The rain kept falling, with no sign it meant to stop. Looking out at the streaks of rain beyond the window, the boy wore a gloomy expression, one that very appropriately conveyed sincere grief for the victims of the massacre.
He bit into a round roll, then lifted a cup of warm black tea and took a sip. Caleb Menge had not been joking. He really had brought him to a nearby Eternal Fire garrison for afternoon tea and a chat.
The room was elegantly decorated, with a fine view outside and furnishings luxurious enough to rival Whoreson Junior's mansion.
Menge had taken all of Victor's armor and weapons, assuring him they would be properly maintained after getting soaked in the rain.
So now the boy was dressed in soft, light clothing, marked front and back with the sigil of the Eternal Fire. It was probably the everyday attire of a preacher.
The door opened, and the bald Caleb Menge entered the room, his voice low and steady.
"I've already submitted the investigation report. The commander will render a fair judgment soon. There's no need to worry. In my opinion, you did nothing wrong.
"If anything, you were a victim too. Filthy, foul creatures like that... a pity we couldn't take it alive. If we had, I would have tied it to a stake and let the Eternal Fire judge its crimes and burn away its evil."
"Thank you for the comfort, worthy Mr. Menge."
Over the past few hours, Victor had been receiving the hospitality of the Temple Guard. It was a strange way to describe an interrogation by armed fanatics, but they really had shown him a certain degree of goodwill instead of the arrogant bluster they carried in the game.
From Victor's time with him, Menge seemed like a true zealot of the Eternal Fire. In matters unrelated to faith, his knowledge and character were both impressive enough.
But the moment faith became involved, the bastard could turn his face faster than a snake. He genuinely believed he was serving a great cause, and that let him carry out every cruelty with a clean conscience.
Menge took a seat at the table, refilled the boy's tea, then grabbed a roll for himself.
"To be honest, I'm very curious about your kind. And forgive the disrespect, but do you really think this age still needs witchers?"
Victor raised an eyebrow and looked at him curiously.
What exactly was he trying to say?
"For example, with dopplers, once you know silver forces them to reveal themselves, they're not that hard to deal with. And as for pests like drowners or ghouls, even though we aren't issued silver swords, steel and fire are still enough to clear them out.
"So you see, with enough courage, we humans can fight any monster. There's no need for you to endure such terrible suffering and be turned into..."
After a moment's careful thought, he said, "something not entirely natural."
"You can just say freak," Victor replied with a shrug.
"I won't deny that part of what you say has some truth to it. With sufficient knowledge and courage, most monsters that witchers can fight, knights can fight as well, let alone elite Temple Guards.
"But even so, saying this to me is still deeply insulting, Mr. Menge."
"The reason I'm telling you this is because I think there's still time to turn back. You haven't gone through the Trial of the Grasses yet, have you?
"The Temple Guard would gladly welcome a fearless young man like you, one who knows so much about monsters, into our ranks to serve the glorious Eternal Fire. Our lives would become immortal through that service.
"In truth, I believe many things from the old age belong in the rubbish heap. Cauldron-stirring witches, self-important mages, and lust-soaked sorceresses. They poison simple folk with superstition, and in the end, the Eternal Fire will... cleanse them."
Victor listened in silence as Menge launched into his speech. He had no shortage of sharp replies and cutting sarcasm ready to throw back.
But considering he was currently sitting inside the man's garrison...
And considering there were at least six Temple Guards outside, fully trained, clad head to toe in plate, armed with crossbows and anti-magic gear, with reinforcements that could arrive in greater numbers at any moment...
He picked up the tea and drank half the cup in one go, swallowing the pointless satisfaction of a clever retort.
Seeing Victor offer no answer, Menge seemed to think he had moved the boy, and smiled as he lifted the teapot to fill his cup again.
The sound of the door opening drew both their attention. Menge glanced toward the entrance, then stood and bowed. Victor rose as well and placed a hand over his chest in greeting.
Commander Chappelle of the Eternal Fire slowly stepped into the room.
"Menge, leave us. I need to speak with this witcher alone."
The officer obeyed and left. Once the door shut firmly behind him, the room fell into a brief silence.
Chappelle stood by the window, watching the rain pour down outside. Only after a long while did he speak.
"A tragic day. This rain is as if the sky itself were weeping.
"Of the nearly one hundred people the doppler killed, most were innocent civilians. They worked hard, kept busy, asked for nothing more than enough to eat three times a day... and then suddenly they died beneath a merciless blade.
"Victor, although I know you cannot truly be blamed, your face is so profoundly detestable that if I ordered men to drag you outside and hang you—no, bind you to a stake and burn you alive—the whole of Novigrad would cheer me for it."
Victor said nothing and waited for the rest. If Chappelle truly meant to do that, he would not have come here in person to speak with him.
"Do you know what the Eternal Fire is? It is the flame that never dies, the symbol of survival, the road through darkness, and the promise of a better future.
