Alaric stood in his room, gazing at Arcane Reaver with a mixture of pride and determination. Creating the pistol was a significant achievement, but he knew that possessing a powerful weapon meant nothing without the skill to wield it effectively. Training was essential, and he had already spent months practicing in the isolated rooms of the mansion, setting up targets at various distances and angles, sometimes even suspending them from strings to simulate moving targets. Despite his efforts, he realized that real combat would be the true test of his abilities.
Determined to gain practical experience, Alaric devised a plan to go hunting. It was not just about honing his skills; it was also a chance to prove himself in a tangible way. Late one evening, under the cover of darkness, he approached Geralt with his plan.
"Geralt, I need your help," Alaric said, his voice steady. "I'm going hunting, and I need a small group of guards to accompany me—men who can keep my activities a secret for a price."
The steward studied Alaric for a moment, then nodded. "I understand, Master Alaric. I will arrange for a discreet group of guards. They will be briefed on your weapon and its capabilities, though I suspect they will be skeptical."
"That's fine," Alaric replied. "They can be as skeptical as they want. They'll see soon enough."
A few nights later, Alaric slipped out of the estate with Geralt's assistance. The steward had arranged for a small group of trusted guards to escort him, men who had been paid well in silver coins for their silence. They gathered at the edge of the estate, cloaked in darkness.
One of the guards, a burly man named Roland, eyed Alaric's pistol with curiosity. "So, this is the weapon you've been working on? Doesn't look like much."
Alaric smirked, holding Arcane Reaver up for them to see. "Appearances can be deceiving, Roland. This pistol channels mana and fires magical projectiles. You'll see its worth soon enough."
Another guard, a wiry fellow named Cedric, chuckled. "I've seen plenty of weapons in my time, but never one like this. Hope you know what you're doing, young master."
"Trust me," Alaric replied confidently. "I've trained for this."
They ventured into the forest under the cover of night, moving silently through the underbrush. The moonlight filtered through the canopy, casting eerie shadows on the ground. Alaric led the way, his senses alert. This was his first real test, and he was determined to succeed.
They reached a clearing, and Alaric signaled for the guards to halt. He whispered to them, outlining the plan. "We'll split up and circle the area. Keep an eye out for any signs of movement. If you spot anything, signal me, and I'll take the shot."
The guards nodded, dispersing into the darkness. Alaric moved stealthily, his heart pounding with anticipation. He knew that the forest was home to various creatures—some mundane, others more dangerous. Tonight, he would prove that Arcane Reaver was more than just a novelty.
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours as Alaric navigated the forest. Suddenly, he heard a faint rustling sound. He paused, holding his breath, listening intently. There it was again—a soft, shuffling noise, accompanied by low grunts. Alaric signaled to the nearest guard, Roland, who responded with a nod.
Carefully, Alaric crept closer to the source of the noise. His heart raced as he spotted the creature—a massive boar rooting through the underbrush. It was larger than any he had seen before, its tusks gleaming in the moonlight. Alaric steadied his breathing, raising Arcane Reaver, channeling a small amount of mana into the pistol.
He aimed carefully, taking into account the creature's movements. Then, with a steady hand, he pulled the trigger. The pistol hummed softly, and a glowing projectile shot forth, striking the boar with a flash of light. The creature let out a furious squeal, thrashing about before collapsing to the ground.
The guards emerged from their positions, gathering around the fallen boar. Roland let out a low whistle. "Well, I'll be damned. That's some weapon you've got there, young master."
Alaric couldn't hide his grin. "I told you it wasn't just for show."
Cedric clapped Alaric on the back. "You've proven yourself tonight, Alaric. That was an impressive shot."
They continued their hunt through the night, encountering more creatures, each time Alaric's confidence growing with every successful shot. By dawn, they had returned to the estate with their spoils—a testament to Alaric's skill and the power of Arcane Reaver.
