Witcher: The Half Elf

"Hey! White hair, do you want to continue playing?" The dwarf who won the money had red hair and a huge rosy nose. He picked up the seven or eight ducats in the card and put them in his arms, and said to Geralt triumphantly: "This is a new entertainment method invented by our dwarves. You must have a smart brain and luck favored by the gods to win over others."

"If you're done playing, stand up and make way for others. My luck is on fire today, and I'm bound to rake in a heap of gold coins," declared the dwarf with a grin. Geralt, not uttering a word, displayed clear interest in this newfound amusement.

He put away the set of Gwent cards temporarily lent to him by the dwarf, took out five ducats from his pocket, placed them on the table, and said in a hoarse voice: "I still have a few coins in my pocket. Whether you can take them or not depends on your ability." The dwarf laughed. "I like your character whitehair, my name is Holden."

As he spoke, he took out two Ducats from his pocket, threw them to a halfling next to him, and said boldly: "Peter, bring me and my new friend two cups of Vizima champions. Only by drinking and playing cards can we experience the real fun of Gwent cards." Wayne stood aside, amused to see Geralt make a new friend through Gwent.

However, he had been busy in the underground pond for a long time just now, and he had to jump into the pond to look for the entrance where the monster might enter. Not only was his body covered in muddy water, even his underwear was stained with dirty blood, itching and uncomfortable.

Realizing the necessity of a shower, he made his way back to his tent, retrieved a change of clothes, and exited the cave. By the river, Wayne began the task of scrubbing his body clean, determined to rid himself of the grime acquired during his investigative efforts.

Despite the lingering cold of early spring in the north, Wayne's mutated body, a result of the grass trial mutation, made the experience of a cold bath bearable. Though not the most comfortable, it was certainly manageable. Upon returning to the camp post-shower, Wayne discovered that the dwarf named Horton had amassed a substantial stack of shiny ducats, totaling in the hundreds.

As Wayne prepared to depart, he noticed a stark contrast in Geralt's demeanor. While Geralt appeared outwardly calm and composed, his eyes had reddened, and his once impassive face now struggled to conceal his emotions. The hand that clutched the Gwent cards trembled slightly, and he pursed his lips—an evident sign that he had suffered significant losses in the game.

Indeed, after another defeat, Geralt, displaying a hint of dejection, tossed his Gwent cards onto the ground. He controlled his emotions and conceded, "Alright, Beard Horton, you've won, and I'm currently penniless. It must be the injuries on my body affecting my performance. No matter, let's have a rematch tomorrow."

The dwarf, unfazed by Geralt's loss, cheerfully instructed the halfling named Pete to bring a large glass of Vizima Champion for each of them. With a genial smile, he declared, "Feel free to challenge me anytime, witcher. I'll have you know, in this camp, I'm the reigning champion of Gwent card prowess, hahaha!"

Geralt, rising to his feet, grimaced and patted his depleted purse in a gesture of mock pain.

"Is it? That's really interesting."

Rubbing his chest, Geralt turned around and spotted Wayne returning from the shower. With a casual tone, he addressed him, "Wayne, I'm going to lie down in the tent for a while. Don't rush into anything for the afternoon's action. We can discuss it later."

Wayne nodded understandingly, giving Geralt a reassuring look before turning to walk slowly into the tent. The camp's doctor had assessed Geralt's injuries, determining that while they weren't severe, two ribs were cracked, and his internal organs had sustained a significant impact.

For an ordinary person, recovery might require a month or two of rest. However, given the superhuman regenerative abilities of a witcher like Geralt, the doctors estimated that he would need only a week to return to normal.

After Geralt left, Wayne looked at the fire camp where the dwarf was and found that without Geralt's participation, the other elves and dwarves who were watching did not choose to fight Horton for the Gwent card battle. I don't know if it's because of the lack of money, or because they are afraid of Horton's Gwent method.

After a brief pause, Wayne took the initiative to approach Horton, who was immersed in his drink and packing up the Gwent cards. "Hey, Beard," he called out, "the game you just played looks quite interesting. Could you teach me how to play?"

Holden raised his head, and upon seeing Wayne, he displayed no surprise. Pointing to the seat opposite, he remarked, "It's you, young witcher. I know you."

"You have a good relationship with our leader Toruviel, and you are also helping us in dealing with the monsters in the ruins," Holden acknowledged. "Do you want to play Gwent too? No problem, I will teach you!"

We young dwarves came out of the Mahakam Mountains, in addition to seeing the outside world, we want to pass the fun of Gwent cards to the whole world", Holden explained. Wayne maintained a courteous smile but chose not to speak. As a seasoned player who had collected all Gwent cards in the game, he hardly needed others to teach him Gwent skills.

However, it was only 1250, and Gwent cards had not yet become widely popular. Even Geralt, who was well-informed about the gambling activities had only engaged in the game for the first time today.

Indeed, no one could have foreseen that the card game invented by the dwarves would evolve into a massively popular gambling phenomenon, captivating people worldwide. Perhaps it was the efforts of dwarves like Horton and his companions that contributed to its widespread appeal.

Half an hour later, Horton, the bearded dwarf who had begun with a wide grin, no longer wore the same smile. The dynamics of the Gwent game had evidently shifted.

Tugging at his red beard with a touch of regret, Horton experienced a turn of fortune. Over 100 ducats he had triumphantly amassed, combined with the more than 150 crowns he had saved, were now all in Wayne's possession. Not just currency, but even his cherished pipe, gemstone ring, and refined iron battle axe—companions in decades of battles—had become Wayne's acquisitions.

Yet, in the spirit of a gambler, he maintained faith that this was only a temporary setback, and it wouldn't be long before he reclaimed his losses.

It was beyond anyone's expectations that, just half an hour ago, the young witcher who claimed not to know how to play Gwent and lacked his own deck would emerge victorious in over a dozen consecutive games. He managed to defeat Horton, the strongest Gwent player in the camp, to the point where the dwarf almost lost his pants.

Could this be the legendary act of "pretending to be a pig and eating a tiger"? At this moment, however, Wayne's attention was not on the aftermath of his victories. Following these consecutive wins against Horton, he was astonished to discover the emergence of a special skill within his professional skill.

Gwent LV1: Luck +1.

A simple notification, but the implication is very important.

This skill didn't merely find its place among auxiliary skills; rather, it elevated to the status of a class skill for a witcher, much like swordsmanship, magic sign, and mutation level.

The effect will enhance the luck attribute against supernatural forces, a revelation that left Wayne pleasantly surprised.

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