As we walked out on the road, the Raven Caravan was quiet, the only sounds the rhythmic creak of wagon wheels, the steady clip-clop of horse hooves, and the occasional murmur of conversation from the sorceresses riding in the back. The morning sun had burned away the last of the dawn mist, leaving the air crisp and clear, carrying the scent of wildflowers and fresh earth from the surrounding countryside.
I was stuck in deep thought over what had happened last night. Morrigan and those three women, who were they? What were they? The questions circled in my mind like vultures, picking at the edges of my certainty. The Grave Hag had been real. The books and scrolls in my pack were real. But the priestesses... the head priestess's words echoed in my memory: "There is no one here by that name."
I decided to check my progress, pulling up my status window with a thought. The familiar blue interface materialized in my vision, translucent enough that I could still see the road ahead while reading.
Status Window:
Name: Cain
Age: 15
Race: Half-Elf Half-Human (Mutant)
Bloodline Trait: Elder Blood (Legendary)
Class: Wolf School Witcher (Common)
Title: Sequence 9: Hunter (80%)
Attributes:
Constitution: 20.0
Strength: 19.3
Dexterity: 18.3
Wisdom: 14.2
Intelligence: 14.5
Charisma: 10.8
Luck: Unknown
Mana: 11.6
Attribute Points: 0
Abilities & Skills:
Wolf Pack (Epic)
Intermediate Swordsmanship Level 1 (Rare)
Meditation Level 7 (Common)
Poison Resistance Level 4 (Rare)
Mind's Eye Level 1 (Rare)
Limit Break Level 5 (Common)
Charm Resistance Level 10 (Legendary) Max
Warp Level 4 (Common)
Chronomancy Level 3 (Common)
Sign Magic Level 5 (Common)
Misfortune Manipulation (Epic)
Intimidation Level 1 (Rare)
Mana Missile Level 1 (Rare)
Traits:
Cold Blooded (Epic)
Elder Blood (Legendary)
Jack-of-all-trades (Rare)
I smiled slightly, watching the Hunter percentage shimmer at 80%. My eyes narrowed as I considered the implications. The digestion for the Hunter potion had gone up by 5% from the Grave Hag hunt, which wasn't bad. But considering how easy it had been to beat that creature, or whatever it actually was, it seemed like I would really have to hunt and fight some truly scary monsters to push that percentage higher.
Dragons were out of the question, obviously. Maybe something like a higher vampire? A Katakan or Ekimmara would be a real challenge, the kind that would test every skill I had. Those creatures were intelligent, fast, and deadly. They didn't just rely on brute strength, they used tactics, ambushes, psychological warfare.
That's when I heard Calla's voice cut through my thoughts, and I dismissed the window from my mind's eye.
"It makes no sense, Cain," she said, her tone carrying genuine confusion mixed with concern. She was riding her horse alongside the wagon where Callum sat, and both of them were looking at me with expressions that demanded answers. "Those women you described, they didn't seem like monsters in disguise. Or were they just sorceresses playing around?"
I shook my head, my enhanced senses recalling every detail of last night with perfect clarity. "No, they weren't Bruxa. Not one trace of blood magic from them or the church. Not Succubi either, they were humanoid all the way down." I paused, then added with a slight smirk, "In every sense of the word."
Callum grinned at that, while Calla sighed and rolled her eyes.
Callum, while chewing on his fifth apple of the morning, the man had an appetite that rivaled a troll's, said around a mouthful, "Maybe you encountered a goddess in disguise? What if that was her and her followers out for some fun among us mortals?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Calla rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. "Really, brother? Now gods are real, and they would waste their time playing and sleeping with a Witcher?" She shook her head. "Sounds like a sorceress and her friends were in town and charmed Cain. It's the only logical explanation."
"That's not likely," I said, my voice carrying absolute certainty. "I'm immune to charm magic. And probably highly resistant to most other mental magics or spells."
Both Calla and Callum looked at me with expressions of surprise.
Calla's emerald eyes narrowed with scholarly interest. "Immune? Brother, is that true? How is that even possible?"
Callum looked at me without saying anything, but his expression was asking a silent question: Is it the Elder Blood?
I made up a lie, keeping my expression neutral. "I guess I'm just stronger-willed than others, is all. The mutations affected everyone differently. Maybe my mental fortitude got enhanced more than most."
