Victor's grades in secondary school had never been particularly impressive, but they had still been enough to get him into a private technical college near London.
...Huh?
...What was going on?
...Wasn't something seriously wrong here?
Saskia was wearing a loose, comfortable summer dress today. Its wide neckline revealed just the right amount of pale skin. The two of them sat at adjoining sides of the dining table, forming a right angle at the corner. From time to time, Saskia crossed one thigh over the other, making it impossible for Victor not to steal a glance.
Her stylish short haircut was probably Felicia's handiwork. Saskia wore no makeup, and her smile was naturally sweet. As she enjoyed dinner and sipped red wine, every movement of her lips, teeth, and tongue looked beautiful.
Victor secretly thought, "If that lovely little mouth ever bit me... I could die without regrets!"
Dinner was soon finished, and the two of them returned to the sofa.
Saskia suddenly began breathing heavily. Panting and smiling, she said, "Vic, today's meeting exhausted me. I don't have any strength left. Could you give me a massage?"
Victor naturally had no objections.
"Absolutely! Let me give you a thorough rubdown from top to bottom! You should know that I'm a battle-hardened master masseur!"
The witcher rubbed his hands together, eager to begin.
His enthusiasm put Saskia on her guard.
"Only a massage. You're not allowed to try anything improper!"
"Don't worry! I swear on my grandfather's honor that I won't try anything!"
Before he had even finished speaking, his hands were already curled into loose fists, gently drumming against Saskia's shoulders.
The strength behind each movement was perfectly controlled. Saskia happily closed her eyes.
After pounding her shoulders for a while, Victor switched to kneading. Saskia simply lay facedown on the sofa and enjoyed his service.
As Victor continued kneading, Saskia's breathing gradually became slow and even. She seemed to have fallen into a deep sleep.
He called softly, "Virgin of Aedirn..."
When she did not respond, he quietly moved his hands away from her shoulders and let them glide gently toward [redacted].
Saskia remained motionless.
Growing bolder, he shifted all his attention to [redacted] and [redacted], kneading them without restraint.
Perhaps the massage genuinely felt wonderful. Saskia remained facedown from the waist up, but suddenly bent her left leg, making herself more comfortable.
The unexpected movement startled Victor.
When she became still again, he relaxed and continued his massage.
Saskia's new posture delighted him, because it allowed him to see her [redacted] from behind.
Victor quietly lifted her [redacted], fully exposing her [redacted].
Victor threw caution to the wind. His left hand pulled her [redacted] farther apart as he lowered his head, bringing his [redacted] close to her [redacted] and wantonly beginning to [redacted].
...
Crash!
The scene abruptly went black.
There was nothing more to see because Victor had smashed the pink dream crystal against the rock wall, shattering it into pieces.
The Dream Snatchers among the harpies could preserve vivid dreams inside crystals. By channeling magic into one, a person could repeatedly view the events of the dream from a first-person perspective.
The dream the witcher had just viewed and destroyed was one he had once experienced himself, although he had absolutely no memory of it.
Around him lay a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood, all that remained of the harpies he had slaughtered moments earlier.
Back when Victor had not yet undergone his mutations, he had needed a Dragon Roar potion to make their distant siren relatives lose their balance and fall from the sky in Skellige.
Now, he simply unleashed flames with Igni and concussive blasts with Aard, sending the creatures fleeing in terror.
The few survivors escaped into the distance to find somewhere else to rebuild their colony, leaving their nest filled with dream crystals.
Saving Saskia required a crystal containing abundant magical power.
The one Victor had just shattered would have been suitable, but its contents were not something anyone else should ever see. The witcher had therefore destroyed the evidence.
Fortunately, the nest contained a considerable supply. He continued picking up dream crystals and testing their magical power.
...
The dream unfolded from a first-person perspective.
Beneath a full moon, I walked through a forest, one hand weighed down by something heavy.
I said, "This is the king's head. Take it to Síle. You know where to find her. She'll give you gold and your next instructions."
I was speaking to Auckes, a witcher from the School of the Viper.
Auckes said, "It's heavy. How am I supposed to carry it through the forest? I won't even be able to draw my sword."
I said, "You must wear ordinary clothes and go unarmed. Find a way to slip through without attracting attention. If anyone questions you at the camp gate, say you're delivering sausages to the sorceress."
Auckes said, "That's a whole mile away! And this thing stinks worse than a corpse pit. I'll need to find a thicker sack."
I said, "Go! Stop complaining. We have no time to waste."
I handed Auckes Demavend's crowned head.
My arm was unusually thick and muscular.
The dream ended there.
...
