A single candle burned, and outside the window the fine rain still had not stopped.
There's an old saying: the best time to judge a person is when they're being tested.
And this time, faced with Keira's test, Victor's answer sheet was to blink a couple of times, then remain calm and open.
The boy looked so composed that the last few seconds felt like an illusion, or as if some mysterious force had controlled him and erased his memory.
In a refined, easygoing tone, he said, "Good evening, Keira. You look even more beautiful than last time."
Pfft... Keira nearly laughed out loud. His acting really was good, but the bastard couldn't even be bothered to come up with a new line.
A sly, interesting little fox... If she weren't the one teasing him, she might actually have believed him.
What a pity. The hazy atmosphere shattered completely. She had already been prepared to make sure he never forgot a sorceress's dignity when he pounced.
She opened her palm, revealing the small electric orb hidden there, then clenched her fist and crushed it apart. "Bastard, you've changed quite a bit, but you're also standing on the edge of disaster, do you know that?"
Sitting up in bed, Victor stretched lazily and propped his cheek on his left hand.
"Come on, don't scare people. Let me break it down for you.
"My name is Victor Corion. I'm seventeen years old. Originally from Bell Town. I roam the realms, unmarried. I run an alchemy workshop, take an active interest in public service, and work two to six hours every evening.
"I don't touch narcotics, and I only drink lightly.
"I try to go to bed early and get a full six hours of sleep every day. Before bed, I like to drink a warm glass of milk and do thirty minutes of stretching. Once I'm in bed, I fall asleep immediately and sleep soundly until morning, like a baby. I never let fatigue or stress carry over into the next day.
"My physical condition is healthy. Even doctors say I'm perfectly normal! I always treat people kindly, and I make friends wherever I go.
"So tell me, what great disaster could possibly befall a person like that?"
The sorceress couldn't help laughing... It was clearly milder than chanting one of his grandiose titles, and what he said was grounded enough, but for some reason it still made her want to punch him.
Her slender hand curled into a fist, and she shot him a sidelong look with her brown eyes. "You're awfully cocky. Have you stopped taking me, Keira the sorceress, seriously?"
Spreading both hands, he bowed slightly. "That was a joke. It's been a long time. I'm very glad to see you're in good health, and I'd be deeply grateful if you'd show me the way out of danger."
Since Victor had backed down, Keira unclenched her fist, though her tone remained sharp. "I can't help idiots. Only an idiot would use a fake prophecy to fool Philippa. Now that you've been exposed, you probably won't die, but there will definitely be a 'surprise' waiting for you."
Her words stirred the boy's curiosity. "What's going on? How do you know I gave Philippa a prophecy?"
"I can answer your question, but first you need to tell me, do you actually know what the Elder Blood is?" She lowered her legs from the chair and smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt.
Seeing Keira turn serious, the boy rubbed his chin with his fingers. "Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon.
"The Elder Bloodline passed down from the elven sage Lara Dorren, gifted with the talent to travel through time and space, and born with immense magical power."
"If you know that, then why would you use her in a prophecy?" Keira jabbed a finger at him again and again, scolding him angrily. "I know you're close to Ciri and call each other brother and sister, but that isn't a reason to make jokes at her expense. Ciri represents far too much. The inheritance rights of half the Continent's kingdoms, a powerful and mysterious bloodline, it means anything and anyone connected to her will be scrutinized and magnified."
...It wasn't his imagination. This sorceress was actually concerned about him. Could it be that he'd gotten even better-looking lately? Was this the legendary transformation of a boy becoming a man, or had his two and a half years of training finally paid off and his moment to soar arrived?
His thoughts wandered somewhere strange, and he replied offhandedly, "Just to clarify, I think 'siblings' is more accurate. The whole older-sister angle is something she decided for herself, I've never called her my sister.
"And besides, the prophecy is related to her because that's the truth. I'm certain that when all three conditions are fulfilled, that'll be the moment Ciri returns."
Assuming Victor was still stubbornly bluffing, Keira was so irritated she laughed. "Oh? All three conditions, is that it? You're certainly confident. Then do you also know that Whoreson Junior is already dead?"
"What? Impossible! Alonso 'Whoreson Junior' Wiley is dead? When did that happen?"
"Nice acting... Didn't it happen three days before you gave that prophecy?
"You were lucky you left early. If you'd stayed even half a day longer, do you believe Philippa would've kept you there and properly taught you what honesty means?
"I don't know how you learned it ahead of time, even before Redanian intelligence got the news, but using a dead man as one of the conditions of a prophecy, what exactly were you thinking? Did you think it would make it sound more believable?..."
Keira kept grumbling, but Victor barely heard a word.
