At the southern foot of the Amell Mountains, in the Nilfgaardian Empire's province of Nazair, dark clouds covered the sky that day, and a torrential downpour fell from above.
Inside the stone governor's residence in the town of Riedbrune, the broad and comfortable chair of ordinary days seemed rough and grating today. Governor Fulko Artevelde sat in the main seat, disgust and impatience on his face, because seated across from him was the notorious Viscount Vattier de Rideaux, and behind the viscount stood someone even more revolting to him, the "Professor," Hayes Brendan, a murderer wanted in several countries.
Fulko raised his wine and took a sip, looking down with his lone eye as his gaze swept over the two men before him. "A brown-haired, green-eyed unmarried woman? Listen, you carrion hyena! Do you know how many people enter and leave Riedbrune every day? Use your specialty and investigate that. Once you know, you'll understand how stupid your question is!
"I have nothing to tell you. Now take the scum behind you and get out! The sooner the better. Get out of my town. There's nothing here for you!"
Viscount de Rideaux rubbed the skin between his nose and upper lip with his thumb and forefinger, a sign that he was extremely angry, but he knew there was nothing he could do to the man. Lord Artevelde was not only a governor, but also the region's chief magistrate, one of the most trusted governors with real authority under the emperor.
His strictness in governance and the severity of his demands upon himself left even those who hated him most with nothing to say. And deep down, the viscount even respected him. Though the man did not understand the value of espionage, he was a fighter devoted to the empire, a loyal enforcer who served only Emperor Emhyr.
"My lord, I have no intention of arguing with you, but I believe you misunderstand the scope of the intelligence service's work. We do not merely conduct infiltration abroad. We are also responsible for oversight at home. The intelligence service is the eyes of the emperor's rule, so... please help us."
"...Viscount, I do not know what you think, but rule does not depend on secret agents. It depends on law! Covert operations that bypass the law can bring only brief advantages, not lasting victory. I would say the same even before His Imperial Majesty."
Vattier frowned slightly. The mention of this matter angered him somewhat, because it was precisely this bastard Fulko who had said such a thing during his report on duties, causing this year's intelligence department budget to fall by ten percent. So what if it only brought brief advantages? When brief advantages accumulated, they became glorious victory!
The atmosphere stiffened for a time, and the two men remained silent for quite a while.
At last, Fulko let out a long breath and set down his wine cup. "Speak. What else do you wish to ask?" His tone had softened greatly.
Sensing the change in the governor's attitude, Viscount de Rideaux smiled faintly. "I would like to ask about the witcher Victor Corion. I hear he did some minor work locally."
...
Some time later, Mr. Vattier left the governor's residence with his subordinate, the "Professor." The torrential rain still had not stopped.
Vattier glanced at the Professor and flicked his cloak where an epaulet would normally sit. "Mr. Brendan, you look as though you have something to say."
The Professor, wearing round black sunglasses, bowed humbly. "Yes, my lord. What I wished to say is that this old fellow was so rude to you. Perhaps I could teach him a lesson in private?"
Smack! Vattier sent the Professor's sunglasses flying with a heavy slap.
"Mr. Hayes Brendan, I will forget you ever said something so stupid, but you must remember not to repeat it," Viscount de Rideaux said leisurely.
With a bright red palm print on his face, the "Professor" remained bowed and motionless.
"Now go. Take your men and infiltrate Toussaint. Find Cantarella, Carthia van Canten, for me. The fact that there is not a trace of her in Riedbrune is precisely enough to prove she is hiding in Toussaint. Find her and eliminate her. Anyone with her is to be killed without exception."
"Then, my lord, regarding the witcher Victor?"
"The witcher is none of your concern. Do not provoke him unless necessary. I have other plans. But if he comes after you, I will not forbid you from fighting back.
"Provided the mission is accomplished, I permit you to use all means. Of course, I must remind you that, just like those knights errant, you are nothing more than a band of wandering criminals. If you fail or are exposed, the authorities will not acknowledge your existence. The empire has never sent intelligence agents into Toussaint."
The "Professor," Hayes Brendan, said in a low voice, "Your will." After speaking, he withdrew backward.
Watching him go, the viscount shook his head lightly. Apart from political reasons, there was another reason he would not enter Toussaint himself, one not fit to be told to outsiders, intelligence agents who entered Toussaint were very prone to accidents.
And when accidents happened often, they were no longer accidents!
