Alvin turned around.
A line of figures was reflected in his pupils.
The man at the front was tall.
His hair was not gray-white like Vesemir’s, but creamy white, tied back with a headband.
He had sharply defined features and a slightly youthful face, along with a pair of amber vertical pupils almost identical to Vesemir’s.
He wore a black leather jacket with silver trim, carried two swords on his back, and the black wolf’s head medallion pressed against his chest gave off a faint hum.
From beneath his silver-studded gauntlet stretched a silver chain, and behind the chain followed a row of blue, shadowy figures.
“It’s Geralt.
Geralt’s back.”
“Oh, damn the plague, what are those blue monstrosities?”
“They’re Drowners, you idiot!”
The apprentices clamored as they watched Geralt fasten the chain to a wooden post.
Alvin’s gaze shifted to the Drowner, and his grip on his sword hilt tightened.
“Ssss…”
The Drowner hunched over, its entire body covered in blue scales.
Only its abdomen showed a small patch of exposed, soft skin.
Its arms were long and slender.
Its hands and feet were webbed like a duck’s, and five pitch-black claws jutted from them, gleaming with a cold, eerie light under the sun.
Its skull was so gaunt that its cheekbones were visible.
A pair of unsettling dead-fish eyes bulged from its face, and beneath its thick, fish-like lips was a dense row of sharp fangs that sent a chill through anyone who saw them.
Alvin’s breathing quickened.
This was a Drowner.
Not a game, but a living, breathing Drowner.
Adrenaline began to surge, but his heartbeat remained far below that of an ordinary person.
At most, it was only forty to forty-five beats per minute.
His mutated body was forcibly keeping him calm, pressing down the fear deep inside him.
At some point, Vesemir had moved to stand slightly ahead and to the side of the apprentices, his catlike eyes sweeping across every one of their faces.
Some were horrified, some excited, and some had even begun to tremble faintly.
He took it all in.
“Ma… Master Vesemir, th-this is…”
Beside Alvin, Paul pressed his lips together, his words already starting to fall apart.
Vesemir crossed his arms.
“Little wolves, weren’t you full of spirit just now?
What’s wrong?
You see a real monster and suddenly shrink back?”
The apprentices fell silent.
For the past six years, everything they had learned had been theory.
Their knowledge of monsters came from The Bestiary.
This was probably the first time in their lives they had seen a real monster with their own eyes.
“No, not at all!”
“Master Vesemir, I’ll challenge them!”
Aiken picked up his two training swords, his face stern and eager.
With someone taking the lead, it was no doubt a shot of courage for their little group of six.
Vesemir sneered.
“I understand why young Witcher Apprentices want to prove themselves by cutting down a Drowner with the sword in their hands.
But when facing monsters, impulse is useless.
The knowledge in your head matters more than the sword in your hand.”
Vesemir suddenly raised his voice.
“Tell me, what are a Drowner’s weaknesses?”
At his words, Alvin and the five apprentices instinctively straightened and shouted in unison:
“Weak to silver!
Afraid of fire!
Poor eyesight!”
Only then did Vesemir nod in satisfaction.
“Aiken, Paul, Brad, you’re one group.”
“Horton, Alvin, Winston, you’re another.”
The Witcher Apprentices quickly split into teams according to Vesemir’s orders and spread out.
Vesemir shouted, “Grip those training swords tight.
Each group takes on one Drowner.
Kill them.”
Hearing that, Alvin raised his training sword.
‘Wait, training swords?
Shouldn’t we be given Silver Swords?’
Some of the other apprentices noticed it too, but before anyone could ask, Vesemir’s voice rang out behind them.
“Geralt!”
At the call, Geralt lifted his head slightly.
With his right hand, he unfastened one of the chains.
A Drowner broke free, swinging its claws as it lunged at him to tear him apart.
Geralt raised his hand without hesitation.
The five fingers of his silver-studded gauntlet clamped firmly over the Drowner’s face.
The muscles in his right arm bulged.
Then he shoved.
The Drowner flew away like a torn sack and crashed heavily to the ground not far in front of Alvin.
Alvin sucked in a sharp breath.
Though the Drowner was thin, it was still nearly five feet tall.
To shove it almost ten meters away so easily.
Was that even Human strength?
Geralt did the same with the other group, hurling another Drowner toward them.
Alvin had no time to marvel.
The Drowner in front of him had already climbed back to its feet.
Its dead-fish eyes locked on him, and its narrow, fish-like lips parted to reveal a packed mouthful of sharp fangs.
“Ha!”
With a piercing shriek and the stench of rotten fish, the Drowner lunged straight at him.
Alvin reacted quickly, pivoting on his right foot and twisting aside to dodge the Drowner’s pounce.
Driven by muscle memory, he raised his sword hilt high, drew power from the ground, and brought the training sword down with all his strength.
“Clang!”
The blunt blade struck the scales on the Drowner’s back, ringing like metal against metal.
He hit it!
Joy surged in Alvin’s chest.
But the Drowner only pitched forward before quickly getting back up.
That strike had left nothing but a pale dent in its scales.
Alvin frowned.
‘As expected.
Without a Silver Sword, this blunt training sword can barely hurt it.’
“Horton, Winston!”
Alvin swept his gaze toward his nearby teammates and found them both frozen in place, clearly stunned by the Drowner’s ferocity.
‘Damn it!’
The Drowner charged straight at him again.
…
Geralt shook the Drowner slime from his hand and walked over to Vesemir’s side.
Vesemir did not look at him.
He simply asked, “Geralt, which group do you think will manage to kill their Drowner?”
Geralt glanced around, thought for a moment, and said, “The first group, I suppose.
Aiken’s Apprentice Swordsmanship is good, but he’s a little too aggressive.
He’s likely to get hurt.”
Vesemir shook his head.
“No.
I don’t think either group can do it.
Drowners may be among the easier monsters to deal with, and they may be brainless things that survive purely on instinct, but these Apprentices are still too green to kill one with training swords alone.”
Geralt frowned.
“Vesemir, that doesn’t sound right.
I’ve heard you say before that a Drowner is the sort of monster a farmer could kill with a pitchfork.”
Vesemir said, “True, but there are conditions.”
“First, it has to be a Drowner that has wandered far inland.
After a long period without water, they become extremely weak and sluggish.”
“Second, a pitchfork has a longer reach than a Drowner.
As long as you pin it down, it’s easy to hinder its movements.”
“But these Drowners are in good condition.
They feel no pain and are practically frenzied.”
“Unless you smash their heads in, they’ll keep flailing their arms and snapping their jaws until they tear their prey apart.”
Vesemir turned his head to look at the young Witcher beside him.
“Geralt, do you remember what you were like the first time you faced a monster?”
Geralt paused, recalling his very first witch hunt.
It had been a Ghoul in the night.
To him now, it would be no threat at all, but back then, it had nearly frightened him so badly he forgot to breathe.
Vesemir said, “What people fear most is the unknown.
Watch.
As soon as one of them is wounded and falls, fear will overwhelm them, and their formation will collapse.”
“Reverence for death.
That is the first lesson we teach Apprentices who pass the Trial of the Grasses.”