Not long ago, in order to recover the memories that mattered most, I chose to act alone.
And as time passed, whenever I cut down monsters, I could feel with growing familiarity that the steel sword and the silver sword were parts of my body.
The leather armor on me, Victor must have put some magic on it. Though our time together was short, I know that both he and Angoulême treated me very well. Compared with the others I've met since, only the friends I knew in Kaer Morhen felt truly sincere.
What kind of man was I before? The people who knew me usually treated me well. Maybe I really did help a great many people.
I've forgotten many things, but not everything. For example, if I have to choose between one evil and another, then I should choose neither.
But that is an extreme situation, in the end. In reality, I choose the side that shares warmth with me, the side that does not turn blade against me.
...
At dawn, Geralt stepped out of Abigail's room.
At first, the villagers had described her as an evil witch who sold magical potions, but after meeting her in person, she was really nothing more than an ordinary herbalist.
And as they helped each other, gathering herbs and making salves, the two of them gradually grew familiar. After rescuing Alvin, Geralt chose to entrust the boy to Abigail's temporary care.
Last night, following the ideas Victor had shared, his "infiltration operation" at the kidnappers' cave had been an overwhelming success. As the saying went, a perfect infiltration meant that everyone who noticed you ended up dead, in this case, every gang member bearing a Salamandra tattoo.
And in their loud-mouthed boasting before they died, the villains had also mentioned a name, Berengar. Victor had mentioned that name too and told Geralt to pay close attention if he ever heard it. Supposedly, Berengar might have been an accomplice in the attack on Kaer Morhen.
Alvin was still asleep at the moment, so when Geralt went out, only Abigail came to see him off.
She handed the witcher a salve and a healing potion. "Be careful on the road. It often starts raining after noon. Don't catch cold and get sick."
He nodded and smiled at the herbalist. "Witchers don't fall ill easily, but thank you all the same."
...
[Name: Sterling Silver Warrior Sword]
[Type: Weapon]
[Quality: Fine]
[Attack Power: Fairly Strong]
[Traits: Increased Sharpness, Damage Feedback]
[Enchantment: None]
[Notes: Good for hacking and slicing alike. You can even use it to open cans, though you'd better not.]
...
In the backyard of one of the village's finer homes, an echinops had sprung up at some unknown point in time. Its petals had evolved into razor-sharp blades, and together with its supple, whipping stems, it was a terrifyingly lethal thing.
The owner of the house was Odo, one of the village's "respected" men. At the Reverend's insistence, if the witcher wanted a pass to enter the city, he had to win Odo's approval, and Odo's demand was simple, kill that monster.
If you didn't know the right way to deal with it, the creature was extremely dangerous. But to a properly trained monster slayer, once its position had been fixed, a single Igni Sign was enough to set it ablaze, and after that it was only a matter of cutting it down.
Though it looked like a plant, it was in truth a cursed thing. So after hacking it apart with his silver sword, the witcher dug up the bones of Odo's brother from the roots and cremated them.
This was a man the owner, Odo, had poisoned to death. The monster had been born because Odo's brother, cheated out of his inheritance, had died full of resentment.
Geralt pieced together the truth from scattered clues, but kept it to himself, with no intention of delivering justice. That was outside his work. Most of the time, monster slayers were little more than cleaners, responsible only for sweeping monsters away.
Geralt did not know how the man he had been before losing his memory had managed to endure year after year in a world steeped in this kind of malice, where even the so-called respectable villagers were people like this.
The whole village was steeped in something foul. He intended to leave as soon as possible. Carrying Odo's proof of approval, Geralt headed to the Church of the Eternal Fire to find the Reverend.
...
Inside the Church of the Eternal Fire, once the afternoon prayers had ended, the Reverend entered a side chamber. He wore soft, light vestments, red with yellow trim, with the symbol of the Eternal Fire on both the front and back.
Casting a sidelong glare at the witcher, the Reverend loathed the mutant before him, yet had no choice but to make use of him to solve the problems closing in around the village.
Lighting bonfires of the Eternal Fire at night had already proven useless against the Barghests. If the Reverend had no other method and the monsters were not dealt with soon, the practical villagers would start doubting the power of the Eternal Fire, and that would mean the failure of his preaching.
That forced the Reverend to swallow his disgust and revulsion as he approached the witcher in the side room, this foul-smelling, misshapen freak. What did this filthy fallen creature call himself again... something like Geralt of Rivia?
Geralt's voice was low and steady. "Reverend, I've come to report back on the task you gave me."
