The same night, the same castle, but unlike before, the person who had once stayed by his side was already far away.
Soft moonlight spilled in through the window. Seated at his desk, Baron La Valette, Aryan, set down the stack of official papers that seemed as though they would never end, pinched the bridge of his nose, and let out a long breath.
He opened the desk drawer. Inside lay a letter, and on it were written the words, "To my friend, please do not open this until you are certain you have calmed down."
A wry smile touched his lips. Three days had already passed, and by now that probably counted as calm enough. The baron slit open the envelope with a letter knife and began to read.
A note on elegant stationery.
"Aryan, my friend! Do you remember when we attended Sukrus's celebration feast at sea?
"At the time, you told me, 'If being angry won't help, then don't be angry!'
"That's exactly what I want to say. From my point of view, I honestly don't think there was much wrong with it. It was simply a matter of a man and a woman wanting each other, and besides, they're both adults, they know exactly what they're doing. In fact, in Vizima..."
After a long while, Aryan lowered the letter. No wonder Vic had specifically said to wait until his mood had settled before reading it, because if he had still been angry, this letter would only have made it worse.
But now that he was reading it in a calmer state, he could understand his friend's intention. What Vic really wanted to say was simply that he need not care so much about the matter, because Vic himself had not taken it to heart at all.
Smiling in relief, he held the letter to the candle flame and watched it catch fire. Counting the days, today was already the third day since Vic had set out. Tomorrow he should arrive in Sapopan. With the letter of introduction in hand, the village chief would surely offer him some help. Aryan sincerely hoped everything would go smoothly for him.
...
The same night, the same moonlight, but this time the camp at the roadside was different.
It could not possibly compare with a city in terms of comfort, but the boy had no intention of treating himself poorly on purpose. With the herbal satchel available, there was no reason not to enjoy the conditions it allowed, a roomy tent, warm bedding, and food that was at least up to standard.
By the campfire, Victor took out the communicator and rubbed it clean. This was the tool Keira had lent him a few days ago after they reached their agreement, and its function was to let the two of them talk at any time.
Talk at any time? It was practically a divine artifact.
Of course, nothing that convenient came without a catch. The device had many limitations, for example, the signal range was limited, call time consumed magic, the voices came through distorted, and the connection was easily disrupted, among other things.
So although this thing, scavenged from elven ruins, was supposedly some kind of secret treasure, in reality she almost never used it.
Even so, despite all its shortcomings, the practical significance of this homemade magical radio still filled the boy with delight.
At the very least, he now enjoyed treatment on the level of kings, with a magical adviser he could consult whenever he needed. Her attitude might not be great, but as long as he said a few flattering things and humored her a little, she was still willing to help answer his questions.
Or like now, chatting through the communicator before bed and asking about the information he had asked Keira to investigate.
He activated the magical device, a hexagonal iron box in appearance, and set it on his lap. Aiming at what looked like the microphone, Victor spoke into it.
"Bzzz... whrr... testing, testing. Can you hear me? This is Handsome Guy by the Sea. If you can hear me, respond."
After a few seconds of crackling static, Keira's utterly distorted voice came through. "There's no need to use a codename in a one-on-one call, and besides, just think about your age for a moment. Why would you pick such an idiotic title?"
"Do you really want to know? To be honest, I have a young soul inside me. Strictly speaking, this year I'm only two and a half."
"(A word no lady would ever say)... You really are an idiot."
Staring into the crackling fire, the boy smiled faintly.
"The true fate of truth is to be twisted. By the way, I'm near Sapopan, and tomorrow I'll go see the village chief. Any news on what I asked you to look into?"
Soaking in a warm bath, the sorceress idly stirred the flower petals floating on the water.
"...I don't know anything from the Order's side, but on the royal side, there have recently been a few scattered cases of bodies being torn apart in the forests. The earliest report really did come from Sapopan, and the later ones all happened around the surrounding area, but none of them ever got any proper follow-up...
"Damn it! What exactly is Roderick doing? Adda doesn't seem to care either. At this rate, we may have to suggest to the king that Thaler be brought back."
"That's all right. Knowing where the dismemberment cases started is already a great help. As for Master Thaler, it would be better if he didn't come back. His prejudice against me runs far too deep. I sincerely hope he gets a few more years of rest, and I'm sure the nobles all feel the same."
While speaking in a tone of earnest hypocrisy, Victor took a sip of Fiorano rosé.
