When Regis and Victor entered the alchemy room, Angoulême was craning her neck over the cauldron, peering curiously inside.
"Please, my dear, stay away from those potions. Even a tiny sip would be fatal to you," the herbalist called out.
The girl stuck out her tongue and made a face.
Regis then continued explaining to Victor, "Judging by the poison resistance I witnessed over the past few days, and the way the more potent the toxin, the more elaborate those markings on your face become, I honestly cannot guess where your body's limits lie. But the toxicity of Resonance shouldn't pose a problem.
"Come to think of it, I'm beginning to wonder whether your Grass Draught was made using tissue from a dragon or a vampire. The strength of your mutations is comprehensive, almost a qualitative leap. If every witcher were a monster like you, kings would have trouble sleeping at night."
"A monster calling someone else a monster, how very polite of you! And thanks for the suggestion. Next time, I'll try experimenting with dragon or vampire tissue." The alchemist answered with a cheerful grin.
Confident in both Regis's skill and character, Victor calmly walked over to the cauldron, scooped up a sufficient dose of Resonance, and drained it in one gulp.
Clang!
The ladle hit the floor, and Victor immediately fell unconscious.
Angoulême caught him securely.
"Hup!"
Putting strength into both arms, she lifted him in a bridal carry and placed him inside the spacious, comfortable coffin. Worried that her captain might accidentally catch a chill, his considerate teammate even covered him with a white sheet.
...
Several hours later.
...
The moon hung high in the sky, its gentle white light blanketing the forest, while the chirping of autumn cicadas embellished the stillness of the night.
It felt as though he were rising from the bottom of a lake and finally breaking through the surface. His breathing abruptly became easy again, and his tense muscles relaxed.
Victor opened his eyes.
Her eyes were dark brown...
That was the first thing the young man saw upon waking.
A nostalgic feeling stirred within him.
She had bright straw-colored hair and two thick, wildly expressive eyebrows.
Those were the second and third things he noticed.
She waved a hand back and forth in front of his eyes. Once she was certain he was genuinely awake, her brown eyes lit up.
"Welcome back, Mr. Victor Corion."
"I'm back, Miss Angoulême Corion."
His blue eyes were deep and clear.
Angoulême whipped the white sheet away and helped the somewhat weak-kneed witcher climb out of the coffin, guiding him over to an armchair.
Three plates sat on the table, along with a pot of thick soup and a large basket of bread.
The soup was a hearty potato and meat stew, while the bread consisted of small round rolls.
Footsteps sounded, and Regis entered through the passageway.
"Oh, Vic! Thank... hmm, Melitele, perhaps? She seems to be the more popular choice.
"You slept so peacefully that I nearly thought the potion had failed. Your reaction was completely different from the last subject I saw. That one thrashed around like a carp dropped into boiling oil."
"Uh... there was still some discomfort, but nothing serious. And the potion worked extremely well."
Victor picked up a roll, dipped it into the stew, and began eating.
The potato and meat stew was seasoned beautifully, with just the right balance of spices. It had to be Regis's cooking. If Angoulême had made it, the most anyone could hope for was that everything had been cooked through.
The herbalist and the girl joined him at the table, and the three began eating together.
"So, what did you see? Assuming it won't ruin our appetites." Regis also picked up some bread and dipped it into the stew, eating just like a human.
Victor spooned some stew into his mouth while organizing his thoughts.
"I only saw... the third victim, Louis de la Croix. A single selfless act brought them together. He sincerely treated Dettlaff well, and that was how they became friends. Most of the memories were scenes of the two spending time together.
"Later, at de la Croix's mill, Dettlaff hacked the count apart. Once it was over, he was consumed by anger and remorse. He cut off the right hand he'd used to slaughter his friend and discarded it together with the pieces of the corpse."
"Hmm... that sounds exactly like the Dettlaff I know. Perhaps there are still some clues at the mill. Other than that, did you see anything else?"
"The bootblack. The vision began and ended at the bootblack's stand. It should be somewhere around Beauclair Port.
"Louis de la Croix and Dettlaff first met there. After killing him, Dettlaff returned to the stand once more. My interpretation is that he went there to mourn the friendship he'd buried with his own hands.
"The bootblack's reaction made it obvious that he knows Dettlaff. I'm confident we'll learn quite a lot if we speak with him."
"Hmm... we have no better lead." Regis nodded, reaching his conclusion. "Tomorrow morning, we'll go together and look for him."
Angoulême picked up another roll and dropped it onto Victor's plate. Her mouth was stuffed full, making her words somewhat muffled.
"Don't just sit there talking. Eat!"
...
A peaceful night passed.
The following day dawned bright and cloudless.
Victor sent Angoulême back to Corion Manor first, asking her to inform Sasha that Leo would temporarily be unable to return to Toussaint due to certain special circumstances.
Besides, it was currently grape-harvesting season. With Angoulême presiding over the estate as its lady, the workers could go about their jobs with greater peace of mind.
In truth, this year's Lafite could be said to matter even more than last year's grand debut.
Everyone was watching to see whether last year's brilliance had merely been a stroke of luck or whether they had truly created a vintage destined for the ages.
Victor himself returned with Regis to Beauclair, the capital of Toussaint, to search for the young bootblack from Dettlaff's memories.
They reached San Sebastian around noon, the Lower Town outside the city walls.
The district had arisen because Beauclair's rapid growth had exhausted the available space within the walls, forcing the city to spill beyond them. The Lower Town's other name, San Sebastian, commemorated its founder.
Following the road toward the river brought them to Beauclair Port.
Not only was it one of the duchy's three principal marketplaces, it was also Toussaint's largest foreign-trade port. Goods from distant lands entered the duchy through this harbor, while Toussaint's wines departed from here for markets abroad.
The streets bustled with people coming and going.
Comparing their surroundings with the scenery Victor remembered from the vision, he and Regis gradually made their way deeper into the port district.
Then, all of a sudden...
Splat.
The witcher felt his left foot sink into something soft, something radiating the unmistakable aroma of good fortune.
With his superhuman senses, Victor instantly identified it.
A fresh pile of feces.
Its odor was pungent enough to sting the nose, and its creator had unquestionably been human.
Noticing that Victor had stopped, Regis looked down. An amused expression immediately appeared on his face.
"Poor Vic. How unfortunate. You've actually stepped in... excrement."
As he spoke, the herbalist pulled out a cloth and offered it to Victor so he could wipe his boot clean.
Victor, however, glanced around at their surroundings before chuckling.
"No... back where I come from, people used to joke that stepping in filth meant good luck was on the way.
"And it seems the saying has proven true this time. Look around. This place isn't particularly secluded, and despite spending plenty of time in Beauclair last year, I never heard of the people of Toussaint having a habit of relieving themselves in public.
"So my guess is that somewhere nearby there's an enterprising young bootblack, patiently waiting to offer his services to distinguished gentlemen unfortunate enough to step in a pile of shit."
Understanding dawned on Regis's face.
"Ah... indeed. I see what you mean. A clever young fellow creating demand for his own services."
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