Geralt dragged his gaze across us. Bevald stood at my right. Vivald and Linon on my left.
"Monsters do not know kindness. Their claws will not stop when you stumble. Hold your sword tight. Steady your stance. You have trained for this. Trust your instincts. Bevald, you're first." He spoke encouragingly. He had watched us grow from children into young men. The younger witchers viewed us as brothers. Ones who had lived for more than a century like Geralt viewed us as sons.
Bevald stepped forwards. He drew his sword without hesitation. Courage in the face of danger was a necessary quality for our profession. Geralt hummed approvingly.
The mottled grey cloth was pulled away. Hidden beneath was a cage as tall as two men. The beast moved like lightning. It crashed into the bars of the cage, screaming and desperately trying to squeeze its bloated body between the bars.
"A drowner." Geralt narrated. He walked up to the bars without fear. The drowner's claws cut wildly. The proximity to living, breathing food further aroused its bloodlust. It had probably been days since it was fed.
"Common beasts. This one was caught in a marsh not far from here. Hungry fellas, they'll keep eating until their throats overflow with entrails." The information was the same as we had been taught. The books we studied from were hand-written by previous witchers.
The cage rattled. Only this time it wasn't from the beasts struggles. A small smile tugged at the edges of Geralt's lips. His hand was on the lock. The drowner lurched forwards, thrown off balance by the door opening suddenly. Geralt struck its back with his heel. The kick sent the beast staggering forwards. Right towards Bevald.
I stepped back. Vivald and Linon followed. This was not our fight.
Bevald's hands were steady. His eyes were locked onto the drowner. The beast shook its head, seemingly trying to dispel the dizziness from Geralt's kick. Then it's tiny brain spotted the ape in front of it. Food. It rushed forwards, flailing its arms about madly.
Drowners were talented at ambushes. In large groups they coordinated like well-trained soldiers, screaming to one another in their own language of cries and yelps. This one was alone and driven mad by hunger. What little rationality it had was lost.
Bevald's stance shifted. He stood unmoving. The drowner's ferocious appearance did not shake his will. Just as the drowner's claws were about to strike he moved. His blade whirled, carving upwards with incredible speed. The blade met resistance. Then the momentum behind it overcame the obstacle.
The drowner's hands fell to the floor. Foul smelling blood spurted out from its wrists. The beast seemed to be in disbelief. Its eyes flickered to the blueish claws rolling on the dirt. Its dull brain slowly processed what had just happened.
The drowner screamed. It was louder and more piercing than I thought possible. It trembled, it's courage had been broken. The distance between it and Bevald widened. This time the beast retreated instead of advancing. It's cries were high-pitched and shrill. They were almost pitiful.
The thought of showing mercy never appeared in Bevald's mind. He darted forwards. His blade shone in the light. His attack was simple. A thrust. Fast and powerful. The blade sank deep into the drowner's chest. I heard its ribcage crack and splinter from the impact.
The beast toppled backwards. Out of water its fins were cumbersome and unwieldy. It had tripped over its own feet. The sword's tip had pierced through its chest and out the other side. It was knocked free as it's back hit the dirt.
Bevald didn't lower his guard. He crept forwards and picked up his blade once more. The beast writhed on the dirt, blood poured out from its wounds. Its fate was sealed, the blood loss would kill it within the minute.
The young witcher wasn't willing to wait. Bevald lifted his sword high into the air. The executioner's blade swung down. The drowner's head seperated from its neck and tumbled to the side. At last its screams quietened.
"An excellent perfomance." Geralt commented. The drowner's body twitched for the last time.
Eskel slid down from the roof and landed neatly on his feet. He kicked the drowner's head towards its body. His left hand grabbed the fin atop its head. His right plunged into its exposed neck and grabbed its curved spine. Whistling a tune he dragged both to the walkway and pushed them over the side.
Despite their very different personalities, Geralt and Eskel were close friends. Geralt sighed at Eskel's unecessarily gruesome approach and continued, "Jack you're next."
Chains creaked and groaned. Geralt grunted as he heaved on a rusted winch. A second equally large cage rose from the ground. Another huge piece of cloth concealed the things inside.
Eskel threw an arm around Geralt's shoulder. He grinned devilishly, "Extra special treat for you Jack! Caught em myself, the more the merrier aye?"
Bevald fell back in line with the rest of us. This time it was my turn to step forwards.
Geralt pulled the cloth from the cage. The foul smell that had been brewing in the air immediately swelled. Five hunched figures paused what they were doing. The bones and vines tied to their limbs clanked together. Each one held a piece of meat in its hands. Their insectoid eyes centred on me. The excited gleam told me that they had tasted human flesh before. Humans were far more delicious than the deer of pheasant used to feed them.
The cage door opened. The nekkers advanced, cautiously. Their strength lay in their coordinated attacks. Though they looked like brutes, they were excellent at ambushes.
