Witcher: Sovereign of Magic

Magic had given me power. Runes had given me structure. But even with all my knowledge, there were limits to what magic alone could achieve. A spell could shape fire, summon wind, or carve lightning across the sky—but what about matter? What about life itself? That was where alchemy came in.

Alchemy wasn't just another branch of magic. It was a science, a method of reshaping the very building blocks of reality. While magic bent the world through sheer willpower, alchemy changed it at its core. Unlike sorcery, which relied on the chaotic energy of the world, alchemy followed laws—principles of transmutation, purification, and balance.

Most people thought of alchemy as turning lead into gold. A flashy trick, sure, but that wasn't the real power of alchemy. Alchemy was about control—over bodies, over matter, over souls. And if I could master it, I wouldn't just be another mage throwing fireballs. I would be something more.

Mid 1254, Castlevania, Velen

Alchemy was precise in a way magic had never been. Magic, at its core, was fluid. It responded to willpower, bending to emotion and intent. Even structured spells had a level of flexibility—a shield spell could be altered, a fireball adjusted in size and strength. Alchemy did not work that way.

Alchemy demanded perfection. A single miscalculation could cause an entire experiment to fail. A potion brewed at the wrong temperature could become poison. A transmutation performed with an imbalance of energy could destabilize, turning into something unpredictable and dangerous.

For months, I dedicated myself to understanding how matter could be manipulated. The Magic Library within Castlevania contained everything—knowledge from The Witcher's alchemical formulas, Harry Potter's potion theories, and even the more arcane transmutation principles from Elder Scrolls and Black Clover. I absorbed it all.

My training started with the basics—potions, elixirs, and distillation. Healing potions were my first real success. Unlike the Witchers' toxic mutagenic brews, my potions were purely magical in nature. By refining magical herbs and stabilizing their properties, I created a fast-acting regenerative elixir—one that could accelerate healing, restore stamina, and even purge minor illnesses.

"Finally," I muttered, examining a vial of shimmering, emerald-green liquid. "A potion that actually heals instead of just masking the symptoms."

Then came poisons. Not the crude, amateur venoms that assassins used, but true alchemical toxins. Substances that could bypass magical defenses, dissolve into the bloodstream within seconds, and kill even heavily mutated creatures. Some potions weren't meant to heal. Some were meant to end things.

"Balance," I reminded myself, carefully labeling a vial of viscous, black liquid. "Alchemy is about balance. Creation and destruction. Life and death."

Once I mastered liquids, I moved on to solid transmutation. Turning base metals into higher forms was tedious, but possible. The key was understanding material composition—its structure, its magical properties, and how it could be broken down and reconstructed. Gold was easy but worthless to me. What I needed was something useful.

Through trial and error, I learned how to strengthen materials with alchemical reinforcement. Iron could be made stronger than steel. Leather could be made tougher than chainmail.

"Imagine," I mused, holding a piece of reinforced leather in my hand. "Armor that can deflect a sword blow and resist magical fire."

My experiments in transmutation eventually led me to something far greater than simple material enhancement. Life itself. That was when I began my study of Iensbern Homunculi.

Early 1255, Castlevania, Velen

Creating life was the ultimate test of an alchemist. It was one thing to manipulate fire and wind. It was another thing entirely to reshape the essence of existence itself. But I had reached a point where my magical understanding, my mastery of runes, and my knowledge of alchemy intersected.

Iensbern Homunculi were artificial beings—crafted, not born. They were living constructs, created through alchemy, given form and function through a fusion of transmuted matter and raw magical energy.

The process took a year and a half of relentless experimentation. My first attempts were failures. The creatures I created could move, but not think. They were empty, functioning on instinct alone. The bodies lacked stability, dissolving after a few days. The problem wasn't just creating an Iensbern Homunculus—it was sustaining it. A normal human body could support its own functions, regenerating and adapting. An Iensbern Homunculus required constant maintenance unless I could find a way to anchor its form.

"They're alive," I observed, watching a small, vaguely humanoid creature twitch on the cold stone floor. "But they're… empty. Like puppets without strings."

The breakthrough came when I combined alchemy with magic. Instead of relying solely on alchemical transmutation, I reinforced the process with magical sigils. Runes of vitality to sustain their physical form. Sigils of binding to anchor their essence. A mana core to provide them with an internal energy source, allowing them to function without constant upkeep.

"Magic and alchemy," I realized. "Two sides of the same coin. Together, they can achieve anything."

And with that, I succeeded.

Mid 1256, Castlevania, Velen

The first successful Iensbern Homunculus stood before me—tall, graceful, and flawless in design. Its body was stronger than any human's, its movements precise and efficient. It thought, it understood, and most importantly—it obeyed.

"Report," I commanded.

"My designation is Alpha," the Iensbern Homunculus replied, its voice calm and measured. "My functions are… operational."

"Excellent," I said, a wave of satisfaction washing over me. "The process is perfected."

With the process perfected, I expanded. By the summer of 1256, I had created a force of 500 Iensbern Homunculi. The first were the caretakers of Castlevania. Maids and butlers, crafted to maintain the castle, to oversee my experiments, to ensure that every part of my domain ran smoothly. Their intelligence was high, their skills refined. They could read, they could learn, they could adapt to new tasks. Unlike mindless golems or simple summoned familiars, they had purpose. They kept the library organized, assisted in my research, prepared meals, and handled daily operations. They were perfection in form and function.

"Castlevania will be a testament to order and efficiency," I declared, watching a team of Iensbern Homunculus caretakers glide through the castle halls, cleaning and organizing with effortless grace.

Then came the warriors. Unlike the caretakers, these were built for battle—three hundred Iensbern Homunculi, each one enhanced beyond human limits. Their bodies were stronger, their speed unnatural. They could wield weapons with deadly precision, their reflexes faster than any mortal soldier.

I tested them against each other, fine-tuning their combat protocols, ensuring they could fight in formation, respond to commands instantly, and adapt to changing battle conditions. Unlike the clumsy, predictable soldiers of the Northern and Nilfgaardian armies, my creations learned from every encounter. They were not just warriors. They were war machines.

"They will be unstoppable," I said, observing a group of Iensbern Homunculus warriors engaged in a training exercise. "A force that will reshape the very landscape of this world."

The moment I saw them move in perfect synchronization, executing flawless maneuvers without hesitation, I knew. I was no longer just a lone mage, experimenting in the shadows. I had built a force. A foundation. A kingdom in the making.

"And this," I whispered, gazing out at my growing army of Iensbern Homunculi, "is only the beginning."

But even this was only the beginning. Alchemy had shown me that reality itself could be rewritten. With enough knowledge, enough time, anything could be created. I had built life from nothing. The next step? To take that knowledge even further. To not just create life, but to perfect it. To transcend the limitations of flesh and blood. To achieve true immortality. And perhaps… to create beings even more powerful than myself.