a machine, calculating the flows of energy, the interactions of elements, and the patterns of Chaotic Magic that permeated the world. He tested each simulation in thought first, then in practice, shaping and refining his abilities with surgical precision.
By evening, Karl had transformed the simple breathing exercise into a complex system capable of generating controlled, devastating power without harming the practitioner. The golden flame of his new technique flickered and danced like liquid sunlight, responding perfectly to his commands.
For the first time, he truly understood the limitations of others' methods—and the boundless possibilities of his own. Witchers had been a failed experiment, but Karl's path promised mastery over both body and mind, without the cruel cost of traditional mutation.
The high sky was silent once more, broken only by the faint hum of energy circling his form. Karl lowered his arms, allowing the flames to dissipate, and exhaled slowly. He felt a profound sense of satisfaction—the culmination of meticulous planning, careful study, and relentless experimentation.
The world below continued unaware of his progress, but that didn't matter. Knowledge and power were not given; they were seized. And Karl had seized both, perfectly.
He glanced at the horizon, where the sun dipped slightly, casting long shadows over the clouds. The Witcher mutations were closed off, a relic of the past. His path, however, was open and full of promise.
As the first stars began to twinkle in the distant sky, Karl allowed himself a rare smile. Failure had taught him more than success ever could, and now, with the golden energy flowing through him, he was ready for the challenges that lay ahead.
The world was steeped in Chaotic Magic, yes—but Karl had found a way to bend it to his will. And that, he knew, was only the beginning.
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