"Vic, since Void traits can stack, why don't we put three on the armor, three on the boots, three on the gloves, and three on the trousers? Wouldn't piling them up like that make us insanely strong?"
"Clever Lady Angoulême, do I look like a fool? Of course a good thing like that won't work. If it could, I would have done it long ago! Only one weapon, one set of armor, and one accessory can take effect at the same time, and armor also shares a slot with clothing. And if you want a weapon trait, you have to hold the weapon in your hand. Carrying it on your back is useless."
"...I see. I was too naive. Then what about my Grass Draught? You promised me days ago, and you still haven't started making it. You've spent all your time messing around with those wines. Are you short on alchemy materials?"
"I have all the materials, but a guaranteed-success Grass Draught belongs to the realm of legendary alchemy. I'm not a master yet, so I need to stir up some high spirits before I can finish it. Good things need time to brew, so don't rush. On this trip, I'll go to Beauclair first and look for some excitement!"
...
Several days passed in the blink of an eye. Victor removed the impurities from the pressed grape juice, purified it, and began fermenting it all together. Then he filled the wine cellar with neatly stacked oak barrels, and the day came for him to leave the estate.
Dressed and ready, he hesitated in front of the mirror for a moment. He considered combing all his hair back, but in the end chose an ordinary side part. Wearing Undvik armor beneath a knight's cloak, his iron boots clacking against the floor, he looked every inch the imposing figure.
After breakfast in the dining room, he strolled over to the stable to be seen off. In front of Angoulême, Victor instructed the butler, "Alfie! While I'm away on this long trip, no matter what the young lady wants to do, warn her first, 'Sir will return sooner or later!' If she still insists on doing it after that, cooperate with her!"
Angoulême glared at Victor with gritted teeth. "How can you say that? Do you have so little faith in me? I was just preparing to demonstrate my managerial talent and business philosophy!"
"Managerial talent and business philosophy!? When did you fall under the illusion that you possessed such abilities?"
"...Just you wait and witness what I can do as head of the house. When you return, Corion Manor will have been completely transformed!"
Mounting his horse, Victor rubbed his nose. "Since you've made such a bold claim, I'll look forward to it! Remember, safety comes first. Even if the estate is gone, you must still be here."
Angoulême nodded. She understood what he meant, although the chance was not high, if danger appeared, people mattered most. Everything else could be abandoned.
But since she finally had a rare chance to be mistress of the house, she had no intention of idling away the opportunity. After watching Victor ride into the distance, Angoulême turned and issued her first order to Butler Alfie. "The estate's defenses are far too lax. I want to establish a private guard!"
A gleam flashed across his sunglasses. The butler bowed. "A wise judgment! Lady Angoulême, Alfie is happy to serve you."
The reason Butler Alfie was so cooperative was that the people of Toussaint regarded fine wine as one of life's greatest treasures. In this land, spilling wine was sometimes a greater crime than spilling blood.
This tradition came from the early days when winemaking techniques were still developing. Back then, family vendettas, murder, poisonings, and violent seizures were all part of the wine wars, and scenes like that could be seen almost every day.
Thus, red wine was blood, and even stood above blood.
Although winemakers in the present age rarely used such deadly and exaggerated methods anymore, sabotage on a rival's land still happened from time to time.
Therefore, more prosperous wineries, such as Castel Ravello, or estates like Belgaard, White Raven, and Pomerol, all had guards of their own. Angoulême's idea was perfectly reasonable in Toussaint.
...
Toward evening, Victor entered Beauclair through the southern Gate of Lebioda. After stabling his horse, he went straight to the herbalist's shop to purchase alchemical materials.
The longer he lived in Toussaint, the more fragments of memory were triggered and unlocked. So once the witcher recalled certain plotlines, even if the monsters in question were theoretically ones he would only encounter in the future, not having the proper targeted potions ready made him feel as uncomfortable as if he were walking around naked.
After some effort, he packed dwarven spirit, Ducal Water, tartar, Fifth Essence, and Alcohest into his bag. The herbalist's shop owner saw that he was an alchemist rather than an ordinary herbalist and voluntarily gave him a ten percent discount. In return, the alchemist sold the owner a diluted virility decoction.
After buying his things, the witcher hurried to the notice board, scanned it to confirm that there were no jobs worth taking, then went straight to Beauclair Palace.
