The Path: A witcher's tale

Chapter 13

I was the last witcher to arrive at Kaer Morhen that year, just as the first snows of winter were falling lightly to the ground. As I neared the door of the main keep I heard a voice that did not correspond with that of anyone I knew, until I walked in. As I entered, I was awestruck at who was standing there before me, it was Gwynbleidd, the legendary White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia.
I approached and bowed my head in respect and he had told me to drop the courtesies, that I was among brothers. Geralt looked me in the eye and told me to turn my head to the left to see my white patch of hair. He observed and said, "So, you're the bloody wolf I've been hearing about in ballads at taverns and that commoners are speaking about. You killed a damn manticore, that's no small feat!" I thanked him for the congratulations and I asked how he could've heard about the manticore if that kill was in Skellige and he is currently living in Beauclair. Geralt said that a skald in Skellige had written a ballad from the event, the details of which told to him by a certain witcheress, and traveled to the continent to show the ballad to other bards and singers. "So I guess that now I'm the bloody wolf," I had said with some pride in my voice.
It was then that we had heard some marching outside the main walls of the keep. Everyone else reached for their swords, but Geralt said that he would handle this, with me at his side. I had agreed and replied, "let's go show these bastards why you don't attack a pack of wolves in their den." We walked along the walls and looked down at the mass of around 30 people in front of our doors, asking what they wanted from us. Those peasant whoresons had said, "We're sick of you mange-ridden, lech'rous, mutant freaks! We want to get rid of you scum once and for all!" Geralt and I warned them one more time, but they wouldn't listen.
We drew our steel and descended to the portcullis and opened it. The mob rushed at us with all they had: scythes, sickles, pitchforks, anything they could use as weapons. Geralt and I both used aard to knock back the crowd and started hacking away at them. While carefully dodging pitchfork stabs, I was able to kill around 3 peasants with a couple feints and parries. Until, a sickle had struck me in the side. That's when my eyes went red and my hair went white. This time however, I could see what was happening, I saw the mass dying before me, I was killing at least 2 with each swing my steel. When the dust settled and the last body had fallen, I was covered in the blood of the fallen and my own, with the wound on my side healing already.
I looked back and saw Geralt standing over about 7 bodies, each of which he had slain, and I saw the others standing on the walls. Everyone was shocked after what they saw and insisted we left the battleground and returned to the main keep. We had gathered around a familiar table and the conversation started. Geralt was the first to speak, he looked over at Eskel and said, "So that's the witcher who got the ulfheddin mutagen, and the pride of the new generation of the school of the Wolf that you were boasting about."
Karadine had looked at me and had asked why my blade didn't glow like before. I had said I didn't know for sure, but it was most likely because I wasn't using my silver sword, Bloede Bleidd; my namesake. We decided to see if that was true and I was handed my silver. Sure enough, once I made contact, a dim fire was seen flickering from small runes etched in the blade, when my transformation was active, the runes would glow brighter and become more noticeable. Eskel had told me the story of that blade, that the silver was enchanted and that only a witcher who survived the trial of the Grasses with a werewolf mutagen could wield it to its maximum effectiveness. Karadine had said that when my ability was activated on the manticore hunt, my blade and I seemed to be one, as it always struck true.
Marçin and Ajax said that I always had this power that wasn't present in anyone else training at Kaer Morhen. It was clear that this mutagen had set me apart from my brethren, making me better, in a sense. We had then moved on to lighter matters, such as listening to the stories of the White Wolf. Geralt had told us of his adventures all across the northern realms. He told us of when he had helped a phoenix fight off hunters in Kovir and when he had lifted a Sriga's curse in Temeria. We marveled about the White Wolf's deeds and I hoped I could live up to, and possibly surpass, his renown and reputation.
We drank the night away and reveled over the events of the past year. This was the routine until early spring when, before we adjourned, I had announced that I will travel alone, to get better control over my ability. I made my brothers-in-arms good luck on the Path and we went our separate ways. I, for one, was going to be traveling to the valley of Dol Blathanna; a Scoia'tael controlled allod bordered by Kaedwen. I heard of a contract offered by the Scoia'tael and decided it was worth my while.