Chapter 1: Nord Awakens!
"Roach, ah! Roach!!"
Ryan cried out, his hands clawing wildly at the empty air. The shock of a cool breeze hit him, and he realized with a gasp that it was only a dream.
But the dream had been far too real. Even now, the golden dragon-shadow battling the four-armed giant was searing itself into his memory.
Then, the hand he was using to wipe his eyes froze: beneath him was not the worn-out mattress that should have been scrapped long ago, but a thick cloak spread out on the riverbank sand.
"Bad dream?"
Ryan turned towards the voice. It was a middle-aged man. Silhouetted against the light, his face was unclear, but the twin swords strapped to his back suggested a martial profession… hmm, or perhaps a sorcerer.
Ryan's gaze shifted from the man's hand which was currently sputtering tiny flames and he gained some measure of understanding regarding his predicament.
He had clearly transmigrated into a world of sword and magic. And judging by the man's sparse, simple luggage, the prevalence of magic must be quite high.
The older man, oblivious to Ryan's thoughts, simply assumed he was spacing out and chuckled softly:
"What, did the fever fry your brain so badly you don't even recognize your own mentor? Still want to be a Witcher?"
Another new term. Ryan blurted out:
"A Witcher? What is that? A mage who fights with blades?"
The middle-aged man shook his head:
"Witchers are beings who protect humanity from monsters; we are not high-and-mighty mages. Our reliance is not on swords or on magic, but on knowledge.
"If you've changed your mind, you can just leave. No need to pull this amnesia charade."
The other man sounded mildly irritated, and Ryan quickly apologized:
"I apologize, but I really have lost my memory. I don't know who you are, I don't know where this is, and I don't even know my own name."
Leaving was out of the question they were in the desolate wilderness, without a soul or a settlement in sight. As for the amnesia transmigrating without inheriting the previous host's memories certainly counted.
Still, this middle-aged man seemed powerful yet approachable. He looked like a solid anchor worth clinging to.
Speaking of which, how exactly did I cross over?
The burning building, the screaming child, the broken railing, the panicked crowd, and the ground rushing up to meet him.
Ah, right. He had gone to clear his head after the college exams, stumbled upon a mall fire, instinctually grabbed a child who'd gotten separated, and ended up falling to his death while climbing down a broken railing.
What rotten luck. The four most enjoyable years of his life were just about to begin, and he'd been forced to re-roll.
The middle-aged man suddenly stepped closer, addressing Ryan:
"Kolgrim, a Witcher of the School of the Viper. This is the heart of Temeria. You are Arthur Dayne.
"So, do you still intend to become a Witcher?"
As Kolgrim spoke, his eyes flashed, reflecting the light like a cat's.
Ryan or rather, Arthur felt a faint buzzing sound near his head, like an insect, but when he listened closely, there was nothing.
He fought to push the extraneous thoughts away:
"Um, is the profession of a Witcher... dangerous?"
Kolgrim gave a silent, humorless smile, taking a small step back. A face crosshatched with scars swam into Ryan's view:
"See these scars? The one over my left eye was torn by a necrophage. The one on my forehead is a griffin's masterpiece. And this one here? That's where a fire elemental gave me a little kiss…"
He looked at the slightly rigid Arthur and added with a grim laugh:
"If you hadn't lost your memory, you'd certainly remember the old saying no Witcher dies in his own bed."
Arthur involuntarily swallowed a mouthful of spit, but adhering to the principle of keeping the conversation alive, he pointed to the cloak on the ground:
"I thought that just meant you guys always camp outdoors…"
"Hahahaha!"
Kolgrim burst into a great laugh, yet his facial expression barely changed:
"That's an excellent mindset. I'm convinced now, lad you're a natural-born Witcher!
"Come on, let's go. If you don't want to keep sleeping rough, we need to move. It's a long walk today before we find an inn."
They followed the road until the sun began to sink in the west, finally spotting a fork. The wooden signpost pointed to two destinations: [Vizima] and [White Orchard].
"Aren't we going to Vizima?"
Seeing Kolgrim lift his leg and head towards the sign reading White Orchard, Arthur asked, unable to hide his self-interest.
The name 'White Orchard' sounded like some farmer's getaway; the city-like name of Vizima was far more appealing. Any fool could tell that a city offered better prospects!
Kolgrim didn't look back: "Vizima is still fifty leagues from here. White Orchard is just ahead."
Arthur dropped the subject. After walking all day, his feet were nearly numb.
Rounding a small hill, Kolgrim pointed into the distance:
"There. That's White Orchard."
It was a small village. The river in front of it was calm, reflecting the sky like a mirror. Farmers crossed the bridge, their elongated shadows mingling with the inverted image of the castle high up on the hill.
Kolgrim pulled his cowl over his head to shadow his face and tossed Arthur a small pouch heavy with copper coins: "The villagers aren't too fond of Witchers. You handle the negotiation with them."
"Alright…"
Arthur caught the pouch, a flicker of emotion in his heart. A Witcher's face was indeed frightening, but none of those scars were earned from petty brawls or villainy. By the logic of his previous life, every scar was a medal of honor.
Yet, judging by Kolgrim's tone, Witchers weren't exactly well-regarded?
Arthur voiced his confusion, and Kolgrim sighed:
"Prejudice in a man's heart is a mountain, and there are always those who stack the stones higher.
"But don't be nervous, and there's no need to lie about my identity. I just want you to take the lead to save time.
"Heh, honestly, ever since that white-haired lad from the Wolf School dealt with the princess's curse, our kind has been getting by reasonably well in Temeria."
Arthur nodded, though still unconvinced. He took a deep breath, and flashing a brilliant smile at the first villager who looked their way, he called out:
"Greetings! It's truly a pleasure to see such a beautiful village after a long day of travel. But seeing respectable gentlemen like yourself here makes it as comforting as drinking a mug of ale. You wouldn't happen to know where the tavern is, would you?"
His voice was warm and resonant, and the tension on every face along the street seemed to soften. The farmer beamed, showing his back teeth:
"Ha! You've got good sense, lad. Everyone in White Orchard gives Walker a thumbs-up.
"But you don't need to waste coin on an inn! My place is spacious enough. We have plenty of room for both of you…"
Arthur felt a light tap on his calf Kolgrim's subtle signal and regretfully declined:
"Ah, my companion and I have been walking all day. We were actually hoping to find a good gentleman to chat with over a light beer. Would you do me the honor?"
Walker laughed heartily:
"You're a charming young man. You've brightened my day. But I've got some chores to deal with, so I won't hold you up.
"The landlady at the White Orchard Tavern is a real looker, and she's single, too. Use that smooth talk on her, and you might get a pleasant surprise, eh?"
The moment Walker turned his back, several lines of translucent text suddenly appeared floating behind him:
[Name: Arthur Dayne]
[Bloodline: Nord (Common), Affinity 10/100]
[Your Oratory Proficiency has been upgraded to Apprentice. You can now gain favor by gifting items.]
After Walker departed, the text continued to hover in the air, yet none of the surrounding villagers reacted only he could see these words!
Half a minute later, the text slowly dissipated. Arthur pressed the corners of his mouth to contain a smile and walked steadily toward the tavern.
He was beginning to like this world.
(Note: For readers familiar with The Witcher 3, you've likely noticed the timeline inconsistency. I tried many ways, but couldn't avoid it. The year 1263 is crucial, and forcing a strict timeline match would make the story too drawn-out.)