"Hungry and Cold"
Friends reading this notice board, with no better food to give them, all I can feed my little ones is acorn-flour pancakes. They've been lying on straw for three days, their stomachs growling something awful, their illness getting worse and worse, crying day and night. Even if you insist on treating us for free and refuse payment, at the very least...
, Mrs. Simon
...
It was raining...
Not a raging storm, just the sky turning lead-gray, then spilling down in a dense, seamless sheet, round droplets soaking the whole earth.
It was afternoon. Standing in the castle tower and watching the rain, arms folded across her chest, she felt a faint melancholy for no reason at all.
This wasn't Keira Metz's style, not at all, she thought. It had to be the gloomy sky, too long without sex, and Merigold's fault.
Even now, Triss still hadn't contacted her, and Keira had no idea whether she'd even seen the note left at her house.
After the video meeting ended earlier, Keira had hurried to Triss's residence, only to find she'd gone out somewhere without warning, and had even left without her megascope, clearly because of some sudden matter. Keira had no choice but to leave in disappointment.
Then the sorceress had been assigned to accompany King Foltest to La Valette Castle, to offer condolences to the widow of the old Baron, Maria Louisa, and before she knew it, several days had passed.
At that meeting, the other sorceresses might have decided Victor was just a fraud putting on airs the moment they learned Whoreson Junior had died before the prophecy's stated time. Keira wouldn't. She still remembered how shy and awkward he had been when they first met, and how rapidly he had changed every time they crossed paths afterward.
That ordinary little nobody from last year, that kid she used to tease, was now being called a giant-slayer, and had even managed to play a match against Philippa and walk away in style.
..., Keira would never admit that contrast gave her a secret little thrill, just as expected from the boy I watched grow up.
So she desperately wanted to hear it from Triss and confirm her suspicion. Had the White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia, really come back from the dead?
And what exactly was Victor trying to do by making up that blasted prophecy? After leaving Tretogor, rumor said he had headed south. Could he be coming to Vizima?
The rain kept falling. What a dull stretch of time...
Until, through the curtain of rain, a rider entered through the castle gate. The knight dismounted, looked up, and casually glanced toward the tower.
At that moment, the goddess of fate lifted the dice cup. Beneath the hood, the boy's gaze collided with the sorceress's.
Keira narrowed her eyes, the corners of her lips lifting.
...
Someone once said, "Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what flavor you're going to get."
...
Half a day earlier, while camped on the north bank of the Pontar, Victor had not planned to visit La Valette Castle and call on Aryan's family.
His original plan had been to cross White Bridge the next day, then take river transport on the Ismena straight to Vizima.
But plans never kept pace with change. In the middle of the night, Victor got a taste of "the bitterness of dark chocolate" when he was attacked by six zombie hounds.
That's right, they were neither ordinary wild dogs nor spectral hounds born from evil spirits. Damn it all, they were definitely zombie hounds!
All the fur had fallen from their bodies, leaving muscle tissue exposed. Their skin was rotting away and sloughing off. Their pupils had turned red, the whites of their eyes filled with blood vessels. Their teeth and claws had grown longer and sharper. Their hearing and sense of smell were keener than those of ordinary wild dogs, and they were violently aggressive.
The witchers' books had never mentioned monsters like this, but the boy knew exactly what was going on. The bitterness of life had arrived with frightening suddenness.
"Thoughts on the Trial of the Grasses, Part III"
The secret to a witcher's resistance to toxins lies in rapid "metabolism." This is a term I coined myself, so please understand it as the process of constantly replacing old matter with new matter, ...
..., therefore I reasonably speculate that by increasing the dosage of the above mutagens and accelerating metabolism beyond a certain threshold, a living body may even display a kind of "undeadness"!
For now, I call it zombification.
Of course, this also brings many side effects, the first of which is hair loss...
, Handsome Guy by the Sea, written at Kaer Morhen
...
What a disaster! Someone was using the stolen fantasy notebook to test a groundbreaking mutagenic theory. Thankfully they hadn't added a mechanic where a bite could infect others, otherwise it would have turned into a medieval version of Resident Evil, and that would have been an outright human tragedy.
After killing the zombie hounds that attacked him and performing a brief dissection, the boy confirmed they were still alive, though they looked almost no different from corpses.
Extremely rapid metabolism required enormous amounts of food. The instinctive urge to hunt for food, driven by hunger, erased all intelligence from zombie creatures and drove them to attack any living thing in sight. They could basically be treated as a new breed of artificial monster.
The only good news was that they had no ability to reproduce.
But the appearance of zombie hounds made Victor suspect that those mysterious thieves were hiding somewhere near La Valette Castle.
And if he wanted to investigate the surrounding villages and settlements, getting help from the local noble who actually held power would be the fastest and most effective approach.
