Chapter 3: The First Witcher Returns
The desert wind howled across the rocky outcrop where Daenerys' camp had settled, carrying the scent of dust and blood. The tents stood stark against the jagged stones, their edges frayed by the relentless gusts. Adam stood in a clearing, his silver sword flashing as he carved through a practice dummy, its straw guts spilling onto the sand. His HUD glowed: [SYSTEM: LEVEL 4, 210K GOLD. NEW QUEST: HUNT MANTICORE.] The camp buzzed with activity, Daenerys' dragons growing louder, their screeches echoing off the rocks like a warning. Today, Tomas, his first Witcher candidate, would return from the Witcher world. Adam sheathed his blade, anticipation tingling in his chest like a shot of adrenaline. Let's see if the kid's got what it takes.
The portal shimmered, a blue rift tearing open the air, spitting out a lean figure in Witcher armor, its leather etched with faint runes that caught the sunlight. Tomas stood tall, a steel sword at his hip, his eyes sharp with newfound confidence, his posture steady despite the desert heat. "Boss!" he called, tossing a Gwent card—Ciri—that glowed in Adam's HUD, its edges shimmering. "Not dead, and I brought you this." [SYSTEM: WITCHER CREATION SUCCESS. TOMAS: AARD, IGNI, LOYAL.] Adam grinned, clapping Tomas on the shoulder, the leather creaking under his hand. "Nice gear, kid. You die yet?" Tomas smirked, drawing his sword, its blade glinting. "Wanna test me?"
They sparred in the clearing, blades clashing in a blur of steel, the ring of metal echoing through the camp. Adam's Aard sent a gust that staggered Tomas, kicking up a cloud of dust, but the boy countered with Igni, a burst of flame scorching the air, its heat grazing Adam's cheek. Adam dodged, laughing, his boots sliding in the sand. "Not bad, kid, but can you beat my deck?" They sat by a fire as the sun dipped low, its orange glow painting the rocks. Adam's Geralt card trumped Tomas' Scoia'tael in a tense Gwent match, the cards glowing faintly on the makeshift table of crates. [SYSTEM: +1 RARE CARD: CIRI.] "Nice haul," Adam said, pocketing the card, its weight satisfying in his inventory. "Now, let's hunt."
The Monsters Book glowed in his HUD, detailing the manticore: Venomous tail, weak to silver and fire. Prefers dark caves. Adam opened his alchemy table, the mental grid humming, and mixed wildfire traces with desert roots, their acrid scent stinging his nose. A Grapeshot Bomb materialized, its casing heavy in his hand. "Blow it up, Tomas, but don't singe yourself," he said, tossing it over. Daenerys approached, her dragons trailing her, their claws clicking on the stones. "Your apprentice?" she asked, her voice curious, her violet eyes scanning Tomas. Adam nodded, his grin wide. "First of many. My crew's gonna make your dragons look tame." Her smile was cautious but warm, a spark of trust in her gaze. "What's your goal, Adam?" she asked, her voice soft but probing. He leaned back, twirling his sword. "Save you, build an army, take naps. Simple."
Tomas' POV: The manticore's lair reeked of decay, its stone walls slick with moisture, the air thick and oppressive. Tomas gripped his silver sword, its blade gleaming in the dim light filtering through cracks above. The bomb weighed heavy in his pouch, its surface cool against his fingers. The manticore lunged, its claws raking stone, its venomous tail whipping like a scorpion's sting. Tomas rolled, his heart pounding, and cast Igni, flames scorching the beast's flank, the heat searing his skin. The bomb exploded, shattering its armor with a deafening blast, shrapnel pinging off the walls. Adam's voice echoed: "Finish it, kid!" Tomas struck, silver biting deep into the manticore's hide, its roar fading to a gurgle. He looted its venomous tail, his hands steady despite the adrenaline. Boss was right—this is living.
Back at camp, Adam's prank itch flared. He cast Axii on Jorah, who was polishing his sword with a grim expression, his hands methodical. Jorah froze, then began singing a bawdy tavern song, his voice off-key but loud, his boots scuffing the sand. The Dothraki roared with laughter, their voices echoing, and Daenerys stifled a giggle, her hand over her mouth. Jorah's face reddened as the spell faded, his eyes blazing. "You'll regret that," he growled, his voice low. Adam shrugged, grinning. "Lighten up, Ser Frowns. You're scaring the dragons." [SYSTEM: LEVEL 5. UNLOCKED: ROACH'S SOUL.] Adam whistled, testing it on a nearby horse. It trotted over, nuzzling him, its minor wounds healing slowly, its eyes glowing faintly. "Well, damn," he muttered, patting its flank. "Drogon's next."
Adam sold the manticore claws to a system NPC trader, the man's cloak glowing faintly, his hands quick as he counted coins. [SYSTEM: +5K GOLD.] Tomas stood taller, his loyalty unshakable, his sword gleaming at his hip. Daenerys watched from a distance, her trust in Adam deepening, her dragons chirping softly. One Witcher down, 99 to go, Adam thought, his grin widening as he leaned against a tent, the stars bright above. This is gonna be fun. The camp settled, the fire crackling, and Adam sipped wine, his mind buzzing with plans—more Witchers, more hunts, and maybe a prank or two to keep things lively.