Vesemir woke up with the first rays of sunlight falling on his face. He looked at the device called an alarm clock. Seven o'clock in the morning. The duel would take place in two hours. Yesterday, Midnight had explained to him the principle of the alarm clock, the watch, and the minutes and hours that serve as a measure of time in this world.
He got out of bed and began preparations. The leather jacket armor had been repaired by Power Loader. The gold bars had been replaced with steel ones, increasing protection against injuries. There was no trace of the knife piercing. The technology of this world never ceased to amaze the young witcher.
Now, in order. Vesemir put on his old clothes. A white T-shirt was the only new element of his outfit. Good, strong leather trousers and black boots covering his calves completed his appearance. He secured the remaining elixirs in the designated place on his chest. Daggers in several places, under the armpits, at the side, attached to the hip. However, the place for the crossbow remained empty.
In place of the steel sword, he attached his new sword, given to him by Nezu. In the other place, he attached his old, silver blade. He didn't need it for the duel, but habit had won. Besides, he got used to the weight of the second sword on his back. That's how he trained... That's how he fought.
He had eaten a very modest dinner the previous evening, but he had no intention of eating breakfast just before the fight. Alternatively, a cut in the stomach could prove fatal then, and Vesemir was unknown to the advanced medical technology of this world, additionally supported by healing quirks.
After a moment's thought, he decided to equip himself with two Samun bombs, which are not lethal in themselves, but can blind the opponent. He didn't need more. Vesemir didn't mean to kill Mr. Brave. He remembered the last fight with the so-called hero. Last time, he had defeated him in six moves. Last time, Mr. Brave managed to hit him in the ribs only because Vesemir was holding back. There would be no leniency now.
Vesemir sat down on the floor, crossed his legs and closed his eyes. The room was almost completely silent – only the sound of birds could be heard outside the window.
He breathed slowly. Deeply.
Inhale – New world. Thousands of foreign smells, synthetic materials, dust, ozone, green trees from the campus, distant unknown smells of food from the kitchen.
Exhale – Pont Vanis... smoke of the fireplace, the smell of blood, metal, oils and damp rock.
The memory of the previous fight with Mr. Brave moved through his consciousness like a shadow. A blow to the ribs. A mistake. Not technical – emotional. Vesemir made a mistake. He didn't want to damage Mr. Brave, whom he mistook for a guard. Vesemir gave him a head start... why? Because that girl was watching?
*Please...don't do it! He is a hero!*
The girl's voice rang in his head... Kodai Yui. That's why he hesitated. That's why he got hit in the ribs. It wasn't her fault. It was his decision to take her words into consideration.
Inhale - The girl's gaze, the smell of new paints, the beautiful flowers floating on the lake that you can see from the window.
Exhale - The screams of the wounded, blood pouring into his eyes, the stench of burnt skin, bloody water up to his knees.
Did Vesemir want revenge? No. Mr. Brave didn't do anything like the people the young witcher took revenge on.
It wasn't about revenge. It was about showing the limit.
No one would ever hit him again. No one would ever touch his body again.
The last piece of clothing. The Wolf Amulet. The symbol of his craft. Despite the fact that he hadn't undergone witcher mutations, he was able to fight like a witcher. The son of the child of surprise - Ciri. Magic had been present in his body since before he was born. Triss couldn't explain why he was immune to the negative effects of magic.
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Nezu watched the young boy through the cameras. He hadn't moved since putting on the amulet. He had been sitting cross-legged. An hour had passed.
The wolf symbol... what could it mean? Depending on the culture, it could mean something good or bad. To the Romans, it was a symbol of the founding of Rome. In Norse myths, the wolf was seen almost like Satan in Christianity. In Japanese beliefs, wolves are credited with seeing things hidden, or seeing things as they really are.
Nezu knew that the wolf form was well-regarded in Japanese culture. This would definitely help the boy if used properly. However, it all depended on the boy and his duel with Mr. Brave. Nezu knew that Hound Dog had decided to pay the boy a visit an hour before the duel.
