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[PR: Ash]

The great hall was brightly illuminated, the air filled with the scent of plants and flesh. In the middle of a pile of vials, vessels, and parchment paper, a bizarre contraption was working. The contraption was made of a container resembling an ostrich egg and a black standing coffin enough to house an adult male. Something underneath the egg-like structure was heating it up. Between the egg-like structure and the coffin were three glistening glass tubes shaped like waves and spirals.

A milky gas was swirling within the egg-like structure. They seeped into the glass tubes and slowly swam into the black coffin. Lytta, wearing a black, low-cut dress that day, stood before the contraption. The light from the heater shone on her face and voluptuous chest. Her lips were pursed, her brows were furrowed. She was picking away at her fiery-red hair. She stared at the contraption with concern in her eyes, as if she wanted to pierce the exterior and see what the subject within was doing.

Over the last two years or so, the brotherhood’s members had gone through their second mutation in this coffin. Unlike the Trial of the Grasses, this mutation would not add anything to their existing genes. Instead, it would extend them, making it safer for those involved. Everyone who went through the mutation gained more strength and power.

The time they spent in the contraption was proportionate to the level of mutation they had. Before this, Ivar, a witcher who’d undergone the first witcher Trial, took the longest to pass the second mutation. It went on for a week.

But now… Lytta held tight the pearl necklace hanging before her chest. After going through the Trials of the Viper, Manticore, and Wolf, Roy made another record for longest mutation. It had been 29 days and 18 hours since the mutation began, and it was still ongoing.

That wasn’t the only peculiar phenomenon happening in this chamber. Lytta turned around and looked at the hole on the stone wall locked behind a steel fence. Something big was slithering and scuttling across the hole, its antennae swaying in the air. Its mandibles, sharp as scythes, were gleaming from the light, and its hundred legs scuttled quickly.

Under the brotherhood’s intensive care over the last two years, the mutated pale widow in the hole could procreate without any worries, and it had given birth to more than sixty larvae. But if the mutation keeps going on, the reserves are going to be depleted, and then…

A sudden sound ringing in the air stopped her train of thoughts. The sorceress’ eyes went wide, and her jaw dropped. For a moment, she was adorably nervous, unlike her usual, seductive self.

The blue flames of the heater fizzled and died out. Sounds of something resembling boiling water broke the silence of the chamber. The black coffin rattled like sparrows trying to break free of a spiderweb. And then, the black exterior cracked and was pushed open. A blanket of white mist poured out of the coffin, drowning the sorceress and the apparatuses. A surge of warm, humid gas that tickled the nose quickly spread across the hall like vapor moving down a stream.

Lytta tried her best to keep her eyes open, capturing the silhouette within the coffin. She quickly gestured before her chest, chanting under her breath. A few mini whirlpools tore the air open, sucking away the mist.

And then she froze. She felt a wave of strength coming from behind, holding her waist. Someone pulled her off the ground, and she stopped chanting. Easing up, she fell into the arms of her captor. White mist came spurting out of the broken whirlpools, covering the hall and the two occupants within it.

Lytta gasped, and Roy chuckled. The sound of fabric tearing graced the air. Someone grunted, someone grumbled. And then the couple teased and chased after each other. It was like a romantic tune played by a lute within the mist. The shimmering magical lamps hanging on the ceiling shone on the mist, turning it warm and mysterious.

A long, long time later, the mist faded away. Two silhouettes were upon the operating bed. Roy was only wearing a pair of white pants. He lay on the operating bed with a hand behind his head. A film of sweat glistened on his lean, well-toned body. The witcher was staring at the gray ceiling overhead.

Lytta was resting her head in her left hand, holding a lock of her hair in the right. She brushed her finger across Roy’s cheek, pointy ear, sculpted nose, jawline, beautiful eyes, and stubbly shin. Her eyes glinted. Roy was once a young man unsure of his place in the world, but now he was grown up. Handsome too. The little rascal’s a big bully now.

He grew taller after the mutation. His skin was smooth yet resilient as leather, and the air around him felt sharp. Power was almost overflowing from him. “How do you feel?” the sorceress asked, her voice languid and content.

“Coral, I think I can take on the whole Wolf School by myself.”

“If Lambert hears that, he’s going to ask for a fight.”

“Then let him come. I’d like a warmup.”

Roy leapt off the operating table and landed on the ground. He cracked his joints, and the sound rang through the air. The witcher leapt into the air, easily touching the ceiling more than 13 feet away from him.

He then made a Sign, and a beam of red-golden light scorched the air. The beam covered the witcher, turning into armor made of liquid flame. Roy checked his character sheet out.

‘Roy

Age: 19 years old

HP: 440 → 470 (+120 from Trial of the Grasses)

Mana: 380 (+120 from Trial of the Grasses)

Strength: 20 → 30

Dexterity: 32 → 35

Perception: 17

Will: 40

Charisma: 10

Spirit: 26

New skills:

Second Mutation: Using the egg whites of a pale widow’s larvae, you went through a second mutation. You have gained a permanent increase of 50% (30% from the Trials of the Wolf, Viper, and Manticore) for Strength and Dexterity. Thanks to the optimization of the genetic mutation, your Constitution receives a small increase.

Lava Quen: Your second mutation grants you the ability to use the elements of earth and fire at the same time. You may cast a mutated version of Quen. The barrier will have the power of fire attached to its surface. Attackers will be burned.’

***

The mutation granted Roy a total of 23 points in stats. It was on par with his first Trial. His Strength and Dexterity gained a 50% increase. Roy could fight a lot better at close range now. Besides Ivar himself, Roy was the member with the best strength and speed in the brotherhood.