The Reverend said, "Your commission, yes, that's right. I told you to deal with the Barghest problem, and to help two respectable villagers, Odo and Haren Brogg. Have you completed those tasks?"
"The drowners harassing Haren Brogg's goods are gone, and the echinops troubling Odo has been dealt with. Here is their proof of approval. But the Barghests are something I need to discuss with you. They are manifestations of curses or malice, and the only easy way to solve the problem is to find the source. I believe you've been concealing something..."
...
"Commit no wicked deeds, and if evil tempts you, remember the folk outside Vizima who were attacked by packs of Barghests!"
, Father Yomen of Tretogor
...
In the Middle Ages, even farmers who died naturally seldom lived past fifty. After all, you could die of diarrhea from drinking water, a small boat could capsize without warning, a tavern fight could turn fatal by accident, and if your wife happened to be too beautiful, that could get you killed too. Untimely deaths came in endless variety.
And that said nothing of the countless man-made causes of death. Banditry, robbery, kidnapping, and extortion, those ancient sins were already highly developed, and gangs were nothing unusual. If you weren't careful, Death could come at any moment.
At the time, it was widely believed that if you failed to settle your affairs before dying, you would never find peace. So anyone with even the slightest social or economic standing considered it normal to draft a will after turning forty, with the key matters being debt repayment and naming an heir.
And beyond dividing one's estate properly, even those who had not been devout in life would usually include donations to the Church in their will. It was an important part of seeking absolution, and as the Eternal Fire spread farther and farther, this had gradually become accepted wisdom across the Northern Kingdoms.
That afternoon, at La Valette Castle north of Vizima, six notaries jointly announced the old Baron La Valette's will. Under the king's witness, Aryan formally became the lord of these lands, and from that day onward took on the responsibilities of nobility.
And at the king's invitation, the famed Dragonborn Bard, Master Victor Corion, performed a song for Aryan's father, displaying the full extent of royal favor and funeral honor.
Once the farewell ceremony ended smoothly, Victor went to the garden in the castle's front court. Keira Metz was already there. She extended her right hand, clad in a thin gauze glove, and let him offer a graceful hand-kiss.
The paths through the garden twisted deep among blooming flowers, and the boy and the sorceress walked there talking together.
Because of the occasion, Keira was dressed formally today. Her hair was braided and pinned up, her sapphire-blue gown swept the ground, and everything that should have been covered was covered quite severely. A zircon necklace glittered at her chest, giving her a beauty quite different from her usual one.
"...I liked the piece you played just now. What's it called? I've heard many songs and poems, but never that one before.
"Be honest with me, that wasn't originally funeral music, was it? There was something solemn and majestic in it, the feeling of mountains of corpses and seas of blood. Did you compose it yourself, or did you bring it from Bell Town?"
Victor, dressed in fitted mourning clothes that showed off his flawless build, chuckled softly at Keira's appraisal.
"As expected of a sorceress famed at court for her literary taste, you really do understand music. I'll tell you privately, but please don't tell anyone else, that song is actually called Game of Thrones."
(TN: Not a translation error, A Song of Ice and Fire would sound better tbh)
"Oh? I didn't know you were interested in power."
"I'm not interested in power. I just thought a gathering full of nobles like this suited that piece rather well, that's all. A personal choice. Besides, using that song to send off the old Baron doesn't dishonor his station."
The corner of her lips curled upward. "Rather than dishonor him, I'd say you elevated him too far. The melody sounds like something reserved for a count or higher."
He shrugged. "The nobles don't care. Only someone like you, someone who seriously studies music, would care about that difference."
Now that the funeral was over, the sorceress would soon accompany the king back to Vizima. So the two of them made the most of the time they had left, chatting idly as they strolled deeper into the garden.
All of a sudden, both of them stopped at the same time.
It wasn't because they were about to kiss, but because they heard a familiar voice.
"Mary! You look gorgeous today. Watching you from up there, I kept thinking I absolutely had to make you wear this dress for me... oh!"
In broad daylight, from behind a wall of flowers, came the rustling sounds of someone enthusiastically eating.
Spring truly was the perfect season for a picnic.
They exchanged a glance. Victor not only recognized the speaker, he also knew perfectly well whose name Mary was. But some things, even when the whole world knows them, can still be treated as unknown as long as no one says them aloud.
Naturally, Keira was even less likely to make the mistake of reacting loudly or interrupting something like this. Silently lightening their steps, the two of them prepared to leave the area.
