After hearing the witcher's demands for compensation, he merely frowned slightly before saying:
"It's not about taming, Mr. Guilliman."
"If you want beasts to help you fight, you must treat them as friends, as companions, as family."
"It's not about ordering them what to do, but asking them for their help."
The old druid was clearly the type who advocated for harmony between humans and nature. After rambling on about some druidic tenets, he continued:
"Becoming companions with ordinary animals is relatively simple."
"Our druidic sect has a recipe that can enhance the spirituality of beasts, making them more intelligent and more willing to be close to those who feed them."
"As long as they are raised from infancy, they will treat their feeder as family, as a companion."
"They will naturally help their feeder in battle."
At this point, the old druid paused for a few seconds, then added:
"However, pterodactyls are different from ordinary beasts. Due to the influence of Chaos magic, they are inherently more ferocious and aggressive. Besides their own kind, they will attack almost any other species that approaches them."
"Pterodactyls born in the wild are very difficult to communicate with."
"These juvenile pterodactyls are ones I started experimenting with raising a few years ago."
"Although their wildness and aggression have been significantly reduced, because they were hatched and raised from the egg stage, they lacked training from a mother beast, so these juvenile pterodactyls still haven't learned to fly."
"Having already passed the infant stage, they probably won't be able to learn to fly in the future."
"Hmm, I consider this experiment a failure."
Saying this, the old druid stroked his beard and sighed, seemingly a bit frustrated by the failure.
He looked at the witcher.
His peaceful and serene eyes seemed to see through the witcher's desires.
The old druid reached for the belt behind him, pulled out a pouch sewn from animal hide, and said:
"That recipe is a secret of the druidic sect, I cannot tell you."
"However, the pills in this pouch are enough for a year. If you help me solve that problem, I will give you this pouch."
"Later, when you run out of pills, you can come back to me for more."
"I will always be here."
After hearing the old druid's words, Guilliman was a bit disappointed.
If a pterodactyl can't fly, what's the difference between it and a crocodile? They're both just lizards on the ground.
However, he had a change of thought.
Pterodactyls without a mother beast to teach them are indeed difficult to train to fly, but what if he raised a small griffin and then found a raptor like an eagle to teach it to fly? Would that work?
Anyway, it was just a simple task, and getting such a reward was already lucky. What more was there to say?
As for griffins...
Aren't there a pair of griffins in White Orchard?
The Nilfgaardians haven't attacked yet, so he just didn't know if that pair of griffins had laid eggs. He could look forward to it.
If they laid a clutch of several griffin eggs, that would be even better.
He readily accepted the old druid's commission, and then his gaze involuntarily drifted towards the naked, curvaceous dryad beauty behind him.
Business was concluded; it was time for the after-party.
The old druid's personality was quite straightforward, not one for beating around the bush, so Guilliman didn't bother to pretend and directly asked:
"Mr. Samoyegg, what's the story with that dryad behind you?"
"Does she also belong to your druidic sect?"
The old druid shook his head and said:
"Her name is Yibuer, and she is a wandering dryad, said to be from Brokilon, the Dryad Kingdom."
"Last year, I found her injured in the forest, so I took her in."
"Alright, you can talk to her yourself if you have anything to say."
"It's time for the daily prayer to the Sacred Oak. You are free to move around in this Druid's Circle; the life here will not harm you."
The old druid was truly decisive. Perhaps there were no valuable items in this Druid's Circle, nothing worth stealing.
After saying this, he turned directly and walked towards the giant Sacred Oak, then closed his eyes, knelt before the Sacred Oak, and prayed softly, no longer paying attention to his surroundings.
The witcher didn't mind his somewhat impolite attitude; on the contrary, he felt more relaxed without the old druid, that big lightbulb, around.
He walked up to the dryad beauty and saw that she, too, had relaxed her guard due to the old druid's attitude, no longer looking at him as an enemy.
So he said:
"Hello, Yibuer."
"I am a witcher. Do you know what that is?"
Yibuer also seemed to be a young girl who had little contact with other races, with innocent, somewhat bewildered eyes, inexperienced in the ways of the world.
She nodded, standing tall and straight before the witcher. As her head moved, the two mounds on her chest quivered slightly, showing no shyness about her uncovered body.
"When I was young, a witcher named Geralt of Rivia once visited Brokilon, which is our Dryad Kingdom."
"At that time, our Queen had people take care of him, and several of our people said that witchers are powerful warriors, much stronger than ordinary humans."
Powerful warriors? Is that the impression?
Guilliman's lips curled into a smile as he looked at the dryad beauty, like a big bad wolf looking at a little lamb.
He shamelessly said with a smile:
"That's right, our witcher bodies are several times stronger than ordinary humans, and every witcher is a master swordsman, very good at solving problems for others."
"And I, Yibuer, you can call me Mr. Guilliman."
"Even among many witchers, I am a very powerful one."
He took a step closer to the beautiful girl, catching a faint grassy fragrance from this pale green-skinned beauty.
Her subtle lip color, delicate nose, and the fragrant breath exhaled from her mouth, like oxygen produced by photosynthesis, smelled comforting and refreshing.
She was a woman who had spent decades without clothes, living in the wilderness, yet the dryad girl's skin was indeed as smooth and tender as a child's, emitting a faint luster, looking like matcha pudding, giving one an urge to take a bite.
Such a delicious beauty was right before him, and she seemed innocent and easy to talk to.
"Yibuer, I heard that after dryads reach adulthood, they choose powerful men to reproduce with."
"What do you think of me? I am definitely the strongest man you have ever seen."
"Stronger than Geralt of Rivia, whom you've heard of."
"If you choose me, you will definitely give birth to a strong and healthy offspring."
Guilliman made no mention of witchers' inability to procreate. He believed that this seemingly young dryad girl in front of him probably wasn't aware of that fact.
Moreover, as a Perfect Witcher, he wasn't infertile like other witchers; it was just that the conditions for reproduction were a bit stringent.
Besides, he wasn't lying.
If any woman could bear his child, then his next generation would naturally also be Perfect Witchers.
They wouldn't need to undergo the dangerous witcher mutations and could inherit many talents of a Perfect Witcher, absolutely strong and healthy offspring, practically a 'heavenly start' in life.
However, he also wasn't willing to have children at this time, which was why the women he had been with hadn't become pregnant.
But what's wrong with a little more practice?
Everything was for glorious evolution!