5 The calm

After a good night's sleep, Atram woke up with the first light, eager to tackle some tasks before his spar.

Yesterday, before going to bed, he passed by some old distillery equipment and saw his reflection in it. The sight was... less than pleasant. His usual sharp features were now obscured by a thick layer of stubble, and his black, luscious hair was an tangled mess. So he decided to take care of his appearance before anything else. He quickly got dressed and headed to the grand hall of the keep to find the appropriate tools.

When he arrived, he saw everyone except Lambert sitting around the long table, talking about one thing or the other.

"Morning y'all. Looks like we've got a group of early birds here. Let me guess: none of us require as much sleep as the average person," Atram remarked, earning a knowing smirk from Geralt.

"Slept well lad?" Vesemir inquired.

Atram nodded in response. "Yes, thank you. I'm ready for whatever today brings," he replied confidently. "Although before that, I'd like to shave, so a razor and a bucket would be nice right about now."

"Sure. Let me give you mine. And for a bucket, just grab a crate. You'll need to step out of the keep to fetch water. Luckily, it's snowing outside," Eskel mentioned as he rose from his seat.

Atram lifted an eyebrow. "Don't you use magic around here? Creating water is a simple task."

Geralt shruged. "We have a basic structure of magic in the form of signs. However, as I'm sure Vesemir has told you, all of them are combat oriented."

"Yes. Aard, Igni, Yrden, Quen, and Axii. What language are the names of these signs in?" asked Atram curiously.

"They are in the Elder Speech, the language of the elves," replied Geralt. "But you don't need to know the language to use them. You just need to focus your mind, draw the sign as clearly as possible, and make your intention absolute." He explained, tracing the signs one by one, and stating their names.

Atram observed the symbols attentively, but none of the spells he knew required such intricate hand waving. "Even though I'm not familiar with them, I can imagine how elves, with their innate magical talents, could be the creators of spells in this world."

Eventually, Eskel appeared. "There you go. Freshly sharpened and ready for battle," he said with a grin, handing over the shaving tool and a bar of soap.

Atram pointed at his chaotic hair. "With what is going up there, it sure will be one," he responded, chuckling. "Now, let's clean up." Taking a small piece of soap, he placed it in his palm and said: Katharx(Clean)."

All of a sudden, a calm breeze enveloped his body, swirling around him and picking up dirt and grime from his clothes and skin. He stood still, waiting for the spell's effect to end, while the witchers observed the spectacle before them. As the breeze dissipated, Atram's appearance changed drastically. His attire had been thoroughly cleaned, devoid of any stains, while his complexion appeared revitalized. His hair, previously in disarray, had grown to nearly shoulder-length, and the pests that plagued his beard were purged.

Atram turned around and swept a hand through his hair, with a smug expression on his face. "There, better, don't you think?"

"Lad, I forbid you to leave this fortress, until you've taught this incredible spell. You can't imagine how filthy we get after some monster hunts. Not to mention the times we had to pay an exorbitant amount of coin in inns, to scrub our armor and ourselves clean." Vesemir noted and the rest of the witchers vigorously shook their heads in agreement.

"It's a Tier 0 spell, so it'll be easy to teach you. I can understand your plight. I'm a close quarters fighter myself. As for the water..." He selected a crate and, with permission granted, transferred its contents into another. Grabbing a mug filled with water, he emptied its contents into the now-empty crate. Then, with a deliberate stance, he extended his arms and invoked another spell. "Dimiourgix Ydatos(Create Water)."

The liquid within the container began to ripple and swell, akin to a simmering cauldron, yet instead of heat, it accumulated mass until reaching half capacity. Satisfied with the outcome, Atram ceased the spell's effect and pulled a chair beside the crate.

"Now for my next spell, I'll need a piece of string. Do you have any?"

Before anyone could answer, Eskel, deftly unfastened the string that supported Geralt's ponytail and threw it over at him. The white haired witcher wanted to protest, but was too curious about Atram's next spell, so he stayed silent.

Atram wrapped the string around a piece of wood to make a butterfly-shaped bow tie, placed his creation on the floor and cast one of his favorite spells. "Aoratos Ypirex(Unseen Servant)"

The bow tie began to float until it reached Atram's chest, at which point a translucent, humanoid figure appeared, with the tie suspended directly beneath where its neck would be. Atram smiled with satisfaction as he watched the unseen servant bow elegantly to him and his companions.

The witchers looked at each other with confusion. Eskel and Geralt replied with an awkward nod, while Vesemir waved his hand.

Atram, seeing their reactions, burst into laughter. "He is not an actual person. He is a magical creation, summoned by me to attend to our needs. He can whip up grub, tidy up, bring us snacks and drinks, even sew up clothes—pretty much like a top-notch butler."

Vesemir approached the opaque figure and drew circles around it. "Is it safe? I mean, it won't try to attack us or anything? Also, how do we address it?"

Atram gave him a smile. "First of all, it is absolutely harmless, it couldn't attack us even if it wanted to. As for a name, let's go by... Albert. Here, let me show you. Albert, cleanly shave my face and trim the ends of my hair. "

The witchers grinned at Atram's naming shenanigans and watched in fascination as the ethereal being, dipped the soap inside the container of water and lathered Atram's face with it. After enough foam was created, it dexterously began to shave his face as a professional barber.

"Look at the guy go!" Eskel exclaimed with enthusiasm. "I suppose it's not permanent, right?"

Atram turned his other cheek. "I've cast this spell so many times that I've perfected it. So, it should remain for another 11 hours, give or take. Before that time expires, I simply have to reinforce its magical framework with another cast of the same spell. A word of warning before you issue any of your commands. Although Albert here has a semblance of intelligence, it would be better to be as specific as possible."

