Yunan's POV
Yunan leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs as he lazily twirled a quill between his fingers. Across from him, Eskel, Lambert, Vesemir, Triss, and Leo sat at the long wooden table in Kaer Morhen's main hall, their expressions varying from curiosity to mild suspicion. Geralt, still recovering from his injuries, was absent.
"So," Yunan drawled, tilting his head, "I think it's about time you all gave me a crash course on this world's politics. Kingdoms, factions, secret cults—whatever's important."
Vesemir raised an eyebrow. "You come from another world, yet you're interested in our politics?"
"Of course," Yunan said with a lazy grin. "It's good to know who's in charge, who's fighting who, and who I can mess with for entertainment."
Lambert snorted. "Figures."
Triss, more serious, folded her arms. "If you really don't know, then listen closely. This world is divided into several kingdoms. The most powerful ones in the North are Redania, Temeria, Kaedwen, and Aedirn. They form part of the Northern Kingdoms, constantly at odds with Nilfgaard, the massive empire to the south."
"Nilfgaard," Yunan repeated, nodding. "And they're the big bad guys, I assume?"
"Depends on who you ask," Eskel said. "Nilfgaard is expansionist, conquering weaker kingdoms one by one. They claim they bring order and progress. The North sees them as invaders."
Yunan hummed in thought. "And what about factions? Mages? Religious nutjobs?"
Triss shot him a look but answered anyway. "Mages are controlled by the Brotherhood of Sorcerers, though they later form the Lodge of Sorceresses after the Brotherhood collapses. Then there's the Eternal Fire, a religious order in Redania that hates magic and non-humans. And, of course, there are criminal groups like Salamandra, the ones who attacked you earlier."
Yunan tapped his fingers against the table. "Ah, so we've got power-hungry kings, corrupt sorcerers, religious extremists, and crime syndicates." He smirked. "Sounds like every other world I've been to."
"That supposed to be reassuring?" Lambert muttered.
Yunan ignored him. "And what about Witchers? Aside from Kaer Morhen, are there any other strongholds left?"
Vesemir's face darkened slightly. "No. The other Witcher schools—Cat, Griffin, Bear, Viper—they exist, but we don't have contact with them. Kaer Morhen was sacked decades ago. We're all that's left of the Wolf School."
Yunan let the chair drop forward onto four legs, exhaling. "Damn. Rough history." He rolled his shoulders. "Alright, I think I've got the basics. Now, onto something more interesting…"
Triss's POV
Triss watched as Yunan leaned back in his chair, the same lazy grin plastered on his face. Despite his casual demeanor, she could tell he was absorbing everything. He wasn't just asking for the sake of it—he was planning something.
The thought put her on edge.
Yunan exhaled. "Alright, I get the politics. Now, let's talk about something more practical—Witcher mutations."
That caught everyone's attention. Even Vesemir, who had remained mostly silent, turned his gaze toward the Magi.
"What about them?" Eskel asked warily.
Yunan propped his elbows on the table, his emerald-green eyes gleaming with interest. "You guys undergo a brutal process as kids—Trial of the Grasses, mutagens, alchemical cocktails, pain, agony, most of you die, blah blah blah—but the survivors become superhuman, yeah?"
Lambert frowned. "That's… a flippant way to put it."
"But accurate," Vesemir admitted with a sigh.
Triss studied Yunan closely. He already knew the basics, so why was he asking?
Yunan tapped a finger against his temple. "I'm just wondering—why stop there?"
Silence.
The Witchers exchanged glances. Triss narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"
Yunan smirked. "From what I can tell, Witchers are stuck. Your mutations make you stronger than normal humans, but you're still bound by the limits of the process. And it's not like you can just take another dose of mutagens and expect a power-up, right?"
Eskel shook his head. "No. Even if we could get our hands on more mutagens, taking them as adults is... risky. It would likely kill us rather than enhance us."
"Exactly!" Yunan said, snapping his fingers. "Which is where I come in."
Triss felt a chill run down her spine. "You're suggesting an alternative enhancement method, aren't you?"
Yunan's smirk widened. "Bingo." He leaned forward, placing both hands on the table. "There are Djinn I know of—powerful ones—that can manipulate the very fabric of life. Some of them specialize in body enhancement, altering the core essence of a being. In theory…" He paused for dramatic effect. "They could improve your mutations without killing you."
