My legs are on fire.
That was the first clear thought in Cain's head as he squatted against the inner keep's stone wall, his back pressed flat against the freezing surface while both his arms were held out straight in front of him. A steel sword lay balanced across my forearms, the weight of it dragging his shoulders down inch by inch no matter how hard he tried to keep them level.
Callum was to his right, in the exact same position.
His face was red from the cold and strain, his bright green eyes narrowed with focus, as his own arms trembling under the weight of the blade laid across them.
Both boys looked miserable. The only difference was that Callum somehow managed to look like this was merely unpleasant, while Cain felt as if every muscle in his body was begging him to stop.
The wind rolled through the upper courtyard and through Cain's clothes. It found the sweat on his neck and back and turned it icy. His thighs shook so hard he thought they might simply give out and send him sprawling to the ground.
Geralt and Vesemir stood off to the side watching the two. Neither of them looked impressed or cold.
It had been a month. One full month since Cain arrived at Kaer Morhen.
And one month since waking before dawn, hauling water, cleaning floors, training until he thought he would die. Eating whatever rough food was put in front of him, then doing it all again the next day.
The routine had not become easier. Cain's body had simply become more able to survive it. And that was thanks to the system.
Cain couldn't complain about the results.
The system's support, was steady growth from daily training, and the fact that he was only six and the constant growth meant that he was adapting faster than most ever would.
His body no longer felt entirely foreign. He could run without constantly feeling off-balance. His sword grip had firmed up. Even simple things like running, shifting his weight, turning sharply, or falling, and recovering in the snow had begun to feel more natural.
But that didn't make moments like this suck any less.
"Cain." Geralt's voice cut through the hard cold wind of the courtyard. "Focus. Your sword's dropping too low."
I sucked in a breath through my nose, gritted my teeth, and forced my arms higher. The sword lifted another few inches. Though doing it made my shoulders and arms burn so badly I nearly hissed aloud.
Beside me, Callum flicked a glance in my direction before forcing his own gaze forward again. He was sweating heavily too.
That made me feel marginally better.
Then Vesemir spoke.
"That's enough for now, Geralt. Let them move on to the sword basics."
Geralt gave a single short nod.
"You can stop," he said. "But don't collapse."
Hearing that I pushed off the wall with my trembling legs, almost stumbled forward, then caught myself. Callum did the same beside me. We both straightened with visible effort, our arms still holding the swords though they now felt like bars of iron rather than steel.
My thighs throbbed and my knees wanted to lock. My shoulders felt as though someone had driven nails through the joints.
Geralt looked at us both with all the warmth of winter stone.
"Outside now."
Vesemir folded his arms and added, "Your bodies are finally strong enough to begin learning the sword properly."
That made my pulse kick a little despite the fatigue.
Callum and I answered at the same time.
"Yes."
It came out rough and a little breathless from both of us.
Then we turned and ran, or at least jogged as quickly as two exhausted boys with swords slightly longer than their arms could manage, through the keep and out into the cold, cloud-dimmed yard of Kaer Morhen.
The courtyard was a hard world of gray stone, white snow, and cold air that seemed cleaner than anywhere else on the Continent. The sky above was pale and overcast, promising more snow later.
Vesemir came out after us at an unhurried pace. Geralt followed, silver hair moving slightly in the wind.
When they stood before us in the yard, it felt like the air itself changed.
Vesemir took over first.
"Listen up boys. The Witcher sword style is practical," he said. "We don't use it to look fancy. It is useful, it is not meant for impressing girls and nobles at feasts."
Callum gave the tiniest twitch at that.
I kept my face straight.
Vesemir continued without missing a beat. "It exists to kill things stronger than you, faster than you, and uglier than anything a human soldier is trained to fight. Sometimes men as well. Usually both."
He stepped closer and laid one hand on the hilt of the sword at his side.
"We use two swords because the world gives us two kinds of enemies. Steel for men and beasts of flesh. Silver for monsters."
He let that settle before going on.
"But the blade is never enough on its own. A Witcher survives through timing, footwork, observation, distance, and discipline. Strength and speed both matter matters. But none of it matters if your stance is wrong and your sword is late."
Geralt took over then, demonstrating the first ready stance.
"Keep the blade close," he said. "Not out wide. Not like a peasant with a stick."
He adjusted his footing placing one foot forward, one slightly back, weight balanced, knees loose. His blade stayed near his body, angled so he could strike, parry, or evade without wasting motion.