But today simply wasn't their day. As they rounded a corner, they ran headfirst into a third person, the one who most absolutely should not have been there, the newly installed baron, Aryan La Valette. He had clearly heard far more than he ever should have.
Behind them, the sounds of dining continued with great enthusiasm.
Because his inheritance had only just been announced, he was still dressed in magnificent formal wear, a high-collared outfit in blue and gold that made his iron-green face all the more striking. The three of them stared at one another.
Then, as if things were not bad enough already, the eating noises stopped, and another voice all three knew very well said, "Ah, thank you so very much. Now turn around for me. No? No need, stay just like that, still dressed as if you were at the funeral!"
Victor found himself starting to hate gardens. The last time, in the Vizima gardens, caught in the middle of sorceresses quarreling, he had felt that he belonged underground, not on the surface.
And today, in the gardens of La Valette Castle, his embarrassment and psychological trauma were at least ten times worse. Aryan's iron-green face had already darkened into something twisted and almost monstrous once he saw Victor.
Some things, when only you know them, can still be endured. But once others know, especially friends whose judgment matters to you, then it becomes something else entirely.
From behind the flower wall came a fresh burst of pounding, very loud indeed.
The king naturally had guards. The reason no one had stepped in to drive the three of them away yet, despite what he was currently doing, was simply because the whole thing had happened too suddenly, and because no one wanted to make a scene and disturb their lord's pleasure.
Victor felt very strongly that Aryan had to be removed immediately. Otherwise, the baron who had only taken office today might very well die today as well, on the charge of attempting regicide.
He gave Keira's sleeve a light tug, trading a look with her to remind her that if anything went wrong, she needed to lock the baron down at once. The spell she'd once used on Victor, Mage's Grip, would be perfect.
Then Victor shook his head at Aryan, whose face had gone red, green, and white by turns, reached out, grabbed his arm, and quietly dragged him away from the area.
Thank the gods, the young nobleman had retained his reason. The three of them got clear without incident, successfully avoiding the worst outcome.
Victor had originally wanted to keep talking with Keira a while longer, especially about the investigation he needed her help with. But it was painfully obvious that he couldn't leave his friend alone right now, and with the sorceress still here, she'd only become extra baggage.
So, even though it did look a little like crossing the river and kicking away the bridge, the boy could only blink at Keira and signal for her to leave first.
Though she was slightly displeased, once she understood his meaning she still shot him a fierce glare and glided away. It had to be said, her figure from behind was slender and beautiful.
Once Keira had gone, Victor and Aryan climbed to the castle tower and sat there watching the sun sink lower. Neither man was in any mood to speak.
It was the same as always, knowing something was one thing, but truly hearing and seeing it was another.
Their King Foltest really was a man with discerning tastes, clearly the sort who appreciated that rare and precious transformation from wife to widow.
Victor, having more than enough familiarity with this sort of thing, honestly had little objection to what had just happened. As long as there was no obvious violence or coercion, he had no particular interest in playing the champion of justice. In the Middle Ages, trying to argue full modern human rights meant you had lost the plot entirely.
Given that man's status, half-willing cooperation already counted as a decent moral standard, and besides, this was clearly mutual.
In truth, there were plenty of things one could say to comfort Aryan. As far as Victor knew, among Vizima's nobility it was perfectly ordinary, even half public, to keep mistresses or indulge in group pleasures.
Of course, bastards were not exactly glorious, but if you thought about it more carefully, none of it truly trampled the absolute bottom line of morality.
After all, if the old Baron had not tacitly consented, and if the lady herself had not chosen not to prevent it, how could she possibly have produced two "legitimate children" in succession?
You had to remember that in the Middle Ages, even having a wife who was too beautiful could get a man killed. Now, with two children born who posed no threat to Aryan's inheritance, the family had been moved to rich lands, and because there were children, their splendor was secured until the king's own death. For all anyone knew, the old Baron might have thought the bargain was well worth it.
Victor could think all this through, and Aryan clearly could as well. But the reason the boy had been able to become friends with the young nobleman in the first place was that Aryan was not a vulgar man. He possessed genuine aristocratic breeding, valuing honor, duty, courage, and self-discipline.
Understanding something did not mean accepting it.
Putting himself in Aryan's place, Victor knew this day would definitely leave a wound in the baron's heart, perhaps even a lasting pain. So as a friend, Victor chose not to offer any comforting words at all, and simply sat beside him on the tower in silence.
Even after the sun had gone down, they were still sitting there.
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