I'm not a Witcher anymore.

Chapter 155 whosyourdaddy

"You want to become a knight?"

This question was like a whip, striking Henry's taut nerves and causing him to tremble involuntarily.

But he did not back down.

The young man looked up and met Zieg's eyes, which seemed to see right through him. His lips trembled a few times, but finally, as if he had made up his mind, he nodded heavily.

"Yes, Your Highness."

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried the stubbornness of a newborn calf unafraid of tigers.

"I don't want to spend my whole life facing the hearth and anvil. I want to be like the knights in the stories—I want to go out into the world, I want to wield a sword."

Martin's face instantly darkened. He was about to reprimand his son for his delusions when Zieg raised a hand and gently stopped him.

"Knighthood is more than just a title. Since you want to wield a sword, let me see if you are qualified to do so."

He turned to the side and made an "invitation" gesture, the movement elegant and casual: "Show me."

Henry was stunned for a moment, then his eyes lit up with ecstatic joy.

"I—I've practiced!"

He rushed to the corner of the blacksmith's shop and grabbed the thick wooden stick that he had rubbed until it shone.

That was the "long sword" he used to practice with countless afternoons.

Henry gripped the stick, took a deep breath, and assumed the "bull stance" he had stolen from a passing mercenary—though to Zieg, the stance looked crooked, like that of a peasant woman holding a clothesline pole.

"ha!"

With a low growl, Henry began to swing.

Chop, cut, flick.

I must admit, this kid is incredibly strong.

His years of working as a blacksmith had given him considerable arm strength; the wooden stick he swung created a whooshing sound, and if it hit someone, it could definitely break several bones.

But in Zieg's eyes, it was a disastrous performance.

It's full of flaws.

Most fatally, his movements were incredibly wide; the kind of slashing with his arm swung in a complete circle would appear to a true swordsman as if he were opening his chest and shouting, "Come and stab me!"

If this were on a battlefield, Sieg wouldn't even need to draw his sword properly. He could simply flick the tip of his sword forward slightly between his wide, sweeping swings, and the kid would be dead.

Huffing and puffing—

After waving around for a while, Henry's breathing gradually became heavier, and sweat began to bead on his forehead.

It wasn't that he lacked strength, but he simply didn't know how to conserve it. Every time he swung the stick, it was as if he were grabbing a hammer, as if he wanted to smash in all the strength he had.

This kind of fighting style looks fierce, but it won't last long before you exhaust yourself.

Soon, the sound of the stick whistling through the air subsided. Henry gritted his teeth and swung it a few more times, but his movements slowed considerably, and he finally had to stop.

He leaned on a wooden stick with both hands, his chest heaving violently.

But instead of wiping his sweat, Henry immediately looked up at Zieg with anticipation.

Zieg gently shook his head.

This simple action was like a bucket of cold water, instantly extinguishing the flame that had just ignited in Henry's eyes.

"It's all brute force. Your swings are like threshing wheat with a flail, not fighting a person."

"The movement was too exaggerated, exposing his chest and ribs. If you were standing in front of a Cuman scout wielding a scimitar, the outcome would have been decided the instant before your club fell."

Henry's face turned a deep purplish-red.

He lowered his arm in shame, and the wooden stick seemed incredibly heavy in his hand.

Martin sighed deeply, strode forward, and placed his rough hand heavily on his son's shoulder, as if to calm his restless heart.

"Did you hear that, Henry? This is reality."

The blacksmith's voice carried a weariness and vicissitude that only those who have weathered storms possess: "Swordsmanship isn't like those heroic tales you hear. It's neither romantic nor glorious. It means bloodshed, it means rolling in the mud, it means that no matter how strong you are, you can still be killed by a stray arrow from who-knows-where."

Martin turned to Zieg and forced an apologetic smile, but his eyes held a fatherly plea: "Please forgive the child's foolishness, Your Highness. I'm sorry you heard this nonsense."

"This child has lived in the fantasies of a bard since he was a child. I have told him countless times that in this world, being able to stay by the fire, eat a hot meal, and live a peaceful old age is the greatest blessing from God. But he just won't listen."