Back at the estate, Alaric cleaned his pistol, reflecting on the night's events. The satisfaction of proving himself in the field was immense, but he knew this was just the beginning. There were greater challenges ahead, and he would need to be ready for whatever came next.
Geralt approached him later in the day, a smile on his face. "I heard about your success last night, Master Alaric. The guards were quite impressed."
Alaric nodded, his expression serious. "It's a start, Geralt. But there's still much to do. The Iron Dominion won't wait for us to be ready."
Geralt's smile faded into a look of concern. "You're right. But with your determination and ingenuity, I have no doubt you'll be prepared."
Alaric placed Arcane Reaver on his workbench, a sense of resolve washing over him. "I'll make sure of it, Geralt. For now, we train harder and gather more information. The fight against the Iron Dominion is far from over."
And so, Alaric continued his rigorous training, both in the mansion and out in the field, honing his skills with Arcane Reaver. Each day brought new challenges, but also new victories.
One day, Alaric found himself cornered in a dark alleyway, three robbers surrounding him with menacing grins on their faces. They had no idea who they were dealing with, and Alaric couldn't help but smirk at their ignorance.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" sneered the leader of the group, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek. "Hand over everything you've got, and we might let you walk out of here."
Alaric feigned fear, raising his hands slightly. "Gentlemen, there's no need for violence. I'm just a traveler with little to offer."
"Is that so?" another robber, a wiry man with a knife, taunted. "Then why don't you make it easy on yourself and give us everything you have?"
Alaric kept his composure, his eyes flickering with amusement. "Alright, alright. Just let me reach for my coin pouch."
As he slowly reached behind his back, his fingers brushed against the cool metal of Arcane Reaver. With a swift movement, he drew the pistol and fired, the magical projectile striking the ground at the robbers' feet, sending them stumbling back in shock.
"What the—" the leader exclaimed, but he never finished his sentence. Alaric fired again, hitting the leader square in the chest. The man crumpled to the ground, his eyes wide with surprise.
The other two robbers, now panicked, tried to flee, but Alaric was faster. Another shot took down the wiry man with the knife, and the final robber didn't make it more than a few steps before he too fell to the ground, lifeless.
Alaric sighed, lowering Arcane Reaver. "Well, that went better than expected."
He stepped over the bodies, wiping the sweat from his brow. This encounter was just another part of his rigorous training. After months of hunting animals and weak monsters, Alaric had turned his attention to a more dangerous quarry: humans. At sixteen, he had become proficient in killing, albeit mostly street robbers and roadside bandits.
As he made his way back to the estate, Alaric couldn't help but reflect on how far he had come. The boy who once struggled to find his place in a world dominated by magical talent was now a formidable force in his own right. The Arcane Reaver had proven to be more than just a weapon; it was a symbol of his resilience and ingenuity.
Back at the estate, Alaric cleaned his pistol meticulously, lost in thought. Each encounter, each kill, had honed his skills and hardened his resolve. But he knew this was just the beginning. The Iron Dominion and its machinations loomed ever larger on the horizon, and Alaric was determined to be ready for whatever came next.
Geralt entered the room, raising an eyebrow at the sight of Alaric's blood-stained clothes. "Another successful outing, I presume?"
Alaric nodded, a grim smile on his face. "Three more bandits who won't be troubling anyone again. It's getting easier."
Geralt sighed, shaking his head. "Just be careful, Master Alaric. The streets are dangerous, and not all enemies will be as easily dealt with."
"I know," Alaric replied, his voice steady. "But I have to keep pushing myself. The Iron Dominion won't wait, and neither will I."
Geralt placed a hand on Alaric's shoulder. "Just remember, you're not alone in this. There are those who believe in you, even if they don't always show it."
Alaric looked at Geralt, appreciating the steward's unwavering support. "Thank you, Geralt. I'll remember that."
As Alaric prepared for another night of training, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. The path ahead was fraught with danger, but he was ready to face it head-on. With Arcane Reaver by his side, he would carve out his destiny, no matter the cost.