...
La Valette Castle, great hall.
"My condolences," Victor said, offering his sympathies to the old Baron's widow, Maria Louisa, Aryan's mother.
The boy was now dressed in dry, appropriately plain mourning clothes.
The brown-haired, brown-eyed widow bowed in return. "It would have pleased Baron to know you came to see him off on his final journey. Please forgive me, but on a day like this, I can't speak with you at length."
After a few polite words, Victor bade Louisa farewell and followed Aryan outside to talk.
"Thank you for coming," said the young nobleman, his eyes slightly swollen and his expression dim. He looked exhausted.
Compared to him, his mother had actually seemed more composed, her bearing proper and her speech measured.
"To be honest, I didn't even know Baron had passed away. Even deciding to come visit was a last-minute choice." There was no need to hide that from Aryan.
"The fact that you showed up really did surprise me. I sent word to Novigrad, but I wasn't sure it would reach you."
"I'm sorry to say I'm actually here to ask for help. On the way here, I was attacked by some kind of unusual monster. The danger level is extremely high, so I wanted to know whether there have been frequent incidents lately of man-eating monsters around the castle."
At the mention of monsters eating people, Aryan's face visibly turned serious. "About that... I'm sorry, but I haven't been paying much attention to affairs in my lands lately, so I can't answer you. I'll ask the steward and get you an answer as soon as I can."
"How are Anaïs and Boussy?" Victor asked about Aryan's younger sister and brother. There was more than a fifteen-year gap between them and Aryan, and they were still at that lively, adorable age.
The young nobleman, or rather Baron La Valette now, spoke with warm indulgence. "The little ones have a bit of a cough. They're resting in the keep."
Victor brushed a finger beneath his nose and did not ask any further. There were many rumors surrounding those two siblings, and Aryan was quite troubled by them.
The reason was simple. After Aryan was born, the old Baron had gone a full sixteen years without fathering another child. Yet starting nine years ago, Maria gave birth in two consecutive years, first Anaïs, then Boussy.
You had to remember, there was no miracle drug like Megatron nine years ago.
And even Megatron could only help get things started, it couldn't cure infertility. So if Anaïs and Boussy really were the old Baron's doing, it would count as nothing short of a medieval wonder.
Luckier still, ever since those two were born, Baron La Valette's fief had been moved from some remote countryside holding to La Valette, a border stronghold near Vizima with direct river access.
A young and beautiful wife and a husband unable to do much, naturally that would put bold thoughts in people's heads. On top of that, Boussy's facial features did in fact bear a faint resemblance to a certain exalted personage, so the rumors never died down.
The fact that, after the old Baron's death, that exalted personage had personally come to comfort the widow told anyone who looked just how favored House La Valette truly was.
In any case, since Aryan cared about it, Victor as his friend naturally wouldn't pick at a sore subject.
Footsteps approached from behind. An attendant came up to them. "Good day. His Majesty Foltest, King of Temeria, wishes to invite Mister Victor for a conversation."
...
The finest room in La Valette Castle had an expansive view. From it, one could look straight toward White Bridge over the Pontar and the Redanian lands on the north bank.
Outside, rain drifted down in thin strands. The king on the southern bank wore a faint smile, clearly in a good mood.
He gestured for Victor to come closer and sit. Foltest sat in another chair by the window, at ease, warmly asking the boy about what he had seen and heard in Redania and Skellige after leaving Temeria.
With the king extending such high courtesy, Victor naturally wasn't about to slight him. Polite and refined, he chose a few harmless topics and recounted them.
The atmosphere was congenial.
When he mentioned his conversation with Patrick, the checkpoint commander at the border outpost, the king's expression turned thoughtful.
"It sounds like the people on the ground in Redania have high expectations for this Radovid V." His tone was certain, and he clearly wasn't expecting an answer from Victor.
The air fell silent for a moment, then the king waved a hand and resumed the light conversation.
There was no question that King Foltest was handsome and charismatic. Talking with him was easy and pleasant, like basking in a spring breeze.
At the same time, however, the two people beside the king each brought considerable pressure to the boy. Caught between cold and heat, it truly felt like heaven and hell at once.
The cold one was someone Victor had seen last time in the White Hall, the blue-clad iron guard who always stood closest to Foltest, his head wrapped in a black kerchief. Victor was almost certain he was the famous "King's Hand," Vernon Roche.
But the guard's expression was no longer as calm as before. Probably because of Thaler, he was openly stern and wary.
He wasn't like the King's Eyes, the sort who would clamp onto Victor and never let go, but if you asked whether he had any favorable impression of him, that impression was certainly limited.
As for the hot one, Victor had last parted with him in Novigrad. This monster of a man had a stern rectangular face and an imposing beard.
