Witcher: Sovereign of Magic

Chapter 1

March 15, 2024 – Earth

There's a fine line between genius and insanity. Personally, I prefer "aggressive innovation." Some might label my late-night experiments with unstable energy fields in my garage "reckless disregard for safety." I call it pushing the boundaries of scientific understanding. Of course, as I currently find myself adrift in a featureless void of absolute nothingness, a nagging voice whispers that those "some people" may have had a point.

"Alright… maybe siphoning energy from an unknown dimension without a failsafe wasn't my most brilliant idea."

One moment, I was hunched over complex equations scrawled on a whiteboard, running final calculations for my interdimensional energy transfer device. The next? Reality folded like a cheap suit, the fabric of space-time itself crumpling like wet cardboard, and I was… well, I'm not entirely sure what I was. Vaporized? Transcended? Reduced to a fundamental particle dancing to the rhythm of the cosmos? It all happened so fast. One instant, the hum of the machine, the smell of ozone, the thrill of discovery. The next, utter and complete nothing.

Before I could fully succumb to the existential dread that threatened to engulf me, a voice echoed through the void. It was a voice that dripped with amusement, a voice that resonated with an almost cosmic level of smugness. "Well, well, well. Another one bites the dust in the name of progress."

I turned, or at least I attempted to turn. Orientation was a tricky concept when there was no up, no down, no left, no right. I squinted into the infinite nothingness, trying to discern the source of the voice. And then I saw it—ROB. Random Omnipotent Being. Cosmic troll. Reality warper extraordinaire. The metaphysical equivalent of a spoiled rich kid who treats lives like playthings in a gacha game, casually manipulating fates with a flick of the wrist.

I crossed my arms, or at least I thought I crossed my arms. It's hard to be sure when you're essentially a disembodied consciousness. "So… let me guess. You're either here to reincarnate me as a sentient potted plant, send me to some cliché fantasy world where I'll have to grind levels to defeat the Dark Lord, or deliver a condescending lecture about meddling with forces beyond my comprehension."

"Oh, you comprehend them just fine," ROB chuckled, the sound echoing through the void like a celestial gong. "Which is precisely why I find you… entertaining."

My brain, even in its disembodied state, immediately shifted into opportunist mode. If I played my cards right, if I could manage to charm, cajole, or even mildly amuse this capricious cosmic entity, I might be able to negotiate my way into something… advantageous. I smirked, or at least I thought I smirked. "Well, since you seem so… invested in my explosive demise, how about we cut a deal?"

ROB raised an eyebrow, an expression that somehow managed to convey itself even in the featureless void. "Go on…"

"I have a proposition," I said, my voice echoing with a newfound confidence. "I want three things. First, enhanced magical potential. I'm talking raw, untamed power, the kind that makes wizards tremble and demons weep. Second, Dracula's Castle from Castlevania. Fully furnished, naturally. And third, a Magic Library. But not just any library. I want a repository of arcane knowledge, a veritable treasure trove of magical texts from multiple universes."

ROB tilted his head, considering my audacious demands. "Elaborate on this… library."

I grinned, the image of countless spellbooks and arcane tomes flashing through my mind. "I'm talking Witcher, Elder Scrolls, Black Clover, Harry Potter, you name it. The best magic systems, all in one place. A comprehensive collection of magical theory and practice, all ripe for the plundering."

He hummed, a low, resonant sound that seemed to vibrate through the very fabric of non-existence. "And the world you wish to grace with your presence?"

"The Witcher 3. Velen, to be exact. Year 1250."

ROB smirked, a predatory glint in his non-existent eyes. "A world of monsters, war, and endless danger. A land steeped in misery and plagued by horrors beyond mortal comprehension. And you want to drop right into the middle of it?"

"Hey," I said, shrugging with an ethereal shoulder. "I like a challenge. Besides, with the power I'll have, what's a little monster slaying?"

