Chapter Eighty-Seven: Scientific Ethics and the Opportunity to Study Abroad

The three friends of the Viper School came and went with irresistible flair, and they left behind a precious gift.

Not long after leaving Kaer Morhen, Victor had finished the stock of stamina tonics, and he began to worry about the diminishing effect of his physical conditioning. The Viper School’s stamina-tonic formula happened to fill that gap perfectly.

Looking back on how they had met, from the offer of help, to the conversation by the lakeshore, to sharing materials, to drinking together and talking, this was the boy’s first real contact with witchers outside the Wolf School. In the past, these schools had been nothing more than ink on paper in books; now they existed in the flesh.

Standing before the city gate, he thought for a while about the absurdity of school schisms, racial prejudice, and professional prejudice. Then a fine rain began to fall, urging him onward. Victor quickened his pace, slipped through the gateway, and hurried home through the rain to his house in the temple district, because it suddenly occurred to him that Shani might still be waiting for him at home.

Along the way, he faintly heard two little children humming a song…

“Whenever Rhaffard strides ahead, the gates rise before him, and Vizima welcomes its true master.”

…

When he pushed open the door and stepped inside, it was fortunate that the hour was already late; Shani had gone to the hospital for work. Otherwise, at the thought of having to explain why he had once again come home steeped in liquor, Victor felt a headache coming on. But when he saw the note and the homemade breakfast left on the table, the boy’s gratitude for the young lady was wholehearted.

Upstairs, when he opened the door to his room, Angoulême was still fast asleep, while Catherine stood by the window with an expression of deep concern for the state of the world. She tilted her head to inspect him, and once she confirmed it was Victor, she dismissed him with a disinterested glance and went back to gazing mournfully at the rain threads beyond the glass.

He moved a little closer, listening to the girl’s even breathing, then clicked his tongue and returned to his own room. He had meant to lie down and collapse into sleep at once, but the stench of liquor and sweat clinging to him was unbearable. So he went outside, bathed in the rain with a bucket of water, and only then returned to his room and slept until afternoon.

…

Victor, it’s time for me to go to work.

Angoulême has recovered very well. I must say, your skill as an alchemist is far more trustworthy than that of a witcher.

You didn’t come home all night. I can guess you were most likely drunk as a skunk again, reeking of alcohol, but this time I do not intend to scold you.

Before I left, the physical examination showed that you are the healthiest person I have ever seen, and your strength far exceeds that of an adult, even though you and Angoulême had only just returned from being injured.

So I admit that it is necessary to reassess the physical structure of a witcher apprentice, and I can no longer measure your conduct by a child’s standard, especially since your mind is mature enough for it.

But you still have to remember to eat breakfast!

Your faithful friend, Shani

…

When he woke, it was just past noon. The boy went to the kitchen and roughly stirred together a few apple pies in a pot for lunch, then went down to the cellar, took out the alchemical materials he had sorted out in advance, and slung the whole bundle onto his back.

With these things, plus the “vampire blood” he had obtained yesterday, he had finally completed Kalkstein’s alchemist quest and could claim the stage reward: an improved spirit tonic formula.

Although, after confirming that the “happy growth method” was effective, raising his mental capacity limit was no longer a problem, spirit tonics still had strategic value as a temporary remedy for the dazed, scattered state that came with alchemical fatigue.

So long as he did not have his mental reserves instantly drained to the point of collapse, he could obviously tinker with things he had previously been unable to make because his endurance was insufficient, at least before spirit tonics developed resistance.

Walking through the streets of the temple district, under a clearing rain and fresh air, Victor quickly arrived at Kalkstein’s alchemical workshop.

As he opened the door, he faintly heard children not far away singing a nursery rhyme: black banana, black banana, hey-ho, hey-ho, black banana, hey-ho, cannot pull it out, little girl, come quickly, come and help me pull out the black banana!

The tune was light and cheerful, and Victor’s steps stiffened slightly. He considered, in his mind, the possibility of composing two educational nursery rhymes for teaching children to sing, then opened the door and went inside.