Eskel's grip on the table tightened. "That's a bold claim."
Lambert scoffed. "More like bullshit."
Triss, however, wasn't so quick to dismiss it. She had seen firsthand how magic could reshape life. If Yunan was telling the truth, this could change everything.
Vesemir studied the Magi with his usual calm but wary gaze. "And how exactly would this work?"
Yunan waved a hand. "Simple. We go to your laboratory, check out what remains of your old research, and I see if I can tweak the process using what I know." His grin turned almost teasing. "Who knows? Maybe I'll make Witchers even stronger than before."
Triss hesitated. This was dangerous. If Yunan was playing some long game, using them as test subjects for some unknown magic, they could be walking into a trap.
And yet…
If it was possible to refine the Witcher process, to make it safer, more effective—wasn't it worth the risk?
She took a deep breath. "Fine. Let's check the laboratory."
Vesemir nodded in agreement. Eskel and Lambert still looked unconvinced, but neither objected.
Yunan grinned. "Great! Let's go see some science."
Vesemir's POV
Vesemir led the group through the cold, winding halls of Kaer Morhen, the flickering torchlight casting deep shadows across the stone walls. He could hear Yunan's footsteps behind him—light, unhurried, as if the man had nowhere better to be.
Something about the Magi put Vesemir on edge.
Yunan acted like he already knew what would happen, like everything was just a scripted play he had the privilege of watching unfold. That, more than anything, made Vesemir wary.
And now, he was talking about fixing Witcher mutations.
Vesemir didn't buy it.
He had spent decades studying mutagens, searching for ways to refine them. It was always the same—too unstable, too risky, too deadly. The process couldn't be improved.
Yet Yunan acted like it was a simple puzzle to solve.
They reached the old laboratory, its rusted iron door groaning as Vesemir pushed it open. Inside, the air was stale, thick with dust and the faint remnants of alchemical ingredients. Shelves lined the walls, filled with half-rotted scrolls and long-abandoned research notes.
Eskel moved toward the old alchemy table, picking up a faded formula sheet. "Most of this is useless without fresh mutagens."
Yunan strolled past him, hands still tucked into his sleeves, glancing lazily at the scattered documents. "Mmm… no, not useless. Just poorly optimized."
Lambert scoffed. "And you're saying you can do better?"
Yunan smirked. "Oh, easily."
Triss crossed her arms. "Then prove it."
The Magi cracked his neck, then flicked a hand toward the floating parchments. Golden runes shimmered in the air as the ink began to shift and rewrite itself, the formula rearranging with a casual wave of Yunan's fingers.
Vesemir watched closely. He had no idea what the Magi was doing, but the raw magic in the air was palpable.
Finally, Yunan let the documents settle back onto the table with a satisfied nod.
"There. Better."
Eskel picked up the paper. "Better how?"
Yunan yawned. "Well, instead of making people horribly sick and killing most of them, this version simply makes them twice as strong as a normal human. Still weaker than you guys—Witchers stay at ten times the strength of a man—but a little more useful."
Lambert folded his arms. "That's it?"
Yunan's grin widened. "Oh, and one minor side effect."
Triss narrowed her eyes. "What did you do?"
Yunan shrugged. "Oh, nothing serious. Just a slight attraction shift—new users will find themselves preferencing men."
The room fell silent.
Lambert blinked. "…You're messing with us."
Yunan laughed. "Oh no, it's very real. But don't worry, it's not like it affects you. Unless you decide to take it."
Triss rubbed her temples. "You tampered with an already dangerous formula… as a joke."
"Hey," Yunan said, raising his hands in mock innocence, "it still works. Think of it as a social experiment."
Eskel sighed, shaking his head. "You're unbelievable."
Vesemir exhaled slowly. This was exactly why he didn't trust mages.
Before he could say anything, Yunan clapped his hands together. "Alright, now that I've improved it, I'll just leave this version on the table in case any curious individuals come snooping."
Vesemir's expression darkened. "You're setting a trap."
Yunan's smirk didn't fade. "Let's just say… if certain people break in looking for mutagens, they'll get what they want. Just… not in the way they expect."
Triss inhaled sharply. "You think someone's coming."
Yunan lazily stretched. "Oh, absolutely. The second I saw these notes, I knew someone out there still wants them. And now? Well, let's just say that when they take it, things will get very interesting."
Lambert chuckled darkly. "I almost want to see the look on their faces."
