By the time they reached Hattori's Dumpling Shop, it was already quite late. The tables and chairs outside had all been put away, but Victor and Angoulême were regulars, so they were not worried about being rude. They simply pushed open the door and walked right in.
The elven dumpling maker was standing with his back to the entrance, making dumplings at the stove. When he turned and saw two masked thugs, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Luckily, the boy and girl pulled down their face coverings in time, sparing him from shouting for help.
"Damn it! Are you trying to scare me to death so you can inherit my dumpling shop?"
Angoulême chuckled wickedly at that.
Victor yawned. "Thanks for the joke, Hattori. I have absolutely no interest in inheriting your shop. Twenty cheese-and-potato dumplings and twenty pork-and-spinach. We're eating here."
After placing the order, the boy sat down without ceremony. As usual, Angoulême went to scoop out the sour cream for the dumplings, along with the white sauce Victor liked.
The elven cook's craft was solid. The wrappers were thick and hearty, lacking the soft, delicate texture of the dumplings Victor remembered from home, but the filling was excellent, rich with the flavor of meat and vegetables.
No matter what, being able to see these neatly pleated dumplings in another world felt deeply comforting.
Once the food was served, the two members of the Phantom Troupe tore through it like a storm, devouring everything at top speed. Just as they were about to pay, Hattori raised a hand to stop them.
"Hello, Victor Corion—the Butcher of Novigrad. There's something I'd like to ask your help with."
The boy tilted his head and looked at the elf. Given where the dumpling shop stood, it was no surprise that the cook had seen the slaughter. But daring to call him that title to his face took real nerve.
"If you really need my help, then you shouldn't be calling me by that title. It's rude. Aren't you afraid I'll pull out my sword and give you a taste of it?" Victor said irritably.
"That's because you're not..." Hattori paused. "The Butcher of Novigrad was a doppler. I already knew creatures like that existed back when I was still in the Valley of Flowers.
And the Temple Guards' talk about some 'murder maniac'? Anyone with half a brain knows better than to trust them. They rarely tell the truth anyway.
Besides, I saw you chasing him with my own eyes. Two identical men, two identical faces, but dressed completely differently."
So Hattori was not brave so much as convinced he knew the truth, which was why he dared joke with Victor using the Butcher's name.
Victor turned one palm upward in a gesture for him to continue.
"By the grace of the goddess Melitele, may the dead rest in peace.
The important thing is that after that mad doppler copied your swordsmanship, he was actually able to suppress Babu Tabard—the Zerrikanian who serves the King of Beggars. So I believe you have the ability to solve my problem..."
"Hey, Hattori, get to the point already!" Angoulême cut in impatiently.
Choked off mid-speech, the dumpling maker exhaled and straightened himself. "...Before I opened this dumpling shop, I was a swordsmith."
Dumplings and swords?
The keywords hit Victor's ears, and some lost memory suddenly resurfaced. A fast courier message from Prophet Victor raced eight hundred miles into his mind: the elf before him was not just a swordsmith, but a master swordsmith.
"A swordsmith? Do you have any past work to show?" Although the message in his head was almost certainly right, Victor still asked on purpose.
Lifting his chin slightly, the elven dumpling maker, Éibhear Hattori, folded his arms across his chest and said proudly, "Come upstairs. I'll show you the masterpieces I'm proudest of."
...
Not long after, the Phantom Troupe was on its way home.
"So we're definitely helping Hattori?"
"Why not? It's simple and straightforward. Just some dockside thugs. With the Phantom Troupe's skills, we can definitely handle it.
You saw his old work. That steel sword was beautifully forged. My Dragonslayer Sword finally has a future. Yoana refuses to make it for me, so when the time comes I'll have Hattori do it instead.
And if he dares point at my nose and yell at me like Yoana did, I'll educate him properly with my fists on what it means that the customer is always right."
Victor was in a wonderful mood. A master swordsmith had practically fallen from the sky into his lap. He needed to get this settled as quickly as possible. After that, he would never have to worry again about who to ask to forge weapons.
Time passed quickly. The bloody slaughter was already three days behind them, and Glory Lane had grown lively again instead of hanging under that dead, oppressive atmosphere.
Still, many of the street vendors now had small shields or side swords at their stalls. Business at Fergus's smithy had improved noticeably over the last few days, mostly from people coming to buy weapons for self-defense.
Angoulême stretched lazily. "All right, I was just thinking that you only have a few days left to move around in Novigrad. Is spending time on him really worth it?"
"Definitely. Hattori is a master swordsmith. The moment I stepped onto the second floor, I received a revelation and saw a glimpse of the future. We're going to get along splendidly. Shame he already has his own shop. Otherwise I'd gladly have taken him on as our third employee."
"If you're sure, then fine. We'll wait for him to set a time and go with him to negotiate. Besides that, is there anything else you want to do?"
A helpful local was saying, "...Passiflora is the most famous brothel in Novigrad. As the saying goes, if you've never been to Passiflora, you don't know your body's in poor shape. But there's also Crippled Kate's, Rosemary and Thyme... and of course the streetwalkers."
A traveler asked, "And the priests don't have a problem with it? Moral corruption happening right under the Eternal Fire's nose—doesn't that make them angry?"
The helpful local laughed. "On the surface, sure, they're furious. But behind the scenes... they'll spend a few coins too. Not to rescue some wayward youth, mind you."
Victor blinked.
Angoulême blinked too.
Neither of them had expected to overhear such "important intelligence" from random passersby.
Angoulême's step turned light and brisk. "If you don't have any other plans, you should visit Passiflora tomorrow. Since you're here already, it'd be a shame to come to Novigrad and not go sightseeing there."
