Witcher: The Half Elf

Wayne was overjoyed upon hearing Kalkstein's research results.

This project had been in the works for several years, initiated shortly after Wayne's experience in Kaedwen. During that time, he had come to know several capable sorcerers and owed them a great debt of gratitude. With the rapid development of the Wayne Chamber of Commerce, Wayne now found himself in a position where resources—both monetary and human—were readily available.

Pharmaceutical costs increasing tenfold? 

Such a concern was laughable to Wayne. For someone of his stature, problems solvable with money were not problems at all.

He picked up one of the syringes from the box and noticed its impeccable design. The retractable needle was forged from meteorite steel, showcasing excellent craftsmanship. The syringe itself was sturdy, meticulously designed to avoid damage during transport. Clearly, a master artisan had been involved in its creation.

"You've done an excellent job, Kalkstein. I'll allocate an additional 500,000 orens to your research fund, along with access to more formulas," Wayne said decisively. "Expedite the development of injectable versions of other potions. If you need resources—be it money or personnel—I'll ensure you have them."

Half a million orens? Kalkstein was overjoyed. This was an amount far beyond what he had ever dared to imagine.

This was what Kalkstein appreciated most about working under Wayne. Unlike his time at Ban Ard Academy, where his superiors were stingy and micromanaging, Wayne was generous and decisive, never questioning expenses. To Kalkstein, Wayne was the embodiment of an ideal patron—an angel investor for researchers.

However, Kalkstein hesitated for a moment, scratching his chin in thought, before addressing a concern. 

"Wayne, while this progress is encouraging, developing new witcher potions requires testing. Without witchers to serve as test subjects, the comparative data we need to refine the potions won't exist. Without that, the development process could take years instead of months."

He paused, then added, "If no witchers are available, even human test subjects—death row inmates, for example—could provide enough data to advance the research."

Wayne understood the logic. As someone well-versed in magic and alchemy, he knew scientific rigor required proper experimentation. After pondering for a moment, he responded:

"Your request is reasonable, but the witchers will have to wait. I can't allow my companions to serve as test subjects. In the meantime, I'll procure death row prisoners for you to work with. That should suffice for now."

Though a little disappointed, Kalkstein was satisfied with the additional funding and the promise of test subjects. He nodded eagerly. 

"Understood. I'll return to the laboratory and continue the research. I've already trained an assistant to oversee potion production if you need more of the current formulas."

Without further conversation, Kalkstein left the council chamber, muttering excitedly about his experiments. 

Since joining the Witcher Order and settling in the safety of Kaer Morhen, Kalkstein had found a life of efficiency and purpose. Free from mundane social obligations and supported by the Wayne Chamber of Commerce's resources, he could focus entirely on his research. The comfortable lifestyle and generous salary only deepened his appreciation for Wayne.

After Kalkstein's departure, Wayne remained seated, contemplating how to address the situation in Cintra. Eventually, he left the grand halls of Kaer Morhen Castle, using his authority as a master of the Mystic Lock to teleport to a hidden cave ten kilometers away.

The cave, nestled deep within a dense forest, was fortified with powerful magical barriers. Even Triss and Vesemir, who held secondary control over the Mystic Lock, were unaware of its existence. Only those with Wayne's explicit permission could navigate its protections and use magic within its confines.

Passing through the barriers, Wayne entered the bright, spacious cave. Illuminated by magical lamps, it was furnished with high-end essentials, and a few young attendants were busy keeping the space immaculate. 

As Wayne entered, a middle-aged sorcerer with a cloaked figure and purple demonic tattoos on his face approached. Though his appearance bore a resemblance to the corrupted fallen sorcerers, his calm demeanor and sharp eyes spoke of intelligence and control.

The sorcerer bowed deeply before speaking with reverence.

"Welcome."

"Carlos," Wayne acknowledged calmly, "You're on duty today?"