Vesemir frowned but didn't argue.
If Yunan was right… Salamandra was coming.
And when they did?
They would be in for a very unexpected surprise.
Lambert's POV
Lambert sat in Kaer Morhen's main hall, sharpening his sword with slow, methodical strokes. The whetstone scraped against the blade, the familiar sound grounding him as his thoughts churned.
It had been a weird day.
Yunan—the smug, lazy bastard—had just rewritten decades of failed alchemy in minutes, all while treating it like some casual art project. And now, he was acting like he already knew what was coming next.
That was what bothered Lambert the most.
He wasn't guessing.
He wasn't speculating that someone would come looking for the stolen mutagens. He was certain.
And that meant trouble.
Lambert exhaled, setting his whetstone down. The air inside the keep felt too still—like the moment before a thunderstorm. Kaer Morhen was always quiet in the winter, but this was different.
Too quiet.
His instincts were screaming at him.
Across the hall, Eskel was checking his armor straps, while Triss sat near the fire, flipping through an old tome. Vesemir was standing near the entrance, arms crossed, deep in thought.
And Yunan?
That bastard was lounging in a chair like he didn't have a care in the world. Feet propped up, hat tipped over his eyes, fingers lazily drumming against the armrest.
Lambert scowled. "You really gonna act like nothing's about to happen?"
Yunan didn't move. "Oh, it's happening." His voice was almost bored. "I'd say… within the hour."
Triss snapped her book shut. "You're sure?"
Yunan lifted his hat just enough to grin at her. "I could be wrong." He stretched. "But I'm not."
Lambert clicked his tongue. "Great. And you're just gonna sit there while we deal with it?"
Yunan yawned. "I'll help. A little."
Lambert muttered a curse under his breath. He turned to Vesemir. "What's the plan?"
The old Witcher rubbed his chin. "We prepare. No need to alert Geralt—he's still recovering. If Yunan's right, Salamandra's coming for the lab. We hold the keep."
Eskel stood, adjusting his swords. "I'll take the western wall."
"I'll cover the courtyard," Triss added.
Vesemir nodded. "Lambert, you and I will watch the gates."
Lambert cracked his neck. "Finally. Something to kill."
Yunan sighed dramatically. "Such violence. Tsk, tsk."
Lambert shot him a glare. "You're lucky you're useful, Magi."
Yunan smirked. "Oh, I know."
Lambert ignored him, grabbing his gear and heading toward the entrance.
Outside, the wind had picked up, howling through the mountains like a warning. The sky was dark, heavy with clouds.
The storm was coming.
And so was the fight.
Vesemir's POV
The wind howled through the frozen valley, carrying with it the distant scent of blood and steel.
Vesemir stood atop the main gate of Kaer Morhen, watching the shadows moving through the treeline below. The others were in position—Eskel on the western wall, Triss near the courtyard, and Lambert beside him—waiting for the inevitable.
And then, like clockwork, they came.
Figures in dark leather armor, faces hidden behind masks, spilled from the woods like a swarm of insects. At least twenty of them—maybe more.
And in the center of the group?
Two mages.
Vesemir's grip on his sword tightened. That complicated things.
"They brought sorcerers," Eskel muttered from his vantage point.
Lambert smirked, rolling his shoulders. "Good. More fun for us."
Vesemir ignored the banter, eyes narrowing as the Salamandra forces approached. They weren't sneaking. They were coming straight for the gates.
Bold.
Or stupid.
"Triss," Vesemir called. "Can you handle the mages?"
Below, Triss nodded, already preparing a spell. "I'll deal with them."
Vesemir turned to Yunan, who was still casually leaning against the wall, looking as bored as ever. "And you?"
Yunan tilted his head. "Oh, I'll help. Just… don't expect me to break a sweat."
Lambert scoffed. "Lazy bastard."
Then, the first fireball crashed against the gate.
The battle had begun.
The Salamandra thugs charged, swords drawn, while their mages hurled spells at the walls.
Eskel loosed a crossbow bolt, hitting one of the mages in the shoulder. The sorcerer stumbled but didn't fall—his magical barrier absorbed most of the impact.
Lambert, grinning like a wolf, leapt from the wall, landing right in the middle of the enemy ranks. His sword flashed as he cut down the first thug, his enhanced reflexes making him a blur of motion.
Vesemir followed, landing beside him, his own blade cleaving through an attacker's chest.