If he could use Guardian and decoctions, he could take on two higher vampires at close range at once. Of course, this increment was a result of his accumulation. Regular witchers who’d only gone through one Trial could only have a 20 to 30% increase in stats. Roy, on the other hand, had gone through three Trials.

“You should’ve waited for a while longer.” Lytta pulled her drenched hair away from her forehead. “You should’ve only gone through this after your modifications were mostly done. It’s been a month. You were only sustained by the pale widow’s larvae. I was this close to tearing that coffin apart and seeing what you were doing inside.”

Lytta tilted her head, her eyes glimmering, her eyelashes fluttering. “Why were you in a hurry? What are you worried about?”

Roy held Lytta’s shoulder tightly. She had a point. If he’d only gone through this second mutation after his fourth or fifth Trial, it would have yielded the best results, but time was of the essence. The Wolf Trial last time took him more than a year. His gut told him the fourth Trial would take more than three years. He’d miss the most exciting period in this world’s history if he’d gone through that. The fifth Trial would take even longer. Not to mention the battle with the omen god last time worked as a warning. He couldn’t keep turning into the Most High every time he ran into powerful enemies. The refractory period was one thing, but more worrying was that every time he reverted to his human form, he’d stay in a weird state of being.

Part of his emotions were taken away from him. He felt detached from everything in this world. Geralt, Ciri, Triss, Coral… All his friends and family couldn’t even make him feel anything anymore. He was like a composed observer, watching the world unfold from the sidelines. That reminded him of the Most High’s message before it left this space-time.

But when enough time has passed, you will eventually tire of your erstwhile passion. Humanity’s hearts and feelings are fragile. They are transient in the face of eternal time. Fleeting and powerless. Eventually, you will understand that the one true cycle of the multiverse and all things in them is to feed, destroy, purify, and begin everything again.

Roy knew if he kept using Descend without a care in the world, that power would slowly erode his emotions and change him as a person. He had to gain strength through the usual way. There were more dangers incoming.

***

“The Scoia’tael concern me.” Roy sniffed Lytta’s hair. “I asked Eveline to bring a message to the Blue Mountains, but I haven’t gotten an answer yet. Francesca doesn’t trust us, obviously. She refuses to even talk to us. I have to prepare just in case she tries to pull any more schemes.”

The elf queen ignored Roy’s request to talk. Scoia’tael was still a menace in the Northern Realms, sacrificing themselves for the South.

Lytta paled. She tried to contact the Daisy of the Valleys through the sorcerer brotherhood, but Francesca seemed to know of Coral’s connection to the witcher brotherhood, so she refused. Triss and Yennefer tried to ask her out, but it was of little effect.

***

“And we still have the Wild Hunt to look out for. Ciri and Eileni both have the Elder Blood, and the Wild Hunt’s been searching for people of that bloodline for centuries. They’ll come for the girls sooner or later. I need to power our people up.”

Part of the reason Roy wanted to establish contact with Francesca was so Eveline wouldn’t have to die fighting for the liberation army. Another part was so he could find the waypoint of the Wild Hunt’s world, because the elf queen shared a deep connection with the Wild Hunt.

The elves in the witcher world were of the Aen Seidhe clan, while the Wild Hunt came from the Aen Elle clan. Both of them shared consanguinity in the race of Aen Undod. They had the power of the Elder Blood. With that power, they traversed through space and time, twisting the multiverse and plundering worlds for their resources.

In the wake of these traversals was the destructive White Frost. That cataclysmic event slowly but irrevocably carved a way forward in a chase after these elves, freezing the worlds they ran to into icy graves. It was like divine retribution for their abuse of the Elder Blood.

Eventually, the two clans came to a junction in their long journey. They went down different paths evading the White Frost. Ever the plunderers, Aen Elle went to a world of alder trees. They cleansed that world and took over it. Ever the inventors and construction experts, Aen Seidhe came to the witcher world, leaving behind perfect and civilization-defining structures.

Eventually, humanity chased these elves into the Blue Mountains. Their leaders were now Filavandrel and Francesca. Both elven clans had ways to contact each other, given that their elders shared a connection.

After Roy plundered Vilgefortz’ inheritance, he now had proof of Francesca conspiring with the South and betraying the northern brotherhood. He also knew what the elves were wishing for. If they could just meet, he was confident he could convince her into a partnership. Once he found the clues he needed, Roy could eventually figure out where the Wild Hunt was hiding.

The witcher would then gather his forces and launch a preemptive strike, destroying the extremists who’d been trying to steal the Elder Blood for themselves. That was how he worked. If his plan went well, Aen Seidhe would have a dimension belonging to themselves. Eveline would no longer have to go to war with humans over an insignificant piece of land like Dol Blathanna.

***

“Don’t worry.” Lytta was happy Roy could be honest. She sat up, her legs crossed, and she smiled. The light of magic shone all over her body, and it conjured a beautiful black dress. “We have twenty witchers and six sorcerers in the brotherhood. Decoctions, bombs, and enchanted items are aplenty. We also have multiple secret bases. Even if we suffer defeat, we can hide from our enemies. Now you just stay in the lab for now. I need to make sure there aren’t any complications from the second mutation, okay?”

Lytta was still on the operating table. She held her hand out imperiously.

“Of course, milady.” Roy held her hand, kissing it.

A week of regular life went by. The sorceress checked on Roy thoroughly, and the witcher spent most of his time getting familiar with his newfound strength and Lava Quen.

On the eighth day, the peace was broken. Lambert and the other two witchers who went to Sodden for a request called through the xenovox.