...
When someone fiercely rejects something, only to embrace it enthusiastically not long after, we call this phenomenon eating crow!
Excerpt from The Nature of Man, Sapience Ignis
...
In the capital of the Duchy of Toussaint, Beauclair, a whirlwind had swept through the city starting ten days ago, because an alchemist had come to this land.
To be honest, at the very beginning, most people's attitude was one of watching and refusal. But it was not long before the first brave soul appeared, Sir Palmerin de Launfal, who showed up at court with a short layer of gray hair on his head.
They ate crow.
The owner of The Pheasantry was overjoyed, because nobles kept coming to seek an appointment with "Victor of Kaer Trolde." Sometimes the alchemist was out, and sometimes he was receiving someone else, so the nobles naturally spared no expense while waiting.
It must be strongly emphasized that they were all admirers of the bearing and character of Skellige's foremost knight, and had come specially to make his acquaintance. They were absolutely not there to buy medicine.
Just like now, another noble who had missed his chance accepted the owner's suggestion, sat down, and ordered a meal. Since he had failed to meet the man, he might as well eat his fill before leaving. Perhaps he would happen to wait until the alchemist returned.
As for the alchemist whom the owner of The Pheasantry was thinking of, and his attendant, they were currently on the road to the lower district, Lassommoir. Their goal was to reach the Clever Clogs Tavern and find a Mr. Charles Lanzano.
It was said that in the cemetery of the lower district, noises had been constantly coming out in the middle of the night recently, wails, curses, and sounds of fighting, nearly driving the surrounding residents insane. But when it came to paying money, no one on the residents' committee was willing to take responsibility.
Thus Mr. Charles had posted a notice seeking anyone who could solve the problem. He was willing to pay the reward out of his own pocket.
With light steps, the Phantom Troupe entered the Clever Clogs Tavern. Angoulême looked around, then pointed upstairs. Once they went up to the second floor, she pointed again at a middle-aged man in the corner. His clothing was costly, but his eyes were sunken and his appearance was haggard.
This was the effect of Eagle Eye vision. Within her thirty-yard field, the haggard middle-aged man, Mr. Charles Lanzano, had a white radiance around his body, representing a source of information. It was so vivid and conspicuous that there was nowhere for him to hide.
Victor patted Angoulême on the shoulder and let her go downstairs first to order something to eat and drink, then he strode toward the client.
Over the past ten days, Eagle Eye vision and extraordinary senses had worked hand in hand. Angoulême's Eagle Eye vision made anyone's goodwill or malice toward her clear and unmistakable, and it also came with a built-in function for finding sources of information. Paired with Victor's evidence-gathering techniques using his extraordinary senses, doing everyday city commissions was devastatingly efficient.
For example, when an old grandmother's cat went missing, Victor sniffed around with his nose and followed the trail across four blocks, catching the abductor, a six-year-old girl. In another case, a certain jewelry theft, Angoulême had barely finished introducing herself after arriving at the scene before she pulled Victor aside and hinted that the client was giving off a red glow, meaning it was most likely a thief crying thief. Naturally, the case was then solved at lightning speed.
In short, after accumulating all that over this period, not only the alchemy workshop, but the Phantom Troupe itself had also gained some modest fame in Beauclair.
Sitting down across from Mr. Charles, the witcher's mutated eyes and the twin swords on his back immediately increased the client's confidence.
...
At noon the next day, refreshed and cheerful, Victor once again sat before Mr. Charles. "I have finished the job. The cemetery should remain quiet from now on."
"Whew, thank you for your help. I can go back to sleeping in my own bed again. The Clever Clogs Tavern has been unbearable lately too. The customers' snoring is simply no different from pigs squealing!" Charles clasped the witcher's hand and asked with heartfelt gratitude, "Tell me, what exactly was causing trouble in the cemetery? Was it some terrifying ghoul or another monster?"
Victor was somewhat surprised by the man's enthusiasm. Toussaint really lived up to its name. Someone actually dared shake a witcher's hand. "...Neither. At first, I did not expect your custom of burying some property with the dead, so I was forced to clear out a group of grave robbers first.
"I originally thought the problem was solved, but when the noise continued at midnight as before, I discovered it was actually a marital quarrel. Madame de Corentin, who had only recently been buried, had reunited with her husband, and they could not help engaging in a heated exchange of opinions about many past events!"