The boy was still immersed in his shock. That sly, intelligent Whoreson had actually died at the hands of his idiot son. It made almost no sense at all. But this was something Keira could easily verify, so there was no way she would lie to him about it.
Which meant Whoreson really was gone, far earlier than expected. Based on Victor's prior assessment of the old man's body, he should've been able to hang on for several more years. He hadn't expected him to drop dead so cleanly. That meant one more peg in the framework of his plot knowledge had snapped loose.
Letting out a long sigh, Victor muttered, "So... now it's already the age of Whoreson II..."
No matter how highly Keira already rated the boy's acting, the sincerity he showed now still made her ask, "Wait... tell me honestly, you really didn't know ahead of time that Whoreson was dead?"
His brows lifted, and he answered with righteous seriousness, "I swear on my grandfather's name, Keira, when I spoke with Philippa, I truly didn't know Whoreson had already died."
To invoke his grandfather's name was a serious promise in a medieval world, a matter of ancestral honor, so the sorceress chose to believe him.
But that brought the problem right back to the beginning. If Victor really was some kind of seer, then how was the prophecy supposed to be explained?
Folding her arms across her chest, Keira murmured to herself, "Hmm... leaving aside the first line, the second line, Temeria burning, could be explained by a major fire or unrest in any city, or even a forest fire. But the third line, the White Wolf awakening, what exactly does that mean? Under the Law of Surprise, Geralt of Rivia would have been the most reasonable answer, but he was already dead..."
",He's alive again," the boy said calmly, listening to the sorceress think out loud.
It felt as if the rain outside stopped for a second.
With a sudden pounce, Keira leaped onto the bed and knocked Victor flat, sitting down on his abs and grabbing his collar with both hands. "What did you just say!?"
Faced with the light weight and the familiar pressure pinning him down, the boy answered, "The White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia, alive. He was found in Kaer Morhen a few months ago. Didn't Triss tell you? She knew even before I did. I only returned to the keep after she sent word."
Thinking back to that portal Victor had opened for Triss in Vizima, Keira Metz suddenly understood everything. So that time, Triss had been going to Kaer Morhen to find Geralt, and yet she had simply let Keira misunderstand. It was infuriating beyond words. That slut Merigold, this was how she treated a loyal friend?
Letting go of Victor's collar, the angrier Keira got, the harder she bounced down on him twice in spite. And from her reaction, Victor could already tell that Triss truly was the witchers' friend, utterly devoted to Geralt, and had told the sorceresses absolutely nothing.
Once she had vented her temper, Keira calmed down and immediately spotted the flaw. "No, that's not right. Then you really were making things up after all! You could claim ignorance for the first line, but how do you explain the third? The White Wolf woke up two months ago. You already knew Geralt had come back!"
As she spoke, the view from where Victor lay was spectacular.
Sure enough, the fate of every prophecy was to be misunderstood. Rubbing his nose, the boy had to admit he liked talking to Keira from this angle.
"Geralt had amnesia. He couldn't remember anyone. Triss went there to treat him. When the prophecy says awakening, it was never about him coming back to life, it meant him recovering his memory."
Her eyelashes fluttered a few times, and her small hands slowly but firmly seized his collar again. "Wait. So you know the correct interpretation of the prophecy?"
Victor answered with perfect confidence. "Of course! Don't compare me to one of those circus frauds rubbing a crystal ball and charging ten crowns for three questions without having the faintest clue what they're talking about! I made up the prophecy, according to the facts, so how could I not know what it means?"
"You know!? Then why didn't you explain it clearly to Philippa?"
"Nobody asked me. They said they wanted to hear a prophecy, so I gave them a prophecy."
Keira was so angry she laughed.
"Excellent. Then I don't want to hear a prophecy. I want your full explanation."
"No problem. When Whoreson in Novigrad dies, Temeria is destroyed, and Geralt recovers his memory, that'll be the time Ciri comes home."
Keira released Victor's collar, then reached straight to her waist and pulled out a brass knuckle-duster, slipping it on with practiced ease.
"Hey! My dear lady, what exactly are you planning to do?" Victor hurriedly tried to stop her. He wasn't about to think Keira was joking.
When a sorceress said she was going to hit someone, she really meant it, just like Geralt had been beaten by Yennefer countless times.
She brandished the knuckle-duster. "The first line and the third line are one thing, but Temeria destroyed!?
"I can forgive you for toying with Philippa, but you dare fool me too?
"The strongest of the Four Northern Kingdoms, with Triss and me supporting it, destroyed!? You actually had the nerve to say that? You've clearly forgotten you're standing on Foltest's soil, and I need to remind you of that!"