On this trip, he intended to find Palmerin or Milton. The two knights should be on duty at the palace. They had previously promised to take Victor to a good semi-members-only place, one that was not very convenient to visit without a local leading the way.
Returning to the front of Beauclair Palace, the marble pillars and carved beams were still as splendid as before. Victor asked the people at the entrance to deliver a message inside, and before long, Milton appeared together with Palmerin. Interestingly, two acquaintances he knew but was not very close to came with them as well.
They were the young man who had yielded to Guillaume during the Cask Festival, the deputy commander of the Ducal Guard, Horace de Funés, and the knight-errant Guillaume de Launfal. The two seemed to be very good friends.
Although Victor felt there were too many companions, everyone else seemed used to it, so he followed local custom. After greeting them with a nod, the group left the palace, chatting and laughing.
...
Some time later, the five of them arrived in the Harbor District at The Belles of Beauclair.
Following the knights past the brothel guard, who had a thrust-out chest, a round bald belly, and tattoos all over his body, Victor entered the building and immediately felt a warm atmosphere wash over him. A kindly lady in a low-cut gown came over gracefully. "Welcome, welcome. I'm delighted to see you again, Mr. Beard and Mr. Sideburns! And three new friends as well."
Soon, from Madame Isabelle's lips, Guillaume received the title of Mr. Golden Hair, Horace won the fine name of Mr. Dimples, and as for Victor, he was of course Mr. Witcher.
The Belles of Beauclair did not operate as directly as the Eager Thighs in Vizima. Its style was closer to Novigrad's Passiflora, leaning toward letting guests stay and relax rather than leaving the moment business was done.
So the Belles had sofas in the hall, tapestries on the walls, a smoking area, and drinks for guests to sit down and rest for a while.
Of course, all of this cost money. Still, its limited social function was enough to give Victor and his four companions a chance to deepen their acquaintance before each went off to his own battlefield.
Wine came, cups were drained, everyone was in high spirits, and the atmosphere was harmonious.
Unfortunately, after only a few cups, the young man of the Launfal family proved unable to hold his liquor. "I swear by the Heron!" Guillaume suddenly shouted. Without his helmet, his soft, fluffy blond hair made him look like a poodle. "I swear to preserve my chastity for the most beautiful lady in the world, Vivienne de Tabris, and remain pure until she accepts my love! And to prove my loyalty, I swear I shall take the head of a savage monster and bring it to my beloved, just like the famous giant-slayer Dovahkiin!"
After shouting this, the drunken knight suddenly stood, bowed to the others, and staggered toward the exit. Seeing this, his uncle Palmerin shook his head, nodded to the others, and followed his nephew.
Although the Harbor District was not as chaotic as the Lower City, a drunkard collapsing by the roadside and losing his purse, or even his clothes, was perfectly normal.
Milton was long used to such situations. He smiled and stroked his beard. "Young men will be young men. Guillaume's tolerance is as terrible as ever. I'll go stretch my legs first. You two talk!" Before leaving his seat, he winked at Victor, then went upstairs on his own.
At first, Victor did not understand what deeper meaning Milton's wink was supposed to carry. But after talking for a few moments with Horace, the dimple-faced deputy commander, he learned that Horace's father, old Mr. de Funés, was the deputy chairman of the Coopers' Guild. No wonder he had reached such a high position while still so young.
Inferring motive from identity, it was no wonder Peyrac-Peyran and Launfal had brought these two young men along. They really had put effort into helping him. If he asked this cooper's heir for oak barrels now, the other man would likely not refuse.
But Victor had no such need, so he merely chatted idly with him about all kinds of things.
Perhaps it was precisely this relaxed and pointless attitude that made Horace drop his guard. After the two of them gulped down several cups and the conversation opened up, Victor admitted that this cooper's heir was truly an amusing man. From his mouth, one could hear all kinds of random gossip.
When Horace was tipsy, he chuckled. "Heh heh! I'll tell you a secret. Guillaume's symptoms are still relatively mild. Our Guard Captain, Lord Damien de la Tour, now he's the impressive one. He can treat every patch of ground Her Enlightened Ladyship has walked across as holy land! If you ask me, I'd tell you he's completely bewitched by the duchess!"
Victor had no opinion on this. Since ancient times, it had been perfectly natural for men to fantasize about their female superiors.
