Hello everyone,
I’m here to share a short story I’ve written with a lot of care. I don’t consider myself a writer at all—just a fan of the saga. I decided to write this because ever since I started playing The Witcher 3, I’ve always wondered what happened between the end of the second game and the beginning of the third.
The story is based on finishing the second game with Roche and ending with the sorcerers' massacre in Loc Muinne. This is because many consider Roche’s path canon, and also because the witch hunts take place no matter what in The Witcher 3. Plus, in my imagination, Vesemir is an excellent blacksmith.
I hope you enjoy it!
P.S. The original text is in Spanish; I used an AI to translate it.
***
Geralt, Triss, and Roche were the last to leave Loc Muinne. The metallic scent of blood and burnt flesh gradually diminished with every step they took. It was caused by the dozens of bodies of sorcerers, sorceresses, and soldiers who had died in the massacre just minutes before. The elven city had turned into ruins filled with corpses—ruins that would soon be overrun by necrophages looking for food.
The trio walked slowly along a path surrounded by pine trees under a sun that was beginning its descent behind the mountains. They walked in silence, processing the horrors they had witnessed: mutilated bodies, impaled corpses, dismembered remains, and pools of blood covering floors, walls, and ceilings. Triss walked even more slowly, occasionally wincing in pain. After all, she had spent days imprisoned by the Nilfgaardians, enduring physical torture.
"Triss, can you go on?" Geralt asked, looking at her with concern. "We can rest if you want."
"No need, Geralt," Triss replied, her tone betraying her pain. "I just wonder where we’re headed. If any soldiers recognize me, they’ll want to kill me. Radovid has gone mad. Why has he ordered the killing of all sorcerers?"
"I never thought Radovid would be capable of what he did," Roche added to the conversation. "But I can’t think of anything else to do but head to his camp. We’re in the middle of nowhere."
"Triss would likely be killed if Radovid sees her, Roche," Geralt pointed out.
"Gentlemen, don’t worry," Triss interjected as they all stopped walking. "The barrier that prevented me from casting magic is now behind us. I can teleport, though I’m so injured and drained that I’ll barely be able to summon a portal just for myself."
"Where will you go?" Geralt asked.
"I don’t know, Geralt," Triss said, her tone tinged with sadness. "For now, I’ll go somewhere peaceful to recover for a few days. After that, I’ll see where fate takes me. And you? Where will you go?"
"I’ll accompany Roche, and then I’ll head to Kaer Morhen."
"Kaer Morhen?" Triss looked at Geralt curiously. "You’re just going to hide?"
"I’ve regained my memory and found out where Yen is," Geralt explained. "She’s imprisoned in Nilfgaard. I’ll go look for her, but it’s a long journey south. I need coins and supplies. Maybe I’ll find some help at Kaer Morhen."
"Yen is alive?" Triss asked, visibly surprised. "I… I didn’t know… and I’m glad you’ve regained your memory."
"The sun will set soon," Roche interrupted. "If you two are going to say goodbye, do it now. There are likely patrols on the roads hunting for sorcerers, and I’d like to reach Redanian camp as soon as possible."
The forest began to darken, and distant sounds of beasts and monsters filled the air. The necrophages had likely caught wind of the feast awaiting them in Loc Muinne.
"You hate portals; I hate goodbyes," Triss said, sadness in her eyes as she looked at Geralt. "I understand that you have to look for Yennefer, but don’t forget about me."
"I’ve cherished the time we spent together," Geralt said as he approached to caress her face. "Thank you for everything. I hope we meet again. Take care of yourself."
Triss gave Geralt one last kiss before turning away, summoning a portal, and disappearing with a burst of energy. The silence grew even more palpable.
"Geralt, we have to keep going," Roche said, placing a hand on Geralt’s shoulder.
The two resumed their walk down the path in silence, both men accustomed to speaking only when necessary. As they neared their destination and the campfires became visible, Geralt asked Roche if he thought Radovid might give him a horse.
"After saving Anais," Roche replied without breaking stride, "I doubt he’d refuse you a horse."
As they approached the camp gate, the guards on duty were informed of their identities and allowed them entry. Once inside, they sought out Radovid, who was in his quarters, seated and silently sipping wine.
"Roche and Geralt," Radovid greeted them, raising his wine glass with a slight flourish. "I thank you for bringing me Anais. Temeria now has a chance to survive as a kingdom. You must be pleased, Roche."
