So, you’re staring at the Netflix home screen. The cursor is hovering over Henry Cavill’s grizzled, silver-haired face. You want to click. You really do. But then that annoying little voice in the back of your head—the one that reminds you of your mounting student debt and the inevitable heat death of the universe—starts whispering.

“Wait,” it says. “Don’t you need to play the games first? Are you going to be lost? Are the nerds on Reddit going to track your IP address and shame you for not knowing the lore of the Conjunction of the Spheres?”

Relax. Take a breath. It’s fine. Really. It’s totally fine.

The Short Answer (Because Attention Spans Are Dead)

No. You don’t need to play the games. You don’t even need to know what a “Witcher” is to enjoy the show. At its core, it’s just a story about a mutant who gets paid to kill monsters and hates everyone, which is honestly the most relatable personality trait I’ve ever heard of.

The “Ackchyually” Section: A History of Pain

Here is the thing that people often forget because we live in a world obsessed with shiny graphics: The Witcher started as a series of books. Polish author Andrzej Sapkowski wrote these stories long before CD Projekt Red turned them into a gaming phenomenon.

If you want to be a true purist—the kind of person who is miserable at parties—you’d argue that the games are actually sequels to the books. The Netflix show, meanwhile, is its own adaptation of those original novels.

So, in a weird, twisted way, the gamers are actually the ones seeing the “aftermath.” You, the fresh-faced viewer, are seeing the beginning. Or a version of it. Honestly, does chronology even matter when the planet is on fire?

Will You Be Confused? Probably.

I’m not going to lie to you. The first season of the show is a mess of timelines. It jumps around like a caffeinated squirrel. You’ll see a character die in episode one and then show up perfectly healthy in episode three.

Is this because you didn’t play the games? No. It’s because the writers decided to treat the audience like they have PhDs in non-linear storytelling. Just stick with it. Eventually, the threads weave together, or they don’t, and we all just keep drifting through the void regardless.

The Game Knowledge Tax

If you did play the games, you get some perks. You recognize the names of potions like Thunderbolt or Swallow. You might go, “Hey, I know that monster! I died to that thing twelve times because I forgot to dodge!”

But that’s just fanservice. It’s like knowing the secret ingredient in a soup; the soup still tastes the same whether you know there’s a pinch of nutmeg in it or not.

Actually, sometimes knowing the games makes the show harder to watch. You start complaining that Triss Merigold’s hair isn’t the right shade of chestnut, or that Geralt doesn’t carry two swords on his back at all times. Ignorance is bliss. Stay ignorant. It’s safer here.

Why You Should Probably Just Watch It Anyway

We live in a chaotic era. Finding a show that features decent sword fighting, terrifying monsters, and a banger soundtrack is a rare win.

You’ll meet Yennefer, a sorceress who has more trauma than a middle-school therapist. You’ll meet Ciri, a princess who spends a lot of time running through woods. And you’ll meet Jaskier, a bard who will get a song stuck in your head so deeply you’ll consider lobotomy as a viable medical procedure.

The Verdict

Go ahead. Click play. Don’t worry about the 200 hours of RPG gameplay you missed out on. The show stands on its own, for better or worse.

If you like it, maybe you’ll pick up the controller later. Maybe you’ll read the books. Or maybe you’ll just sit there, staring at the credits, wondering why a mutant monster hunter has a better skincare routine than you do.

Life is short. The Continent is dangerous. Just watch the silver-haired man hit things with a sword. It’s the only thing that makes sense anymore.