Zieg did not respond.

He looked into Martin's eyes, which were somewhat cloudy from long hours of work but filled with concern, and felt no blame.

As a father, Martin was right. The battlefield is a meat grinder, and no father wants to watch his son go to his death.

But as a time traveler, Sieg knew very well that Martin was wrong.

The problem isn't the ideas, but the era.

In this chaotic world where people devour each other, having no sword in hand and having a sword but not using it are two different things.

A subtle mix of pity and resolve flashed through Zieg's mind.

He took out a gold coin.

That's not the Grosschen commonly used in Bohemia.

It was a currency from another world—a Novigrad crown coin.

Zieg flicked his thumb.

The gold coin traced an arc through the air, producing a pleasant trembling sound.

"then."

Henry reached out almost instinctively, and the gold coin landed steadily in his palm.

"This is----"

Henry was taken aback.

"If you don't want to spend your whole life staring at that furnace fire, if you're truly prepared to face bloodshed—"

Zig's voice drifted on the wind: "Take it and come find me."

He didn't offer any further explanation and turned to leave the blacksmith's shop.

Haitar quickly followed.

As he passed by Henry, the young servant looked at the gold coin in Henry's hand with a complicated expression.

The two soldiers responsible for guarding him, Hineck and Matos, were, after all, familiar faces who had watched Henry grow up.

As Matos passed by Henry, he gave the hothead a hard pat on the shoulder.

"God bless you, Henry. If you really have to go, then pull yourself together. Don't let Master Martin worry about you."

Hinek paused for a moment and glanced back at Henry.

There was no mockery in his eyes, but rather a sense of helplessness between acquaintances.

"You've never been a well-behaved kid," he shook his head. "Now look what's happened, someone's actually handing you a sword."

Having said that, he didn't try to persuade him any further, but simply hurried to catch up with the Duke.

Only after the four figures disappeared around the corner at the end of the street did the previously frozen air begin to flow again.

Martin looked as if he had aged ten years in an instant.

He turned around and stared intently at his son, who was still standing there blankly; it was the deathly silence before the storm.

Give it to me.

"What?"

Henry looked up, his fingers unconsciously clenching the gold coin.

"Give me that damn gold."

Martin repeated himself, this time his voice devoid of its usual kindness, replaced only by a suffocating severity, "Tomorrow morning, I will return it to the castle steward. And then—you will forget every word that gentleman just said."

Henry cried out as if his tail had been stepped on, "Father, that's Duke Görlitz! He personally invited me to—"

This is God's guidance to me, how could I—”

"Guidelines? Ha!"

Martin strode closer and grabbed Henry's wrist.

"Look me in the eyes, Henry!"

Martin pointed at the gold coin, almost roaring, "What do you think this is? This is toll money to the grave! What does that big shot, living in the clouds, take you for? A passing fancy? A hunting dog to be abandoned on the battlefield?"

"We are blacksmiths, Henry! Our hands are for wielding hammers, not swords!"

"Iron must be forged in the furnace to be molded, and so must people. Stay here, and you'll have hot soup, bread, a roof over your head to shelter you from the wind and rain, and you can marry a good woman and have a few children—that's life! Don't chase after dreams that will burn you to ashes!"

Henry looked at his father's face, contorted with anger and fear, and felt as if the bones in his wrists were about to be crushed.

The light in his eyes flickered amidst his father's roar, as if it would be extinguished at any moment.

But the moment he looked at the gold coin in his palm, it seemed to be silently beckoning to him.

Take this and come find me.

That voice drowned out the father's roar.

"No."

Henry suddenly broke free from his father's grip, clutched the gold coin tightly in his hand, and took a step back.

In those young eyes, the former obedience and fear had vanished, replaced by a raging wildfire.

"Father, my mind is made up."

After leaving the blacksmith's shop, Sieg did not return directly to the castle.

"Matosh".

The soldier following behind quickly stepped forward.

"Yes, Your Highness."

Are there any pharmacies in town?

Matos paused for a moment, then nodded and said, "Yes. There's a pharmacy in town where miners who are injured, or someone with a fever or cough, go to buy herbs and ointments. The owner there also knows a bit about mixing medicines."