"Hiss! Were they wraiths? The kind holding long swords and lanterns, with long tongues hanging out?" Charles cried out in shock.
Victor smiled and shook his head. "No. Just ordinary ghosts. They looked almost no different from when they were alive. I helped Monsieur de Corentin change residence. The two of them were both very satisfied and agreed to keep quiet from now on."
"That's all? Good gods! They were making a more terrible racket than mating skunks. Here is a bit more money as compensation. I'm sorry for taking up your time with such a small matter."
"Thank you. Glad to be of service."
...
The mere five florins of extra reward were nothing in themselves. The important thing was the client's respectful attitude, which put the witcher in an excellent mood.
So he wandered back toward the upper city with Angoulême. When they passed Lolivier Square, he suddenly saw a familiar exhibition signboard. Victor, whose prophetic memories had been awakened, decided on the spot to take her inside for a look, and also announced a prophecy.
At the entrance, an artist wearing a hat decorated with feathers was loudly calling for customers. "Come and see! The great bronze statue of Reginald d'Aubry! His power blesses all the men of Beauclair! Only a small admission fee!"
Angoulême had originally had no interest in an art exhibition, but when she heard such a shout, her two caterpillar-like thick eyebrows rose, and she immediately felt that this "blessing" seemed as though it might be quite interesting.
However, once she saw it with her own eyes, she was disappointed. It was nothing more than a huge bronze statue, a naked man wearing a battle helm and holding a sword in his right hand. His muscles were indeed solid, but she could not see anything special about him.
"Vic, it's just a naked male statue. What's so interesting about this? What blessing can it provide?"
"Ahem, this lady, this is no ordinary statue." Before Victor had time to speak, a voice from the side interrupted first to explain. It was none other than the artist who had been promoting the exhibition at the entrance. He had brought people in for a guided tour and happened to hear Angoulême's complaint.
He bowed slightly. "Allow me to introduce it to you. Only this statue was made using a mold taken from Lord Reginald's own genitals, and it has been certified by the authorities! Guaranteed genuine. Touching it grants unparalleled virility! Of course, you must buy a ticket for the effect to work."
Hearing this introduction, Angoulême blinked and said nothing. Seeing that she had nothing to say, the artist turned back to the crowd with satisfaction and continued his promotion.
"Legend says Beauclair Castle was renovated through the joint efforts of Reginald and the architect Faramond!
"And Reginald painstakingly designed countless escape tunnels for lovers who might be caught in bed. He himself often used them, but not out of fear. It was to avoid situations where he would have no choice but to kill his opponent in a duel!
"He was not only a great lover, but also a highly skilled swordsman. His skill with the harp and other organs was unmatched as well."
Amid the artist's advertising voice, Angoulême leaned closer to Victor. "You told me there was something fun here and brought me over. That's it?"
Victor explained cheerfully, "A prophecy! I saw that in the near future, an old man in his sixties will covet the mighty member on this statue, cleanly castrate it with a wire saw, and take away Reginald's family jewels!"
"Pfft!" Thinking of the statue before her being castrated, and by an old man in his sixties at that, Angoulême burst out laughing at once. "And then?"
"The old man in his sixties proves that Reginald's family jewels really are magical. In one morning, he sleeps with his neighbor three times! Fully putting into practice Prophet Lebioda's words: love thy neighbor." By the end, Victor made a face.
Angoulême rolled her eyes in response. "Your prophecies are pretty improper. The vision actually followed the family jewels? What happened after that?"
The witcher switched back to a tone of compassion for all living things. "If someone catches the old man, recovers Reginald's family jewels, and welds them back onto the statue, then all shall be well. But if no one solves the case, the old man will die from overexertion in bed a week later!"
"Die on top of his neighbor!?"
"No, on top of his neighbor's sister."
Rubbing her smooth chin, Angoulême sighed slowly. "Tsk, tsk, tsk... what an impressive old man in his sixties."
"I think so too." Victor chuckled.
...
As the sun set, the two walked out of the art exhibition and strolled back toward The Pheasantry.
"Vic, after so many busy days, tomorrow is the Festival of the Vat. Have we saved enough money?"
"Shouldn't be any problem. The point was only to create some momentum and keep people from thinking the source of a huge fortune was unclear. Tomorrow, after we take part in the festival, we'll go pick a vineyard estate, hire a few stewards, and start trying out life as landlords."
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