"A chance that diminishes with time, Your Majesty," Roche responded firmly. "Nilfgaard has crossed the Yaruga again. If we don’t act quickly, Temeria will…"
"Roche, all in due time," Radovid interrupted. "I admit that neither I nor anyone else expected Nilfgaard to attack again. It seems Emhyr grows tired of losing."
"Sire, we lack the means to defend ourselves. Demavend, Foltest, and…" Roche hesitated.
"Go ahead, Roche, say it," Radovid said with a smirk.
"Henselt is dead too, and we all know who’s to blame for that," Roche said without hesitation, crossing his arms defiantly.
"He cowardly killed all my men, Your Majesty," Roche added.
"That no longer matters. The real culprits are the damned sorcerers," Radovid said, slamming his goblet onto a table, spilling wine on the floor. "Those bastards are the reason the North is in chaos now."
"Sire," Geralt interjected, "only a few are to blame. Letho revealed them at the summit."
"No, Geralt," Radovid countered, taking a small sip of wine. "I see all of them as equally guilty. Every practitioner of magic is always involved in conspiracies, scheming behind everyone’s backs. That ends now."
Geralt said no more. His experience with royalty had taught him it was never wise to openly disagree with a king. Roche had more to say, but Radovid silenced him with a wave of his hand before finishing the last of his wine.
"I’m exhausted," Radovid declared, rising from his chair. "Tomorrow we embark on a long journey back to Redania, and I’d like to rest well tonight."
"Sire," Geralt said, "I have one request."
"Go on, Witcher," Radovid said. "What do you need? I owe you, after all."
"A horse, Your Majesty."
“Ah, so you’re leaving us, Witcher?” Radovid said as he approached Geralt. “A regrettable piece of news, but very well. What kind of king would I be if I didn’t grant such a simple request to someone who has done such a great favor for Redania and Temeria?”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Geralt replied, bowing his head.
“Just one thing, Witcher,” Radovid said, positioning himself directly in front of Geralt and looking him straight in the eyes. “Be cautious about the company you keep. I know well of your friendship with certain sorceresses, sorceresses I now consider enemies of the Northern Kingdoms. It would be a shame if you were to become an enemy as well.”
“Is that all, Your Majesty?” Geralt asked, showing no hint of fear.
“Yes, that’s all. Tell me, when are you leaving?” Radovid said as he turned and began to walk away slowly.
“Right now, Your Majesty.”
“You must be in quite a hurry to leave under the cover of night.”
“Indeed, Your Majesty. I’m a Witcher; I have no trouble traveling in the dark.”
“Very well, you may leave, Witcher. I’ll have the stable hand provide you with a horse.”
Geralt bid farewell to Radovid and Roche, then made his way to the stable to pick up the horse. It was a plain brown horse, unremarkable except for a modest and simple saddle.
“I have the perfect name for you,” Geralt said, circling the horse as he adjusted the saddle and straps. “Roach. I hope you’ll be a good Roach.”
He gave the horse a gentle pat on the forehead before mounting. Roach neighed softly but behaved calmly. Together, they left the camp, fading into the dark night. Kaer Morhen lay to the north, four days away. Geralt first headed west toward Ban Glean, a city in Kaedwen, where he sought Witcher work to gather supplies for the rest of his journey.
It was a cloudy and damp day in Ban Glean. Raindrops fell sparsely, not enough to soak a person but sufficient to turn the earth into mud. Geralt approached a notice board, dismounting from Roach to examine the papers pinned to the wood. As he read, he overheard the townsfolk speaking anxiously about King Henselt’s death and the rumor that Nilfgaard had launched another invasion. Some dismissed it as mere hearsay, but Geralt ignored their chatter and focused on the notices. They ranged from construction jobs to farming and livestock work, items for sale, personal ads, and women offering their services. None of these interested Geralt. The only notice he took was a contract to hunt giant insects, its location crudely but clearly sketched.
“Greetings, good man,” Geralt said, approaching the issuer of the contract. “Are you the one who posted this notice?”
“Oh, what do we have here?” The man looked Geralt up and down. “Cat eyes and a wolf medallion—a Witcher. I can spot one when I see one. And you... that white hair seems familiar. I believe I’ve seen you before. But never mind that. Have you come about the contract?”
“Yes. What can you tell me about these insects?” Geralt asked, crossing his arms.
“I’m glad a Witcher has finally come. It’s been a month since I posted the contract. Two warriors came by to ask about it, but I never saw them again. Either they got cold feet, or they became food for those insects. About the insects... they’re huge, master Witcher. They’ve taken over a small stream where we used to fish. One day, out of nowhere, while I was fishing with others, these things appeared. I saw one giant creature and two others half its size, but still massive. As I ran for my life, I heard strange noises—likely from the insects—and the screams of my fellow fishermen. Over a dozen of us were there; only four survived the attack.”