…

Kalkstein’s alchemical workshop was still as dark as ever, and his method for testing the freshness of materials was still as vulgar as ever.

After licking the blood from his fingers clean, the neurotic alchemist once again became the great academic authority: “Well done, apprentice Victor. The reward I promised you—the formula is in the manuscript fourth from the right on the second shelf of the bookcase. I have tucked it inside.

“And that stack of manuscripts is also what I recommend you read this time. I studied the kinds of books you usually borrow, as well as the subjects you tend to look up, and I believe that document is exactly what you need.”

The alchemist’s words left the apprentice slightly stunned. Victor blinked, then bowed deeply at the waist in thanks.

Finding the right information in the vast and remote sea of books was no easy matter. And an alchemist as knowledgeable as Kalkstein would not joke when it came to scholarship. If he said something would help, then it would undoubtedly help greatly, far surpassing Victor’s own needle-in-a-haystack search for fragments of knowledge.

He took the book down from the shelf, and when he saw the cover of the manuscript, his fingertips almost trembled uncontrollably: a Record of Herbal Reagent Effects on the Human Body. At first glance it was an ordinary title, but the word “effects” could just as well have been replaced by “mutations,” because the author’s signature was none other than Azel—father of the Swallow Potion.

With reverent hands, he lifted the manuscript down and opened it. Sure enough, the formula for the improved spirit tonic was tucked inside. At that very moment, with a sudden intuition, Victor whirled around.

Kalkstein had somehow already come to stand beside the boy. His slightly reverted features held not a trace of foolishness now. “Child, though I do not know why you wish to study these things, I must warn you: this is not a suitable subject for research.

“Azel’s success was the inevitable result of countless bloody experiments, a desperate choice made in a dark age long past. Knowledge itself is neither good nor evil, so I will not set limits to stop you from studying it.

“But I must give you this warning: under its guidance, sooner or later you will be unable to resist experimenting on living people, and then the righteous knights will burst through your door, bind you to a stake, and burn you alive.

“Believe me, when I see that scene, I will not pity you in the slightest.

“Every witcher who exists today has meaning and value, but humanity no longer needs them so much. Thus every witcher newly born is innocent and redundant.

“I think it is no pity that the technology for making them was buried.”

Seeing Kalkstein’s grave expression, Victor knew he meant well, and so the boy rubbed his nose and decided to answer him plainly.

“To think of witchers as weapons or tools that were manufactured is itself the wrong way to look at them. I believe they are still human.

“Every monster hunter I have met, at least, may have all kinds of flaws, but they are also good people.

“By Melitele’s name! The most evil being I have ever seen did not have beastlike eyes, and the filthiest crime I have ever seen was committed by someone wielding an axe rather than a silver sword.

“I do not think a few physical mutations can deny the essence of being human. Whether someone is human should depend on their humanity.”

Kalkstein fell silent for a long while, then snorted with laughter. “You should have become a philosopher. Your reasoning in philosophy is far more reliable than your alchemical handiwork.”

With that, the alchemist and the apprentice looked at one another and smiled.

Kalkstein turned back toward his workbench, but after only a few steps he stopped again. “Ah, right. When you came here the first time, I was discussing the Catriona plague with a mage. Do you remember that?”

The alchemical apprentice nodded. “I do. He may have been in a rush to use the toilet. He opened a portal and left in such a hurry that he did not even have time to say thank you or goodbye.”

Kalkstein laughed heartily at Victor’s blunt sarcasm. “Don’t mind him. He’s just one of those foolish scientists who are lost in their research. The moment he got what seemed like a wonderful lead, he sent word asking me about you, and I gave him your name.

“He asked me to tell you whether you would be willing to work as his assistant in his laboratory. I think it would be an excellent subject for research and a fine chance to learn.”

Victor arched a brow. “Where does he work?”

“Currently in the region of Velen. A Baron Wyserad had a mage tower built for him there.”

The apprentice smiled gently. “Let me think about it.”