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873 / 5 000
Hound Dog knocked on the door. Vesemir opened his eyes. He returned smoothly from his meditative trance. He stood up, walked to the door and opened it without a word.
Hound Dog stood in the doorway. A tall, almost two-meter-tall man
"Vesemir. I hope I'm not interrupting. Can I have a moment?" he asked politely.
"Of course, Mr. Hound Dog. You're welcome."
Hound Dog entered and walked around the room. He didn't sniff or poke around with his eyes, but observed. Finally, he looked at the boy with interest in his eyes.
"I'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind." Hound Dog said.
Vesemir sat down and nodded.
"Why are you doing this, Vesemir? What are you trying to prove by showing off your strength?"
"I want Mr. Brave to know that he's crossed a line."
"What line?"
"The line of treating Mrs. Midnight and Miss Yui. The line of attacking someone for a stupid reason."
"Ah. So this is about revenge?"
"No. If it was about revenge, I wouldn't challenge him to a duel. I'll teach him a lesson in humility. It's something that could save his life."
"Can you elaborate on that, Vesemir?" Hound Dog asked with curiosity.
"If he had come across another witcher... Letho, for example, he would have died. Just like that. There would have been no exchange of blows. A break of the blade, a pirouette, and a cut at chest height, low from below diagonally upwards. Mr. Brave would have died."
Hound Dog was silent for a moment. Usually he had a ready answer or comment. This time he simply looked into Vesemir's eyes, as if trying to analyze the words he had just spoken.
"You want to show him the reality of your world."
"When Mr. Brave decided to attack me, the reason for his attack didn't interest me. He attacked me and I responded proportionally. If he had done the same a year ago, he would have died."
Hound Dog took a few steps towards the window. For a moment he looked out at the peaceful campus landscape.
"Why?"
"Because I had a lot of anger. I still do, but now the anger is just a tool."
Hound Dog didn't turn around yet. There was tension in his posture, but not anxiety. More like deep reflection. Finally he spoke, slowly, carefully choosing his words.
"Fourteen years..." he said quietly, almost to himself. "Fourteen years and you're already using anger as a weapon. Better than most adults I know."
Hound Dog finally turned around and looked Vesemir straight in the eye. This time there was no judgment in that look, only concern.
"You know what really worries me, Vesemir? That you speak of death with such precision as others speak of tactics in a sports game. Technically. Factually. And that's the problem."
Vesemir didn't react immediately. He looked at Hound Dog without blinking, but there was neither challenge nor aggression in it. Rather, vigilance. Like someone who was used to being judged.
"Life has turned out this way, that I am who I am. I won't change that."
Hound Dog sat down in a chair. He looked at Vesemir.
"Boy. You don't have to do this. You don't have to fight him. We can still call it off."
"It's too late to call off the fight. Such a decision will hurt everyone around."
"How?"
"Mr. Brave's ego will grow even bigger. My word will lose credibility, and what is a knight's word if that knight is not able to keep it?"
Hound Dog accepted these words with a straight face. The boy is.... wronged to such a degree that he does not understand that he has been wronged. Someone will pay for this. He was silent for a moment, not looking away from the boy. It was one of those silences in which an adult feels terror. Finally, he sighed quietly, as if with a heartache.
"Vesemir... can you explain to me how you see good and evil?"
Vesemir thought for a moment. He looked at his image again. After a moment, he said.
"Evil is Evil. Lesser, greater, middling... Makes no difference. The degree is arbitrary. The definition's blurred. If I'm to choose between one evil and another... I'd rather not choose at all."
Hound Dog fell silent. Vesemir's words hung in the air like a sword blade, simple, cold, unoiled by moral compromise. They didn't fit a fourteen-year-old. They didn't fit a child.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Yes Vesemir... please ask."
