#xiao: considers himself a weapon and dedicates his existence to protecting humans

[howthesleeplesswander]

Naturally, Xiao didn't spare a thought to consider if his words were rude. At least they were taken with amusement...and gratitude that the adeptus never knew how to accept.

"I am merely performing my duty." He was quick to dismiss the other's thanks, yet his tone lacked the expected harshness. Why that was, however, Xiao couldn't say. (He didn't know how to admit that he sensed a kindred spirit in this witcher.) "Having the gratitude of humans is unnecessary—and dangerous. It is better for the innocent people of Liyue to be unaware of threats they could not face themselves. So long as I stand, humankind will never know such horrors."

Given his obvious knowledge of the adepti, the witcher had to know the futility of his next words. Again, Xiao's scoff was shockingly good-natured. "Don't be absurd. The opposite makes far more sense: you and your kind can count on me to dispose of threats within Liyue's borders. This is one nation with which you need not worry yourselves."

And while the other's respect for the adepti was also obvious, an odd feeling roiled in the pit of Xiao's stomach. He went quiet for a moment, considering how to address it.

"Perhaps you are unaware," he finally began, "but the adepti do not differentiate between witchers and humans. Such labels are trivial. Your lifespan will someday reach a natural end, and you have the same needs to sustain your mortality. Call yourself what you will; you are still human to us."

Xiao gazed off at the distant peaks encircling Wangshu Inn. He wasn't used to speaking so much, especially unprompted, but he couldn't shake the nonsensical urge to express these things. When he looked back to his companion, earnestness weighed heavily in his eyes. "I cannot claim to know why you chose a life of slaying monsters. Perhaps you did not choose at all. Regardless, you would be wise to remember that your life is worth protecting as much as any other. Whenever possible, the danger of exterminating monsters is best left to those like myself."

Somewhere at the back of his mind, there was a niggling thought. A trifle, no doubt: not worth the few moments it took to entertain, but nonetheless…

The correctly presumed adeptus here in his company exercised the very demeanor a witcher was supposed to. Blunt. Straight-forward. Direct in every manner of the word. Emotionless. He had, in even the short conversation thus far, done nothing more than state exactly what was on his mind with little regard to what it might evoke from the listener. (Or no regard, Geralt would affirm.) The fact that his opinions on what the common populace called abominations were in a somewhat more positive light was mere luck in Geralt’s case.

The adeptus wouldn’t—no, couldn’t—spare a second thought to the fragile feelings of mortals. He had a job to do. A never-ending contract to provide the same protection as a witcher, the same protection a desperate few cared to acknowledge or be grateful to receive. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else… should matter.

Maybe the original crazy scientists who thought creating witchers was a good idea should’ve taken a leaf out of the adepti handbook. —or was it actually impossible to utterly remove all traces of humanity from something once human?

But enough rumination wasted on the topic, Geralt seamlessly shook it from his mind by the time the adeptus named Xiao saw fit to make another one of his direct comments. The witcher merely snorted. And then he shook his head. “Not gonna complain about someone doing my job for me—especially someone who knows what he’s doing,” he said with a dismissive shrug. “Ought to thank you, actually. Divine purpose or otherwise, what you do for these people isn’t something to thumb your nose at. Hope they understand how lucky they are to have the protection of the adepti.”

He stretched a soreness out of his shoulders, a long and labored exhale creeping between his lips. “Guess I won’t be needed around these parts for the foreseeable future, but if you ever need a break”—the answer was and always would be, Geralt knew, no—“count on me to step in and pick up a few scraps here and there.”