That's when I heard Elanor's voice from the back of the wagon, dripping with amusement and challenge. "Oh really? Well, I'd like to test that claim, Witcher. I bet I can have you calling me mistress and kissing my feet within minutes."
I turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow. She was leaning against the wagon's side, her dark hair falling over one shoulder, her expression one of confident superiority. The other sorceresses were watching with interest, clearly entertained by the prospect.
"Go ahead and try," I said with a slight smile, "but that's four crowns to attempt it."
Elanor's eyes widened slightly, then she laughed, a rich, genuine sound. She reached into her cleavage and pulled out a small leather pouch, then poured four coins into my outstretched hand. The metal was warm from her body heat.
"I'll just be taking those back too," she said confidently, her fingers lingering on my palm for a moment longer than necessary.
I climbed onto the cart, settling into a comfortable position. "Go ahead and try."
Elanor moved closer, her movements graceful and deliberate. She positioned herself directly in front of me, close enough that I could smell her perfume, something floral with undertones of vanilla. Her eyes locked onto mine, and I felt the telltale sensation of someone trying to touch my mind.
It was like a warm caress, gentle and inviting, trying to slip past my mental defenses like water finding cracks in stone. But the moment it made contact with my consciousness, my Charm Resistance activated automatically.
System Notification: Your mind is being influenced. Charm Resistance Level 10 (Legendary) Max activated. You have received +0.5 free attribute points.
My eyes widened slightly. Wait—I received attribute points from someone trying to control my mind? What the hell? That was... unexpected. And potentially very profitable.
I smiled and flicked Elanor's forehead gently. "Nice try."
Elanor's confident expression crumbled into confusion and disbelief. "That's not possible. Why didn't that work?" She looked at her hands as if they'd betrayed her, then back at me. "I've charmed men twice your age with half that effort!"
I looked to the other sorceresses, my merchant instincts kicking in immediately. "Anyone else want to try? Only four crowns. You can do whatever you want with me if you successfully charm me, and I won't be mad." I paused, letting that sink in, then added with a grin, "But when you fail, I keep the coins."
Three more girls came forward, their expressions ranging from confident to curious. The first was a blonde with sharp features and calculating eyes. She handed over her four crowns and tried a different approach, instead of the gentle caress Elanor had used, hers was more forceful, like someone trying to kick down a door.
System Notification: Your mind is being influenced. Charm Resistance Level 10 (Legendary) Max activated. You have received +0.5 free attribute points.
I flicked her forehead too. "Next."
The second was a redhead with freckles and a mischievous smile. Her attempt was subtler, trying to slip in through the edges of my consciousness like a thief picking a lock.
System Notification: Your mind is being influenced. Charm Resistance Level 10 (Legendary) Max activated. You have received +0.5 free attribute points.
"Next."
The third was a brunette who looked nervous but determined. Her attempt was almost apologetic, like she was asking permission rather than demanding entry.
System Notification: Your mind is being influenced. Charm Resistance Level 10 (Legendary) Max activated. You have received +0.5 free attribute points.
"And... done." I counted the coins in my hand, twelve crowns total, plus the original four from Elanor. Sixteen crowns for literally sitting still and letting people try to charm me. And I'd gained +2.0 attribute points in the process.
I placed the coins in my coin pouch, which was already heavy with the money from selling the monster parts. I made a mental note that I needed something less suspicious to carry my wealth in. Walking around with a pouch that clinked with every step was just asking for some poor fool to try and mug me and die for their trouble. I could just put everything in the system inventory
That's when I saw a fair, beautiful hand with perfectly manicured nails gesture four crown coins toward me. I looked up, and my breath caught slightly.
It was Calla.
Her emerald eyes were calm, almost serene, but there was something in her expression, a hint of challenge, maybe even amusement. She held the coins out with the grace of someone who'd never doubted herself in her life.
"Let's consider this part of your lesson for today," she said, her voice carrying that instructor's tone she used when teaching magic.
I took the coins, feeling their weight. "Go ahead."
Calla sat down across from me, close enough that our knees almost touched. The other sorceresses had gone quiet, watching with interest. Even Callum had stopped eating his apple, his attention fully focused on what was about to happen.