The being seemed genuinely amused by my bravado. "Alright," he said, snapping his fingers. The sound was less a snap and more a ripple in the fabric of reality. "But you get a standard drop—no reincarnation, no pre-existing history in that world. You appear as a foreign anomaly, a complete outsider."

"Fine by me," I replied, the thrill of adventure coursing through me, even in my disembodied state.

ROB snapped his fingers again, and the void around me dissolved into swirling darkness. "Then enjoy, mage."

April 3, 1250 – Velen

I gasped, air rushing into my lungs as I slammed onto something hard, something… muddy. My limbs felt heavy, my mind disoriented. I blinked, trying to clear the fog that clung to my vision, and found myself surrounded by an even denser fog that clung to the land. The air was thick with the stench of rot and damp earth, a symphony of decay that assaulted my senses. And in the distance, a chilling howl echoed through the mist, a sound that sent shivers down my spine despite my newfound magical potential.

"Velen," I muttered, pushing myself up from the muck. "I'm actually in The Witcher."

It wasn't exactly the warmest of welcomes. The oppressive atmosphere, the pervasive stench, the ominous howls—it was all a stark reminder that this was not a world for the faint of heart. I glanced down at my attire and noticed I was no longer wearing my lab coat and jeans. Instead, I was clad in a dark mage's robe, the fabric thick and surprisingly comfortable, though slightly damp. I took a deep breath, trying to center myself, and focused inward, searching for the promised power.

And there it was. A warm, vibrant energy thrummed through my veins, a latent power waiting to be unleashed. My magical potential had been unlocked, just as ROB had promised.

"Alright," I whispered, stretching my fingers and feeling the energy pulse at my fingertips, like a living current. "Let's see what I can do."

Experimentation was in order. First, something simple, something fundamental—fire. I raised a hand, focusing on the image of a flickering flame, visualizing the dance of heat and light. I channeled the energy outward, willing it to manifest. A small, but intensely blue flame erupted at my fingertips, flickering and dancing like a miniature star.

I grinned, a genuine smile spreading across my face. "That's a good start."

Next on the agenda: shelter. Velen was not a place to be caught outside at night. I closed my eyes, concentrating on the image of Dracula's Castle, visualizing its imposing silhouette against the stormy sky. If ROB had kept his word, I should be able to summon it.

A pulse of magic rippled through the air, a tangible wave of energy that seemed to distort the very atmosphere.

Far in the distance, through the swirling fog, the land itself seemed to shift and contort. Dark spires rose from the earth, reaching towards the heavens like skeletal fingers. A massive gothic castle materialized out of thin air, a dark and imposing fortress that stood ominously against the murky sky.

My grin widened. "Now that's what I call home."

Reaching the castle was a trek through the treacherous terrain, but once inside, I marveled at its sheer scale and grandeur. The interior was a labyrinth of stone walls, candlelit chandeliers, and seemingly endless hallways. It wasn't just an aesthetic fortress; this place radiated power, a tangible aura of ancient magic. And somewhere within its vast expanse lay the treasure I craved most—the Magic Library.

I wandered through the labyrinthine corridors, my footsteps echoing through the silent halls, until I stumbled upon a large wooden door adorned with arcane symbols. Pushing it open, I entered a vast chamber, its high ceilings lost in the shadows. Countless bookshelves stretched as far as the eye could see, packed with tomes and scrolls bound in leather, wood, and even metal. My heart pounded with excitement.

Books from different worlds.

"Witcher alchemy… Elder Scrolls enchantments… Black Clover grimoires… Harry Potter spellbooks… And is that… a Necronomicon?"

I picked up a thick, leather-bound book on ancient elven magic from the Witcher universe and flipped through the pages. The knowledge within wasn't just words on a page—I understood it, as if the information had been directly implanted into my mind, the concepts and intricacies of elven magic laid bare before me.

I exhaled sharply, a mixture of awe and anticipation. "Oh," I whispered, a slow smile spreading across my face. "This is going to be fun."