Victor opened his eyes and silently placed the crystal inside his herbal satchel.
Damn...
That had actually been Letho's dream.
Did that mean Auckes was somewhere near Henselt's camp?
And Síle was one of their accomplices?
The dream itself was not particularly important. What mattered was that the person to whom Letho had ordered the head delivered was the sorceress Síle de Tansarville.
This completely overturned Victor's previous assumptions.
Victor had originally followed the principle that whoever benefited most deserved the greatest suspicion. Combined with the supporting testimony of the spy Sasha and the few fragments of the future he remembered, he had firmly believed that Nilfgaard was directing the kingslayers from behind the scenes.
Yet this dream was irrefutable evidence.
Had the sorceresses truly ordered the assassinations?
After considering the matter for a moment, Victor continued viewing the dream crystals, hoping to uncover more clues.
Unfortunately, he found no continuation involving the kingslayers. Instead, he encountered several inexplicable dreams in succession.
There was Cecil's nightmare.
He dreamed that everyone discovered he was a dwarf who had sworn off alcohol. Overnight, he became despised and ostracized by the entire community, leaving him too ashamed even to face his ancestors.
Then there was Iorveth's pleasant dream.
He and Saskia joined forces to defeat Henselt. Afterward, they gazed deeply into each other's eyes beneath the setting sun, but the dream ended immediately before they could kiss.
Lieutenant Lansi aep Easnillen's nightmare placed her in the middle of roast suckling pigs, fried steaks, and countless fruits and delicacies. She desperately stretched out her short little arms to grab the food, but she had become so fat that she could not move at all.
Then there was Angoulême Corion's pleasant dream.
...
The dream unfolded from a first-person perspective.
I stood upon a desolate battlefield swept by wind and sand. Before me stretched an endless host of fiends and savage monsters.
Victor clung miserably to my thigh.
"Aah! This is terrifying! Am I going to die here? Boohoohoo!"
I drew my silver sword. Lightning coiled around its blade.
"Don't be afraid, Boss. See this Thunderfury? I'll protect you!"
"I knew I could rely on you! You truly are my most trusted subordinate. Please make sure you protect me!"
Victor pressed his palms together as he begged tearfully, his eyes glistening.
Fearless and heroic, I faced the vast army before me.
"Angoulême the Golden Eagle, invincible champion of the Phantom Troupe, stands before you! Who dares face me?"
With Golden Eagle in my left hand and Thunderfury in my right, I carved my way through the monster horde again and again, crushing everything in my path.
My loyalty was the stuff of legend, and no warrior in any army could equal my courage.
Victor stood nearby waving pom-poms and cheering without pause.
"Angoulême, you're incredible! You're amazing, amazing, amazing! You're the finest member of the hanse! What would I ever do without you?"
The dream ended there.
...
Victor stared at the inexplicable dream crystal in his hand.
He genuinely wanted to smash it.
After hesitating for a moment, however, he placed it inside his herbal satchel as well. Perhaps he could use the dream as a reference when he eventually forged Thunderfury.
The sky had been bathed in sunlight only moments ago, but drifting storm clouds had now darkened it. Rain would probably arrive before long.
Just as the witcher was about to pick up another crystal, he noticed a bright red crystal gleaming among the countless pink ones.
...
The dream unfolded from a first-person perspective.
Clouds drifted and changed beneath the warm, rising sun...
I was flying?
Yes, I was flying.
I could see distant green mountains and a castle overlooking the river.
Wait, that was La Valette Castle!
That was right. I was flying toward Foltest.
I saw terrified soldiers, Vernon Roche, Geralt, and Triss.
I was a dragon!
I opened my jaws and roared, breathing dragonfire toward them. They fled into an archway in panic.
Then I saw Victor charging against the tide of fleeing soldiers.
Just as I was about to burn him alive, the entire world suddenly spun around me.
It was the effect of a Shout.
The scene shook violently.
First, Victor threw a bomb into my mouth. Then he froze my wing with Northern Wind. Finally, he drove his silver sword deep into my body.
He had buried it so deeply that I could not immediately shake him loose.
Then something struck my other side.
Angoulême had driven her sword into me as well.
I stared deeply into Victor's eyes.
There was not the slightest trace of fear in them.
He was not afraid of me at all.
I would never forget that gaze.
A ballista bolt crashed down nearby.
It was time to retreat.
I climbed high into the sky and finally shook both of them loose.
Clouds drifted and changed beneath the warm, rising sun.
The dream ended there.
...
Victor placed the bright red crystal inside his herbal satchel.
There could be no doubt. This was the ideal source of magic for Saskia's treatment, Dragon's Dream.