Geralt negotiated the reward and was shown a map as crude as the contract sketch, marking the attack site and likely lair of the insects.
The stream was a little over an hour from the city. Geralt left Roach at a safe distance and continued on foot. As he approached, he spotted large endrega eggs attached to birch trunks. He immediately recognized the signs of an arachas and endregas. Unfortunately, he had no potions to bolster his resistance to venom and would have to rely on his reflexes and mutations for protection.
The simplest way to draw out an arachas was to attack the endrega eggs. Unsheathing his silver sword, Geralt moved to destroy them. Before he could strike, he heard movement behind him. Turning quickly, he saw five endregas advancing to defend their nest. Geralt cast the Quen sign, and a magical shield enveloped him. Without hesitation, he sprinted toward the creatures, stopping just short and spinning to his right. His strike severed the legs of one endrega, leaving it to bleed out. The swift move placed Geralt behind the others. With a quick gesture, he cast Igni, setting two of the creatures ablaze.
Two endregas remained. One lunged at Geralt, attempting to bite him, but he dodged swiftly and decapitated it. The last endrega attacked, but Geralt’s Quen shield absorbed the blow, repelling the attack. The creature lunged again, but this time, Geralt was ready. He drove his silver sword between its eyes.
He destroyed the endrega eggs, splitting their shells open to expose the embryos before slicing them with his blade. As he finished with the last egg, the arachas emerged. It was enormous, with six legs and a massive carapace covering its back. Geralt knew frontal attacks were futile; its front was as durable as a shield. He had to get behind it to do any real damage.
The arachas attacked first, spitting a stream of venom. Geralt sidestepped the green liquid, which narrowly missed his left cheek. He remained still, waiting for the arachas to charge. It soon obliged, rushing toward him. The Witcher leapt to the side, evading the attack and landing a slash on its rear. The arachas screeched in pain but retaliated with a powerful blow from one of its legs, striking Geralt in the stomach and knocking the wind out of him.
Catching his breath, Geralt cast Aard, sending a telekinetic blast that threw the arachas off balance. He moved in, evading and parrying its strikes. When the arachas showed signs of fatigue, Geralt cast Igni, scorching its eyes. As it screeched in agony, he seized the opportunity to strike its rear with three quick slashes. Blood gushed from the wounds, and the creature fell silent.
Returning to Ban Glean, Geralt collected his reward from the fisherman, who was overjoyed to resume fishing. The payment covered the supplies Geralt needed to continue his journey. Once ready, he and Roach set out again, venturing into Kaedwen’s dense forests.
***
The sun was at its zenith, and a cold breeze swept through the forests and mountains surrounding Kaer Morhen. Amid the sound of wind and rustling leaves, the rhythmic clash of hammer on anvil dominated the air. Vesemir was at work—or rather, at rest—for he saw blacksmithing as a pastime. Over his more than two centuries of life, he had perfected his craft to the point where he was considered a master.
The ringing of metal suddenly ceased. Vesemir concentrated, his sharp ears catching the sound of a galloping horse. Uncertain of who approached, he grabbed his steel sword and slung it over his back before heading to a castle ledge overlooking the entrance. When he saw a horse approaching with Geralt astride, he merely smiled and waved before opening the gate to allow Geralt and Roach into the fortress.
"Hello, Vesemir," Geralt greeted with a smile. "Good to see you; it’s been a while."
"Geralt! Good to see you, son." Vesemir embraced him for a few seconds. "It has been a while since we split up to search for Salamandra. Triss sent me a letter some time ago saying you found them in Vizima and dealt with them."
"Yes, a lot has happened since then."
"You seem... off," Vesemir said, raising an eyebrow. "Is something wrong? I suppose you've returned to rest."
"No, Vesemir, quite the opposite. You see, I’ve recovered my memory and—"
"Truly?" Vesemir interrupted, excited. "That’s wonderful news! Then tell me, what’s happened to you? But you’ll tell me over a meal."
As they ate at the table, Geralt recounted everything that had occurred: how he returned to the woods near Kaer Morhen without his memory while being pursued by the Wild Hunt, the events in Vizima with the Salamandra crime organization, the incidents at La Valette Castle where he was framed for Foltest’s murder, his pursuit of the kingslayer across Flotsam, Aedirn, and Loc Muinne, the sorcerer massacre, and finally, the news of Nilfgaard starting a new war.
