Chapter 203: Start Working
The morning breeze flew through the pond and brushed across the witchers’ pale faces, reinvigorating them with a cool kiss. Letho and Roy were standing outside the blacksmith shop, enjoying their grilled fish. The moat on their left flowed quietly, and the clean, wide streets before them were filled with citizens who were hurrying to the marketplace for the day’s errands.
The door of the blacksmith shop behind them was ajar, and not a sound came from within. Berengar had a hangover after having so many drinks with Letho the night before, but he woke up three hours later, when dawn was just about to crack. He wobbled across the streets with the help of the witchers and rented the blacksmith shop by the riverside.
Berengar—despite looking drunk—started to work. He emphasized on the importance of a quiet blacksmithing environment and chased the assistants out of the shop.
“Can we trust this guy?” Roy would still cringe when he thought about the amount of money they spent.
“Enough, kid,” Letho snapped. “Berengar is not your regular blacksmith. He’s a master blacksmith. He could work for a noble if he wanted to, and it’s already kind enough that he’s helping us out with this. His price and weird behavior are no problem at all. People like him have their own little quirks. Show some respect for him.”
“Are you sure you’re not exaggerating?” Roy thought master blacksmiths were worth nothing, but that was only because he met dwarves, who were all blacksmiths.
“Of course.” Letho explained, “Effort and experience don’t mean anything when it comes to things like this. Talent is important too. Talented blacksmiths are born with supernatural instincts, and they can fine tune a lot of details in ways most people can’t. They can make better weapons thanks to that, and that’s something people without talent can’t do.”
“So you’re saying you don’t have the talent to be a master blacksmith then? You worked on this for more than eighty years, after all.” Letho shot him a look, and Roy quickly said, “Alright, I was joking. If Berengar could live the life of a noble, why’d he choose to live on the streets?”
“Because he used to be a witcher.” Letho looked up, and the sun was rising through the horizon, sprinkling its warmth to the land. “He might not admit it, but he’s more inclined to the life of a vagrant. Or maybe the nobles just don’t like him.”
A yellow flame the size of a petal leapt between Roy’s fingers as if by magic. The flame was not hot. In fact, it was cooler than most fires used in magic tricks. All it could do was light cigarettes. This was a kind of magical training Roy came up with after he awakened his Elder Blood. Five points of mana was enough to last him fifteen minutes, and it yielded better results than casting signs all day. If he kept this kind of intensity up, he could level his Witcher Signs up by next year.
They spent their daytime hours outside the blacksmith shop, but at night, Roy would leap into Vizima’s wilderness alone to practice his swordsmanship, archery, signs, and Blink. He tried his best to string those skills together and come up with a battle system he was familiar with. At the same time, he would use all the trap and survival knowledge Serrit taught him to hunt for animals. Ten EXP was not much, but Roy did not complain.
Once he was done with training, he would contact Gryphon through the telepathic link between them. Gryphon was in Cintra, but Roy could still talk about its daily life even though he was not around. The griffin was already six months old, and it was as smart as a four or five-year-old child. It could express a lot of emotions, like delight, anger, starvation, and even unease. The griffin was getting bigger now. It was the size of a pony, and locking it in a cage would stunt its growth.
“I’ll have to find a quiet place in Vizima’s rural area and summon Gryphon.” Roy stared at the night sky and went into meditation. “It’d be great if I could disguise it, or taking it along with me is going to be a hassle.
Time flew by when Roy had a lot of things to do. One week had passed since he commissioned Berengar to make the swords. Berengar showed exceptional professionalism over the week. He would start working first thing in the morning and only stop at midnight. He even skipped out on meals and slept in the shop, since he had to control all the changes in the materials at all times.
His hair became a whole lot greasier in just one week, and it started to reek. He grew a messy stubble, and his eyes were bloodshot, though he seemed particularly excited. The silver sword and steel sword’s bases were done. Now he just had to adorn the weapons with all the necessary adornments and sharpen them, and he would be done.
“Are all master blacksmiths this crazy?” Roy had nothing but respect for this mercenary now. If a regular human worked like him, they would fall gravely ill the moment they were done.
“Masters of a craft are always obsessed and crazy,” Letho explained.
They thought things would go smoothly until the end, but things were never easy for them. On the eighth day, a man with crazy hair came to the blacksmith shop, and he was humming an eerie tune.
***
***