Carlos nodded nervously. "Yes, Lord Wayne. Master Sile arranged for each of us to take shifts maintaining the barrier and guarding the cave. Today is my turn."

Wayne waved his hand to signal Carlos to relax and said:

"Don't be nervous, Carlos. Our relationship is one of mutual benefit, not a master-servant dynamic. As long as you work faithfully for me for thirty years, I will honor our contract and help free you from the control of hell's power, granting you your freedom."

Carlos, hearing this, immediately adopted an expression of gratitude, regardless of his inner thoughts. He bowed deeply and replied, "Thank you, Lord Wayne. We will serve you diligently."

Wayne nodded, unfazed by whatever true thoughts Carlos might harbor, and continued deeper into the cave.

This hidden sanctuary was Wayne's secret base, where he kept the eleven fallen sorcerers he had captured while vanquishing the clone of Demon King Baal. Yennefer, of course, was an exception, freed by Wayne's subconscious decision.

These eleven individuals, once chosen by Baal to expand the space rift, were among the most powerful of the fallen sorcerers. Unlike the scattered and uncontrolled fallen sorcerers wreaking havoc elsewhere, these elite sorcerers had been personally corrupted by Baal's power. After Wayne destroyed Baal's soul and severed his will, they continued to serve him, now acknowledging Wayne as their master.

Though hell's magic in Wayne's body was sealed and he could not wield it freely, his dominance over these sorcerers remained unaffected. However, as a witcher bound by some semblance of morality, Wayne had not enslaved them permanently. Instead, he negotiated a thirty-year contract of allegiance, promising their eventual salvation.

He walked through the well-lit corridors of the cave, passing by a spacious laboratory. Inside, several sorcerers worked diligently in their respective experimental areas. The room was filled with the remains of various creatures—evil spirits, griffins, drowners, and even humans. Live test subjects, restrained on tables, were subjected to experiments with vacant stares.

Wayne moved silently, his steps as quiet as a master assassin's, careful not to disturb the engrossed sorcerers. He walked through a corridor leading to a private chamber styled as a study.

Inside, a striking sorceress sat at a desk, her loose hair cascading down her back. She appeared focused, poring over reports. Her demeanor was cold and professional, but her expression softened slightly when she noticed Wayne enter. She nodded in acknowledgment and greeted him:

"Wayne, welcome."

Wayne's eyes momentarily lingered on her alabaster skin, revealed by her low neckline. He returned her nod with a charming smile and replied, "Ms. Síle, thank you for working late."

Síle remained composed, standing to invite Wayne to sit. She handed him a report, her tone calm and methodical:

"Wayne, the research you commissioned has yielded significant progress. We are now ready to proceed with experimental trials. While there is no absolute guarantee of success, our data suggests a success rate exceeding ninety percent. I hope you can arrange for a witcher to undergo the trial soon, as it would refine our results and bolster future iterations."

Wayne accepted the report and began reviewing its contents. The title, written in the Common Speech, read: "Experimental Research on Secondary Witcher Mutations."

Wayne carefully studied the document, his deep understanding of magical theory aiding him in evaluating the methodology and conclusions. It was evident that Síle's research was thorough and at an advanced stage.

He silently praised himself for deciding to recruit these fallen sorcerers. They had proven to be invaluable assets. However, the 90% success rate still left room for concern. He couldn't risk the lives of those closest to him on this experimental procedure.

After some thought, a suitable candidate came to mind. Gaetan of the Cat School, who had recently returned from Toussaint to report on events in the duchy, would be ideal. Offering him this opportunity would not only serve as a reward but also demonstrate the potential benefits of the Witcher Order's innovations to other Cat School witchers considering allegiance.

With the decision made, Wayne set the report aside, a warm smile spreading across his face.

"You truly live up to the high regard of Principal Margarita and Lady Francesca," he said appreciatively. "Ms. Síle, among the many sorceresses I've encountered, you are one of the rare few who remains committed to her craft, undistracted by the allure of power."