Chapter 33: Training with a Witcher
POV: Adam
Dawn in Blaviken arrived with the sound of steel ringing against steel, Geralt's voice carrying across the inn's courtyard with the authority of someone who'd spent decades teaching survival through violence. Adam rolled out of bed with muscles that protested every movement, his body cataloging injuries that yesterday's training had inflicted with surgical precision.
Day four of getting systematically beaten by a professional killer. This is education.
"You're strong but sloppy," Geralt had said on their first morning, his golden eyes studying Adam's sword work with clinical detachment. "Let me fix that."
Fix that. Like I'm a broken tool that needs repair.
The training sessions had proven exactly as brutal as Geralt's reputation suggested they would be. No consideration for Adam's ego, no allowances for inexperience, no mercy for someone whose sword work had been adequate against bandits but proved pathetically inadequate against a witcher who'd been killing things professionally for longer than Adam had been alive.
Pain teaches. Remember it.
Geralt's philosophy of instruction involved applying educational violence until lessons became permanently embedded in muscle memory and survival instinct. Adam's body bore the evidence of this approach—bruises that painted maps of tactical failures, cuts that marked moments when his guard had dropped, and aches that spoke of someone learning to fight against opponents who could kill him without effort.
But I'm improving. Slowly, painfully, but improving.
The morning routine had become ritual—sword forms practiced until exhaustion forced errors, then analysis of those errors until understanding made repetition possible. Geralt moved through the exercises with fluid grace that made combat look like dancing, while Adam struggled to achieve basic competence that wouldn't embarrass him in actual battle.
Footwork. Balance. Timing. All the fundamentals I never learned properly.
"Better," Geralt said as Adam managed to complete a complex combination without tripping over his own feet. "Still terrible, but better."
High praise from someone who considers 'adequate' to be a compliment.
Afternoons brought monster lore that expanded Adam's understanding of supernatural threats beyond simple recognition of immediate danger. Geralt shared knowledge accumulated through decades of professional hunting, describing behavioral patterns and anatomical weaknesses with clinical precision that transformed terrifying legends into tactical information.
Wraiths manifest strongest at night. Silver disrupts their spiritual cohesion. Specters oil enhances weapon effectiveness.
The bestiary that existed only in Geralt's memory contained details that formal education couldn't provide—practical knowledge earned through encounters where theoretical understanding meant the difference between collecting payment and becoming cautionary tale.
Vampires regenerate faster in darkness. Nekkers coordinate through pheromone communication. Drowners become sluggish in cold water.
"Knowledge keeps you alive," Geralt said as they studied crude sketches that illustrated vital points on creatures most people hoped never to encounter. "But knowledge without skill gets you killed slower."
Wisdom earned through survival. Every piece of information cost someone blood.
Evening meditation sessions provided balance to days spent learning violence, Geralt's instruction shifting toward mental discipline that supported physical capability. The techniques he taught bore similarity to methods Adam used for airbending control, but approached from perspectives that emphasized survival rather than elemental manipulation.
Clear mind. Calm breathing. Awareness without attachment.
"Fear clouds judgment," Geralt explained as they sat in silence while sunset painted Blaviken in shades of gold and shadow. "Anger wastes energy. Survive first, feel later."
Witcher philosophy. Emotional control as tactical advantage.
Day five brought the moment Adam had been working toward since training began—landing his first hit on someone whose reflexes operated at supernatural levels. The strike came during sparring that had pushed him beyond normal limits, exhaustion and determination combining to create openings that conscious planning couldn't achieve.
Opening. Finally, an opening.
His sword found Geralt's ribs with impact that spoke of contact rather than penetration, blunted steel delivering message that sharp edges would have made permanent. For one heartbeat, Adam felt the satisfaction of proving that improvement was possible against impossible odds.
I hit him. Actually hit him.
Geralt's smile was small but genuine, transformation that made his weathered features almost human for the space of seconds. "Better."
Approval. From Geralt of Rivia. That means something.
The training continued through the week with intensity that never diminished, Geralt's expectations rising to match Adam's capabilities as they developed through repetition and applied violence. But alongside physical instruction came growing mutual respect, recognition that competence could exist in forms different from witcher training.
He's not trying to make me into a witcher. He's trying to make me into someone who can survive what's coming.
Ciri's training sessions provided different education, Geralt approaching her instruction with modifications that acknowledged her royal background while preparing her for realities that protocol hadn't covered. Her sword work flowed with natural grace that spoke of talent refined through determination, movements that made Adam's chest swell with pride he hadn't earned but felt anyway.
She's incredible. Look at her move—like dancing, but deadly.
"Your form is good," Geralt told her after a particularly impressive combination, his voice carrying praise that he distributed as carefully as rare coin. "But you telegraph your intentions. Watch."
The demonstration that followed illustrated subtleties that separated competent fighters from masters, micro-expressions and postural shifts that revealed planned attacks before they began. Ciri absorbed the instruction with hunger that spoke of someone understanding that survival depended on continuous improvement.
Learning. We're both learning, but she's learning faster.
Evening conversations revealed different aspects of their temporary mentor, Geralt sharing stories that painted pictures of a world larger and more dangerous than civilian experience could encompass. Tales of contracts that had required months to complete, monsters that defied conventional understanding, and decisions that haunted him decades after they'd been made.
Sixty years of this. Sixty years of fighting things that want to kill everyone he's trying to protect.
"You did what witchers do," Geralt said when Adam shared edited versions of their escape from Cintra, his voice carrying recognition that transcended professional boundaries. "Protect. For no coin."
No coin. He understands that some things matter more than payment.
"I didn't need coin. I needed her safe."
"Hmm." Geralt's characteristic grunt conveyed approval that words couldn't improve upon.
Witcher-speak for 'you did good.' I'm starting to understand his language.
"You're learning from him," Ciri observed as they prepared for sleep, her voice carrying curiosity mixed with concern that suggested she was processing changes she couldn't fully define. "But you're different."
Different. How am I different?
"Different how?" Adam asked, genuinely curious about her perspective on transformations he could feel but couldn't objectively measure.
"Geralt's alone. You're not. You have me."
I have her. That changes everything about how I approach this.
Adam pulled her close, feeling her warmth against his chest while stars wheeled overhead in patterns that spoke of continuity beyond human understanding. "Always."
Always. Whatever comes, whatever changes, that remains constant.
The week concluded with capabilities that felt substantial compared to his starting point, muscle memory that would serve in situations where conscious thought was too slow to prevent death. But more importantly, it ended with understanding that survival required community rather than individual excellence.
Geralt fights alone because that's how witchers are trained. I fight with her because that's how love works.
[SKILL LEARNED: Enhanced Combat Awareness]
[BONUS: +2 AGI permanently]
[Experience Gained: 350 XP total]
[Level Progress: 18 (95% toward Level 19)]
[Relationship: Geralt +20 (now 45/100, solid Friend)]
As they prepared to leave Blaviken for whatever destination Geralt's plans required, Adam carried more than improved technique and expanded knowledge. He carried confidence that came from proving himself capable of learning from someone whose standards were measured in life and death rather than academic achievement.
Ready. Not ready for everything, but more ready than I was.
The road ahead stretched toward winter sanctuary at Kaer Morhen, where witchers gathered to survive months too harsh for monster hunting. But first, they had to reach that sanctuary alive—a journey that would test everything their week of training had attempted to teach.
Together. All three of us now. Whatever comes, we face it together.
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