"Have you ever killed anyone?"
Hound Dog hesitated. It was a simple question only on the surface. The answer required courage - not the physical kind he knew perfectly well, but a more fragile, personal kind. He looked at Vesemir with a new kind of seriousness, as if trying to convey more than just words.
"No," he finally answered. "I've never killed anyone."
"That's obvious." The young witcher replied.
Hound Dog didn't react immediately. That's obvious. - those two words echoed in his mind like a muffled gong. They weren't said with contempt. They weren't an ironic judgment either. They were a statement of fact. Cold, but not cold by nature - cold like the look of a warrior who sees that someone hasn't had to reach for a sword yet.
"And what do you think, Vesemir?" - he finally asked quietly, thoughtfully. "What is it that you see in me that makes you think I've never killed?"
"You are part of the system of heroes. From the behavior of the heroes I know, I can conclude that your work ends with catching a criminal. You don't care what happens to that criminal. You don't care that that criminal can escape and return to crime. Then every theft, every murder, and every rape is your fault, but you don't see that. You don't see that killing that criminal will close this vicious circle. You live in a madness unknown to me, in which you are the good guys, even though you don't really care about others. I'm not saying that killing every criminal is necessary, but one day you will wake up with the conviction that the man you arrested escaped from his cell and committed terror, killing or injuring many innocent people. This is the dilemma of good or evil. The world is not black and white, it is painted in various shades of gray."
Vesemir walked over to the painting and turned it so that Hound Dog could see it.
"Please describe what you see."
Hound Dog walked closer to the painting. He stopped in front of it, not touching the frame, not leaning in too much—he simply looked. For a long moment he didn't say anything. It was obvious that he was analyzing every detail. Finally he spoke, slowly, with respect in his voice, as if he were describing not so much a work of art as a memory.
"Four knights," he began quietly. "Standing together, as if they had always been a team. Or as if no one else had survived this battle."
He moved his gaze to Vesemir's silhouette, so clearly recognizable, despite his knightly armor.
"The one standing here... that's you. The movement of your hand... You're releasing fire. But this isn't an attack of fury. This is a deliberate gesture. It doesn't look like an outburst of emotion—this is an action of choice. Cold. Determined."
He paused. He took a quiet breath.
"Your posture is erect. Even when you fight. As if you can't afford a shadow of a doubt. As if you have to be a rock for those three beside you."
He swept his gaze over the other knights.
"They fight too. But differently. With effort, with desperation. One of them is holding his arm, the other is half-turned, as if he had just managed to parry a blow. And you... are their center. The point around which it all revolves."
He fell silent for a moment, then added quietly:
"Water... blood in it. Waves. This image does not show triumph. It shows necessity. Survival. The price."
He looked at the crossbow, partially submerged in the water.
"A broken crossbow. A symbol of what no longer works. Or what had to be abandoned. A ranged weapon, but here - useless. Only direct combat remains."
Finally, he looked at Vesemir.
"This painting is not just about fighting. It is about responsibility. About burden. About the loneliness of a leader. About a boy who cannot afford to be a boy. Because if he hesitates, everyone will die."
Hound Dog finally fell silent, waiting for the boy's answer. Vesemir replied.
"From a strategic point of view, it was just the first small skirmish. Just two thousand men. For the fighters, it was their moment. Life or death. For the commander, it was simply reconnaissance of the enemy. What is their morale? Will they break under the pressure of the infantry or only after the cavalry attack? The point of view depends on the person and many factors that affect that person. If I had painted this skirmish from a great distance, I assure you that you would have different feelings. For the people who were there and won, it will be a memory for the rest of their lives, of which they will be proud. For historians in 100 years, it will be just a mention of a five-day battle." Vesemir glanced at the clock.
"My duel begins in 20 minutes. I kindly ask you to escort me to the place where I will cross swords with Mr. Brave."
Hound Dog's heart ached with pain.
End of Chapter 13