"We both know perfectly well whether it's prejudice or not! And don't forget, you're my partner now, so you ought to start thinking more about Temeria. An intelligence chief who isn't fit for the job should be replaced as soon as possible."
Eyes closed, Keira drank a mouthful of milk, and even through the communicator, it was easy to imagine the fierce way she must have been speaking.
The two of them chatted a while longer, confirming that there was nothing major happening around Vizima, only the Scoia'tael carrying out their usual terrorist attacks, a cockatrice wandering into the sewers, a particularly vicious village brawl, and other such things, then ended the call.
...
Vizima. Stepping out of the bath, magic shimmered over her body as clothes swiftly covered her skin. Keira answered the megascope call Triss had sent and told her everything that had happened recently.
From affairs of state to court gossip, from Nilfgaard's harassment to Roderick's incompetence, from strange new monsters to the awkward incident a few days ago when she had stumbled across King Foltest having a picnic in the garden, she told it all in meticulous detail.
Naturally, that detailed exchange did not omit the prophecy Victor had given Philippa. But out of a certain hard-to-explain mood, she did not ask Triss about Geralt, nor did she tell her the detailed explanation she had extracted from the boy. She wanted to keep that secret to herself for a little while.
On the other side, after putting away the communicator, the boy felt a faint flicker of puzzlement. In his memory, Lily Knight Roderick was supposed to be fairly shrewd and capable. Even if a different field was a different mountain, he should not have performed so poorly. It seemed Triss had complained about him to Victor as well.
After climbing into the tent, Victor did not immediately lie down to sleep. During the conversation just now, Keira had told him to think more for Temeria's sake, and that had stirred up certain thoughts in his heart. So he sat upright, closed his eyes, and began to meditate.
All thoughts fell silent, and he questioned his own heart.
Though he had spoken to Keira with great confidence, in truth he was nowhere near as sure as he had seemed. He had no idea how Temeria would fall. His cooperative relationship with the sorceress was, in a sense, built entirely on bluffing.
Other people might assume he could continue receiving revelations, but only he himself knew that the upper limit of his precognition had already long been locked in place.
The next prophetic edge he could still make use of was probably the Duchy of Toussaint, since that was the setting of the Blood and Wine expansion.
As for the Hearts of Stone expansion, its events would only become useful once war broke out between North and South again. Especially in Velen, once the war began there would be any number of occasions where foreknowledge could give him the advantage.
But if he could help, he did not mind doing what lay within his power, even preventing Temeria's destruction. If being a prophet meant standing on other people's suffering, then he wanted no part of it.
It would be enough to let the prophecy point vaguely to some riot or fire. After all, when Nilfgaard invaded, the Velen region he had once passed through on his travels would collapse into lawlessness and chaos, turning into a miserable world of food shortages and the strong preying on the weak.
Once he had thought through his attitude toward Temeria, the other thing troubling Victor was time.
Too many signs were suggesting that the boy no longer had much of it left. The clearest example was Whoreson Junior's death.
The progress of a murder case had its own inevitability. Victor would not flatter himself by imagining that Alonso had somehow grown stupider and been killed early by his son Cyprian just because he had met Victor. He had to admit it honestly, his original estimate of five years of development had been far too loose and optimistic.
He had to prepare for the worst. There might not even be a peaceful three years left in which he could steadily advance alchemy all the way to master, or even sage.
And the last thing he needed to worry about was the blade of destiny, Geralt of Rivia, the local version of Conan, whose appearance meant death and storms were always nearby.
By all rights, over the next few years, through his experiences and trials, Geralt should recover the memories he had lost and become once again that invincible White Wolf who was unstoppable as long as his daughter was involved.
The problem was that Vesemir had actually sent the witcher to Vizima, and that made the boy feel slightly guilty. Last year he had caused all sorts of chaos in Temeria's capital, charging ahead recklessly and sending bats flying everywhere, and he had no idea whether he had stolen some of Geralt's opportunities away and affected the timing of his memory returning.
At present, the most obvious thing that had truly fallen to the butterfly effect was King Bran, but thanks to the efforts of the Dovahkiin, the train Skellige had nearly sent off the rails had been forced back on course... so... probably... it should be fine.
"Don't fear change. So what if things spiral out of control? We oppress all living beings!"
...!?
"Corion! Was that you just now?"
Victor opened his eyes... all was silent.
Shaking his head with a bitter smile, he thought that normal people really ought not talk to themselves.