Zieg nodded.

"You and Hinek go there and buy all the potion formulas you can find in that apothecary."

He paused, then added, "The same goes for herbs. Bring everything that's available at the apothecary back to the castle."

Matos and Hinek exchanged a glance, both seeing a hint of surprise in each other's eyes.

But Matos immediately bowed his head in agreement.

"Yes, Your Highness."

Zig reached for the money pouch at his waist.

Seeing this, Matos quickly spoke up to stop him: "Your Highness, there's no need for you to pay in person."

Zig looked at him.

Matos explained, "The castle's purchases are all accounted for, and the steward settles the accounts at the end of the month. The apothecary also supplies medicine to the castle and the mining area on a regular basis, and these things can be recorded in Lord Radji's account."

He then realized that his words might have been offensive, so he quickly added, "Of course, I will make His Highness's instructions clear and make sure they bring out the best goods and dare not tamper with them."

""

After saluting Zig, the two soldiers quickly headed away towards the town.

Sieg then took Hightower back to the castle, directly to the room Radji had arranged for him.

The fireplace in the room was still burning, and the embers crackled softly in the hearth.

Zig sat down at the table and waited quietly.

Not long after, heavy footsteps could be heard outside the corridor.

There was a knock on the door.

"Your Highness, it's us."

"Come in."

The door was pushed open, and Matos and Hinek walked in one after the other.

Both of them had a slight bitter smell of herbs and the scent of earth on them, clearly indicating that they had just returned from the town's pharmacy.

Matos carried a bulging burlap sack on his shoulder and held a small wooden box in his arms. Hinek, on the other hand, carried a burlap sack in each hand.

The three burlap sacks made a dull thud when they were placed on the ground.

The small wooden box was carefully placed on the table by Matos.

"Your Highness, everything you can buy at the apothecary is here," Matos said. "Chamomile, sage, dandelion, calendula, white chrysanthemum, ginger, elderberry leaves, poppy, and comfrey—all in the sacks. The potion formulas are in the boxes."

A strong herbal scent wafted from the gaps in the linen, which, when mixed together, didn't smell pleasant, but it gave people a strange sense of peace.

This is something that can truly save lives on the battlefield.

"Thanks for your hard work."

The two soldiers immediately lowered their heads.

"It is our duty, Your Highness."

Zieg then ordered them to fetch some spirits and wine. After the items were delivered, he told them to retire and rest with Haitar.

Once he was alone in the room, Zig opened the small wooden box first.

Several rolls of parchment were neatly arranged inside the box.

Each roll of parchment was tied with a thin rope, and a rough wooden tag with the name of the medicine was hung next to the knot.

Zieg picked up the first roll of parchment and unfolded it.

The handwriting wasn't pretty, it was even rather messy, but the steps were written very clearly.

From the amount of herbs to the order of grinding them and the boiling time, everything was listed out in detail.

Zig looked through them all and found that although there weren't many of these potion formulas, they were all practical.

A "chamomile medicine formula" that allows wounded soldiers to recover from injuries faster while they sleep.

The "Water of Life" formula can slow down bleeding.

A "fever-reducing medication formula" that can relieve fever and related symptoms.

A "pain reliever formula" that can alleviate pain and help wounded soldiers get through the most difficult period.

And most importantly, there is the "calendula herbal formula" which can promote wound healing and restore strength after blood loss.

Zieg read through all the recipes one by one.

He memorized every name, every herb, and every step of the preparation process.

The moment the last parchment was laid down, the book of adventure deep within my mind quietly began to turn.

The words appeared on the pages of the book.

"Hint: Your current alchemy level is insufficient."

"As your alchemy level increases, you can try fusing local potion recipes with the Witcher potion system."

Zieg looked at the line of text without showing any disappointment.

He put away the parchment, opened one of the burlap sacks, took out several herbs from the sack, and laid them out in order.

He then took out alchemical equipment from the Book of Adventure.

He lowered his eyes and began to prepare the first dose of "calendula medicine".

The next morning, just as the sunlight rose above the towers of Skalitz Castle, the heavy iron ring on Zieg's door was knocked.