"Dammit, Geralt," Vesemir said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don’t know anyone else who gets into as much trouble as you."
Geralt only smiled faintly, staring at the floor.
"I’m glad you cleared your name," Vesemir continued. "A regicide is never free—they’re hunted until they’re caught and executed. If Nilfgaard has started another war, it means there’ll be plenty of work in the south. Battlefields full of corpses always attract monsters."
"I want to head south," Geralt replied, "but not to hunt monsters. I want to go to Nilfgaard to find Yen."
"Yennefer? Geralt, you know how I feel about that woman. She always brings you trouble. Besides, Nilfgaard is over a month’s ride away. What’s she doing in Nilfgaard anyway?"
"I’ve been told she’s a prisoner of Emhyr. That’s why I came here. I wanted to see if you, Eskel, or Lambert could help me. I need coin and supplies for the journey."
"Then you’re lucky to find me here. Eskel and Lambert are out working; I don’t know when they’ll return. I came back after finding no trace of Salamandra. Instead, I picked up several contracts—hunted a griffin, a leshen, and two groups of nekkers. The pay was good, so I decided to return. As for helping you, of course I will. Though I’m not fond of that sorceress, you have my support."
"Thank you, Vesemir. How much can you lend me?"
"Lend you?" Vesemir laughed. "Geralt, I won’t lend you a single coin. What I will do is accompany you. With what I’ve earned, we have enough for the journey, and we can take on a few contracts along the way. Plus, you can tell me more about the Wild Hunt on the road."
"Thank you, truly." Geralt looked genuinely pleased. "Could we leave as soon as possible?"
"Of course, Wolf. Let’s rest tonight, and at first light, we’ll prepare everything to leave."
"And tell me, Vesemir," Geralt added, "what have you been doing here at the fortress since your return? Repairs, to keep it from crumbling further?"
"No, you see, I’ve found some diagrams for Witcher armor. If I’m not mistaken, these diagrams were completed only days before the attack on the fortress. I’ve managed to finish two sets—mine and yours."
"Really?" Geralt asked, surprised and intrigued.
"Yes, and a few days ago, I started on Lambert’s armor. Though we don’t have the best relationship, he’s still my pupil. I suppose I’ll finish his after we return, then start on Eskel’s."
Vesemir led him to the room where the armor was kept. Inside, there was only a wooden bed with a thin mattress and an old, weathered chest, as if its contents were of little value. The room was dimly lit by the warm glow of the setting sun.
"Go ahead, Geralt. Open the chest," Vesemir said, a faint smile forming on his lips, confident that the armor would impress him.
The Witcher knelt and opened the chest. Its contents contrasted starkly with the decayed exterior. Inside was a gleaming set of armor, the metal catching the soft light of the room. The set consisted of a mail vest sandwiched between two layers of leather, except at the front and back, where the metal was visible. The vest was flexible enough to bend easily yet sturdy enough to protect the torso. Beneath the vest was a steel breastplate covered in dark blue-dyed leather, offering additional chest protection.
The set included six shoulder pieces—three for each side—made of leather reinforced with mail, all designed to be worn over a light gray gambeson. For the legs, there was a pair of dark gray gambeson trousers, tough enough to resist sword cuts as well as monster claws and bites. Finally, there were a pair of durable leather boots and gloves dyed in the same deep blue.
After examining the armor, Geralt turned to Vesemir with a smile. "This is the best armor I’ve ever had. I don’t know how to thank you."
"Just take care of it, as it will take care of you. Go on, try it on. I’ve made sure it’s easy to put on without help. I’ll head to my room and start preparing for our journey."
Vesemir left, and Geralt stayed behind, admiring his new armor. Meanwhile, night fell over the fortress.
Both Witchers rested, and at first light, they woke and prepared for the journey. With their swords, armor, and supplies, they made their way to the courtyard where the horses waited.
"How was your night, Wolf?" Vesemir asked as they walked through the halls of Kaer Morhen. "I hope you rested."
"I did, but something worries me—Ciri. Since I regained my memory, I’ve had several dreams about her. They always start well but end as nightmares that wake me in a sweat."
"Ciri? I think of that rascal sometimes, wondering what’s become of her."
"With her powers, it’s impossible to know where she is. I just hope she’s safe and that I’ll see her again."
"You will, Geralt. You will," Vesemir said reassuringly. "For now, let’s focus on finding Yennefer. Your only clue is that she’s in Nilfgaard, so south we go."
Geralt and Vesemir reached their horses, mounted them, and left the fortress, beginning a long journey.