"Lady, please let me explain. I promise I wasn't joking. Those really were the exact words I spoke in Kaer Morhen in the Blue Mountains to Vesemir and the witcher Leo.
"After that, when I got to Redania, Philippa wanted a prophecy, so I made one out of the exact same words. Then Radovid wanted a prophecy too, so I gave him one as well. Both of them heard it and thought they understood perfectly, but neither of them asked what I thought it meant.
"You're the first person who directly asked me for the full explanation, so I'm telling you the truth. You shouldn't be angry about that. It's precisely because I knew nobody would believe the word 'destroyed' that I softened it to 'burning.' I didn't deceive anyone with my wording. If other people misunderstood, that can't be blamed on me."
Drawing in a deep breath, the sorceress asked coldly, "Then tell me, how is Temeria destroyed?"
"I don't know! I really don't know how the strongest kingdom in the North falls, but that's the result I saw!"
The brass knuckle-duster hovered in midair, glinting coldly, twitching several times with the urge to strike, but in the end it never came down.
After a long while, she lowered her hand. "There doesn't seem to be any contradiction in what you've said, but let me warn you in advance, Vic.
"If you're lying to me, and I find out you're lying to me, I promise I will be very, very angry. At that point, no ordinary 'surprise' will settle things. So if there's anything else you need to add, you'd better make it clear right now."
Without anyone noticing, the fine rain outside had stopped.
"Beautiful Keira, clever as you are, you surely understand that seers have their limits. At most, I can tell you what I saw. Whether or not the tragedy can be prevented, that's your responsibility."
After confirming that Keira nodded in agreement, Victor continued, "And besides, I'm still an outsider. I owe no duty to any of the kingdoms of the Continent. So in exchange, there's something I want your help with too."
This was the second time Victor had asked Keira for mutual assistance. Last time, the sorceress had ended their conversation with mockery, and she had regretted it afterward, feeling she had missed the rise of the Dovahkiin. This time, however, the bargaining chip the boy had brought was clearly far richer than before.
After a moment's thought, she gave a nod. "All right. Tell me, what can I help you with?"
"It's like this. A month ago, a group of bandits broke into Kaer Morhen and stole the formula for the Trial of the Grasses, along with some of my theoretical notes. They're very likely using them to create new monsters..."
...
South of La Valette Castle, the fine rain continued to fall. In a cave near Vizima, masked criminals lay dead everywhere.
After cutting down the zombie hounds with his dancing steel sword and suffering only a few scratches himself, Geralt strode toward the last leader, slid in, and sliced open the villain's side beneath the ribs, sending him collapsing into a pool of blood.
If Victor had been there too, he might have recognized the Salamandra tattoo exposed on the man's arm and identified him as Red Dog, the same guide from the sewers.
Yes, on this very night, Red Dog, the rising star of the Salamandra gang, lifelong nemesis of Black Dog of the Ramsmeat gang, and villain who once fought Batman and Catwoman at the same time by himself, fell here in this cave.
Though the battle looked easy enough in the end, the actual fight had been fierce. Geralt was certain he had never encountered a strange monster like a zombie hound before.
And as for the Kaer Morhen bandit incident, the White Wolf now had strong reason to suspect Salamandra was involved. Not only because of the zombie hounds, but because he remembered seeing a similar Salamandra tattoo back at Kaer Morhen.
Sheathing his sword, Geralt walked over to the two people he had come to protect, both of whom were unharmed. They were the herbalist Abigail and a little boy named Alvin.
"Are you all right?" Noticing the witcher's wounds, the herbalist quickly took out some ointment and began applying it to him.
Letting Abigail tend to him, Geralt gently patted Alvin on the head.
The reason he had appeared in this cave tonight was because the little boy had been kidnapped, and Geralt had tracked the clues all the way here.
As for Alvin's background, Geralt had run into him not long ago on the road one rainy night, while he was being chased by Barghests. After saving him, the boy displayed a prophetic trance, floating in the air and reciting the Prophecy of Ithlinne. So Geralt had brought Alvin nearby and let Abigail, who studied herbs, take him in temporarily.
Over the past few days, Geralt's investigation outside the village had made major progress. What had originally been a task to earn permission to enter the city had, thanks to the witcher's sharp senses and cool judgment, led him into a horrifying story beneath the surface.
The respectable villagers assigned to him by the Reverend included one man who had poisoned his own brother, one smuggler in stolen calves, and another who had been a serial rapist, though that one had died by drowning last year.
In short, if people like that counted as model villagers, then the village's long harassment by Barghests could hardly be called undeserved.
Geralt planned to finish his investigation outside the city within the next day or two, then confront the Reverend of the Eternal Fire.
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