"I've never met a mage that uses his magic so openly and without restraint, and even more so, one that is willing to teach his spells." Vesemir stated.

"Pff, I'm no mage, just a guy who knows a few handy spells for dungeon delving and making life easier. As for teaching you, well, it's only fair. You school me on monsters and the world, I share what I know about spells. Give and take, you know?" He responded honestly.

During their conversation, Albert had done an exemplary job. This morning, Atram looked like a downtrodden pilgrim. Now, with his midnight-black hair pulled back and his face smoothly shaved, his facial features stood out more prominently. He possessed large almond-shaped eyes, the color of cognac with a reddish tint, along with sharp facial contours. A prominent scar traced from his right cheekbone down to the midpoint of his neck added character to his appearance. All in all, a striking young man in his early twenties.

"That's quite the change. You are unrecognizable from before and a lot younger than I deemed you to be," Vesemir noted, his gaze shifting to the scar. "I thought you could heal from any and all injuries. Is that not the case?"

Atram stood up and cracked his neck. "Albert, clean up the hair and sweep off the dust from this floor. Also, these men here are your masters too, obey them as if you would me." He gave the commands to his creation and turned to address Vesemir.

"I might not seem it, but I'm actually 34 already. However, I stopped aging when I was 20. And these scars? They're like trophies to me. I keep them as reminders of all the battles I've faced, the challenges I've conquered, and the fights where survival was the only option," Atram explained, a hint of pride in his voice as he reminisced about each scar.

"That is an admirable thing to do. Everyone here would agree to that," Geralt said, and the witchers gave an approving nod. Additionally, no one commented on Atram's youthful appearance, as everyone present shared the same timeless quality.

Vesemir laid his hand on Eskel's shoulder, catching him tracing his fingers along his facial scar. Eskel gave him a brief glance, then cracked a smile.

"Shall we go outside? Lambert must be getting impatient by now." Vesemir proposed.

"Wait! He is awake. I thought he was sleeping." Atram commented in confusion.

Geralt snickered in his raspy, whisper-like voice. "Looks like you really pissed him of last night. He got up even earlier than Vesemir usually does, to, and I quote: 'check the perimeter of the keep for any monsters.'"

"I bet you 50 orens he's been hitting the training dummies," Eskel declared.

"Why are we still here then? Vesemir, lead the way!" Atram demanded in a pompous, exciting tone.

Vesemir shook his head in fake disapproval. In truth, the old wolf couldn't wait to see Atram's potential. What techniques did this man from another world have up his sleeve. Being the de facto leader and overseer of this spar, he led the way outside.

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Eskel was not wrong. Lambert was in the outer courtyard, and when they arrived, he tried to feign ignorance, but the witchers could hear his accelerated breath.

"I told you so," Eskel whispered and nudged Geralt with his elbow.

"Finally! Did you oversleep, princess? And here I thought you'd wussed out," Lambert mocked, tossing his steel sword over his shoulder.

"In your dreams! I was making myself presentable while you were freezing your balls outside. By the way, were there any monsters out there? Or was that a lie so you co-"

"Let's get this over with. As soon as you lose, I can go back to my warm bed." Lambert interupted.

Atram shot him a mischievous grin, knowing full well he'd gotten under his skin. In other words, he'd won the pissing contest, and half the fun of these bouts was just that: a battle of wits.

"Alright, the spar will be as previously stated. The combatants can use all means possible to achieve victory. The first one that surrenders or passes out... Oh, who am I kidding. The first one that passes out loses." Vesemir declared in a booming voice. He turned to face Atram. "What will be your weapon of choice?"

Atram removed his shirt and his undersized boots, savoring the sensation of the snow beneath his bare feet. Thanks to his heritage, this light snow felt as warm as a summer breeze to him. As his body pulsed with anticipation for the upcoming fight, he radiated such heat that the flakes landing on him melted instantly.

He wiggled his arms and smiled. "As a dwarven friend of mine once said: 'with me mits and me paws.'"

"I figured you'd say that."

"What gave me away?" Atram asked, a little surprised at Vesemir's nonchalant reaction. He was used to being underestimated, because everyone thought that fighting a weapon wielder barehanded was suicide. And they weren't wrong. There is a reason mankind invented weapons, after all. However, he had undergone blood-churning training and had spared countless professional warriors to achieve peerless skill in hand-to-hand combat.

Vesemir ran his hand along the edge of his mustache. "Lad, I've been a trainer for more years than you've been alive. My eyes can't deceive me. The way you moved yesterday, without hesitation, is what gave you up. If you were a swordsman, you'd keep your distance or try to disarm Lambert. Instead, you blitzed in, trying to turn it into a brawl. Of course it was obvious."

Atram clapped his hands in admiration and amazement at the man's deduction. "Color me impressed, Master Vesemir."

"Are you going to let him fight without weapons?! Are you crazy? The man will get slaughtered!" Surprisingly, the person who spoke up was Lambert.

"Ohhh, you do care after all..." Atram said in a sweet voice.

"Shut up, you fool! You know these things cut, right? You're bare-chested for fuck's sake!" Lambert was on the verge of bursting a vein when Vesemir interjected.

"I wouldn't underestimate him if I were you. That's all I'm going to say," Vesemir warned, then turned to the other witchers. "Let's relocate up to the wall so as not to interrupt them."

The combatants took their respective places in the courtyard, their eyes locked in a fierce stare. The tension was palpable as they waited for the signal to begin.

"Begin!"

Entertain me, wolf!