Vesemir mirrored him from the other side.
Only then did I realize how much of the Witcher sword style was built around economy. Even the so-called flourishes from the games had likely been exaggerations of what, in reality, were tightly coiled transitions between balance points and attack lines.
It prioritizes efficiency, with maximum effectiveness, and safety. A economy of motion/effort over flashy, traditional fencing techniques.
Callum and I copied the stance.
"Wrong," Geralt said immediately.
He walked over, nudged my leading foot with his boot, pressed two fingers against my elbow, and said, "Too rigid. If you lock yourself up, your movements will be to slow."
Then he moved to Callum.
"You're better, but you're drifting too open on the left."
The two boys corrected and then continued.
Vesemir showed them the first set of movements.
A shift of weight, followed by a short cut. Then recover. A pivot. Reverse angle. Guard. Finally withdraw.
The motions were fluid but not soft, controlled but not stiff. Even when done slowly, they carried the coiled sense that they were made to lead into violence seamlessly.
Cain and Callum repeated sequence.
Again. Again. And again.
They continued this for hours.
At first it was just forms in the air. Then against wooden posts. Then the boys were told to do slight variations.
Vesemir would call out small adjustments, high line, low return, inside pivot, recover guard, and Geralt would sometimes interrupt to physically correct our posture when it went wrong. The swords smacked against the posts over and over until my hands tingled and my wrists ached.
Callum took to the movements faster than Cain did within the first hour.
He had a natural fluidity to him. A kind of instinctive bodily trust. His movements were not perfect, but they flowed. Even when he made mistakes, his transitions recovered more cleanly.
Cain?
He was more precise. That was what Vesemir told Geralt after watching them in silence for a while.
"Cain's more exact," he said. "But you can tell the boy is thinking too hard."
Geralt nodded. " He's focusing on the proper movements, which is good, but to much is affecting his overall form.
Cain had heard both of them had speaking quietly, but not quietly enough.
Vesemir wasn't wrong.
I was focusing too much on getting the sequence right. Too much on reproducing the visible mechanics of the forms rather than feeling where one motion flowed into the next. My mind wanted perfection. My body was still learning trust.
Callum, in contrast, felt his way into things more easily.
"Callum's rougher," Geralt said, "but he seem like he has more natural talent and that someone has trained him before."
The training grew harder as the hours dragged on.
Geralt and Vesemir deliberately changed the rhythm of drills so we wouldn't get comfortable. Just when we started to settle into a sequence, they altered it. Changed the angle Vesemir said. Changed the timing. Added a false opening. Forced a recovery from the wrong foot. And made us strike after stepping from an awkward position.
Sometimes they even threw things at us.
Small things at first, rolled bits of wood, clumps of snow, leather practice balls. Enough that Callum and I had to choose in an instant whether to continue the form, defend ourselves, or use the motion to evade and recover.
That part, unexpectedly, I adapted to quickly. While Callum was a bit a of natural.
And Vesemir noticed. He and Geralt exchanged a look that I couldn't fully read. Then Vesemir said, " Time to push them a little more."
Geralt nodded once and stepped forward.
"You two," he said. "On the wall."
Callum and I then looked where he pointed.
A medium-height stone wall ran along one part of the upper courtyard. High enough that falling from it would hurt. Low enough that no one would die if they fell properly, or badly enough into the snow below.
We climbed up with our training swords in hand, boots slipping slightly on the frost-rimed stone. By the time we reached the top, my arms were already trembling from earlier drills. My legs felt unstable. My breathing was steady only because I forced it to be.
Callum stood across from me, sword up.
Geralt and Vesemir remained below us, looking up.
"First one to knock the other off wins."
Then: "Begin."
Callum and I moved at once.
The two's swords clincked together awkwardly on the first exchange, both of us clearly exhausted. There was nothing elegant about it. No smooth duel of prodigies. Just two tired boys standing on a narrow wall, swinging steel-heavy practice swords with enough determination and fatigue to make every movement dangerous.
I went on the offensive first. Not because I was more confident, but because I knew if I let Callum settle into his rhythm, he'd adapt faster than I could. So I attacked.
A high cut but Callum blocked it. Then a low shift. Then he pulled back. Straight press. Then Callum gave ground.
Our blades knocked and scraped together repeatedly, both of us struggling for footing on the narrow stone. Every step had to be tested. Every shift of weight risked slipping. My boots didn't grip well enough. His didn't either. That made the whole thing feel one bad angle away from disaster.
