Chapter 41: Kaer Morhen Strategy
The planning room felt different with maps of the Kaedweni mountains spread across every surface.
"The Wolf School," Tom said, pointing to a marked location deep in the Blue Mountains. "Kaer Morhen. Fortress built by witchers, abandoned by witchers, occupied by witchers again after everything fell apart."
"How many?"
"Reports vary. Five, maybe six active witchers. Plus whoever comes for winter refuge—the Path scatters them across the continent, but they gather when the snows get deep." He traced the fortress's position. "The location is deliberate. Isolated, defensible, nearly impossible to reach without knowledge of the mountain passes."
"Which is why direct approach won't work." I studied the fortress schematic—partial, based on historical records rather than current observation. "They've survived this long by being paranoid. Any organization trying to 'recruit' them would trigger every defensive instinct they have."
Mira looked up from her notes. "Then what's the strategy?"
"Gifts. No strings attached. Demonstrate value before making any requests."
"That's... unusual."
"It's the only approach that might work." I pulled out the list I'd been compiling. "Witchers need specific things—alchemical supplies, rare monster parts for potions, quality equipment. These items are expensive and hard to find. An organization that could provide them reliably would be genuinely useful."
"And you have access to such items."
The question was implied rather than stated. Mira had learned not to ask directly about my mysterious resource connections.
"I can acquire what's needed. The shop—" I caught myself, rephrased. "My contacts can source rare alchemical components. White raffard petals, alcohest base materials, specific mutagen ingredients. Items that normally require months of gathering or exorbitant payment."
Tom spread his intelligence reports. "The Wolf School's been struggling since the pogrom. Most witcher schools lost their recruitment capability—no new generations being trained. The few survivors are aging, their knowledge dying with them."
"Which makes them valuable and vulnerable simultaneously." I traced the route to Kaer Morhen. "They have expertise the guild needs—centuries of accumulated monster-hunting knowledge, combat techniques refined through mutations and training. We have resources they need—infrastructure, supplies, organizational support."
"You want to recruit witchers."
"I want to establish a relationship. Recruitment comes later, if at all." I began drafting the gift manifest. "First contact is pure giving. No requests, no expectations, no implied obligations. Just valuable supplies delivered with respect."
The system shop interface glowed in my private quarters.
[GUILD SHOP - RARE TIER]
[Alchemical Components:]
[- White Raffard Petals (500 GP) - Essential healing potion ingredient]
[- Alcohest Base (300 GP) - Universal alchemical solvent]
[- Greater Mutagen Extract (400 GP) - Mutation enhancement material]
[- Specter Oil Components (200 GP) - Anti-wraith weapon coating]
[- Swallow Potion Kit (300 GP) - Emergency healing supplies]
[Equipment:]
[- Quality Blade Oil Set (400 GP) - Professional weapon maintenance]
[- Silver Dust (Pure) (200 GP) - Ritual and crafting component]
[- Meteorite Ore Fragment (200 GP) - Rare smithing material]
The costs were significant—my GP reserves would take a major hit. But the potential return justified the investment.
[PURCHASE: WITCHER GIFT PACKAGE]
[- White Raffard Petals x2 (1,000 GP)]
[- Alcohest Base x2 (600 GP)]
[- Greater Mutagen Extract x1 (400 GP)]
[- Specter Oil Components x1 (200 GP)]
[- Quality Blade Oil Set x1 (400 GP)]
[TOTAL COST: 2,600 GP]
[CURRENT GP: 3,150 → 550]
[CONFIRM?]
I confirmed. The items materialized in my hands—physical objects now, ready for packaging and delivery.
"Twenty-six hundred GP. Nearly my entire reserve. This better be worth it."
The materials were genuine—I could feel the potency of the white raffard petals, smell the sharp chemical bite of the alcohest base. Any witcher receiving these would recognize their quality immediately.
I assembled the gift carefully, wrapping each component in protective cloth and arranging them in a sturdy wooden case. The presentation mattered—sloppy packaging would suggest carelessness, undermining the message I wanted to send.
"The courier needs to be reliable," I told Tom. "Someone who can navigate mountain passes, handle themselves if bandits appear, and most importantly—not ask questions about what they're delivering."
"I have someone. Former army scout, worked the Kaedweni highlands for years. He'll get it there."
"Payment?"
"Twenty crowns for the journey, another ten if he confirms delivery."
Expensive, but necessary. This package couldn't get lost or stolen.
The letter took three drafts to get right:
To the Wolf School of Kaer Morhen,
These supplies are sent with respect, not expectation. The Covenant of Blades is an organization that values expertise and honors those who have dedicated their lives to protecting others from monsters.
No obligations attach to this gift. No response is required. Should you ever need supplies that we can provide, messages can reach us through any guild office in Oxenfurt, Novigrad, or our expanding network.
With genuine respect, Finn Colen Guild Master, Covenant of Blades
Simple. Professional. No manipulation, no hidden agenda. Just an organization acknowledging masters of a craft it respected.
"You really think they'll respond?" Mira asked, watching me seal the case.
"Not immediately. Witchers are careful—they've been betrayed too many times to trust easily." I handed the package to Tom for courier preparation. "But they'll remember. And when circumstances change, when they need something we can provide, they'll know where to reach us."
"That's a long game."
"Most valuable things are."
The courier departed the next morning.
I watched him disappear down the northern road, package secured in weatherproof wrappings, payment half-delivered with the remainder due on confirmation. Three weeks minimum for the journey, longer if weather turned difficult.
"What now?" Mira asked.
"We continue operations. The gift is planted—we let it grow while focusing on things we can control." I turned back toward headquarters. "Continental expansion doesn't stop for speculative recruitment."
But part of my attention remained fixed on the mountains where witchers had made their last stand against a world that feared them. Five or six survivors, holding onto knowledge that would die with them unless someone found a way to preserve it.
The guild could be that someone. Could provide the infrastructure and resources that might—might—give the Wolf School reason to continue existing.
"If they trust us. If they believe we're genuine. If they're willing to take a chance on an organization they've never heard of, run by someone they've never met."
The odds weren't good. But they weren't zero either.
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