"Mm... yes, I suppose I should." Victor nodded in agreement. "Otherwise if someone asks me what Passiflora was like after I say I've been to Novigrad, and I can't answer how luxurious it is, that'd be embarrassing. It'd make it sound like there's something wrong with me."
Angoulême suddenly said with feeling, "Come to think of it, it's really unfair. Why is Passiflora only staffed by women, there to entertain men at a brothel?"
"The market just hasn't been developed yet. Sooner or later there'll be entertainment houses staffed by men too, so wealthy girls with certain needs can come and enjoy themselves as well... no, experience men of different styles."
Victor was only speaking casually, but the girl clearly took him seriously.
"That's a brilliant idea! Vic, you're a fucking genius. I never told you before, but I've always thought that in my heart.
It's decided. When I open a brothel in Toussaint, I'm going to open one for men, so all the girls in Beauclair can live fulfilled and happy lives."
Beauclair was the capital of the duchy of Toussaint, currently ruled by Duchess Anna Henrietta. Opening a brothel staffed by men in her domain?
Victor did not think much of that plan, unless Dandelion got involved. After all, the depth of his friendship with Duchess Anna was beyond imagining.
"Oh, right, one more thing," the boy said, smiling at the thought. "You know my herb satchel can expand as my mental strength grows."
Angoulême was still busy imagining her groundbreaking establishment. "Mm, so?"
"A few days ago, after everything with the doppler, my mental strength improved dramatically. Do you know how much the satchel can hold now?"
Seeing how eager Vic looked, Angoulême knew she had no choice but to play along. "How much?"
"It can now carry a total space measuring twelve feet in length, width, and height—about the size of an entire room. Which means I can pack all kinds of things into the bag to protect my teammates and smash my enemies."
The girl pictured it briefly in her head, and immediately grew excited too. After the battle at Lindenvale and with the 'beauty,' she had developed quite a liking for the thrill of crushing monsters with wildly uneven equipment. A whole room's worth of bombs and traps carried around in an herb satchel made for a true walking arsenal.
...
Laughing and chatting, they returned to the smithy. The moment he stepped inside, Victor sharply sensed something was wrong.
Yoana and Fergus had been talking just before he came in, but the instant they saw him, both of them abruptly stopped and pretended nothing was happening.
Because they were not actually trying to be funny, the whole thing looked even more ridiculous. The boy could not help recalling a line:
There's a mole—call off the deal.
It fit the two amateur schemers perfectly.
The girl clearly noticed something as well, but she did not care. Any plot brewing here would only be aimed at the boss. After handing the takeout dumplings to the blacksmith and the dwarf, she headed out back to heat water for a bath.
Although Victor had handled the most unpleasant part of the day himself, the sight of Luffy emptying himself so completely had been too shocking. Thanks to pure psychological aftertaste, Angoulême felt like if she did not bathe tonight, she would not dare get into bed.
Victor was in no hurry to return to the alchemy workshop either. He simply sat down in the reclining chair in the smithy to enjoy the cool air, wondering what exactly these two sneaky employees wanted to say to him.
"Ahem, ahem."
The dwarf finally came over after finishing his food.
Using a cough as an opening line was stale and awkward, but to a boy who had spent his time in Novigrad dealing mostly with sly foxes and seasoned operators, it actually came off as rather endearing.
Under the boss's gaze, which seemed to see right through him, Fergus spoke awkwardly. "Well, boss... it's like this. I know Luf running away was really over the line, but he's still young and doesn't know any better.
So I was thinking maybe... maybe we could try looking for him. We all got along pretty well while he was here..."
So that was it.
Yoana wanted to bring her countryman back, but because of the Dragonslayer Sword business, she had just lost her temper at him earlier and could not bring herself to speak up now. So she had shoved the dwarf forward to act as her spokesman.
Once Victor understood what this was about, he grinned and patted Fergus on the shoulder. "Of course. No problem. Him suddenly disappearing worries me too. Novigrad isn't the kind of place where just anyone can stand on their own.
Search for him however you like. If you need money for anything, have Angoulême reimburse it. I understand completely."
After saying that, he rose from the recliner and gave a slight bow in Yoana's direction. Yoana nodded back to him in return.
This feeling of both sides being polite and treating one another with proper respect was really nice, Victor thought. If it had been Angoulême, that old hand would have known perfectly well that he did not actually mind this sort of thing at all.
...
Late that night, in the women's bedroom on the third floor of the smithy—
"Hahaha, you really don't need to be nervous or embarrassed! You should've come to me with this kind of trouble sooner.
Let me tell you, Bell Town, where Victor comes from, has a lot of ridiculous customs, but there's one thing about him I really admire: as long as there's no actual harm done and it doesn't touch on a matter of principle, his tolerance for offenses from women is practically limitless.
And besides, with the Dragonslayer Sword, he was the one in the wrong to begin with. What the hell would that bizarre thing even be good for? It would obviously just end up as decoration again.
Just like this anti-flea sword. Honestly, I'm starting to regret making it. I should've traded for his Prometheus instead. At least that one's useful."
Yoana could not help laughing out loud at how funny Angoulême made it sound.
Just then, Catherine, perched on the stand by the window, gave a soft hooting warning. The girl paused, stepped closer to the window, and looked outside.
Only then did she realize it was Victor. He was leaving the smithy and heading east.
By all rights, if he were Batman, he ought to have launched his nighttime operation from the wine cellar in the basement. If this was not Batman going out for a night run, then what exactly was he doing leaving so late?
As she puzzled over it, Angoulême noticed Victor's right hand.
He was carrying a straw hat.
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