He was Jacques de Aldersberg, Grand Master of the Order of the Flaming Rose.
He was obviously pleased to see Victor and gave him a smiling nod. He had always treated the boy with unusual friendliness, and perhaps later he would say something odd again, like how even the smallest change was precious, or how Victor was welcome to join the Order.
That heaven-and-hell routine of alternating chill and heat continued for quite a while. In the end, the king invited Victor to perform an appropriate song for Baron La Valette at the formal farewell ceremony the next day.
After promising a generous reward, he dismissed the Dragonborn Bard.
...
Victor left the room and waited by a pillar some distance down the corridor, because someone had just hinted that he wanted a word with him.
Sure enough, it wasn't long before Jacques came out. Iron boots going clack, clack, the Grand Master walked with steady, even steps until he stopped in front of the boy.
The School of the Wolf medallion vibrated violently. The thick magic saturating the air created the illusion that breathing itself had become difficult. This overwhelming strength was something even Philippa Eilhart couldn't match.
After all he had seen across the realms, Victor had to admit, Jacques was the strongest.
More than half a year had passed since they last met. Victor had certainly grown a great deal in that time, yet before this man he still had no confidence. Even trying to turn and run felt difficult. This man was simply too strong.
Jacques looked him up and down as if examining a promising junior from his own household, then smiled in satisfaction. "Long time no see, Vic. This is the fourth time we've met, and you've grown quite a bit taller. You did excellent work in Skellige," Jacques said.
Now that the boy had entered his growth spurt, the difference between their heights had indeed narrowed. He was still about five inches shorter than the Grand Master, but at least now he no longer had to tilt his head all the way back to look at him.
Victor placed a hand over his chest in salute, offering respect to the strong. "A man has to grow sooner or later, Master."
"Well said!" The Grand Master gave the boy's arm a squeeze. The muscle was firm and strong, yet still springy. "You came back earlier than I expected, and with a greater reputation than I anticipated."
After a brief pause, he continued, "Then again, who can truly say what is early and what is late? Young man, this is the second time I'm asking you. Are you willing to join the Order of the Flaming Rose?"
Victor met Jacques's expectant gaze for a long moment.
Then he shook his head. "No. I'm sorry, but I still want to become a 'free' witcher. My choice hasn't changed."
"Is that so... very well, what a pity. Perhaps the time has not yet come." The Grand Master's voice carried ոչ a trace of disappointment or displeasure.
As if worried Victor might feel burdened by it, he instead reached out and patted the boy on the shoulder, his tone as warm as ever. "Don't mind it. No matter what happens, if you ever run into trouble, you can come to me. Remember, Siegfried and I are both willing to help you."
With that, Jacques smiled, turned away, and strode off in iron boots that rang out in steady rhythm, clack, clack, clack, clack.
Watching the Grand Master leave, Victor suddenly thought he might be able to discuss the zombie hounds with him. With the Order's manpower and support, the problem might be solved much faster. But after remembering that he had just turned the man down, he ultimately couldn't bring himself to speak.
...
Late at night, the rain still hadn't stopped.
Lying in bed, having already planned tomorrow's performance, Victor closed his eyes in the darkness, ready to sleep like a baby, when a faint fragrance drifted into his nose.
It was the rosemary he had expected to smell sooner or later, dew from the sea, her distinctive scent, warm and intense, like a breeze carrying pinecones and wood. The boy almost sighed at how late she had come.
Snap.
A flick of the fingers lit the candle. In the wavering light, he saw the petite woman sitting on the chair beside the bed with her knees drawn up, which left Victor a little disappointed. He honestly wouldn't have minded if she had been sitting on his well-trained abs instead.
"Good evening, Keira. You look even more beautiful than last time."
"Heh, you've changed quite a bit yourself. Do you know you're in serious trouble?"
Threats before the conversation even started? That trick was ancient...
The straw-blonde, long-haired, petite and slender sorceress was wearing a sky-blue knee-length dress tonight. Sitting there with her knees hugged to her chest, she looked proper and demure, without the slightest air of seniority.
That manner actually made the boy laugh inside. Ha, so you've finally realized that I, Victor, am strong-willed to the core and won't be moved by mere beauty anymore?
Sitting up proudly to face the sorceress, he prepared to have a proper conversation with her.
Then the boy realized he had still been far too naive.
A knee-length skirt plus that knees-drawn-up posture, the sliver of bare thigh held a terrifying authority. In an instant, his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.
Damn, he'd let his guard down. He had walked straight into her psychological trap.
The candlelight wasn't bright enough, and her knees blocked the view anyway, so of course he couldn't see anything. But precisely because he couldn't quite make it out, he wanted all the more to see.
Noticing Victor's lapse, Keira narrowed her eyes, her lips curving with a teasing smile. "Vic, want to guess?"
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