Geralt the White Wolf
1112 Words
After exiting the mysterious space and tapping into the Hourglass of Time’s power, Klaun gained some insight into its nature.
The hour-counting ability functions passively, providing a continual awareness of time. As this ability strengthens, he may even perceive time’s passage with increasing precision.
The time-stopping ability, on the other hand, is far more potent, requiring “Sands of Time” to activate. These sands can be obtained in two ways: by accumulating them over time or through conversion.
One means of conversion is by absorbing spiritual essence—what Klaun interprets as the life force of living beings. Without it, animals become soulless shells, while plants wither and die.
Another form of conversion involves extracting negative emotions like pain, fear, and despair. The best sources are primates, especially humans, whose emotions are deeply felt and easily intensified.
The Hourglass of Time's power has dark origins, drawn from the essence of a demonic spirit. Klaun, cautious of unknown side effects, has decided against actively seeking out these sands. He’ll wait to understand the mystical world better before making any such decision.
He also has yet to fully test the limits of the time-stopping ability, such as its area of effect or the energy required to halt a bullet, as opposed to a falling coin. These details will be refined in due course. For now, having stabilized his physical state, he’s not in a rush to test further.
Instead, Klaun intends to focus on herbalism and crafting magical talismans.
Herbalism is a necessary trade; with it, he can earn enough to pay for his training as a holy knight. While the upgraded Golden Light Incantation has empowered him to fight demonic spirits, his physical strength remains limited, relying instead on his improved recovery rate. Thus, he still needs a method to combat supernatural monsters.
Werewolves and vampires are more than mere legends—they are real.
The larger the city, the denser their numbers are said to be.
Witnessing Nick’s prowess during the fight with the goat-headed demon shattered his notions about priests. Wielding a heavy shield and flail, maintaining relentless combat, Nick has shown that the clergy indeed possess ways to resist evil forces.
Having sorted his thoughts, Klaun decides to return to his old routine: visualizing the Golden Light Incantation by day, scouting for talisman materials while trading herbs, and practicing his marksmanship during ranch visits. At night, he’ll hone his herbalism skills.
Basic potions offer little experience now, but since he has yet to connect with the arcane community, he has no way of sourcing or selling blood-boiling potion ingredients. For the time being, he must rely on crafting standard potions to earn a living.
Over the coming days, he’ll increase his production of these potions, as Frostfall month is fast approaching. The Kingdom of Farouk will soon enter its long, harsh winter.
He needs to amass enough stock before the itinerant traders arrive.
On the first week of each month, merchants pass through Zack Town, staying two to three days to trade.
Pink Potion, for added pleasure; Bupleurum Potion, to treat colds and reduce fevers; and Bruise Balm, for blood circulation—these potions have broad applications and high demand. Klaun intends to promote these two types to the traders.
...
Frostfall has arrived, and although night has yet to descend, the wind outside already carries a biting chill.
Forming the Moonlight Seal with his hands, Klaun bathes in soft radiance, meditating.
In his mind’s eye, silver liquid accumulates almost imperceptibly on the right side of his crystal sphere, mingling with the golden liquid on the left, glimmering in harmony.
Once his senses tell him it’s quarter to six, he gradually concludes his meditation.
Exhaling deeply, he picks up a wooden box and places his pistol in the inner pocket of his worn coat, heading for the Goat Inn on Tavern Street.
He learned from his midday shopping trip that the merchants had arrived in Zack Town.
Inside the wooden box are samples of various potions and a sprig of blacktail grass.
He plans to ask the merchants if they recognize any of the herbs used by mystics. If they do, it might mean they have contacts among the arcane and might help him obtain ingredients for blood-boiling potions.
It isn’t long before he reaches the inn’s entrance.
The tavern buzzes with life; the local quarrymen, worn out from a day's work, often come here for a drink.
Pushing aside the goat-hide curtain, he is met with the warmth and bustle within.
“Abel, two more pints of black beer!”
“Where’s the food? Jason, are your cooks slacking off?”
The smell of roasting meat fills the air, and Klaun finds himself hungrier than before, with the Golden Light Incantation now consuming much more energy than it did at its initial stage.
‘Once I’ve finished my business, I’ll feast here and see how these cooks fare against me!’
Swallowing back his hunger, he walks to the counter. “Old Jason, where are those traders?”
Jason, about forty years old, solidly built with a slight bald patch, is well-acquainted with Claune from prior deliveries.
“You mean the Gisian caravan?”
Jason points to the small door in the back. “They’ve rented out the whole rear courtyard.”
“Thanks. I’ll go talk business with them. Prep two roast lamb legs for me; I’ll eat once I’m done.”
Klaun heads toward the back but stops when Jason calls out, leaning in close.
“The pink potions—can you supply more?”
“Of course! My potions outshine my father’s by far; you could live on them if you wanted, more than enough to go around!”
Claune pats his chest. “I’ll bring you some tomorrow. Have your coins ready.”
“Get lost, then!” Jason mutters, grinning awkwardly as he rubs his bald spot.
This kid’s grown indulgent. When his father was alive, lamb leg was only a New Year’s treat, and even that barely fed him.
“Arlo, tell the kitchen to roast two more legs and add extra spice,” Jason calls to a busy server.
Klaun navigates through the crowded walkway, heading for the back door. As he reaches for the handle, an arm extends in front of him.
“I’d like to discuss some business with you,” says a man at a nearby table, standing with a friendly smile.
With silver-white hair loosely tied back, weathered features, and a scar stretching from his forehead to below his left eye, he emanates an aura of hard-won resilience.
“My name is Geralt, Geralt the White Wolf.”
- Writer
