The Witcher: Serpent School Witcher's Otherworldly Journey

"This price," Kiliam finally spoke, his words slow and deliberate, as if carefully choosing his words, "I heard something similar three years ago in Velen. The village was called Raven's Nest, and the village chief was a one-armed old man. The whole village had fewer than twenty households, and the most valuable thing they had was three laying hens. The price he offered was a water ghost and an Oren."

He paused for a moment, letting the words linger in the air.

"And you, standing before the King of Temuria's camp, offered a price that even the one-armed village chief would be embarrassed to quote."

The attendant's expression shifted, and his lips twitched slightly, but he quickly regained his condescending demeanor. He even took a half-step forward, moving the handkerchief away from his mouth and nose to reveal an over-maintained, unnaturally pale face, with a ring of soft, slightly trembling flesh on his chin.

"Who do you think you're bargaining with?" the attendant's voice shrilled, like fingernails scraping against metal. "You're nothing but a stinking mutant, look at you, all dusty and worn, your armor even reeking of monsters, begging for food on His Majesty's territory! Two water ghosts and an Oren are already a blessing for you."

He poked at the air with his finger adorned with an emerald ring, as if pointing at a disobedient servant.

"Do you know where this is? This is the King's headquarters! Countless honest soldiers in the barracks, those who have shed blood for the King, don't even earn this much a day! And you—" His lips twisted, as if chewing on a disgusting word, "...a mutant, wielding two rusty pieces of metal, dare to interfere with His Majesty's arrangements here?"

The attendant's expression grew increasingly displeased. He was annoyed by the sight of the witcher, and if it weren't for that white-haired witcher clinging to the king, he wouldn't have to live in constant fear.

After thinking it over, he chuckled and used his well-maintained hands, adorned with gemstone rings, to lightly brush away non-existent dust from his embroidered coat, as if his conversation with the Witcher had tainted it.

Kiliam looked into his eyes.

He had seen far too many people like this. They parasitized the body of power, earning fine clothes and prestigious titles by running errands for their masters, and then using this borrowed prestige to bully anyone they considered inferior. They knew nothing of swords, blood, or the taste of death. Their only skill was brandishing others' names from a safe distance, like a crow perched on a lion's carcass, pecking at the flesh, and then showing off its prowess to a passing fox.

In the taxonomy of Witcher, this creature is roughly somewhere between a ghoul and a parasite.

But Kilyam also noticed another detail. When the sergeant said, "A day's pay is less than this much," the young soldier beside him hunched his back slightly, his fingers holding the spear trembled slightly, and his eyes dimmed.

That was the reaction of someone who risked his life every day to fill trenches, upon hearing that his life was put on a price tag.

There was a time when my arms were just like his, thin and covered in scars.

This world really hasn't changed at all, damn it.

Kiriam's gaze turned cold.

“No offense intended,” Giliam’s voice remained calm, but with a metallic, hard quality. “But the money you pay a farmer can only buy a farmer. If you think your life, or His Majesty’s water security, is worth only a few coppers, then I have nothing to say. Perhaps I’ll clean up a few for you on my way out… purely out of respect for the King of Temuria, or to thank this friend for guiding us.”

Shaking his head, Kiriam turned and left. There was no point in talking to this ignorant, arrogant little nobleman. He'd rather try his luck with the quartermaster or go to the nearby villages to see if any unfortunate souls were being harassed by water ghosts. As for whether the attendant had actually reported his request to the king, Kiriam didn't believe a word of it now.

"Wait...wait a minute!"

The soldier suddenly grabbed Kilyam's leather wristband, an action that reminded him of the apprentices in Kaer Morhen who faced ghouls for the first time, afraid yet forced to confront their fear.

"My lord, at least His Majesty should see his eyes!" The young man pointed to the witcher's cat-like vertical pupils, "The exact same feature as the witcher master beside His Majesty..."

[Another Witcher? Could it be Letho? No... he shouldn't be so foolish as to openly approach the king using the identity of a Witcher.]

Kiriam's thoughts raced. Letso always liked to operate in the shadows, like a crocodile in the water; you never knew when he would open his mouth.

He unconsciously glanced behind the squire, at a makeshift wooden building surrounded by numerous knights on patrol. Banners woven with Temerian white lilies fell from the building's height; hmm… they were made of finely knitted cotton and linen, quite expensive but also a good material for starting fires.

If it were me, I would definitely choose fire as the method of assassination. All it takes is a Dragon's Dream bomb, plus a honeycomb bomb, and with just a spark, that wooden house covered in pine resin would instantly turn into a sea of ​​inferno.

High temperatures would incite panic, thick smoke would obscure vision, and chaotic crowds would trample each other. In a half-collapsed, burning building, even the fully armed royal guard would be powerless to save it. Once the fire was extinguished, even the assassin's traces would be burned away completely.

Wait... why am I thinking about regicide like that guy Leto? Could this be a side effect of the mutation drug?

The attendant narrowed his eyes, scanning Kilyam up and down, and when he saw those unusual pupils, he revealed an undisguised look of disgust.

"Insolence!" The attendant's cane slammed heavily against the soldier's greaves, the gilded tip striking the metal with a piercing clang. "Who gave you permission to mention that master?!" The attendant shrieked like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, his fat face jiggling. "Back when that master lifted Princess Yada's curse of the vampire bird, you lowly commoners were still playing with dung balls in the mud! Why can't you learn to be grateful? And..."

The attendant pointed disdainfully at Giliam's thick black hair: "That master is revered as the 'White Wolf'! His hair is as white as snow! Are you blind? Can't you even tell the difference between black and white?"

"Ah..." The soldier carefully examined Kiriam's hair, and found not a single trace of white in his thick, dark hair.

So, there are differences in hair color among Witcher players?

"But...but..."

"There's no 'but' about it!"