|𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐒|

𝐈. |𝐑𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥|

゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･　　･ﾟﾟ･｡

|Word Count: 3,721|

    𝐆𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐝, 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞. Considering they had found the Witcher surrounded by a dozen dead raiders, they were obviously on guard with him. The three men acted quite professional though, not like the rude and bumbling Redanian soldiers he had dealt with in the past. No doubt it was because these men didn't know what he was exactly, although their odd looks were more of curiosity than hate or hostility. For now, two of them were focused on searching the slain Wildlings, examining their wounds and searching for any possible valuables as well.

The only time their soldierly manners faded was when they got a chance to examine his blades, muttering in fascination at the ornate yet deadly craftsmanship. The hand crossbow really had them surprised, showing that such weapons either didn't exist or were very rare.

"The belt pouch please." One of the soldiers asked, making Geralt give a short glare at him. "Have to check that too, don't want any hidden weapons."

Geralt was silent for a moment before speaking. "I don't think it be safe for you to handle what it's carrying." He calmly stated.

The soldier gave an annoyed look at the sudden remark. "You've be behaving so far, yet you shouldn't threaten a soldier of House Stark." He warned.

"Not threat, a warning." Geralt answered back, trying to be reasonable with the man. "This bag has some sensitive mixtures. Keep it away from fire and don't drink anything. It's not safe for you." He'd hand the pouch over, the man surprise at the weight to it before he'd check inside to see the small stash of potions and bombs.

"You're an alchemist and a swordsman?" The guard questioned as he'd set the pouch on his horse saddle along with the Witcher's other weapons.

"More of a jack of all trades." Geralt remarked back. "My line of work requires me to be flexible for any situation."

"And what kind of profession is that?"

Geralt was silent for a moment before he'd answer back. "A Witcher...where I come from it's a title for the most elite sellswords.

"Witcher? Odd name considering."

"Didn't have much of a say on the title." Geralt added with a small shrug.

By this point the other two soldier would finish their searching. "Dozen Wildlings, largest group we've had in a few years." One guard muttered, just enough for Geralt to hear. "You think one man took them all on?" Again both soldiers eyed the white haired man, who calmly watched them both. "Got the look of a warrior about him. Not sure what to make of him...the white hair, pale skin and them eyes." They'd speak in lower voices before the group moved to mount their horses.