I’m here to share a short story I’ve written with a lot of care. I don’t consider myself a writer at all—just a fan of the saga. I decided to write this because ever since I started playing The Witcher 3, I’ve always wondered what happened between the end of the second game and the beginning of the third.
The story is based on finishing the second game with Roche and ending with the sorcerers' massacre in Loc Muinne. This is because many consider Roche’s path canon, and also because the witch hunts take place no matter what in The Witcher 3. Plus, in my imagination, Vesemir is an excellent blacksmith.
I hope you enjoy it!
P.S. The original text is in Spanish; I used an AI to translate it.
***
Geralt, Triss, and Roche were the last to leave Loc Muinne. The metallic scent of blood and burnt flesh gradually diminished with every step they took. It was caused by the dozens of bodies of sorcerers, sorceresses, and soldiers who had died in the massacre just minutes before. The elven city had turned into ruins filled with corpses—ruins that would soon be overrun by necrophages looking for food.
The trio walked slowly along a path surrounded by pine trees under a sun that was beginning its descent behind the mountains. They walked in silence, processing the horrors they had witnessed: mutilated bodies, impaled corpses, dismembered remains, and pools of blood covering floors, walls, and ceilings. Triss walked even more slowly, occasionally wincing in pain. After all, she had spent days imprisoned by the Nilfgaardians, enduring physical torture.
"Triss, can you go on?" Geralt asked, looking at her with concern. "We can rest if you want."
"No need, Geralt," Triss replied, her tone betraying her pain. "I just wonder where we’re headed. If any soldiers recognize me, they’ll want to kill me. Radovid has gone mad. Why has he ordered the killing of all sorcerers?"
"I never thought Radovid would be capable of what he did," Roche added to the conversation. "But I can’t think of anything else to do but head to his camp. We’re in the middle of nowhere."
"Triss would likely be killed if Radovid sees her, Roche," Geralt pointed out.
"Gentlemen, don’t worry," Triss interjected as they all stopped walking. "The barrier that prevented me from casting magic is now behind us. I can teleport, though I’m so injured and drained that I’ll barely be able to summon a portal just for myself."
"Where will you go?" Geralt asked.
"I don’t know, Geralt," Triss said, her tone tinged with sadness. "For now, I’ll go somewhere peaceful to recover for a few days. After that, I’ll see where fate takes me. And you? Where will you go?"
"I’ll accompany Roche, and then I’ll head to Kaer Morhen."
"Kaer Morhen?" Triss looked at Geralt curiously. "You’re just going to hide?"
"I’ve regained my memory and found out where Yen is," Geralt explained. "She’s imprisoned in Nilfgaard. I’ll go look for her, but it’s a long journey south. I need coins and supplies. Maybe I’ll find some help at Kaer Morhen."
"Yen is alive?" Triss asked, visibly surprised. "I… I didn’t know… and I’m glad you’ve regained your memory."
"The sun will set soon," Roche interrupted. "If you two are going to say goodbye, do it now. There are likely patrols on the roads hunting for sorcerers, and I’d like to reach Redanian camp as soon as possible."
The forest began to darken, and distant sounds of beasts and monsters filled the air. The necrophages had likely caught wind of the feast awaiting them in Loc Muinne.
"You hate portals; I hate goodbyes," Triss said, sadness in her eyes as she looked at Geralt. "I understand that you have to look for Yennefer, but don’t forget about me."
"I’ve cherished the time we spent together," Geralt said as he approached to caress her face. "Thank you for everything. I hope we meet again. Take care of yourself."
Triss gave Geralt one last kiss before turning away, summoning a portal, and disappearing with a burst of energy. The silence grew even more palpable.
"Geralt, we have to keep going," Roche said, placing a hand on Geralt’s shoulder.
The two resumed their walk down the path in silence, both men accustomed to speaking only when necessary. As they neared their destination and the campfires became visible, Geralt asked Roche if he thought Radovid might give him a horse.
"After saving Anais," Roche replied without breaking stride, "I doubt he’d refuse you a horse."
As they approached the camp gate, the guards on duty were informed of their identities and allowed them entry. Once inside, they sought out Radovid, who was in his quarters, seated and silently sipping wine.
"Roche and Geralt," Radovid greeted them, raising his wine glass with a slight flourish. "I thank you for bringing me Anais. Temeria now has a chance to survive as a kingdom. You must be pleased, Roche."