"Not all charm magic is so straightforward, ladies," Calla began, as her eyes never left mine. "Sometimes you might meet a strong-willed individual. Normally, Witcher's are easier to influence than most people think, their mutations make them resistant to many things, but their emotional control is often... compromised. But considering Cain is not some normal Witcher, and neither is my brother, different approaches are required."
She reached out and caressed my face, her fingers cool against my skin. Her touch was gentle, almost tender, and I felt my body respond immediately. My teenage hormones, amplified by Witcher mutations, made every sensation intense.
She looked at me with her piercing emerald green eyes, and there was a faint glow, not the aggressive push of the other sorceresses, but something subtler, more sophisticated. I felt something, but it wasn't a charm. It was... arousal. Pure, undeniable physical attraction amplified to an almost painful degree.
My cock hardened so fast it was almost embarrassing, the sound of fabric straining audible in the quiet wagon. Several of the sorceresses giggled, but Calla's expression remained calm, almost clinical.
Then the system notification appeared:
System Notification: Your mind is being influenced through indirect means. Charm Resistance Level 10 (Legendary) Max activated. You have received +1.5 free attribute points.
My eyes widened. Why was it different with Calla than the others? Why +1.5 instead of +0.5?
I looked at Calla, and she smirked, her supple lips curving into an amused expression before she stood up gracefully. "I guess Witcher Cain is a true anomaly," she said, her tone carrying satisfaction. "Ladies, take note: sometimes the most effective magic isn't about forcing someone's will. It's about working with their nature, not against it."
I sat there, my body still responding to whatever she'd done, trying to process what had just happened. The other sorceresses were whispering among themselves, clearly impressed by Calla's demonstration.
Callum caught my eye and grinned, shaking his head. "Brother, you just made twenty crowns and got a free lesson in advanced charm magic. Not a bad morning."
I adjusted myself discreetly and tried to focus on literally anything else. "Yeah, well, let's just keep moving."
We traveled all day, the sun arcing across the sky as the Raven Caravan made steady progress along the road. The landscape gradually shifted from open farmland to more wooded terrain, with dense forests pressing close to the road on both sides. The air grew cooler as afternoon turned to evening, carrying the scent of pine and the distant sound of running water.
As the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple, we came upon a clearing near a flowing river. The water was clear and fast-moving, rushing over smooth stones with a constant, soothing sound. The clearing was large enough for the entire caravan, with good sight lines in all directions and easy access to fresh water.
"This looks like a good spot," Dreana called out from the lead wagon. "We'll make camp here for the night."
But before anyone could start unhitching horses or setting up tents, Callum and I exchanged a look. We'd been trained too well to just assume any location was safe.
"We should scout the area first," I said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Check for drowners and other monsters."
Cegar, the caravan's head guard, nodded approvingly. "Good thinking, Witchers. We'll wait for your signal before we settle in."
Callum and I moved into the forest, our enhanced senses immediately going into overdrive. The scent of the river was strong, wet stone, algae, fish, but underneath it, I was searching for the telltale signs of necrophages or other water-dwelling monsters.
Drowners had a distinctive smell: rotting fish mixed with stagnant water and decay. Water hags smelled similar but with an added layer of bile and old blood. We moved along the riverbank, checking the shallows, looking for tracks, disturbed vegetation, or the characteristic slime trails that drowners left behind.
After about twenty minutes of thorough searching, covering both upstream and downstream from the clearing, we found nothing. The river was clean, the banks undisturbed. No tracks, no nests, no signs of recent feeding.
" This area is clear," Callum said, his voice carrying relief.
"Agreed," I confirmed. "This area's safe."
We made our way back to the clearing and gave Cegar the signal. "All clear. No drowners, no water hags, nothing dangerous in the immediate area."
The caravan immediately came to life. Horses were unhitched and led to the river to drink. Wagons were positioned in a defensive circle. Tents began going up with practiced efficiency. Someone started a fire in the center of the clearing, and soon the smell of cooking food began to fill the air.
That's when Cegar approached us, his weathered face thoughtful. He was a man in his late forties, with the scars and bearing of someone who'd seen real combat. His eyes held the kind of wisdom that only came from surviving situations where others hadn't.
"Cain, Callum," he said, his voice carrying the authority of command. "I have a request."
"What do you need?" Callum asked.
Cegar gestured to his men, who were setting up their own tents and checking their equipment. "I want you two to spar with my men. Give them some pointers. They're good fighters, most of them, but..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "They lack the kind of training you boys have. And in this line of work, that gap in skill can mean the difference between going home and being buried in an unmarked grave."