The sheer volume of knowledge contained within the Magic Library was staggering. It was a veritable cornucopia of arcane arts, a treasure trove of forgotten lore, a grimoire of grimoires. I could spend years, decades even, exploring its depths and still barely scratch the surface of its vast collection. But time, fortunately, was something I now had in abundance. I had a castle, a library, and the potential for unimaginable power. The Witcher world, with its monsters, magic, and political intrigue, was now my playground.

I closed the elven magic book and placed it back on the shelf, my mind already racing with possibilities. Where to begin? Should I delve into Witcher alchemy and brew potent potions and elixirs? Perhaps I should explore the intricacies of Elder Scrolls enchanting and craft powerful artifacts? Or maybe I should unlock the secrets of Black Clover's grimoires and master the art of spell combination? The choices were overwhelming, but in the best possible way.

I decided to start with the fundamentals, the core principles that underpinned all magic, regardless of its origin. I needed a solid foundation before I could delve into the more specialized disciplines. I scanned the shelves, searching for texts on magical theory, runic systems, and the history of magic across different universes.

My search led me to a dusty tome bound in dark leather, its title embossed in silver lettering: Ars Arcana: A Comparative Study of Magical Systems. It looked promising. I pulled it from the shelf, the ancient leather creaking slightly, and opened it to the first page.

The book was a comprehensive overview of magical theory, exploring the common threads and unique characteristics of various magical traditions. It discussed the nature of mana, the principles of spellcasting, the role of incantations and gestures, and the importance of focus and intent. It even touched upon the philosophical implications of wielding magic, the delicate balance between control and chaos.

I spent the next few hours engrossed in Ars Arcana, absorbing its contents like a sponge. The book wasn't just a collection of facts; it was a guide, a mentor, patiently explaining the underlying principles that governed the magical universe. It helped me understand the interconnectedness of different magical systems, how they all drew upon the same fundamental forces, even if their methods and manifestations differed.

As I read, I felt my understanding of magic deepen. The scattered pieces of knowledge I had gleaned from various sources began to coalesce, forming a coherent whole. I started to see patterns, connections, and relationships that I hadn't noticed before.

The book also introduced me to the concept of runic magic, a system of inscribing symbols of power onto objects or surfaces to imbue them with magical properties. This was particularly intriguing, as it offered a way to create lasting magical effects without constantly expending mana.

I decided to explore this further. I found a section in the library dedicated to runic magic, filled with books on different runic alphabets, sigil construction, and the history of rune-based magic across various cultures. I picked up a book titled The Complete Guide to Runic Inscription and began to study its intricate diagrams and complex explanations.

The book explained the meaning and power of individual runes, how they could be combined to create sigils with specific effects, and the proper methods for inscribing them. It even warned of the dangers of improperly constructed runes, the potential for backlashes and unintended consequences.

I spent the rest of the day immersed in the world of runes, learning their shapes, their meanings, and their potential. I practiced drawing them on scraps of parchment, trying to memorize their forms and internalize their power. I felt a thrill of excitement as I began to grasp the possibilities of this ancient and potent magic.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the library, I decided to take a break. I closed the rune book and stretched my stiff limbs. I had spent hours poring over arcane texts, and my mind was starting to feel overloaded.

I wandered out of the library and into the castle's grand hall, marveling at its gothic architecture and ornate decorations. The castle was vast and imposing, a testament to the power and wealth of its former owner. But it wasn't just a lifeless structure; it hummed with a subtle magical energy, a residual echo of the countless spells and rituals that had been performed within its walls.

I found my way to a balcony overlooking the surrounding countryside. The fog had dissipated, revealing a landscape of rolling hills, dark forests, and murky swamps. The air was still thick with the smell of decay, but it was a smell that I was slowly becoming accustomed to.

I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the crisp evening air. The world of The Witcher was a dangerous place, a world filled with monsters and magic, war and intrigue. But it was also a world of opportunity, a world where I could forge my own destiny, a world where I could become something more than I ever could have imagined.

And as I stood there, gazing out at the darkening landscape, I knew that my adventure had just begun.