"A chance that diminishes with time, Your Majesty," Roche responded firmly. "Nilfgaard has crossed the Yaruga again. If we don’t act quickly, Temeria will…"
"Roche, all in due time," Radovid interrupted. "I admit that neither I nor anyone else expected Nilfgaard to attack again. It seems Emhyr grows tired of losing."
"Sire, we lack the means to defend ourselves. Demavend, Foltest, and…" Roche hesitated.
"Go ahead, Roche, say it," Radovid said with a smirk.
"Henselt is dead too, and we all know who’s to blame for that," Roche said without hesitation, crossing his arms defiantly.
"He cowardly killed all my men, Your Majesty," Roche added.
"That no longer matters. The real culprits are the damned sorcerers," Radovid said, slamming his goblet onto a table, spilling wine on the floor. "Those bastards are the reason the North is in chaos now."
"Sire," Geralt interjected, "only a few are to blame. Letho revealed them at the summit."
"No, Geralt," Radovid countered, taking a small sip of wine. "I see all of them as equally guilty. Every practitioner of magic is always involved in conspiracies, scheming behind everyone’s backs. That ends now."
Geralt said no more. His experience with royalty had taught him it was never wise to openly disagree with a king. Roche had more to say, but Radovid silenced him with a wave of his hand before finishing the last of his wine.
"I’m exhausted," Radovid declared, rising from his chair. "Tomorrow we embark on a long journey back to Redania, and I’d like to rest well tonight."
"Sire," Geralt said, "I have one request."
"Go on, Witcher," Radovid said. "What do you need? I owe you, after all."
"A horse, Your Majesty."
“Ah, so you’re leaving us, Witcher?” Radovid said as he approached Geralt. “A regrettable piece of news, but very well. What kind of king would I be if I didn’t grant such a simple request to someone who has done such a great favor for Redania and Temeria?”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Geralt replied, bowing his head.
“Just one thing, Witcher,” Radovid said, positioning himself directly in front of Geralt and looking him straight in the eyes. “Be cautious about the company you keep. I know well of your friendship with certain sorceresses, sorceresses I now consider enemies of the Northern Kingdoms. It would be a shame if you were to become an enemy as well.”
“Is that all, Your Majesty?” Geralt asked, showing no hint of fear.
“Yes, that’s all. Tell me, when are you leaving?” Radovid said as he turned and began to walk away slowly.
“Right now, Your Majesty.”
“You must be in quite a hurry to leave under the cover of night.”
“Indeed, Your Majesty. I’m a Witcher; I have no trouble traveling in the dark.”
“Very well, you may leave, Witcher. I’ll have the stable hand provide you with a horse.”
Geralt bid farewell to Radovid and Roche, then made his way to the stable to pick up the horse. It was a plain brown horse, unremarkable except for a modest and simple saddle.
“I have the perfect name for you,” Geralt said, circling the horse as he adjusted the saddle and straps. “Roach. I hope you’ll be a good Roach.”
He gave the horse a gentle pat on the forehead before mounting. Roach neighed softly but behaved calmly. Together, they left the camp, fading into the dark night. Kaer Morhen lay to the north, four days away. Geralt first headed west toward Ban Glean, a city in Kaedwen, where he sought Witcher work to gather supplies for the rest of his journey.
It was a cloudy and damp day in Ban Glean. Raindrops fell sparsely, not enough to soak a person but sufficient to turn the earth into mud. Geralt approached a notice board, dismounting from Roach to examine the papers pinned to the wood. As he read, he overheard the townsfolk speaking anxiously about King Henselt’s death and the rumor that Nilfgaard had launched another invasion. Some dismissed it as mere hearsay, but Geralt ignored their chatter and focused on the notices. They ranged from construction jobs to farming and livestock work, items for sale, personal ads, and women offering their services. None of these interested Geralt. The only notice he took was a contract to hunt giant insects, its location crudely but clearly sketched.
“Greetings, good man,” Geralt said, approaching the issuer of the contract. “Are you the one who posted this notice?”
“Oh, what do we have here?” The man looked Geralt up and down. “Cat eyes and a wolf medallion—a Witcher. I can spot one when I see one. And you... that white hair seems familiar. I believe I’ve seen you before. But never mind that. Have you come about the contract?”
“Yes. What can you tell me about these insects?” Geralt asked, crossing his arms.
“I’m glad a Witcher has finally come. It’s been a month since I posted the contract. Two warriors came by to ask about it, but I never saw them again. Either they got cold feet, or they became food for those insects. About the insects... they’re huge, master Witcher. They’ve taken over a small stream where we used to fish. One day, out of nowhere, while I was fishing with others, these things appeared. I saw one giant creature and two others half its size, but still massive. As I ran for my life, I heard strange noises—likely from the insects—and the screams of my fellow fishermen. Over a dozen of us were there; only four survived the attack.”