I raised an eyebrow. "You want us to train your guards?"
"Not train, exactly," Cegar clarified. "Just... show them what real skill looks like. Let them feel the difference between competent and exceptional. Maybe give them a few pointers on what they're doing wrong." He looked between us. "You're both younger than most of my men, but when it comes to skill with a blade, you're clearly in a different league. They need to see that, experience it, so they understand what they're up against when they face someone truly dangerous."
Callum looked at me, and I could see he was interested. Training others was a good way to reinforce your own skills, and it would help build goodwill with the caravan.
"I'm less experienced than everyone here in terms of years," I said honestly, "but I can help with technique."
"That's all I'm asking," Cegar said. "Just give them a few spars and some light pointers. They won't survive long if they don't improve, especially if they face opponents with more skill than them."
I looked at Callum. "You should take the lead on this. You're the better swordsman."
Callum grinned. "I'll handle the instruction, but you're doing the demonstrations. You're the better with technique display, brother."
I sighed but nodded. "Fine. One at a time, so they can see it and experience it properly."
Cegar gathered his men in an open area of the clearing, away from the wagons and fire. There were about fifteen of them in total, a mix of veterans with gray in their beards and younger men barely out of their teens. Some carried themselves with the confidence of experienced fighters, while others had the nervous energy of people who'd seen combat but hadn't truly mastered it.
Calla, Dreana, and the other sorceresses gathered to watch, settling onto logs and wagon seats with the air of people expecting entertainment.
Callum stood in the center of the clearing, his presence commanding attention despite his youth. When he spoke, his voice was calm but carried absolute authority.
"Alright, listen up," he began. "A sword is a tool, nothing more, nothing less. It's a piece of metal designed to cut, stab, and kill. But how you use that tool, that's what separates a fighter from a warrior, a survivor from a corpse."
He drew his practice sword, the wooden blade worn smooth from countless hours of training. "There are two fundamental approaches to swordsmanship: fast and fluid, or strong and sturdy. Fast and fluid is about movement, about being where your opponent isn't, about striking before they can react. Strong and sturdy is about power, about breaking through defenses, about overwhelming your opponent with sheer force."
He demonstrated both styles, his movements precise and controlled. "Most fighters pick one and stick with it. That's a mistake. A true swordsman adapts, flows between styles based on the situation, the opponent, the terrain. You need to be water, formless, adaptable, unstoppable."
He looked at each man in turn. "My brother and I have lived fewer years than all of you. We're younger, less experienced in the ways of the world. But when it comes to skill with a blade?" He smiled slightly. "We're second to none. And I don't say that to brag. I say it so you understand that age and experience don't always equal skill. Training, dedication, and the right instruction, that's what makes the difference."
He gestured to me. "Cain will spar with each of you, one at a time. He won't go easy on you, but he won't hurt you either. The goal is for you to feel the difference, to understand where your weaknesses are. After each bout, I'll give you pointers on what you could improve."
He paused, then added, "Who wants to go first?"
There was a moment of hesitation, then Cegar himself stepped forward. "I'll lead by example."
Callum nodded approvingly. "Good. Cain, whenever you're ready."
I drew my practice sword and moved to the center of the clearing. Cegar took his position opposite me, his stance solid and experienced. He held his sword in a middle guard, weight evenly distributed, eyes focused and alert.
"Begin," Callum called out.
Cegar came at me immediately, not wasting time with feints or testing strikes. He committed to powerful, direct attacks, overhead chops and horizontal slashes designed to break through defenses through sheer force. It was the style of someone who'd learned to fight in actual combat, where hesitation got you killed.
I parried his strikes, feeling the impact travel up my arms. He was strong, no question about that. But strength without precision was just wasted energy.
I let him attack three more times, studying his pattern, then I countered. As his blade came down in another overhead strike, I stepped to the side instead of blocking, letting his momentum carry him forward. My practice sword came up in a rising strike that would have opened him from hip to shoulder if we'd been using real weapons.
He recovered quickly, bringing his sword back into guard position, but I was already moving. I flowed into his space, my blade work fast and precise, forcing him to react rather than act. He blocked, parried, tried to create distance, but I stayed with him, my footwork keeping me in the optimal range.