I wouldn't give them time to organise. Momentum was important. I charged forwards. The nekkers took a step back. Then they met eyes with one another. Their courage swelled. One shrieked and the others followed suit.
The tallest one was my first target. Take out the leader and the troops would scatter. I slashed at its neck. Wielding a blade gave me the advantage of greater reach. The nekker darted back. Its swift reaction caused my sword to miss its mark and strike its shoulder instead. My blade cut deep into its flesh. I pulled on it hard. It scraped against bone as it withdrew.
The nekker howled with pain. Its arm fell limply at its side. It retreated hurriedly, putting the bodies of its companions in my way. Spit and pieces of flesh spewed from its lips as it cried out. The noise grated on my ears, but the other nekkers understood its meaning. The four of them circled around me, forcing me to spread my attention to all sides.
I could tell that they were wary to attack. They had seen the sharpness of my sword. The tall nekker cried out again. The nekkers immediately became excited, jumping up and down and pounding the earth with their feet. They came at me altogether, their gangly limbs waving wildly as they ran. It was a simple but effective tactic. If I allowed them to get close they would knock me to the ground. I would be at their mercy.
I leapt forwards, I selected the scrawniest among them as my opponent. The tall nekker's cry had aroused him to a state of madness. Without fear for my blade he continued to run. This time my blade found its mark. His head was cleaved clean off his body. The mood of the nekker's shifted instantly. Seeing one of their own killed so swiftly was like cold water dumped on their heads.
They froze. Their minds were frantically trying to decide between fleeing and fighting. My feet didn't stop. I rushed to the next one. I slashed at its neck. A fountain of blood poured out. It fell to its knees and its face hit the dirt. Dead.
Nekkers were tenacious. They could stand even after recieving wounds that ought to be fatal. The bestiary entries I had read about them recounted nekkers who would stuff their intestines back into their stomachs and run off into the forests after being cut in the stomach. The witcher who recorded this drew a sketch of that same nekker some days later. A huge and ugly scar ran across its stomach. But it had survived.
The fight could not be allowed to drag on. Geralt and Eskel were watching and evaluating my performance. Every blow I dealt had to be assuredly fatal. The neck was a trustworthy choice.
The third nekker met the same fate as his predeccesors. He managed to block one blow. He panickedly raised his arms to block my sword. The hasty defence worked. Unfortunately he wasn't fast enough to block the slash that followed.
Then there were two. The tall nekker trembled. Perhaps from fury, perhaps from terror. His head swivelled to survery the area behind him. The thick iron bars of the cage blocked his retreat. I watched his face contort into an almost human expression. Helplessness.
He charged, howling to the skies and sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him. The desperate warcry stimulated the other nekker and it charged as well. The two of them came at me, one from behind one from in front. My calm never wavered. I leapt to the side, I wasn't foolish enough to stand in one place and wait for them to arrive.
The tall nekker held the greatest threat. I dispatched him first. His useable arm clutched at his neck as the blood poured out. He tried to scream, a last defiant cry as his death approached. All that came out was the sound of blood gurgling in his throat.
The last nekker shivered with fear. It turned its back to me and scurried away desperately. Its long arms caught on its legs and it tumbled to the floor. I twirled my blade in my hand. The rotation added speed and lethality. The blade penetrated into its skull without issue. With a twist of my sword I turned its brain to mush.
Geralt hummed. He looked at the corpses that littered the ground and whispered something too quietly for me to hear.
I lifted one of the corpses onto my shoulders and grabbed another by the arm. The wind whipped against their bodies as they span through the air and fell from the walkway. I wasn't tired from the battle. All those hours spent training against dummies. It was a delight to cleave into flesh and bone instead of wood.
Eskel picked up one of the corpses and hurled it over the walkway. The final two shared a similar fate. Their reunion at the bottom of the gorge below would be lacking in cheer. The wolves wouldn't touch the corpses, only in winter when their hunger drove them to madness would they be willing to consume the reeking flesh. Irony struck me. The only creatures willing to eat the nekkers foul smelling flesh were others of its kind.
Vivald and Linon, the other two adepts, followed after me. Their fights were short. The real world was not at all like video games. There were no health bars. A single well placed strike would end a fight in an instant. The corpses of the drowners joined the nekkers at the foot of the gorge.
Geralt looked us all up and down, "Good. You have all lived up to expectations. Return to your rooms. Tomorrow you go to the mountains."
Eskel grinned, "The big day's almost here boys! The sparrow's about to fledge from the nest. Oh how you'll miss this place once you're out in the real world."
The other adepts and I exchanged smiles. The trial of the mountains was the last thing standing in our way. Our medallions awaited us. I was eager to claim mine.
The world was vast. Whether its inhabitants liked me or not was irrelevant. I was hungry to explore. There was an entire world beyond the walls of Kaer Morhen. I wished to see it all.