Geralt negotiated the reward and was shown a map as crude as the contract sketch, marking the attack site and likely lair of the insects.
The stream was a little over an hour from the city. Geralt left Roach at a safe distance and continued on foot. As he approached, he spotted large endrega eggs attached to birch trunks. He immediately recognized the signs of an arachas and endregas. Unfortunately, he had no potions to bolster his resistance to venom and would have to rely on his reflexes and mutations for protection.
The simplest way to draw out an arachas was to attack the endrega eggs. Unsheathing his silver sword, Geralt moved to destroy them. Before he could strike, he heard movement behind him. Turning quickly, he saw five endregas advancing to defend their nest. Geralt cast the Quen sign, and a magical shield enveloped him. Without hesitation, he sprinted toward the creatures, stopping just short and spinning to his right. His strike severed the legs of one endrega, leaving it to bleed out. The swift move placed Geralt behind the others. With a quick gesture, he cast Igni, setting two of the creatures ablaze.
Two endregas remained. One lunged at Geralt, attempting to bite him, but he dodged swiftly and decapitated it. The last endrega attacked, but Geralt’s Quen shield absorbed the blow, repelling the attack. The creature lunged again, but this time, Geralt was ready. He drove his silver sword between its eyes.
He destroyed the endrega eggs, splitting their shells open to expose the embryos before slicing them with his blade. As he finished with the last egg, the arachas emerged. It was enormous, with six legs and a massive carapace covering its back. Geralt knew frontal attacks were futile; its front was as durable as a shield. He had to get behind it to do any real damage.
The arachas attacked first, spitting a stream of venom. Geralt sidestepped the green liquid, which narrowly missed his left cheek. He remained still, waiting for the arachas to charge. It soon obliged, rushing toward him. The Witcher leapt to the side, evading the attack and landing a slash on its rear. The arachas screeched in pain but retaliated with a powerful blow from one of its legs, striking Geralt in the stomach and knocking the wind out of him.
Catching his breath, Geralt cast Aard, sending a telekinetic blast that threw the arachas off balance. He moved in, evading and parrying its strikes. When the arachas showed signs of fatigue, Geralt cast Igni, scorching its eyes. As it screeched in agony, he seized the opportunity to strike its rear with three quick slashes. Blood gushed from the wounds, and the creature fell silent.
Returning to Ban Glean, Geralt collected his reward from the fisherman, who was overjoyed to resume fishing. The payment covered the supplies Geralt needed to continue his journey. Once ready, he and Roach set out again, venturing into Kaedwen’s dense forests.
***
The sun was at its zenith, and a cold breeze swept through the forests and mountains surrounding Kaer Morhen. Amid the sound of wind and rustling leaves, the rhythmic clash of hammer on anvil dominated the air. Vesemir was at work—or rather, at rest—for he saw blacksmithing as a pastime. Over his more than two centuries of life, he had perfected his craft to the point where he was considered a master.
The ringing of metal suddenly ceased. Vesemir concentrated, his sharp ears catching the sound of a galloping horse. Uncertain of who approached, he grabbed his steel sword and slung it over his back before heading to a castle ledge overlooking the entrance. When he saw a horse approaching with Geralt astride, he merely smiled and waved before opening the gate to allow Geralt and Roach into the fortress.
"Hello, Vesemir," Geralt greeted with a smile. "Good to see you; it’s been a while."
"Geralt! Good to see you, son." Vesemir embraced him for a few seconds. "It has been a while since we split up to search for Salamandra. Triss sent me a letter some time ago saying you found them in Vizima and dealt with them."
"Yes, a lot has happened since then."
"You seem... off," Vesemir said, raising an eyebrow. "Is something wrong? I suppose you've returned to rest."
"No, Vesemir, quite the opposite. You see, I’ve recovered my memory and—"
"Truly?" Vesemir interrupted, excited. "That’s wonderful news! Then tell me, what’s happened to you? But you’ll tell me over a meal."
As they ate at the table, Geralt recounted everything that had occurred: how he returned to the woods near Kaer Morhen without his memory while being pursued by the Wild Hunt, the events in Vizima with the Salamandra crime organization, the incidents at La Valette Castle where he was framed for Foltest’s murder, his pursuit of the kingslayer across Flotsam, Aedirn, and Loc Muinne, the sorcerer massacre, and finally, the news of Nilfgaard starting a new war.