Meanwhile, Zieg was standing in front of the fireplace inside the house.

The embers inside the furnace were moved to one spot, where a small crucible rested on a tripod, alongside a mortar, spoon, and some empty medicine bottles. The medicinal liquid churned slowly in the crucible, the bitter aroma of herbs mingling with the scent of the embers, filling the room.

He poured the ground marigold flowers into the pot.

When he heard the knock on the door, he didn't even turn his head: "What is it?"

"It's Henry, the boy from the blacksmith's shop yesterday," Hinek reported through the door. "He's here."

The medicinal liquid in the crucible was finally boiled down.

Zieg used an iron hook to remove the small crucible from the tripod and set it aside.

Only when the liquid stopped bubbling and only wisps of steam rose from the surface did he take a fine cloth and filter out the herbal residue.

He then poured the warm medicine into several narrow-necked medicine bottles, and sealed the bottle openings with corks.

After doing all that, he said, "Bring him in."

A moment later, the wooden door was pushed open, and Henry was led in.

He stood by the door, his hands awkwardly clasped together, as if he didn't even know where to put them.

"Come in," Sieg glanced at him. "You can't become a knight by standing outside the door."

Henry tensed up, as if his secret had been exposed.

He took a deep breath, stepped into the house, and knelt on one knee before Zieg. The movement was clumsy, even somewhat stiff, but it was the most solemn gesture he could muster.

"Your Highness," his voice was hoarse with nervousness, "please give me a chance to follow you."

The only sound inside was the crackling of the fireplace.

This silence made Henry's throat tighten.

"I know I am just the son of a blacksmith, without coat of arms or a distinguished family name. I dare not hope to stand by your side like a nobleman's son from the beginning."

"But I can learn. To care for warhorses, to sharpen armor, to organize packs, to keep watch, to relay orders—I'm willing to do anything if you're willing to take me in."

His fingers clenched the hem of his clothes.

"I only ask that you give me a chance to wield a sword."

Zieg gazed at Henry, a complex mix of emotions welling up within him.

Through the young man's still somewhat immature face, he seemed to see a soul struggling in suffering.

The inferno in Skarlitz, the agonizing cries of parents dying by the sword, the tumultuous escape, and the swordsmanship honed through countless brushes with death—

Suffering is indeed a crucible for the strong, but if given a choice, who would willingly wallow in purgatory?

Now that I'm here, I don't mind letting this future Bohemian swordsman shed a few less liters of blood.

"Get up," Zieg said. "I give my permission."

Henry's back stiffened abruptly, then trembled violently.

He looked up in disbelief, his eyes instantly welling up with tears of excitement.

"Your Highness—you—you're serious?"

"I don't like to repeat myself." Sieg turned and walked to the basin of water by the window, slowly washing his fingers. "From this moment on, you are my servant."

"Yes, Your Highness!"

Henry stood up excitedly, his face beaming with the ecstasy of someone who felt like they owned the whole world.

Looking at that smiling face without a trace of gloom, Zieg suddenly asked.

"Did Master Martin agree?"

Henry's smile froze on his lips, his eyes flickered, but he quickly forced a smile again: "He—Father will understand."

Zieg didn't press the matter, but simply gave him a meaningful look.

He certainly knew what the sword master who could dismount a Cuman heavy cavalryman with a single sword strike was thinking.

In the original story, Martin refused to let Henry touch a sword even until his death, just to keep his son away from the cruelty of war.

Unfortunately, in such chaotic times, who can remain unscathed?

Since Martin can't bring himself to do it, then he'll be the one to set the fire that pushed him out the door.

"Perfect timing, there's something I need you to do."

Zig looked out the window.

At the edge of the horizon, the rolling hills and dark woodlands of the north intertwine.

Within that oppressive dark green, wisps of faint gray smoke could be seen slowly rising.

That was the smoke signal sent back from the beacon towers set up by Radji's men.

"Come with me."

Zieg straightened his collar and strode out of the room with Henry.

In the corridor outside the door, Haitar was standing guard.