Then I saw my opening. He overextended on a horizontal slash, his weight shifting too far forward. I stepped inside his guard, trapped his sword arm with my free hand, and swept his legs. He went down hard, and my practice sword was at his throat before he could recover.
"First touch," Callum announced. "Cegar, you're strong and experienced, but you telegraph your attacks. Your shoulders tense before you strike, giving your opponent time to react. Work on keeping your upper body relaxed until the moment of impact."
Cegar stood, breathing hard but grinning. "Damn, boy. You're fast."
"Next," I called out.
The second man was younger, maybe mid-twenties, with the lean build of someone who relied on speed rather than power. He came at me with quick, probing strikes, trying to find weaknesses in my defense.
I let him attack for about ten seconds, then I went on the offensive. My blade became a blur, striking high, low, left, right, forcing him to react faster than he was capable of. Within seconds, I'd disarmed him, his practice sword flying from his hands to land in the grass several feet away.
"You're fast," Callum told him, "but you're predictable. You attack in patterns, high, low, high, low. A skilled opponent will recognize that and exploit it. Vary your rhythm, break your own patterns."
"Next."
The third man was a veteran, probably in his fifties, with the scarred hands of someone who'd been in countless fights. He was cautious, defensive, waiting for me to make the first move.
So I did. I attacked with a combination of strikes that Vesemir had drilled into me thousands of times, a diagonal slash followed by a horizontal cut, then a thrust. The veteran blocked the first two but was too slow on the third. My practice sword stopped an inch from his chest.
"You're too reactive," Callum said. "You're waiting to see what your opponent does before you respond. That works against amateurs, but against someone skilled, you'll always be one step behind. You need to force your opponent to react to you."
"Next."
I went through twelve more men, one after another. Each bout lasted between thirty seconds and two minutes. Some were better than others, the veterans had experience and instinct, while the younger men had speed and aggression. But none of them had the combination of training, skill, and enhanced abilities that Callum and I possessed.
I disarmed them all. Some I beat with superior footwork, others with faster reflexes, still others by reading their intentions before they even moved. My Witcher senses gave me an unfair advantage, I could see the micro-expressions that telegraphed their attacks, hear the shift in their breathing that indicated when they were about to commit, smell the adrenaline spike that came with aggression.
After the twelfth man, I was barely winded. My enhanced Constitution meant I could maintain this level of activity for hours without tiring.
That's when Callum stepped forward, a challenging grin on his face.
"My turn," he said. "I want to see how I stack up against you now that we're both official Witchers."
I raised an eyebrow. "We haven't sparred seriously since right before the Trial of the Mountain."
Callum's grin widened. "But you still managed to beat that damn wolf that got me good, so I want to see if you've improved at all."
I smiled back. "Okay then. Let's go."
The atmosphere shifted immediately. The men who'd been sparring with me backed away, giving us more room. The sorceresses leaned forward with interest. Even Cegar looked excited to see what was about to happen.
Callum and I took our positions, practice swords held in ready stances. We'd trained together for years, knew each other's styles intimately. This wasn't going to be like the previous bouts, this was going to be a real test.
"Begin," Cegar called out.
We launched forward simultaneously, our blades meeting in the center with a sharp crack. Then we were moving, circling, testing, probing for weaknesses.
Callum attacked first, a series of fast, precise strikes aimed at my head, torso, and legs. I parried each one, my blade moving with practiced efficiency, deflecting his attacks with minimal movement.
Then I countered, flowing from defense to offense in a heartbeat. My strikes were faster than his, my footwork more fluid, but he matched me step for step. His enhanced Strength meant each of his blocks had more force behind them, while my enhanced Dexterity gave me a slight edge in speed.
We moved across the clearing, our practice swords creating a constant rhythm of clacks and thuds. Everyone watching was silent, mesmerized by the display.
Callum went for a powerful overhead strike, putting his full strength behind it. I could have blocked it, but that would have been a contest of strength, and he had the advantage there. Instead, I stepped to the side at the last possible moment, letting his blade pass inches from my shoulder, then I countered with a horizontal slash aimed at his ribs.
He twisted, bringing his sword down to block, then immediately transitioned into a thrust aimed at my chest. I parried, our blades sliding against each other with a metallic screech, then I disengaged and created distance.
We circled again, both of us breathing harder now, both of us grinning.
"You've gotten better," Callum said, his voice carrying genuine respect.