"Dammit, Geralt," Vesemir said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don’t know anyone else who gets into as much trouble as you."
Geralt only smiled faintly, staring at the floor.
"I’m glad you cleared your name," Vesemir continued. "A regicide is never free—they’re hunted until they’re caught and executed. If Nilfgaard has started another war, it means there’ll be plenty of work in the south. Battlefields full of corpses always attract monsters."
"I want to head south," Geralt replied, "but not to hunt monsters. I want to go to Nilfgaard to find Yen."
"Yennefer? Geralt, you know how I feel about that woman. She always brings you trouble. Besides, Nilfgaard is over a month’s ride away. What’s she doing in Nilfgaard anyway?"
"I’ve been told she’s a prisoner of Emhyr. That’s why I came here. I wanted to see if you, Eskel, or Lambert could help me. I need coin and supplies for the journey."
"Then you’re lucky to find me here. Eskel and Lambert are out working; I don’t know when they’ll return. I came back after finding no trace of Salamandra. Instead, I picked up several contracts—hunted a griffin, a leshen, and two groups of nekkers. The pay was good, so I decided to return. As for helping you, of course I will. Though I’m not fond of that sorceress, you have my support."
"Thank you, Vesemir. How much can you lend me?"
"Lend you?" Vesemir laughed. "Geralt, I won’t lend you a single coin. What I will do is accompany you. With what I’ve earned, we have enough for the journey, and we can take on a few contracts along the way. Plus, you can tell me more about the Wild Hunt on the road."
"Thank you, truly." Geralt looked genuinely pleased. "Could we leave as soon as possible?"
"Of course, Wolf. Let’s rest tonight, and at first light, we’ll prepare everything to leave."
"And tell me, Vesemir," Geralt added, "what have you been doing here at the fortress since your return? Repairs, to keep it from crumbling further?"
"No, you see, I’ve found some diagrams for Witcher armor. If I’m not mistaken, these diagrams were completed only days before the attack on the fortress. I’ve managed to finish two sets—mine and yours."
"Really?" Geralt asked, surprised and intrigued.
"Yes, and a few days ago, I started on Lambert’s armor. Though we don’t have the best relationship, he’s still my pupil. I suppose I’ll finish his after we return, then start on Eskel’s."
Vesemir led him to the room where the armor was kept. Inside, there was only a wooden bed with a thin mattress and an old, weathered chest, as if its contents were of little value. The room was dimly lit by the warm glow of the setting sun.
"Go ahead, Geralt. Open the chest," Vesemir said, a faint smile forming on his lips, confident that the armor would impress him.
The Witcher knelt and opened the chest. Its contents contrasted starkly with the decayed exterior. Inside was a gleaming set of armor, the metal catching the soft light of the room. The set consisted of a mail vest sandwiched between two layers of leather, except at the front and back, where the metal was visible. The vest was flexible enough to bend easily yet sturdy enough to protect the torso. Beneath the vest was a steel breastplate covered in dark blue-dyed leather, offering additional chest protection.
The set included six shoulder pieces—three for each side—made of leather reinforced with mail, all designed to be worn over a light gray gambeson. For the legs, there was a pair of dark gray gambeson trousers, tough enough to resist sword cuts as well as monster claws and bites. Finally, there were a pair of durable leather boots and gloves dyed in the same deep blue.
After examining the armor, Geralt turned to Vesemir with a smile. "This is the best armor I’ve ever had. I don’t know how to thank you."
"Just take care of it, as it will take care of you. Go on, try it on. I’ve made sure it’s easy to put on without help. I’ll head to my room and start preparing for our journey."
Vesemir left, and Geralt stayed behind, admiring his new armor. Meanwhile, night fell over the fortress.
Both Witchers rested, and at first light, they woke and prepared for the journey. With their swords, armor, and supplies, they made their way to the courtyard where the horses waited.
"How was your night, Wolf?" Vesemir asked as they walked through the halls of Kaer Morhen. "I hope you rested."
"I did, but something worries me—Ciri. Since I regained my memory, I’ve had several dreams about her. They always start well but end as nightmares that wake me in a sweat."
"Ciri? I think of that rascal sometimes, wondering what’s become of her."
"With her powers, it’s impossible to know where she is. I just hope she’s safe and that I’ll see her again."
"You will, Geralt. You will," Vesemir said reassuringly. "For now, let’s focus on finding Yennefer. Your only clue is that she’s in Nilfgaard, so south we go."
Geralt and Vesemir reached their horses, mounted them, and left the fortress, beginning a long journey.