When the young servant saw Henry follow Zieg out, his gaze visibly paused for a moment.

He looked Henry up and down, his eyes filled with scrutiny and a hint of subtle criticism.

This blacksmith boy, reeking of furnace ash, didn't seem like the kind of person who could follow His Highness the Duke.

But since it was His Highness's decision, Hightoar didn't say anything more, but simply went into the room and started tidying up for Sieg.

Hinek and Matos's reactions were much more direct.

Matos grinned and patted Henry on the shoulder forcefully.

"Stand up straight, don't embarrass Master Martin."

Hinek also glanced at Henry.

"From today onwards, you're no longer that lazy kid in the blacksmith's shop."

"Remember who you are, and remember who gave you this opportunity."

Henry pursed his lips and nodded vigorously.

Zieg didn't turn around, but simply said, "Let's go."

As the group climbed the city wall, Lord Radji Kobila, the burgher of Skarlitz, was already standing by the battlements.

Despite the dark circles under his eyes from a sleepless night, his spirit exuded a sense of excitement before battle.

Upon seeing Zig walk onto the city wall, Radji immediately stepped forward, placed his right hand on his chest, and performed an impeccable salute.

"Your Highness, the three beacon posts—High Ridge, Black Pine Forest, and Cliffside—are all in place. I have assigned three elite scouts to each post and left ample firewood and grease."

Radji paused here, his tone becoming more pragmatic and experienced: "Furthermore, I've left each of them a fast horse. Once the smoke rises, they can immediately retreat to the castle instead of staying put and dying in vain."

"Lord Radji, you've gone to great lengths." Sieg smiled and nodded in acknowledgment, his gaze sweeping over the faintly visible column of smoke in the distance, his tone one of sincere praise, "Speed ​​is of the essence in war, and your execution is truly impressive."

"This is all thanks to Your Highness's foresight," Radji said humbly.

Just as he straightened up, preparing to continue reporting on the details of the city's defenses, his self-glow passed over Zig's shoulder and unexpectedly collided with a young, awkward, yet energetic face.

Radji's words came to an abrupt halt.

-

For a fleeting moment, a barely perceptible look of surprise crossed the composed Burke's face.

"This is—"

"My new squire, Henry."

Radji's pupils contracted slightly.

As a burger in Skarlitz, he certainly recognized the young man. But this was not only because the blacksmith Martin was his most trusted master craftsman, but also because—in Henry's eyes and brows, there was a faint resemblance to his younger self.

That was a mistake Radji made when he was young, an old relationship that could not cross the class divide and was destined never to be made public.

To preserve the woman's reputation, he could only watch Martin become the nominal father, while he himself could only remain a generous but distant lord behind the child.

Radji opened his mouth, but swallowed back the half-spoken polite words that were about to come out.

In fact, in his plan, when Henry was a few years older and more sensible, he would find a reason to bring the boy into the castle, first as a servant, and then teach him swordsmanship.

Finally—perhaps on his deathbed—he could plead with the king for the child's sake. Even if he couldn't rightfully inherit the Kobila name, and certainly couldn't take over a royal silver mining town like Skarlitz, at least he could give him a knighthood and a respectable future.

But he never expected that this day would come so soon, and in such a way.

Looking at Henry standing behind Zieg, trying to straighten his chest, Radji felt a mix of emotions.

Following this "Your Highness," who has royal blood and whom even the king treats with deference—this child's future might be more secure than the path I originally planned.

After that moment of distraction, the complex emotions in Radji's eyes receded like the tide, replaced by a sense of relief, and even a hint of secret gratitude.

He gave Zieg a deep look, as if to remember this silent kindness, before turning his gaze to the young man whose palms were sweating with nervousness.

"So he's Martin's son."

Radji's voice returned to calm, even carrying a hint of the gentleness and authority characteristic of an elder.

"Fate rarely knocks on the same door twice. Now that His Highness has given you this opportunity, be as resilient as steel after it has been tempered. My child, make your father proud."

"Yes, Lord Radji!"

Henry, his face flushed with excitement, responded loudly.

Radji took one last deep look at the boy who shared his blood, then turned around and faced Sieg again.

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