Geralt's growing understanding of Novigrad's intricate market dynamics and the mercenary life's harsh realities crystallized into a single, clear vision: to establish a successful and lasting business required three essential pillars — substantial capital, trusted skilled allies, and influential connections within the city's power structures. At the moment, Geralt lacked all three. The city, dense with opportunity yet riddled with perilous rivalries and economic complexity, demanded not just strength and cunning but also careful planning and diplomacy.
With this realization, Geralt decided that embarking on a journey across the Continent to gain broader experience was necessary. But before leaving, he needed a dependable source of income and credibility to seed his future ventures. His eyes fell upon alchemy's lucrative potential—particularly healing potions, always in demand by warriors, merchants, and the common folk alike.
Having acquired the coveted formulas for the Healing Potion and Superior Healing Potion from the Alchemical Store for 100 and 200 Destiny Points respectively, Geralt meticulously gathered the rare and precious ingredients essential to their brewing. Over several days and nights, assisted subtly by his mother Visenna's herbalist expertise, he brewed one hundred vials of each potion, their contents glowing faintly with the promise of swift restoration.
To overcome the suspicion his youth and witcher visage might provoke, Geralt donned an elaborate Disguise Mask, transforming himself into a venerable old druid — weathered robes, a silver-bearded visage carefully painted with ash and pigments, and a measured gait honed to mimic the slow, deliberate movements of a seasoned nature priest. Under this guise, he approached the gates of Novigrad's esteemed Apothecaries' Guild, carrying his precious wares and a carefully crafted story of a druidic healer returning from the wilds.
Within the towering stone walls, Master Alchemist James scrutinized him with a practiced eye. The circling apprentices and guild members murmured with guarded curiosity as Geralt presented his potions, extolling their origins from untouched wildlands and their potent healing properties derived from ancient rites.
Yet despite his eloquent words and humble offers, James's face bore marked skepticism. Novigrad's alchemists had seen charlatans and pretenders aplenty, and trust was not granted lightly. Sensing this, Geralt took decisive action: withdrawing a slender dagger, he carefully nicked the pad of his finger, drawing a thin bead of blood. With practiced calm, he applied a single drop of the Healing Potion, and before the startled eyes of the assembly, the wound sealed visibly and swiftly.
Not satisfied, Geralt made a second shallow cut, this time applying the Superior Healing Potion, which healed the incision with seamless perfection. Gasps escaped the crowd, and James's brow furrowed with impressed surprise.
"By the Eternal Fire," James breathed. "Such potency is rarely witnessed. I will take your entire stock."
Without hesitation, guild apprentices gathered the two hundred vials, their value clear. James pressed a heavy purse of coins into Geralt's hand, the weight of thirty thousand crowns symbolizing opportunity born from skill and nerve.
However, when James inquired about acquiring the precious formulas themselves, Geralt bowed his head with respectful refusal, protecting the secret knowledge that had taken him years to assemble and perfect.
That night, counting coins by candlelight, Geralt felt the weight of the first true capital beneath his fingers — a sum sufficient to fuel future travels, raise skilled allies, and navigate the mercantile and political maelstrom of Novigrad and beyond. This act marked not merely a financial success but a transformation—from wandering witcher to aspiring entrepreneur capable of shaping his destiny through strategy, alliance, and understanding of the intricate dance between power and commerce.
The Pontar River stretched wide and calm beneath a steel-gray sky as the Romeld Company's brigantine slipped quietly out of Novigrad's harbor, laden with precious cargo destined for the distant city of Cintra. The crew moved with practiced efficiency, securing lines and double-checking stores. Geralt stood at the bow, eyes scanning the mist-laden horizon, his senses alert for the faintest hint of danger.
Beside him, Visenna prepared her healing draughts, quietly counseling the apprentices on their use. Eskel sharpened his sword, Jacob adjusted straps on his crossbow, Dick polished the hafts of his blades, and Vicky carefully arranged his potions—each a vital component in the weeks-long journey ahead.