He had never expected that the dragon that attacked Foltest was living near Vergen.
Yet despite having stayed here for so many days, Victor had heard no reports of a dragon attacking humans.
Was it hibernating, or recovering from its wounds?
Unfortunately, he had already scattered the harpies. Otherwise, there might have been an opportunity to make them lead him to the injured dragon.
The alchemist still longed for the many valuable materials that could be harvested from a dragon.
Although he regretted finding no further clues, he could finally leave the foul-smelling harpy nest.
Victor gathered several of the more vividly colored crystals, placed them in his satchel, and headed down the mountain.
On his return journey, he encountered an old friend coming toward him along the narrow mountain path.
It was Ves, lieutenant of the Blue Stripes.
Six subordinates followed behind her, and she wore a broad, cheerful smile.
"I knew it was you! When I heard that Fus Ro Dah, I told my men it had to be Victor of Kaer Trolde. Nobody else can roar with such power!"
Despite taking every precaution during his battle with the harpies, the Dragonborn had still used a Shout once. He had not expected the Blue Stripes to hear it and come searching for him.
Strictly speaking, they should have been enemies. Judging from Ves's attitude, however, Roche apparently did not hate him quite as much as Victor had expected.
The witcher nodded in greeting.
"It's good to see you, Lady Ves. How did you reach Vergen?"
"By boat, of course. The Scoia'tael took every available vessel, so it took us several days to arrange transportation."
Remembering Letho's dream, in which Auckes had gone to find Síle, Victor could not resist asking, "Are you stationed in the Kaedweni camp to the north? Have you seen the sorceress Síle de Tansarville?"
"That's right. We're staying in the Kaedweni camp. Is this sorceress the one with a black circle over her chest and what looks like a pair of horned boots sitting on her head? Her taste is appalling. If that's her, then yes, she's there."
Victor squeezed his arm thoughtfully, considering whether he should visit the Kaedweni camp.
In theory, he was an insignificant figure on this battlefield, so infiltrating it should not be difficult.
Having Ves assist him would be ideal, but his relationship with the Blue Stripes was complicated. He did not know whether suddenly asking for their help would be wise.
Reading his expression, Ves placed one hand on her hip.
"You want to enter the Kaedweni camp?"
"I do. I want to find Síle, but I assume Roche hates me."
"He is angry with you, but it isn't as serious as you think. In fact, there are things for which we owe you our gratitude.
"Without your help, I might have died at the hands of that bastard Loredo. You cut off his head, destroyed his plan to sell Flotsam to Kaedwen, and allowed us to withdraw safely. Every member of the Blue Stripes owes you for that.
"So come with me. I can get you into the camp, but you must promise to have a proper conversation with Roche."
Ves's condition was perfectly reasonable.
After considering it for a moment, Victor agreed.
...
While Victor was on his way to the Kaedweni camp, Angoulême sat up in a daze, looking like a newly risen corpse as she rubbed her hangover-swollen head.
People were shouting and making a commotion outside, preventing her from sleeping properly.
"Prince Stennis and Olcan poisoned Saskia! We're going to demand justice!"
"Bring your pitchforks and hoes! They'll definitely be useful!"
"Those despicable nobles want to enslave us forever! They're all afraid of the Dragonslayer's power!"
"Don't be afraid of the nobles! Take up your weapons! Drag the prince outside and make him pay!"
Confused voices rose and fell outside.
Still half asleep, Angoulême picked up the cool water and hangover remedy that Victor had left on the table before going out.
She gulped both down.
Then she took a pair of earplugs from the bookshelf, an invaluable treasure essential for achieving uninterrupted sleep, and prepared to put them in.
At that exact moment, someone knocked loudly on the door.
Angoulême was thoroughly irritated, but since she had already heard it, she could not simply pretend otherwise.
She flung the door open and declared bluntly, "The Alchemy Workshop is closed today. Anyone looking to buy virility potions should visit our authorized reseller, Felicia Cori, in Rhundurin Square."
The corners of the visitor's mouth rose involuntarily.
He normally maintained an expressionless face, but Angoulême was simply too amusing. Besides, the wicked things Victor did could hardly be blamed on her.
"Dear Angoulême, thank you for the recommendation, but I have no need for a virility potion. Is Victor at home?"
The familiar voice made Angoulême's eyes widen instantly.
The man standing before her had thick white hair tied simply behind his head. His weathered features were stern and resolute, and his body stood as straight and firm as a pine.
It truly was her old friend, the White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia.
"Geralt! You're in Vergen too!"
Delighted, Angoulême pulled Geralt inside.
She had a great deal she wanted to discuss with him.
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