But as the exchanges went on, I noticed it. Callum was getting stronger and faster. Not dramatically but just enough for me to notice. His reactions were quicker, and his attacks landed a little harder.
Callum's defense started as tired and a little sloppy. Then they sharpened as Callums recovery speed improved. His footwork solidify and stopped wavering as much. His arms seemed to find new energy right as mine were beginning to fail.
What the hell? I didn't understand it.
But I recognized the pattern, because it had happened before. More than once over the past month. Whenever Callum was pushed hard enough, especially in sparring, it was like something in him woke up. He didn't just endure better. He got better, faster, and stronger in the middle of the struggle itself.
It was infuriating because he would be the reason I didn't either receive my bonus rewards, or even completed my training quest sometimes.
It was hard not to be impressive. And deeply annoying when I was the one across from him. So I made a decision. If I let a fight between us drag out, I would lose.
Which meant just I had to end it now.
As Callum slashed from his right. I sidestepped the line of attack, let his blade glance past me, and moved in. Instead of trying to strike his chest or shoulder, I turned the motion into a disarm attempt. I got around his side, used my blade to lever against his wrist position, and managed to force his sword loose for a split second.
It worked but Callum reacted instantly.
In one quick motion he twisted, flipped backward with more agility than I expected and, kicked my sword clean out of my hand, snatched his own back under control, and used the momentum to slam his foot into my torso.
I lost balance immediately. There was one brief moment where I saw the cloudy sky, the surrounding stone, and Callum standing over me with both swords as I fell.
Cold hay and snow broke the impact below the wall. Not enough to make it pleasant, but enough to keep it from being disastrous. I landed badly, air leaving my lungs in a harsh grunt, then rolled once and lay there staring up in stunned disbelief.
Above me, Callum stood atop the wall holding both swords. For a second neither Geralt nor Vesemir moved. But even through their stoic expressions, I could tell they were slightly impressed and that somehow made it worse.
Geralt looked down at me. "That wasn't a bad move, Cain," he said.
I pushed myself upright, breathing hard, snow sticking to my sleeves and hair.
Then his tone sharpened slightly.
"But your first mistake was going for the disarm instead of the finishing blow."
I looked up at him and listened.
"Your tactic wasn't bad," he continued. "Your opponent was just better than you in that exchange." Then he took a step closer. "But you made a bigger mistake than that." His yellow eyes fixed on mine. "Do you know what it was?"
I was still breathing too hard to answer immediately.
Then I said, "I got my sword taken."
Geralt nodded. "Exactly."
His voice remained calm and cold.
"And without it, you're dead."
Those words hit harder than the fall did. Not because he was wrong. Because he was right. I had gone for style over certainty. For control over kill. For the technically clever option instead of the brutally practical one. Against a real monster, or a real man trying to murder me, that mistake would have ended me.
Geralt pointed toward one of the wooden posts near the wall. "Now give me one thousand sword swings against the post."
I stared at him, but he kept going.
"And when you're done, you're holding your sword out until I say you can drop it."
My arms and legs nearly gave out just hearing that. But I swallowed and said, "Yes, Geralt."
Vesemir gave a small nod, not unkindly.
"Go get your sword." Then he looked up at Callum. " Callum, you can go eat."
Callum hesitated only half a second, glancing from me to Vesemir and back again. Then he nodded, climbed down from the wall, and headed inside.
I watched him go with a complicated mix of irritation, exhaustion, and grudging respect. Then I picked up my sword and started swinging. By the time I was finally done with Geralt's punishment training, my hands were a mess.
Calluses torn. Palms stinging. Wrists shaking. Shoulders dead. My arms and leg's were numb enough that when I finally made it into the dining hall and sat down with a bowl of soup and a heel of hard bread, I could barely hold the spoon properly.
The soup tasted awful. Not because they added the Witcher herb blend. It was just because it was genuinely bad.
Thin. Over-salted in some sips, watery in others. Whatever root vegetables had gone into it had long since given up any remaining dignity. The bread was hard enough that I strongly suspected it would start molding if left alone another day or two.
I sighed and forced down another bite anyway. Painful hands or not, I needed the calories. I told myself one day I will fix this shitty served here. Seasoning, plenty of meat and potatoes or homemade bread. My modern day tastebuds demand it.
Then the system window appeared.
System Notification: Daily Training Quest Complete
Rewards Received: Health and Stamina Fully Restored. +1 Attribute Point
System Notification: Your body has grown from training.