The mission entrusted to them by Vimme Vivaldi was clear: protect the valuable cargo from Novigrad to Cintra and back, ensuring safe delivery without complaint. The incentive was higher than ever—any pirate vessels they captured intact on the return leg would become their prize, adding potential fortune to glory. Geralt knew this voyage would test their limits—not just their martial skill, but their ability to fight on unsteady decks under assault from ruthless foes.
The first leg of the voyage passed with little incident. The river's gentle current pushed them steadily southwards, the landscape unfolding in blurred greens and browns. Patrons on shore watched as the brigantine vanished into the low fog, unaware of the dangers lurking beyond.
Days on board settled into routine—shifts keeping watch, meals shared amid preparations, and Visenna's potions distributed with cautious optimism. Still, Geralt's mind held tight to the knowledge that the true trials lay ahead.
Cintra welcomed them with open arms, the bustling harbor alive with merchants eager to exchange goods. The unloading proceeded swiftly under Geralt's watchful eye, while the crew replenished supplies and rested. The merchants' gratitude was evident, and contracts for the return leg were drawn up with renewed determination.
Geralt and his team used this respite to train, refining their tactics and signs, particularly emphasizing Axii—the mind-affecting witcher power they knew would be pivotal.
As twilight descended on the Pontar's winding waters, the brigantine cut its way homeward, heavy with goods from Cintra—rare furs, enchanted trinkets, and fine weaponry nestled safely below deck.
The air grew tense. Mist swirled, masking shapes on the horizon—dark sails creeping inexorably toward them.
Suddenly, the silence shattered. Thunderous cannon fire rocked the brigantine, splinters spraying as enemy shots struck true. Grappling hooks flew, latching onto railings, and wild cries heralded boarding.
The pirate crews descended like shadows, blades flashing under the moon.
Here, the fight transformed—a deadly waltz on slick planks and heaving decks.
Geralt maintained balance, sword flashing as he deflected and struck. His fingers weaved the copper-scented strands of Axii, turning foes into disoriented stupors, erasing memory of the confrontation.
Eskel fought with brutal precision, his strikes cleaving through armor, while Jacob's bolts found ears and eyes, thinning the enemy ranks. Dick's nimble footwork and sharp blade kept attackers at bay, and Vicky's signs—Quen shields, Igni bursts, and Yrden traps—turned the tide amidst chaos.
Unlike flat ground, the decks pitched and yawed mercilessly, testing every fighter's skill and nerve. A misstep could mean drowning or being crushed beneath rigging ropes.
Pirate reinforcements tried to flank, cutting off escape routes.
Geralt's voice cut through commands. "Hold the center! Protect the cargo hatch!"
He unleashed a potent Aard blast, sending pirates reeling off the side into churning waters below. As some flailed amidst cold waves, others were swept away by swift currents.
Facing a desperate counterstrike from the pirate flagship's captain, Geralt struck quickly—casting Axii mid-duel. The captain's rage melted into confusion; his blade dropped, and he was snatched aside by Eskel's steady hand.
In the turmoil, Geralt extended Axii's reach, sowing hesitation and fear through the pirate ranks. Few could withstand its charm, and nearly half were rendered unable to fight effectively.
The Romeld Company pressed their advantage, seizing masts and boarding pillars, securing the brigantine and enemy sloops alike.
Though victorious, the battle left scars—rigging torn, sails shredded, and exhaustion heavy. The captured pirate crews, subdued both by steel and Axii's mind-warping calm, were restrained and disarmed.
The brigantine, alongside two captured enemy vessels, turned toward Novigrad, their hold rich with spoils.
Vimme Vivaldi welcomed their return as heroes. The captured ships were sold or refitted, funding the Romeld Company's ascendancy.
The merchant guilds renewed contracts, the city's commerce flows safeguarded by the deft blend of martial skill and magical subtlety.
After the fight Geralt used axii to haze the memory of use magic in the fight.With this quest they earn 1000 crowns.