Triss unleashed a wave of fire, forcing the enemy mages to focus on countering her.
And Yunan?
He simply raised a hand.
A gust of golden wind swept through the battlefield. The Witchers felt lighter, faster, their swords moving with supernatural ease.
A support spell.
Typical.
"You call this helping?" Lambert barked, cutting through another Salamandra mercenary.
Yunan smirked from his safe perch. "Would you rather I do nothing?"
Lambert gritted his teeth. "…Shut up."
The Salamandra forces were dwindling, their numbers cut down by Witcher steel and Triss's magic.
Then, one of the mages panicked.
"Fall back!" he shouted, casting a teleportation spell.
The second mage grabbed a handful of papers from his satchel—stolen formulas from the lab. Then he and his companion vanished in a flash of light.
Vesemir swore under his breath.
They had taken the bait.
The rest of the Salamandra were cut down, leaving only the bodies cooling in the snow.
The battle was over.
But the real trouble was just beginning.
Triss's POV –
The battlefield still smoldered, embers glowing softly in the snow where her flames had burned through the enemy ranks. The bitter cold of Kaer Morhen's winter clashed against the lingering heat of magic, leaving the air thick with the scent of scorched leather and blood.
It was over.
The Salamandra attackers lay dead, their assault on the keep crushed.
But Triss's stomach twisted as she watched the last traces of the teleportation spell fade into the night.
Two of their mages had escaped—and worse, they had managed to steal something from the laboratory.
"Dammit," she muttered, turning toward Vesemir. "They took the formulas."
Eskel exhaled, wiping blood from his sword. "Figures. They weren't here just to kill us—they wanted something valuable."
Vesemir's expression darkened. "Let's check the lab."
Triss nodded, but a soft chuckle interrupted her.
She turned, eyes narrowing.
Yunan.
The Magi was grinning, arms crossed, looking far too amused for someone who had just watched a group of alchemically-obsessed criminals steal Kaer Morhen's research.
"Something funny?" Lambert asked, arching an eyebrow.
Yunan laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, it's just… they were so confident." He gestured vaguely toward the empty space where the Salamandra mages had vanished. "Stealing what they thought was the secret to ultimate power."
Triss frowned. "You mean…?"
Yunan clapped his hands together, grinning like a fox. "They stole the wrong formula."
For a moment, silence hung in the air.
Then Lambert barked out a laugh.
Eskel smirked. "No way."
Triss blinked, realization slowly sinking in. "You actually did it."
Yunan's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Oh, I did. The formulas they just risked their lives for? Completely useless to them." He leaned back against a rock. "Or, well… not useless."
Lambert was cackling now, doubling over as he processed what had happened. "Oh, this is perfect. They really think they hit the jackpot, don't they?"
Eskel chuckled, shaking his head. "By the time they figure it out, it'll be too late."
Triss covered her mouth, trying—and failing—not to laugh.
Because she knew exactly what the stolen formula did.
A slight boost in strength.
Heightened senses.
And a newly developed attraction toward men.
Oh.
Oh, this was going to be hilarious.
Even Vesemir, ever the serious one, let out a low chuckle.
Yunan sighed dramatically, stretching his arms. "I can already picture it. A bunch of Salamandra brutes chugging the elixir, expecting to become unstoppable warriors…" He grinned. "And then… well."
Lambert wheezed. "They'll be too busy admiring each other to fight."
Triss lost it.
She doubled over, laughter spilling out of her as the sheer absurdity of the situation hit her all at once.
Salamandra had attacked Kaer Morhen, lost nearly all of their men, and barely escaped with a formula that would turn them into slightly stronger, highly confused muscleheads.
Yunan had played them perfectly.
"Remind me never to piss you off," Eskel muttered between laughs.
"Oh, don't worry," Yunan said, smirking. "This was just lighthearted mischief. If I were actually mad, well… you wouldn't be laughing."
That sent a chill down Triss's spine.
Because she believed him.
But for now?
She couldn't stop laughing.
And judging by the sound of Lambert wheezing in the snow, neither could he.
Yunan stretched his arms above his head, letting out a content sigh as the laughter from the group finally started dying down.
Oh, that had been fantastic.
Watching a group of hardened Witchers and a battle-worn sorceress laughing themselves breathless over his little alchemical prank? Worth every second.
