Chapter 1: The Lucky One of the Trial of the Grasses

1248, Kaer Morhen.

"Hold on, Wayne. Just a little longer, and you'll make it."

A voice, aged yet laced with anxiety, drilled into Wayne's ears.

But at this moment, Wayne had no mind to heed it. He felt only excruciating pain throughout his body, as if countless venomous snakes and scorpions were crawling over him, biting into his flesh. Countless toxins seeped into his system; his muscles felt as though they had been dissolved and then forcibly kneaded back into shape. Aside from the agony and a numbing soreness, his limbs were completely unresponsive.

Enduring this inhuman torture, Wayne could vaguely hear the old man's voice beside him, as if instructing him on how to control his body, or perhaps encouraging him to persist.

This agonizing torment forced a moan from Wayne, and after persisting for over ten minutes, he inevitably slipped into unconsciousness.

It was unclear how much time had passed when Wayne felt his body improve slightly and, with all his remaining strength, opened his eyes.

What met his gaze was a stone ceiling covered in moss and cobwebs. He instinctively wanted to look around, but merely turning his head nearly exhausted his strength.

After some observation, Wayne deduced that this was a structure resembling an ancient castle, built from piled rock. Aside from the wooden bed frame he lay upon, there were tables nearby holding various experimental apparatuses, such as glass test tubes, tweezers, and crucibles, similar to those used in chemical experiments.

The cold, damp air clinging to his body made Wayne feel he must be in a room like a basement.

However, before he could continue his observations, a violent, tearing pain surged through his brain.

"Ah! ~ Ah!"

This intense pain came quickly and left just as fast.

In less than a minute, Wayne's brain returned to calm, and the memories of a half-elf youth appeared out of thin air within his mind.

Along with them came information regarding the essential 'golden finger' for a transmigrator.

Wayne (14 years old)

Profession: Witcher

Level: 1 (0/100)

Attributes: Strength 13, Agility 18, Constitution 15, Spirit 18.

Skills: Swordplay LV1, Signs LV1, Mutation LV1.

Special Bloodline: Elder Blood (Faint, unawakened). Activation requires ten ability points.

Subsidiary Skills: Archery LV1, Cooking LV1.

Witcher—this is the world of the Witcher.

Before Wayne could carefully consider the matter of his transmigration, a slightly heavy footstep sounded from outside the room.

A few seconds later, Wayne saw an old man wearing worn iron armor, with a decent and kindly appearance, walk through the door.

Seeing Wayne awake, the old man couldn't help but reveal a joyful smile. He brought over a bowl of boiled vegetable soup from a nearby table, sat by Wayne's bedside, and said with emotion:

"You're finally awake, child."

"It's fortunate you're still alive."

Based on the memories in his mind, Wayne looked at the old man's slightly sorrowful face, hesitated for a second, and then spoke in a hoarse voice:

"Master Vesemir, am I the only one who survived?"

Hearing this, the old man couldn't help but sigh, close his eyes, and stroke Wayne's hair.

"Yes, among the few children, only you survived."

"During the mutation process of the Trial of the Grasses, without a sorceress to cast stabilization spells for us, the failure rate is too high."

Looking at the physically weak Wayne, who had barely survived a brush with death, Vesemir seemed to reach a certain decision, his tone becoming much more world-weary in an instant.

"The Witcher trials are too dangerous."

"Perhaps, after you, there will be no new Witchers at Kaer Morhen."

………………

One month later, in the training grounds of Kaer Morhen.

Early morning, the sun had just risen. Wayne, holding an unsharpened steel sword, was practicing Witcher swordplay against a dummy made of straw and wood.

Shifting and dodging, constantly hacking and thrusting, the heavy steel sword in his hands struck fast and hard with every blow, leaving many dents in the dummy made of hard wood.

He practiced for two hours straight, until he was drenched in sweat, his hands and feet were weak, and his muscles were slightly sore, before Wayne finally heard that peculiar voice in his mind again.

Swordplay proficiency +1, current progress: 36.

Swordplay LV1: Swordplay power +5%

After a period of exploration, Wayne discovered that for his various skills, aside from using ability points gained from leveling up to increase skill levels, the most important thing was to rely on diligent practice in daily life.

Even now, to raise his swordplay level from one to two, it would take over two hundred hours of focused training; it could be said it was quite difficult.

Fortunately, as a sports student, what he lacked least was patience and enthusiasm for training.

Exhaling a breath of stale air, Wayne took off his sweat-soaked linen shirt, revealing his young yet already quite defined muscle lines. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, picked up his steel sword, and walked toward the castle of Kaer Morhen.

Passing through the castle gate, in the somewhat dim castle hall, the old Witcher Vesemir sat leaning in a wooden chair, surrounded by a dozen thick books, his head drooping as he emitted a faint snoring sound.

Seeing this scene, the corners of Wayne's mouth couldn't help but curl into a smile.

Vesemir was a respected elder. Over the past month, the old man had not only painstakingly taught him various Witcher skills but also taught him many principles of conduct, giving Wayne, who had suddenly been removed from his familiar environment, a sense of something to rely on.

As a Witcher who had lived for hundreds of years, the old man was practically a living antique of the Witcher world, and also the person most worthy of respect in the hearts of everyone in the School of the Wolf.

He did not disturb the old Witcher's sleep but instead tiptoed upstairs to his room and took a cold shower using water he had prepared beforehand.

Life in the Middle Ages was quite austere; his room had only a few pieces of furniture.

Changing into clean clothes, Wayne looked at his delicate face in the mirror—which, aside from a pair of amber cat-like pupils and pointed ears, was no different from an ordinary youth—and sighed softly.

In his previous life, he was a promising sports student in archery who had unfortunately been hit by a truck in an accident, which was how he came to this world.

Unexpectedly, judging from the memories of the youth he possessed, the background of this life was also very tragic.

This half-elf youth named Wayne had a mother named Masha, a prostitute of the elf race in the slums of Wyzima. As for who his father was, even Masha herself did not know.

Because of his mother's special profession, the youth was born in a brothel and lived there for eight years, until Masha contracted a serious illness and the two were driven out by the brothel.

Before she passed away, she gave him to the passing old Witcher Vesemir, and he had been training at Kaer Morhen for six years.

Originally, there were six children training with Wayne, but because of the lack of help from a sorceress for the Trial of the Grasses here, he was the only lucky one to survive.

However, Wayne knew very well that if it weren't for his accidental transmigration, none of the six children in this batch would likely have survived.

And it wouldn't be until decades later, when the plot of The Witcher 1 began, that Kaer Morhen would welcome new Witchers.

New author, new book, I ask all readers to please show your support.

(End of chapter) ===== CHAPTER 2 =====