Then he lay back down and slept peacefully, like a baby, straight through until dawn.
...
Sapopan, a small village south of the Pontar in Temeria, was known for its handicrafts, especially its umbrellas.
That morning, Victor wandered into the village and strolled around. It was not very large, and the villagers passed information around quickly, so by the time he had finished buying several bamboo umbrellas, the village chief had already come to find him.
The man was tall and powerfully built, which surprised the boy a little. Victor's own physique was already excellent, but the village chief was even more imposing, and bald as well.
He had no beard, wore a pitch-black robe, and spoke in a low, hoarse voice. "Greetings, traveler from afar. I am the village chief, Bowman."
"Victor Corion. Perhaps you should take a look first." Smiling, the boy handed him the letter of introduction Aryan had written.
Unexpectedly, this rugged chief from such a remote place turned out to be literate. He accepted the letter, read it through quickly, and then put on an affable smile.
Bowman gestured for Victor to follow and led him deeper into the village. "Thanks be to Melitele. I'll arrange a place for you to rest right away. The terror that's struck during this time has frightened all the villagers. To receive a master's help is truly a blessing."
Victor rubbed his nose and followed the chief down the path. Although it had probably not rained for the past two days, the air still felt somewhat damp.
As they walked, Bowman explained, "It first began half a month ago. Kris went out to chop wood and never came back. We went looking for him and found only a pool of blood, some scraps of flesh, and a few bones.
"After that, every few days it happened again. The dead were all eaten to pieces, so now the villagers hardly dare leave unless they go out in groups."
Victor estimated the timeline in his head. In other words, those bandits had almost certainly started their animal experiments as soon as they returned after stealing the secrets.
And the fact that the test subjects had appeared in the forest was suspicious in itself. If it was merely poor control, that was already bad enough. But if it was deliberate, then it was even worse, because that would mean the bandits were consciously testing the power of biological weapons.
As far as the more famous criminal gangs in Temeria went, the only ones Victor knew of were Salamandra and the Ramsmeat gang in Vizima. Thinking that, he immediately asked aloud, "Chief, do you know Salamandra? Have you heard of them operating nearby?"
Victor noticed that the broad back of Bowman twitched when Salamandra's name came up.
"No. Never. I've never heard of them," the chief replied.
That answer was so obviously evasive that it made him even more suspicious. If he had truly known nothing about Salamandra, he would not have answered like that.
Raising a brow, Victor lowered his voice. "You don't need to be afraid of them. Just tell me the truth. There are important people in Vizima standing behind me. I've actually been sent here on their orders to investigate."
The boy deliberately did not make clear who these important people were. The point was to apply pressure to the chief. The unknown inspired fear. In a rural place like this, naming a specific person might not have intimidated him, but saying only that powerful figures from the capital were involved would let the man fill in the rest himself, and the effect would be far stronger.
Sure enough, after hearing Victor's words, Bowman's broad back twitched again. He stopped walking, paused a while, then said, "...I'm sorry, but I've really never heard of them."
Victor did not press him further. He still did not know what role Salamandra was playing, but he had already confirmed that there was definitely something wrong with this village. It looked as though he would have to stay here tonight. Perhaps the chief would slip him some information in private after dark.
At the moment, Victor was feeling somewhat urgent. He wanted to seize even the slightest clue as quickly as possible and determine the target that absolutely needed to be struck.
Because from the moment he saw the zombie hounds, he had been deeply worried that those theoretical ideas torn from his imagination, if they remained in the hands of people who did not understand reverence for life, might lead to consequences far worse than anyone could bear.
For example, one particular note remained deeply etched in his memory.
Hypothesis on the Grasses Decoction, Part IV
Evolution, some people would explain it as beneficial mutation. I reserve judgment on whether that is right or wrong.
But where organs are concerned, the essence that can truly be trusted is use it or lose it. In caves we can observe that creatures of darkness often have eyes that are weak or even absent. Instead they rely on other organs, replacing sight with hearing or smell.
An ordinary witcher undergoes mutation that enhances all five senses, but I speculate that if the eyes were damaged and unable to participate in the mutation, then as compensation...
...if he relied entirely on sharpened hearing, perhaps even the sounds of walking, running, breathing, or a beating heart would be impossible to escape from his ears?
I don't know. I think perhaps this could be good news for the disabled, but first this damned low success rate has to be solved.
, Handsome Guy by the Sea, written at Kaer Morhen
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