After a few more cups, when Horace was properly drunk, he suddenly lunged over and hugged the young man. "Oh... my dear witcher, I heard you accepted the commission to hunt the wicked beast. Do me a favor... forget about it, all right! Natanis is a good girl!" At this point, he sniffled, seemingly trying to squeeze out a few tears, but unfortunately his efforts ended in failure. "I mean it. She's a very good girl! Do you know, I developed rather late, and I had very little confidence when I was young. It was her, on that magical night... who opened the gates of paradise for me... Thanks to her..."
So that nightwraith was called Natanis. What a beautiful name... A pity he still had not had the chance to meet her.
As for Horace, who was hugging him while preaching about his first experience, Victor scratched his hair speechlessly and had no desire whatsoever to keep listening. There was a famous saying at the technical academy, doing beats talking. In other words, if you had time to listen to someone tell dirty stories, you might as well hurry up and find someone to go to war with.
...
Victor beckoned for a lady to come take care of the cooper's heir, then slipped away from his seat and walked over to Madame Isabelle.
She smiled at Victor. "Welcome to the Belles, Mr. Witcher! Tell me, what brings you to Toussaint?"
"I came here to travel, and to do a bit of insignificant work along the way."
"Ah! Sir, no work is insignificant. So you're here on a business trip, then. Work, pressure, and beds you aren't used to sleeping in... You must need a proper chance to relax. Let my girls help you."
"That is exactly what I had in mind. But I come from the North, and I don't quite understand southern customs, so I'd like to confirm things with you first."
"Oh! No problem. Please speak directly with whichever lady you like in the hall. Here, everything is freely negotiated. As long as both you and the lady agree on the price, it's fine. If she likes you, it might even be free. If they all like you, two against one is also possible. As long as the price is suitable, I believe they will give it everything they have. Believe me, you will absolutely enjoy yourself."
After confirming how payment worked, the young man casually pointed at the tapestries and decorations around them. "This is a fine place. It gives people a comfortable feeling."
"I'm glad you noticed. Long ago, when I saved up enough crowns and decided to open my own establishment, I didn't want merely a simple pleasure house. I wanted it to feel like home. I didn't want guests to come here to relax and then rush to put on their trousers the moment it was over.
"So the sheets cannot all stink of sweat, there must be no bedbugs in the beds, and the wine cannot be watered-down counterfeit swill. I want guests to stay a little longer, chat with them like friends, enjoy the time spent relaxing in a chair, and smoke a cigarette. Of course, they have to pay a little first..."
"What a warm business philosophy. It feels just like love!
"Speaking of which, I have a friend who also wants to run a pleasure house in Beauclair. Perhaps next time, I'll bring her here to learn some of the art of management from the madam."
"She!?"
"She."
"Tsk tsk. That sounds interesting. I look forward to your next visit with your friend. I'd be happy to share the secrets of running an establishment with her."
...
Activating his extraordinary vision, Victor quickly found a technician he liked in the dim yellow light. She had brown hair tied in a ponytail, bright eyes, a tall figure, fair skin, and most importantly, a broad and generous heart with room enough to embrace the sea.
But just as his stirred heart approached, he heard her mutter, "Good heavens, another one?"
"What did you say? Another what?" Victor asked curiously.
She dipped into a slight curtsy. "Did Madame Isabelle tell you roleplay costs extra? If you want to play a witcher, then..."
"You've misunderstood. I really am a witcher."
"Oh... my goodness, your eyes... I should have noticed sooner. I'm sorry, master... Please come to my room upstairs. I'll make up for my mistake thoroughly, from top to bottom."
Victor waved his hand to show he did not mind. "Please don't call me master. My craft still needs polishing... But what did you mean by people roleplaying as witchers?"
"It's a popular new game. Quite a few guests come in wearing studded jackets, carrying two swords on their backs, and ask me to wear goat horns and pretend to be a succubus, or put on wings and act like a siren.
"Then he says he accepted a contract, but his witcher's code says he can't harm sapient creatures, so he wants to have a thorough exchange with me... to confirm that I won't hurt humans. I don't know where this strange game started. Most likely, it was inspired by some foolish poem!"
Victor raised an eyebrow, his deep blue pupils darkening. "Mm. I understand. I might even know who the author is." Then the corners of his mouth curved upward. "But that doesn't matter. Let's go upstairs, succubus. As it happens, I just accepted a contract concerning you, but my witcher's code says I can't harm sapient creatures, so..."
//Check out my P@tre0n for 30 extra chapters //[email protected]/Razeil0810