"So have you," I replied.
Then we attacked simultaneously, our blades meeting in a flurry of strikes and counters that was too fast for most of the watching men to follow. We were using everything we'd learned, Vesemir's teachings, Geralt's techniques, our own innovations developed through countless hours of practice.
Callum feinted high, then went low, trying to sweep my legs. I jumped over the attack, using the momentum to spin in mid-air and bring my sword down in a diagonal slash. He rolled to the side, came up in a crouch, and launched himself at me with a powerful thrust.
I deflected it with a circular parry, letting his blade slide off mine, then I stepped inside his guard and went for a disarm. But he anticipated it, pulling his sword back and transitioning into a pommel strike aimed at my face.
I leaned back, feeling the wooden pommel pass inches from my nose, then I countered with a rising strike that forced him to backpedal.
We were both fully committed now, both pushing ourselves to our limits. The watching crowd had faded from my awareness, there was only Callum, his sword, and the dance of combat.
He came at me with a combination I recognized from our training, three quick strikes followed by a powerful overhead chop. I parried the first three, then instead of blocking the fourth, I did something Vesemir had taught me but I'd never successfully pulled off in a real spar.
I let my blade flow like water.
As Callum's sword came down in that powerful overhead strike, I angled my blade so that his weapon slid along mine rather than impacting it directly. The force of his attack was redirected, flowing harmlessly past me, and in that moment of imbalance, I slid my blade up his, maintaining contact, until I reached the guard of his sword.
Then I twisted, using leverage rather than strength, and his practice sword flew from his hands, spinning through the air to land point-first in the ground several feet away.
We both froze, breathing hard, staring at each other.
Then Callum smiled, a genuine expression of pride and respect. "The win is yours, Cain."
I lowered my sword, feeling a surge of satisfaction. "I finally beat you."
Callum smirked and clapped me on the shoulder. "You did, brother. Now how about you help cook some food?"
My eyes narrowed, but before I could respond, a familiar notification appeared in my vision:
System Notification: Thanks to your Wolf Pack ability and intensive training, Intermediate Swordsmanship Level 1 (Rare) → Intermediate Swordsmanship Level 5 (Rare).
I blinked, reading the notification again. Four levels in one session? That was... significant. The Wolf Pack ability really was incredible, it let me learn from Callum's techniques even while we were fighting, absorbing his experience and skill through our bond.
I sighed and dismissed the notification. "Fine. I'll cook."
I took the rations and food supplies from the caravan's stores, dried meat, vegetables, herbs, flour, and some preserved butter, and set to work. Cooking was something I'd learned in my previous life, and the knowledge had transferred perfectly to this one. Combined with my enhanced senses, which let me taste and smell with perfect precision, I could create meals that were far better than the standard trail fare most people were used to.
I started a second fire, separate from the main campfire, and set up a makeshift cooking area. I rehydrated the dried meat in a pot of boiling water infused with herbs, then added chopped vegetables, carrots, onions, potatoes, and let it all simmer together. The smell was incredible, rich and savory, filling the clearing with an aroma that made everyone's mouths water.
While that cooked, I made flatbread using the flour, water, and a pinch of salt, cooking it on a flat stone I'd heated in the fire. The bread came out golden and slightly crispy on the outside, soft and warm on the inside.
Finally, I assembled everything into hearty bowls—the meat and vegetable stew ladled over pieces of torn flatbread, with a pat of butter melting on top. It was simple food, but prepared with care and skill.
I called out, "Food's ready!"
Everyone gathered around, taking their bowls with expressions of anticipation. The first person to take a bite was one of Cegar's men, a grizzled veteran who'd probably eaten nothing but hardtack and jerky for most of his life.
His eyes widened. "Holy shit. Since when did Witchers know how to cook?"
Others tried their food and had similar reactions. The sorceresses looked particularly impressed, their refined palates clearly appreciating the quality.
Dreana approached me, her expression playful. "Cain, can I hire you to be my man-husband? You guard my caravan, slay monsters, and cook food like this? I'll make it worth your while."
I grinned at her. "I'm too expensive for you. And if your 'making it worth my while' is offering yourself, then I'll take you for dinner later."
Elanor, not to be outdone, chimed in. "What about me? I can make it worth your while too."
I looked at her, my expression deliberately suggestive. "Eat first. Maybe later we'll see."