Salamandra had come expecting power. Instead, they had stolen a formula that would make them slightly stronger, a bit sharper, and hilariously distracted by their newfound attraction to men.
Poetic justice.
Lambert was still wiping tears from his eyes, shaking his head. "I'm never gonna get over this."
Eskel smirked. "They're going to be so confused when it kicks in."
Yunan grinned. "Imagine their war camps. Bunch of tough mercenaries suddenly finding their comrades oddly attractive."
Triss chuckled, rubbing her temple. "It's still alchemy. There's a chance someone might notice the effects before taking too much."
"Oh, sure," Yunan said. "But will they stop drinking it in time?"
That made Lambert wheeze again.
Vesemir, ever the responsible one, finally cleared his throat, bringing some order back to the group. "Alright. Enough jokes. We need to discuss what happens next."
The mood shifted.
Yunan didn't miss the way Triss straightened, her amusement fading into something more serious. Eskel and Lambert followed suit, their expressions growing sharper.
The Witchers had been laughing—but they weren't foolish enough to think this was over.
Because it wasn't.
Not by a long shot.
Back inside Kaer Morhen, the group gathered around the main hall's war table. The fire crackled, casting long shadows against the stone walls.
Yunan sat back, legs crossed, watching with mild amusement as Vesemir took charge.
"Salamandra will be back," the old Witcher said. "They won't realize their mistake immediately, but once they do, they'll want revenge."
Triss nodded. "And the two mages who escaped—they might suspect something's wrong before they distribute the formula."
"Even if they do," Lambert said, leaning against the table, "it's too late. They stole it in a rush. They'll want to test it on some poor bastards before using it on themselves." He smirked. "And once they do…"
Eskel finished the thought. "We'll have a whole bunch of confused, magically-enhanced idiots running around."
Yunan hummed, resting his chin on his hand. "Could be fun."
Vesemir shot him a look. "It could also be dangerous. Even with your… adjustments, Salamandra is still gaining an enhancement formula."
"An inferior one," Yunan corrected. "They'll be twice as strong as normal men—but still nothing compared to a Witcher."
"Still," Triss said, folding her arms, "this isn't over." She glanced toward Vesemir. "What do we know about Salamandra's movements? Do we have any idea where they'll regroup?"
Vesemir stroked his beard. "We'll have to check the reports, but last we knew, their operations were scattered. They were operating out of Vizima, but that was before…"
He trailed off, frowning.
Yunan arched an eyebrow. "Before what?"
Lambert sighed. "Before Leo was killed."
The room fell silent.
Ah. So that's what this was about.
Yunan had picked up on it earlier—the name had come up a few times, but no one had said much. Now, it all made sense.
A Witcher-in-training, cut down before he could properly become one.
Salamandra was responsible.
Yunan tapped a finger against the table. "But… he's not dead now."
Eskel exhaled, shaking his head. "No. This time, we kept him alive."
"But that doesn't mean the danger is gone," Triss added.
Vesemir nodded grimly. "Exactly. The future has already changed. We don't know what happens next."
That made Yunan grin.
Now that was interesting.
"So," Yunan said, waving a hand, "what's the plan? We just wait for them to figure out their mistake and come crying back to Kaer Morhen?"
Vesemir shook his head. "No. We need to stay ahead of them."
Triss leaned forward. "We need to find out where they went. If we can locate them before they regroup, we can stop them before they become a problem again."
Eskel nodded. "Agreed. We can't just let them rebuild."
Lambert cracked his knuckles. "I say we track them down, kill the bastards, and be done with it."
Yunan smirked. "Direct. I like it."
Vesemir shot them both a look. "We're not rushing in blind. We'll gather information first." He glanced at Triss. "You still have contacts in Vizima?"
She nodded. "Yes. I can send word discreetly."
Eskel crossed his arms. "I'll check the surrounding areas. See if there are any signs of their movement."
Lambert cracked his neck. "Guess that means I'm stuck babysitting Kaer Morhen."
Vesemir grunted. "We still have Geralt recovering here. Someone has to stay behind."
Lambert groaned. "Fine. But if anything interesting happens, I expect a full report."
Yunan chuckled. "Oh, don't worry. You'll know."
Vesemir nodded. "Then it's settled. We move at dawn."
The meeting ended, and the group dispersed, preparing for the days ahead.
Yunan stayed seated, watching the fire flicker.
Things were about to get very, very interesting.
And he couldn't wait.