The Witcher: Serpent School Witcher's Otherworldly Journey

"Oh..." Gillian raised an eyebrow slightly. "I think waking up early is a good habit, but Geralt, do you remember when we escorted Yennefer to Cintra? It became Nilfgaardian territory after the Second Northern War."

Geralt's eyes widened, confused as to why Gillian would suddenly bring up Yennefer at this moment. "Of course, Yennefer wrote to me saying she wanted to thank you properly. Please convey her gratitude. Also..."

He paused for a moment, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly. "How are the others?"

Gillian didn't look Geralt in the eye. A wolf's sense of smell was always exceptionally sharp, and he didn't want his gaze to become another clue the other could read. He was silent for a moment, then let out a soft chuckle. "Letho took a job with petrified lizards on the border of Cordwin, paid with two barrels of fine dwarven spirits. As for his scalp... even the goddess Melittiri has probably given up on treating it."

The witchers chuckled knowingly. As the laughter faded into the morning breeze, Kiliam suddenly crushed more of the clumps of mud with his boot heel. "Last month, at the tavern in Tritorg, Serret... because some drunkard called me a 'mutant freak'..."

He raised his hand and made a throat-slitting gesture. "The port authority is now offering a bounty of five hundred Oren for his head."

"Impulsiveness is a traditional virtue of the Serpent School?" Geralt raised one eyebrow.

"It's better than the Wolf School's indiscriminate promiscuity," Kiliam suddenly leaned closer, his serpentine silver chain almost touching the other's wolf head emblem. "Ox is living the high life, gambling Gwent with dwarves in the Mahakan Mountains, and supposedly won a mine."

After catching a whiff of the sorceress's scent mingled with the other person's, he took a half-step back and spread his hands. "But what you should hear most is his new joke—why don't witchers carry torches?"

Geralt pressed his temples, looking as if he already knew it wouldn't be anything pleasant coming up: "Because..."

"Because the sorceress's eyes glow in the dark!"

"...A very lame joke, Kiriam. I hope this isn't something you just thought of."

“Of course not,” Kiliam shrugged. “It was invented by Oakes in that mine in the Mahakam Mountains. He said that telling people about it at a dwarf party would win back a third of their bet.”

"I never had any hope for dwarfs' sense of humor."

"I won't hug you either. So I'll leave this joke to you."

Geralt's gaze drifted for a moment toward Triss's tent, as if to confirm whether she was nearby.

"But it's true... I miss the days I spent traveling with you all. Sometimes I envy the bond between you, Kiriam."

Geralt looked intently into Gillian's eyes. "There aren't many Witchers left alive in the North. I hope we can spend the winter together in Kaer Morhen this year."

As he reached out and pressed down on the other's shoulder armor, Kiriam suddenly turned around and gave a smile.

"Of course! Provided you can shake off those sorceresses!" He waved his arms exaggeratedly, the serpentine silver chain swaying violently in front of his chest with the movement. "If Serrit saw you looking so melancholy, he would definitely beat you into the walls of Kaer Morhen! He would first punch your right rib with his left fist, then knee you in the chin, and finally throw you into that old well with three layers of ice to wake you up."

"Gilliam...you understand," Geralt practically forced out the words. "Triss and I are just friends. Besides, she's the royal advisor to the King of Temeria, which is why we need to discuss the King's safety together."

"Hmm. Friends. But not just ordinary friends, right?"

Geralt turned away awkwardly, not wanting to continue the conversation with Gillian on this topic. He was afraid that before Serret could even beat him up, he would beat Gillian up first.

The other person is always like this; they seem easygoing in front of friends, but in reality, like most people in the Serpent School, they like to keep their secrets to themselves.

Of course, he also has a penchant for being sarcastic.

"Don't blame Triss. Before you came, a sentry claimed to have seen a dragon flowing down the Ponta River. She was just worried that I couldn't handle the job of protecting the king alone, so she wanted you to participate in the work as well."

"You know Geralt, although you have a great poker face, you're not good at lying."

Kiriam turned his head slightly, a faint smile on his lips that no one could decipher.

"If a dragon really did appear in the heart of civilization, those sorcerers who want to cut out every organ from it would be ecstatic. Maybe it's just a pterodactyl. It's not surprising that those ignorant soldiers call any creature with scales and wings a dragon; they can't even tell the difference between a forked-tailed dragon and a petrified lizard."

To some extent, Gillian was right, because Geralt shared the same doubt. And even with an army of sorcerers and two witchers, Geralt didn't believe they could truly withstand a dragon's attack. A single barrage of fire from the sky would set the Temerian soldiers ablaze and thrown into disarray, disrupting the witchers' and sorcerers' counterattack.

"So," Giliam slowed his speech, "your sorceress isn't worried about dragons."

"..."

"She was worried about me."

Geralt did not answer. His silence was an answer in itself.

Kiliam smiled, a smile devoid of malice, not even anger, but rather a sense of detachment that belonged to the Serpent School and was already accustomed to.

“I don’t mind, White Wolf,” he said softly. “Triss is right not to trust people like us. If she did, I’d worry about her future. A sorceress who trusts two Serpent School witchers won’t survive the next winter solstice on Thaned Island.”

"Kiliam..."

"No need for explanation." Giliam waved his hand. "Let's keep going. The king is waiting."

The two walked through the military camp, where a large number of soldiers were already dressed in armor and ready for battle, with lilies of Temeria shining on their chests.

Judging from their high spirits, they didn't feel at all that this was a civil war that shouldn't have happened. A few young men were even humming a tune while sharpening their swords. It was a love poem that Dandelion had sung at the Vizimar court two years ago, with lyrics so vulgar that even the poet himself was embarrassed to sing it in a proper setting.

"Once this battle is over, I will resign from my position as the King's bodyguard," Geralt said, his gaze sweeping over the young faces. "If there are any more signs of the Wild Hunt in Velen, I must go and see."

"Welcome, Geralt."

Kiliam's tone suddenly lost all its sarcasm. He looked at the young people lining up, bowing to their idols, and stuffing letters home into their prayer pamphlets; their faces appeared unusually serene in the morning light.

"Kings always wage wars simply on their own whims, treating the governance of the state like a child's game. Look at these young faces, how many will be lost in this pointless war. Half of them don't even know why Baron La Valéty rebelled, and the other half don't even understand the meaning of the word 'succession.' But they will die in the afternoon's charge, their cause of death written as 'for His Majesty's glory.'"

Gillian didn't say anything more sarcastic; instead, his serious tone surprised Geralt.

"Perhaps you're right, Giliam," Geralt said softly. "I prefer hunting swamp monsters to being a knight. At least swamp monsters never pretend to crawl out of the swamp for some noble reason."

"To rid the people of a scourge?"

"certainly."

"Then you are a knight."

"..."