The banter continued as everyone ate, the atmosphere relaxed and friendly. This was what traveling with a caravan was supposed to be like, good food, good company, and the satisfaction of a day well spent.
After everyone had eaten and the cleanup was done, I found a quiet spot away from the main fire and decided to open the two Epic Equipment Chests I'd received from the Royal Wyvern and Royal Griffins quest.
I pulled up my inventory and selected the first chest.
System Notification: Epic Equipment Chest Opened.
Items Received:
Sequence 8 Provoker Potion: A thick, bubbling crimson syrup filled with tiny orange sparks that crackle against the glass container. It moves on its own in a slow, swirling counter-clockwise motion, as if alive and aware. The liquid seems to pulse with barely contained aggression, and looking at it for too long makes you feel inexplicably irritated.
Effect:
Core Effects and Abilities:
1. Psychological Manipulation
Weakness Intuition: The user automatically perceives the psychological flaws, deep insecurities, and emotional triggers of any observed target. This works on both individuals and groups, revealing the exact words, actions, or implications that would cause maximum emotional distress. The user instinctively knows what someone fears, what they're ashamed of, and what they desperately want to hide. (+1.5 to Wisdom Attribute. Mind's Eye level and Rank Up)
Supernatural Taunting: Spoken words or expressions can be infused with spirituality to amplify insults into a minor psychic assault that causes immediate distress. A simple "you're weak" becomes a soul-deep conviction that temporarily shatters confidence. Targets feel the insult on a visceral, almost physical level, as if the words were weapons striking their psyche. (+2.0 to Charisma Attribute. Intimidation level and rank up)
Rationality Stripping: Provoked targets lose their tactical judgment, abandon defensive postures, and blind themselves to obvious environmental hazards. They become so focused on attacking the Provoker that they ignore allies calling for retreat, fail to notice traps, and make suicidal tactical decisions. Their rage becomes all-consuming, overriding survival instincts. (+2.0 to Charisma Attribute. Intimidation level and rank up)
Aggro Redirection: The user can force an enemy to abandon their current target and focus their absolute, irrational hatred entirely on the user. This works even on creatures with pack tactics or hive minds. A dragon attacking a village can be made to forget the village exists and focus solely on killing the Provoker. The effect is so powerful that targets will ignore mortal wounds to continue their assault. (+2.0 to Charisma Attribute. Intimidation level and rank up)
Physical and Combat Enhancements
Reflex Amplification: Reaction speeds scale up significantly, allowing the user to easily dodge, parry, or counter the reckless, predictable attacks of an enraged foe. The user's perception of time doesn't slow, but their body responds faster, moving with supernatural precision to exploit the openings created by an opponent's rage-induced mistakes. (+2.5 to Dexterity, Wisdom Attribute)
Explosive Agility: The user gains short-distance burst speed, ideal for dodging a charging enemy and instantly flanking them. This isn't sustained speed but rather explosive acceleration over 10-15 feet, allowing for rapid repositioning in combat. Perfect for baiting an attack, dodging at the last second, and counterattacking from an unexpected angle. (+2.5 to Dexterity,)
Sustained Stamina: Physical endurance improves dramatically, letting the user maintain prolonged physical combat without experiencing fatigue. A Provoker can fight for hours, constantly moving, dodging, and attacking, while their enraged opponents exhaust themselves with wild, energy-intensive attacks.( +1.5 to Constitution and Strength Attributes )
Thermal Affinity: Physical attacks begin to channel a faint, supernatural kinetic heat. Strikes feel hotter than they should, leaving minor burns even through armor. This is the pathway's body preparing for future fire-based abilities, building the foundation for the devastating pyrokinetic powers that come at higher sequences. ( Fire affinity increases by 15%. +1.5 to Mana)
Drawbacks and Risks:
The Provoker pathway is inherently dangerous because it requires the user to make themselves the center of attention in combat. Every enemy wants to kill you specifically, which means you must have absolute confidence in your ability to survive focused aggression. One mistake, one failed dodge, and you're dead.
Additionally, the psychological manipulation abilities can backfire if used carelessly. Provoking the wrong target, something vastly more powerful than you can handle, can result in your immediate death. The pathway rewards calculated risk-taking and punishes recklessness.
I stared at the description, my mind racing. This was it, the Sequence 8 potion. The next step in my Beyonder progression. Once I fully digested my Hunter potion and reached 100%, I could consume this and advance to Sequence 8: Provoker.
