Chapter One: A New Life Begins with Reading

A strange ceiling…

Where am I?

He lay fully dressed on a bed that was far from soft, the bedding carrying a faint mustiness. After a few minutes with his eyes open, Victor, ever the realist, didn’t question much and simply accepted the fact that he had once again crossed into a new world. After all, crossing worlds was like wearing women’s clothes—either you’d never done it, or you’d done it countless times.

Of course, the starting point in this new world was much harsher. Not only had he lost all the carefully woven relationships from before, but the blood, fire, and cruelty of the Monster Hunter world far surpassed those of the Alchemical world he once knew.

Fortunately, as he slowly recalled, he believed he could remember much about this Monster Hunter world. Though that knowledge couldn’t make him all-powerful, it would at least keep him away from danger.

…

This was Kaer Morhen. As he descended the ancient stone steps of the fortress, he determined that he was indeed at Kaer Morhen, the ancestral home of the Wolf School witchers.

Sure enough, in the main hall by the fireplace, Victor saw the spiritual mentor to all Wolf School witchers—the man Ciri called “Uncle” but truly regarded as a grandfather, the gray-eyed, cat-eyed, white-haired Vesemir.

When it came to actual events, Victor knew that the content from the games couldn’t be applied directly to reality; even a slight divergence in events could lead to drastically different outcomes. But by and large, the character settings wouldn’t differ too much—a conclusion he reached after spending time with Ciri.

Their eyes met, and Victor nodded in greeting, offering a friendly smile to the venerable old witcher who had devoted centuries to slaying monsters, steadfast in his principles and worthy of respect.

…

After finishing the simple and rather unpalatable lunch prepared by the old witcher, Victor and Vesemir sat chatting on the steps in the inner courtyard.

After hearing Vesemir recount the message Ciri had left behind, entrusting Victor to his care, Victor felt both exasperated and amused—it seemed he really was being looked after like a child. Yet he was also pleased to be valued so deeply.

When it was his turn to speak, he refrained from mentioning too much about Ciri’s private matters, merely describing the circumstances that brought him to the Monster Hunter world. He sensed that he knew too much—details that Ciri, under normal circumstances, would never have revealed. That she confided in him the previous night was likely out of a feeling that they might never meet again, mixed with guilt for concealing the truth for half a year. If he were to tell Vesemir everything, it would only add unnecessary awkwardness to their future interactions.

“…That’s how it happened. She stayed with me for half a year. Last night, she had a nightmare and said she had to leave. Then, as she was seeing me off, we were ambushed by the Aen Elle. Ciri had no choice but to take me and flee on horseback.”

“So you’re someone from another world.” After hearing the whole story, Vesemir’s expression grew grave. “Child, about your origins—never mention this to anyone else.

“In our world, there is a natural phenomenon known as the ‘Conjunction of the Spheres.’ When it occurs, many places overlap with other worlds, leading to changes in the environment and the migration of creatures.

“The creatures brought by the Conjunction of the Spheres fifteen hundred years ago were all monsters—ghouls, necrophages, higher vampires, basilisk lizards, and the like.

“So you can imagine how people view beings from other worlds.”

Victor nodded. “Understood, Uncle Vesemir!”

He had no qualms about addressing the other as “uncle”—the man was a living fossil several centuries old and was more than worthy of being called grandfather.

“So, I’ll be troubling you for a while. I’ll do my best to adapt. Is there anything forbidden or off-limits in Kaer Morhen?”

Though he worried for Ciri’s safety, Victor knew he was powerless to help. Likely, the outcome of that battle had already been decided. All he could do was stay at Kaer Morhen and wait for news.

Vesemir replied, “You cared for our child; you are family to us. I promise, here in Kaer Morhen, there are no taboos or forbidden places for you—you are as free as if you were in your own home.”

Victor considered this. “Then… could you tell me about the witchers? Ciri only had time to explain a little. I’d like to get to know you, and understand this world.”

Vesemir didn’t refuse, nor did he answer directly. Instead, he led Victor to the library on the third floor, had him sit at the desk, and picked out a few books from the shelves before returning to his side.

He handed Victor The Royal Bloodlines of the North and The Massacre of Cintra first. “These two books describe Ciri’s heritage.

“The Witchers: Not as Evil as You Think offers a neutral perspective and introduction to witchers.

“Monsters: A Portrait of the Witchers, Volume I presents the view of those who loathe witchers—the mainstream opinion in the outside world.

“Once you’ve finished those, you can read The Trial of the Grasses and Other Secret Witcher Trainings—My Personal Experiences, which tells how we become witchers.

“Lastly, The Witcher Signs and Art Is Explosion—Have You Exploded Today? introduce the two main auxiliary combat techniques used by witchers.”

Listening to the selection and introductions, Victor felt Vesemir’s earnestness. To prevent Victor from being misled about the world, Vesemir even set before him books espousing prejudice against witchers.

“Child, I’ll be reading in that chair over there. If you have any questions, come ask me—I’ll do my best to answer,” Vesemir said kindly.

“Thank you, Uncle Vesemir.”

…

For Victor, there was no better way to start exploring a new world than by reading. The process would never be in vain. Books could help him recall long-forgotten memories, but more importantly, they allowed him to complete the surface-level learning process that ought to be followed. In the future, if he needed to act with foreknowledge, he could avoid arousing unnecessary suspicion.

Those transmigrators who started revealing secrets, acting with uncanny foresight, and dazzling others with their intellect without ever doing the groundwork only survived because of their protagonist’s halo.

He took this as a warning.

…

When Vesemir woke from a nap in the early evening, he was surprised to find Victor still poring over his books at the desk, utterly absorbed.

From the side, the slanting rays of dusk lit the young man’s face, a faint, contented smile at his lips. The scene struck Vesemir as one quietly brewing with strength.

He walked over and patted Victor on the shoulder. “Let’s eat.”

Victor put down his book and looked up. “Uncle Vesemir, in the world I used to live in, everyday life was almost entirely without danger. But here, violence and conflict are everywhere.

“I want to train harder and learn swordsmanship to protect myself, but I have no idea where to start. Would you train me?”

Vesemir didn’t answer immediately. He looked at Victor’s serious expression; after a few seconds of eye contact, he spoke. “Are you saying you want to become a witcher?”

The boy shook his head.

“Witchers—or monster hunters—are mutants created by mages after the Conjunction of the Spheres, using harsh potions to combat the monsters that came with the event. They possess greater speed, strength, extraordinary senses, and long lives. Their shared traits are mutated eyes and sterility.

“I respect the struggle of witchers, but to become one myself?

“…No.

“Absolutely not. There’s no way I’d want to endure the Trial of the Grasses—that seven days of convulsions, fever, nosebleeds, vomiting, agony that invades the very organs, and a seventy percent chance of dying.”

His tone was firm and left no room for doubt.

Hearing his answer, Vesemir breathed a sigh of relief, though he also felt a twinge of regret. He didn’t want to see another child subjected to inhuman torment, yet he couldn’t help but feel the sorrow of a dying tradition.

“You’ve read well, a good summary, and your description of the symptoms is accurate.” Vesemir patted Victor’s shoulder encouragingly. “Of course I can train you. After dinner, get some rest—tomorrow we start at five.”

Victor grinned happily. “No problem. Let me cook dinner tonight—I’m quite skilled in the kitchen.”