"If people learned that a doppler might be living among them, they would panic. They would fear, lose themselves, and begin testing one another without reason. It would cause mass hysteria.
"Fortunately, where the Eternal Fire shines, foul spirits and monsters dare not draw near. And the whole city is protected by Eternal Fire shrines. No monster would dare invade the holy city of Novigrad.
"So... there was no doppler. Today's criminal was the mad Butcher of Novigrad, and he was struck down on the spot. His body was purified in the Eternal Fire. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"I understand."
Stability. Harmony. Victor understood perfectly well.
"Good. You seem to be an intelligent young man. One who knows what should be done, what should not be done, what ought to be said, and what must never be said.
"I will not punish you for lacking the skill to prevent a doppler from copying you and causing this disaster. But you must also understand that your face is not fit to appear in Novigrad for quite some time.
"So—get out of my city. Go wherever you please, I don't care. Just get out of my city."
Victor knew that once such a judgment had been spoken aloud, it would not change. And in truth, this had always been one of the most likely outcomes.
Besides, it was already a fairly good ending.
The people with influence would naturally learn the truth. As for the common folk and their ugly impression of things, they were never going to get close to the truth anyway.
Besides, it was the Butcher of Novigrad who did the killing. What did any of that have to do with Victor? Perhaps the Temple Guard would even casually give the doppler some made-up name—Jean, or something equally forgettable.
Accepting reality with admirable speed, the witcher apprentice said, "But sir, I still have certain business interests here, along with a few matters I need to settle. Could I have a few days' grace?"
Slightly surprised by how calm Victor was, Chappelle had not expected the boy to accept the ruling so easily. He had half imagined he might start shouting about how he had merely slain a monster and why he should be treated so unfairly.
"Ten days. I'll give you ten days. But whenever you go out, your face must be covered. You are not to cause panic among the city's residents."
Victor bowed. "As you will."
Chappelle nodded in satisfaction. But just before he stepped through the door, he paused.
"Tell me, witcher. Do mad dopplers appear often?"
Victor could guess the real meaning behind the question, and the answer the commander wanted to hear.
"Generally speaking, witchers do not hunt dopplers. Their kind are naturally gentle and good-hearted. I don't know what drove this one mad, but I believe it was an isolated case.
"If I haven't accepted a contract, I always keep silent about the existence of a doppler. Even if I realize one is standing right in front of me, I still keep silent."
As Victor spoke, he looked straight at Chappelle. The commander looked back, his muddy yellow eyes fixed on the boy's clear blue ones.
A long moment passed.
"Jean," Chappelle said at last. "The Butcher of Novigrad, the one who looked very much like you. The result of the investigation is this—his name was Jean, and he lived in Farcorners, at *****."
Chappelle then calmly recited an address, opened the door, and left.
...
Night fell. The downpour had finally ended, though a light rain still lingered. After Victor changed back into his properly maintained gear, Caleb Menge personally escorted him out of the garrison.
"It's a pity about the ruling. I don't think there was any need to hide the truth, but perhaps Commander Chappelle had other concerns."
"No, I understand his decision. It was lenient enough already."
Menge handed him a heavy pouch bulging with crowns.
"Remember this. You are never to go back to the produce market, and Sylvester Amello never hired you to do anything."
Victor accepted the purse with a smile and no objection.
Then Menge grinned.
"Heh. Looks like you've got quite a few friends after all. They all came to meet you."
Turning around, Victor saw them waiting beneath the awning of a nearby tavern. Angoulême was there, smiling at him. Beside her were several more people than expected: Happen, seated with a cup of tea; Babu, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed; and Boslaer, wiping down his sword with a rag.
Umutai was absent.
That alone told him what the Butcher Cleaver's attitude was.
After parting with the Temple Guard, Victor walked under the awning and brushed the rain from himself.
"I'm fine. Everything's all right. It's just that my face is too frightening, so I'll be leaving Novigrad for a while."
He squeezed Angoulême's arm, calming the tension in his companion, then looked to the other three.
"And the reason the rest of you came here to wait for me?"
Perhaps because he was most familiar with Victor, they had apparently agreed to let Boslaer speak for them.
He kept it brief.
"As for what happened today, Mr. Reuven and Mr. Bedlam both want to speak with you. Mr. Alonso asked me to bring you over to see him as well."
Victor blinked.
So they had all come to invite him somewhere.
At the moment, he truly did not want to see any of them.
The bathhouse owner was one thing. Dangerous as he was, the doppler had still been stopped before it reached Hierarch Square, which meant the man arguably owed Victor one.
But the others...
Nearly everyone who had died had been residents of Glory Lane, people living on the King of Beggars' turf. Even if the man was not petty enough to take it out on Victor personally, it was easy enough to imagine he would not be wearing a pleasant expression.
"So you all discussed it already?" Victor asked. "Which one am I going to first?"
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