+1 Constitution
+2 Strength
+2 Dexterity
+1 Wisdom
My eyes narrowed. This makes seven times now. Seven times my daily training quest completions without a single bonus reward.
I had been getting the base gains, sure. I wasn't weak enough to pretend those didn't matter. But the lack of bonus rewards still stuck in my head. And if I was honest with myself, I knew I wasn't nearly as strong as I could be.
But I still was angry at Callum. He was doing what I was doing, learning, suffering, adapting, growing.
But I was absolutely frustrated with myself. For being weaker then him, those seven times could be seven times I should have been dead if they were real fights. I know I'm being hard on myself but there is a mindset I have.
Train like it's for war so war feels like training. I wanted to be prepare as possible for the greater challenges.
Vilgefortz of Roggeveen. Aguara. The Wild Hunt. Gaunter O'Dimm. Leo Bonhart. Letho of Gulet. Eredin Bréacc Glas.
I already knew I was stronger than the boy who had arrived at Kaer Morhen. That wasn't in question anymore. I just needed to focus on my own pace. My own growth. But I might or will run into some of those individuals, and I need to be prepared. System or not.
Soon enough, I should focus on surpassing him. Vesemir, Geralt. To do that I need to refine my skills and even learn magic. Well if it was possible. At least that was what I kept telling myself.
Still… What was with Callum and that second wind? It was like I was fighting a anime protagonist.
Every time he got pushed in a real contest, he seemed to get faster and stronger midway through. Not in the impossible, superhuman way. More like some latent potential inside him came alive under pressure.
I didn't know what to make of it. Probably a kid being a kid.
That's when Callum dropped onto the bench beside me with all the careless energy.
"Hey, Cain," he said. "I got a question."
I sighed without looking up. "No. I want to eat my food, even as bad as it is."
Callum snorted. "No, not about that." Then he eyed my soup with obvious pity. "Though that is a tragedy."
That actually got the faintest twitch from the corner of my mouth. Then he leaned in a little and lowered his voice.
"I wanted to ask where you're from."
That made me pause. I looked over at him properly. And realized, belatedly, that for all the time we had spent together this past month, we had never really exchanged stories. We were too busy being run into the ground by training, chores, to do much more than complain through the exhuastion, bargain over food, and keep one another company when possible.
But now that he had asked, I had a problem. What exactly was I supposed to say?
Before I could answer, Callum kept going.
"Are you from the east? Zerrikania, maybe? Or further south, around Ofier?" He studied my face openly, with more curiosity than judgment. "I know you're half-elven, so one of your parents has to be from here, but I've never seen anyone like you before. Snow-white hair. Gold amber irises. Rich brown skin like…" He made a vague gesture. "You're pretty unique."
I smirked slightly despite myself. The kid was just curious, there was no malice behind his his question. Just honest fascination.
"Well," I said, "to tell you the truth, I don't know."
Callum blinked. "What?"
"I don't know where I'm from." I shrugged one shoulder. "I don't really remember more than my name. Everything else is blurry. Geralt found me and saved me in some no-name village near the border of Dol Blathanna."
Callum's eyes widened.
"That's crazy."
"Yeah."
"So you don't remember your parents? Your home? Anything?"
I shook my head. "Nope. Not really."
That much, at least, was close enough to the truth. I didn't know Cain's past, I only knew mine.
Callum's expression shifted into immediate guilt.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to bring up something upsetting."
I waved it off and dipped my bread into the soup. "It's fine. I've got bigger concerns than my background."
Like not dying horribly in three years from the trial.
"Besides," I added, "I can't answer the question even if I wanted to, it's not like I'm the first orphan who doesn't know his people or background"
Callum nodded slowly, accepting that, then I turned the conversation back on him.
"So what about you?"
His face brightened immediately.
"Oh, yeah. Me."
He sat up a little straighter.
"I'm from a decent-sized village on the border of Cintra. It's called Hillstead." His expression grew more animated as he talked. "My father is lord of the area. But I wasn't acknowledged as his heir. Me or my twin sister"
There it was, he was a noble bastard then, and he had a sister, and twin no less. That just made me wonder the kid looks to good to be a commoner in this time period. So how would a female version of him look.
Callum kept going, while I kept my face neutral.
"We were raised by our mother," Callum said, and the way his voice shifted then told me everything I needed to know about how he felt about her. "She's the kindest and smartest woman in the whole region, no the whole world. She taught us everything she could. Reading. Numbers. History. Etiquette. A bit of herb knowledge."
