Witcher: Master Kiliman’s Grand Ambitions

Chapter 60: Dryad Maiden, How About...

I don't know if it's a professional trait, but the old druid's emotions remained remarkably steady.

After hearing the witcher's request for compensation, he merely frowned slightly and said: Newest update provided by noᴠelfire.net

"It's not about taming, Mr. Kiriman."

"If you want wild beasts to help you in battle, you must treat them as friends, as companions, as family."

"You don't command them what to do—you request their assistance."

The old druid clearly belonged to the type who advocated harmony between humans and nature. After chattering on about some druidic teachings, he continued:

"Forming partnerships with ordinary animals is relatively straightforward."

"Our druidic sect possesses a medicinal formula that enhances beasts' spiritual awareness, making them more intelligent and more willing to bond with those who feed them."

"If raised from infancy, they will come to see their caretaker as family, as companions."

"They'll naturally assist their caretaker in combat."Here, the old druid fell silent for a few seconds before adding:

"However, wyverns differ from ordinary beasts. Due to the influence of Chaotic Magic, they're inherently more savage and aggressive, attacking almost any race that approaches them except their own kind."

"Newly hatched wyverns are nearly impossible to communicate with."

"These juvenile wyverns are from my experimental breeding project started several years ago."

"Although their wild instincts and aggression have been significantly reduced, because they were hatched and raised from eggs without maternal training, these juvenile wyverns still haven't learned to fly."

"Having passed the infant stage, I'm afraid they'll never learn to fly now."

"Hmm, I consider this attempt a failure."

As he spoke, the old druid stroked his beard and sighed, seemingly somewhat discouraged by this failure.

He looked at the witcher.

Those calm, serene eyes seemed capable of seeing through the desires in the witcher's heart.

The old druid reached toward the belt behind him and produced a pouch sewn from animal hide, saying:

"That medicinal formula is a secret of the druidic sect—I cannot share it with you."

"However, the pills in this pouch are enough for one year's use. If you help me resolve that trouble, I will give you this pouch."

"When your pills run out in the future, you can always come back to me for more."

"I will remain here indefinitely."

After hearing the old druid's words, Kiriman felt disappointed.

If wyverns couldn't fly, what difference was there between them and crocodiles? They'd just be land-bound lizards.

But then he reconsidered.

Wyverns without maternal guidance indeed struggled to fly, but what if he raised a young griffin and found a hawk or other bird of prey to teach it? Wouldn't that work?

After all, this was just a simple task, and getting such compensation was already fortunate enough. Why complain?

As for griffins...

Wasn't there a pair of mated griffins in White Orchard?

The Nilfgaardians hadn't attacked yet, though he wasn't sure if that griffin couple had laid eggs. That was something to look forward to.

If they had a whole clutch of griffin eggs, that would be even better.

He readily accepted the old druid's commission, then found his gaze drifting unconsciously toward the bare, curvaceous dryad beauty standing behind him.

With business concluded, it was time for some entertainment.

The old druid had a straightforward personality and disliked beating around the bush, so Kiriman saw no need for pretense either. He asked directly:

"Mr. Samoyeg, what's the story with that dryad behind you?"

"Is she also part of your druidic sect?"

The old druid shook his head and said:

"Her name is Ibol, a wandering dryad who reportedly comes from the dryad kingdom of Brokilon."

"Last year, I found her injured in the forest and took her in."

"Well, you can discuss anything directly with her."

"It's time for my daily prayers to the sacred oak. You may move freely within this Druids' Circle—the life here won't harm you."

The old druid certainly was decisive. Perhaps there were no valuable items in this Druids' Circle worth stealing anyway.

After saying this, he turned and walked toward the massive sacred oak, closing his eyes and kneeling before it to pray in a low voice, paying no further attention to his surroundings.

The witcher didn't mind his somewhat rude attitude—in fact, he felt more at ease without the old druid acting as a third wheel.

He approached the dryad beauty, noticing that she had also relaxed her guard due to the old druid's attitude, no longer looking at him with hostile eyes.

He said:

"Hello, Ibol."

"I'm a witcher. Do you know what that is?"

Ibol seemed like the type who had little contact with other races—her eyes held a naive, bewildered look, like a young woman who knew little of the world.

She nodded, standing straight before the witcher. As her head moved, the two fleshy orbs on her chest trembled slightly. She showed no embarrassment at her unclothed state.

"When I was young, a witcher called Geralt the White Wolf once came to Brokilon, our dryad kingdom."

"At that time, our queen had our people care for him. Several tribeswomen said witchers were powerful warriors, much stronger than ordinary humans."

Powerful warriors? That was their impression?

A faint smile touched Kiriman's lips as he looked at the dryad beauty, like a wolf spotting a little lamb.

He brazenly laughed and said:

"That's quite accurate. We witchers possess physical strength several times that of ordinary humans, and every witcher is a master swordsman, highly skilled at solving other people's problems."

"And me, Ibol—you can call me Mr. Kiriman."

"Even among many witchers, I'm among the most powerful."

He took a step closer to the beautiful woman, catching a faint scent of fresh grass from this light green-skinned beauty.

Her subtle lip color, petite nose, and the fragrant breath from her mouth all carried the clean scent of oxygen after photosynthesis, comforting to both mind and body.

Despite being a woman who had gone decades without clothes and roamed the wilderness, the dryad maiden's skin remained as smooth and tender as a child's, emitting a faint glow that made her look like matcha pudding—tempting enough to make one want to take a bite.

With such a delectable beauty before him, and one who appeared naive and easy to communicate with...

"Ibol, I've heard that dryads choose powerful men to reproduce with after reaching adulthood."

"What do you think of me? I'm definitely the strongest man you've ever met."

"Stronger even than that White Wolf Geralt you've heard about."

"If you choose me, you'll definitely give birth to strong, healthy offspring."

Kiriman completely omitted the fact that witchers were typically sterile, believing this seemingly young dryad maiden probably didn't know about that.

And as a perfect witcher, he wasn't sterile like other witchers—just had more demanding conditions for reproduction.

Besides, he wasn't lying.

If any woman could bear his children, his offspring would naturally be perfect witchers from birth.

Without undergoing the dangerous witcher mutations, they would inherit many talents of a perfect witcher—definitely strong and healthy descendants who could be said to have a heavenly start in life.

Though he wasn't willing to have children at this time, which was why the women he'd been with hadn't gotten pregnant.

But what harm was there in practicing?

Everything for the glory of evolution!