The abilities were incredible. Psychological manipulation, enhanced reflexes, the ability to control aggro in combat, it was like the system had designed a pathway specifically for someone who fought monsters for a living. And the thermal affinity was interesting, hinting at fire-based powers in future sequences.
I carefully stored the potion in my inventory, then opened the second Epic Equipment Chest.
System Notification: Epic Equipment Chest Opened.
Items Received:
Wanderer's Midnight Shroud (Epic): A charcoal-grey cloak woven from elven wool and interwoven with threads of raw shadow-essence. This deep-hooded cloak shifts its color subtly based on the ambient lighting. In bright sunlight, it appears as a weathered, mud-resistant traveling cloak of a simple mercenary. At twilight or indoors, the fabric seems to drink the light, becoming as black as ink. It is completely impervious to water, grease, and blood, and it never wrinkles or requires washing. The interior is lined with midnight-blue silk that feels cool against the skin.
Effect:
Climate Harmonization: The cloak functions as a localized thermodynamic barrier. It keeps the wearer perfectly warm and insulated in sub-zero mountain blizzards (like the trails surrounding Kaer Morhen) and comfortably cool and dry in humid swamps or baking deserts. The temperature regulation is automatic and requires no conscious effort, adapting instantly to environmental changes.
Absolute Weather-Proofing: Heavy downpours, gale-force winds, sleet, and mud slide off the fabric without absorbing. The wearer, their clothing, and any gear worn beneath the cloak remain entirely dry and clean. Even walking through a swamp or a battlefield covered in gore, the cloak repels all contamination.
The Tireless March: While traveling down roads, mountain passes, or through trackless wilderness, the cloak reduces the onset of travel exhaustion. The wearer can march for twice as long before needing rest, and recovers from fatigue 50% faster during breaks. This doesn't eliminate the need for sleep or food, but it significantly extends endurance during long journeys.
Night and Stealth Enhancements:
Umbral Silhouette: When the hood is pulled up in dim light or darkness, the cloak actively blurs the wearer's outline. You gain a +4 bonus to Dexterity (Stealth) and cannot be tracked by visual means unless the tracker uses magical truesight or similar abilities. Guards, monsters, and even other Witchers will have difficulty spotting you in shadows.
Scent Masking: The cloak dynamically absorbs and neutralizes the wearer's natural scent profile, as well as the metallic tang of weapons and the bitter aroma of Witcher potions. Wolves, fiends, hounds, and any creature that hunts by smell cannot detect your approach. This makes ambushing monsters significantly easier and allows for safe passage through territories controlled by scent-tracking predators.
Noiseless Motion: The fabric is magically dampened; it produces absolutely zero rustling, scraping, or snapping noises, even when sprinting through thick briars or dense undergrowth. Combined with proper footwork, a wearer can move in complete silence, making the cloak invaluable for stealth approaches and ambush tactics.
I smiled, reading through the cloak's abilities. This was perfect for a Witcher, weather protection, stealth enhancements, scent masking. It would make hunting monsters significantly easier, and the climate harmonization meant I'd never have to worry about freezing in the mountains or overheating in the desert.
I equipped the cloak immediately, feeling it settle around my shoulders like it had been made specifically for me. The fabric was incredibly light, almost weightless, but I could feel the subtle thrum of magic woven into every thread.
So I finally got the Sequence 8 potion. The moment I fully digested the Hunter potion and reached 100%, I could advance to the next sequence. And this cloak would make the journey there much easier.
I sent the cloak back and was about to close my inventory when I heard footsteps approaching. I looked up and saw Calla walking toward me, her emerald eyes reflecting the firelight.
"It's time," she said, her voice carrying that instructor's tone again.
I raised an eyebrow. "Time for what?"
"Tonight, I want to see you practice your Sign magic," she said, settling down beside me. "And this magic you said you made on your own, your Mana Missile and the other abilities you've mentioned. I want to see what you're truly capable of, Cain. No holding back, no secrets. If I'm going to teach you properly, I need to understand exactly what I'm working with."
I looked at her, seeing the genuine curiosity and scholarly interest in her expression. She wasn't asking as a sorceress evaluating a potential threat, she was asking as a teacher wanting to understand her student.
I nodded slowly. "Alright. Let's do this."