He smiled a little at the memory.
"My uncle showed up from time to time too. He taught me how to use a sword. Well… somewhat."
Well, that explained why Callum adapted to sparring so quickly. He wasn't really new to all of it.
Then he added casually, "When Coën came through, I got offered to him by my father. My sister got recruited by a sorceress from the Brotherhood of Sorcerers."
That made my mind snap sharply into focus.
That's right the Brotherhood. If they exist and Not the Lodge. With Geralt still being relatively young then that means Ciri probably isn't born yet and the events of the books haven't happened yet.
That meant I was early the timeline. Earlier than the later chaos. Before the Brotherhood's collapse into irrelevance. Before the Lodge of Sorceresses existed as the power block I remembered from later lore and games.
That actually fit very well. Which meant I was still in the early years of the larger Witcher story, before the events that would eventually spiral into the books I knew.
I knew I would have to make a plan to get tackle certain events from the books. But that would need to handled later.
Then I asked Callum as question, "You don't have a problem with elves do you?"
Callum looked at me like I'd asked if he had a problem with breathing.
"Of course not." He went on. "I never understood any of that nonsense anyway. There are plenty of elves living around our village. Not huge numbers, but enough."
Then he paused and grinned. "Besides, I and my sister are technically half-elf too. From what my mother says."
I stared at him confused. I looked at his ears and compared them to mine. Then I looked at him with a dismissive gaze.
Callum laughed. "I swear I am."
I narrowed my eyes.
He pointed at himself. "My mother's second generation elf. Our half-elf she actually has the features. While my father's a third generation, meaning a quarter elf, maybe a little less depending on which branch you count. So I and my sister look more human."
He leaned in a little and lowered his voice theatrically.
"But I'm very much elven. Same with my sister."
That actually explained a lot Cain thought. His ease around him. His looks. His fluidity. And the way he had not hesitated for a second when I first walked into the room back then.
To him, I wasn't some strange outsider. I was kin.
Well close enough anyway.
I then felt something inside me ease at that realization.
Callum then slung an arm around my shoulder with the casual confidence without making it awkward. "Tell you what, Cain." He smirked. "When we leave here, let's go come back to my village with me."
I looked at him, but he kept going.
"I'll introduce you to my mother. My sister too, hopefully, if she's around. Maybe somebody there will know something about you. Or about people who look like you." His grin widened. "And if we can't find your family, you can join mine."
I stared at him, because I had not expected that.
Not from him. Not from anyone here.
Callum said it so simply, so naturally, as if offering a home to a half-elf with no past was the most reasonable thing in the world. My chest tightened in a way I wasn't prepared for.
Then I smiled. Slowly and genuinely something I find myself doing less and less these days, but they were all genuine.
"It would be my honor, Callum."
His grin sharpened into something triumphant. And right then, as if waiting for that exact moment, the system window appeared in front of me.
System Notification:
Common Ranked Quest: Pack of Wolf Cubs — Complete
Rewards Received: +2 Attribute Points. New Ability Unlocked: Wolf Pack (Common)
Wolf Pack (Common)
Effect: When fighting or training with a member of the Witcher School of the Wolf, all attributes increase by 1. Learning proficiency improves by 2%.
My eyes widened.
This ability was beyond good… It was really good, and since it was a common ranked ability, that meant it could grow and become strongest with better effects and buffs.
And since I was here at Kaer Morhen, this was the best time to use it. Training with Wolf school Witcher's was my life now. That meant a constant passive edge. I might be able to actually beat Callum more if my attributes are buffed every time we fight or spar.
Not to mention my learning growth will improve a little quicker to. So basically I will learn as I'm fighting.
This goes to show, making this bond with Callum had just paid for itself ten times over.
I looked at Callum again. He was still smiling, waiting for my answer to settle in fully, completely unaware that the system had just quietly rewarded me for becoming his friend.
For the first time in a while, I let myself believe something simple. Maybe I really had found my first friend here. And that thought stayed with me long after the soup went cold.
*Cains current Stats, Attribute and Skills
Status Window
Name: Cain
Age: 6
Race: Half-Elf (Human, Elven)
Bloodline Trait: [Sealed]
Class: None
Attributes:
Constitution: 12
Strength: 11
Dexterity: 12
Wisdom: 16
Intelligence: 13
Charisma: 10
Luck: Unknown
Ability Points: 5
Attribute Points: 9
Abilities & Skills:
Wolf Pack (Common)