These are difficult times for witchers. There were fewer and fewer monsters on the Continent, and consequently, people turned to witchers for help less and less often. Therefore, monster hunters clung to any opportunity to earn some coins in order to at least be able to eat well and find a decent place to stay. A winter blizzard was raging outside, and huge snowdrifts lay around, shrouding the old witch fortress of Kaer Morhen like a blanket. As usual, all the witchers gathered in this place to spend the winter, and when it gets warmer, they will travel around the Continent again. One of them was a young male witcher named Vesemir, whose name was known to every peasant or wealthy merchant. "Oh, I wish I could go to the tavern and take a hot bath..." Vesemir muttered to himself, sitting at the table and idly tapping his fingers on the wooden mug on the edge of the table.