Looking around, Victor and Regis caught the faint sound of a noisy commotion nearby. Following the voices, they turned down an alley and found themselves facing a medium-sized open square.
Pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, the witcher noticed a bootblack's stand tucked away in one corner, furnished with a broad, comfortable chair where customers could sit back and enjoy the service.
The one doing the polishing was a short boy around ten or twelve years old, his face covered in dust. He wore a dirt-resistant dark-red canvas jacket and had a small coin purse hanging from his chest.
It was the very same boy who had appeared repeatedly in Dettlaff's memories.
The round-cheeked youngster seemed to have landed himself in trouble. Five burly men had surrounded him and were angrily berating him.
"You little bastard! Then how do you explain why there's shit up to our ankles around here whether it's been raining for a whole week or the sun's blazing overhead?" the leader roared.
The boy spread his hands with an innocent expression.
"Sir, you can't blame me just because Beauclair's weather changes all the time!"
"The weather changes all the time? I saw you with my own eyes! Every morning you empty chamber pots in front of our shop, getting people's boots filthy so you'll have customers!" another man chimed in.
"No, no, no. Gentlemen, that conspiracy theory is completely absurd..." The boy frantically waved his hands.
"You're about to find out what absurd means! Get over here!"
With that, several of the men cornered the boy and rolled up their sleeves, preparing to teach him a lesson.
Watching the scene, Victor had to admit that, by his own standards, dumping filth in front of someone else's shop absolutely deserved a serious beating.
Still, there was no telling whether these hulking men knew how to restrain themselves.
Besides, making a living had never been easy, and a youngster willing to support himself deserved at least some encouragement.
"How about letting him off this time? He's still a kid. You can beat some sense into him next time," the witcher suggested.
The leader glared at him.
"And who the fuck are you? What gives you the right to stick your nose into our business?"
"Uh... actually, I'm his father. So don't even think about laying a finger on him. I won't allow it."
Victor shrugged.
One of the men immediately cursed, "Bullshit! I know his father! That bastard's a lying piece of garbage too. Like father, like son!"
"You stinking vagrant, piss off! I'm going to teach him what honesty means! He can't keep dumping shit in front of our shop just so people will pay him to clean their boots!" the leader shouted, brandishing a fist.
Victor froze for a moment at being called a stinking vagrant.
Looking down at himself, he finally realized that after the battle at Dun Tynne Castle, followed by several days of sleeping outdoors and living on the road, he really did look rather disreputable.
Under normal circumstances, his elegant and meticulously maintained appearance alone would have been enough to remind these men of their manners.
Victor blinked, then cracked his knuckles with a series of pops.
"How about this instead? Could you control yourselves and beat him gently? Nice and light. I still have a few questions I need to ask him afterward."
"Shut that filth-spewing mouth of yours! Otherwise we'll beat you too. One more makes no difference!" another burly man threatened, raising his hand.
It had been quite a while since Victor had played Batman, and faced with such an unexpected provocation, he suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to beat someone senseless.
He removed his sunglasses, revealing an extraordinarily punchable grin, then spread his arms and beckoned them forward.
"In that case, forget the trouble. All of you come at me together. I'm in a hurry!"
"Tch! Blond little mutt, I'm going to smash your face in!"
"Beat the meddling bastard first!"
"Teach him not to help swindlers next time!"
The brave and fearless men rushed him all at once.
A brawl was a brawl. With fists and feet flying everywhere, getting hit was almost inevitable.
Victor simply didn't care.
Compared with an ordinary human, his ability to take punishment existed on an entirely different level.
As long as they didn't hit a vital spot, he could ignore practically everything they threw at him. Their punches felt about as dangerous as getting slapped around in a cheap stage-fighting routine.
At worst, he might suffer some mysterious internal injury guaranteed to kill him a few thousand years from now.
Victor, meanwhile, could leisurely pick out the fleshiest, most durable parts of their bodies.
A left front kick.
A right roundhouse.
Then a left jab.
Again and again, he bestowed upon them brief yet unforgettable bursts of pain.
...
Naturally, faced with such a hopeless difference in strength...
The brawl began with tremendous fanfare.
The brawl ended without anything particularly dramatic.
...
The men who had looked so powerful and intimidating just a few minutes earlier were now sprawled across the ground, panting heavily and groaning through clenched teeth.
Victor had shown restraint.
He had merely deprived them of the ability to resist and taught them the importance of showing respect to people stronger than themselves.
At that moment, a squad of Toussaint Ducal Guards arrived to restore order.
Their gleaming armor and booming voices instantly brought the surrounding crowd back to its senses, including several enthusiastic onlookers who had been considering joining the fight themselves.
"What happened here? Who started this disturbance?" the squad leader demanded loudly.
With everyone's attention focused on him, Victor smiled and stepped forward, handing over the warrant Anna Henrietta had given him.
"Sir, this is proof of my identity. Please read it, but don't announce its contents aloud."
The squad leader had only read a few lines when his expression changed.
He immediately turned toward one of his subordinates.
"Go notify Deputy Commander Horace and Captain Damien. Viscount Corion has appeared in the Port District!"
He then returned the warrant to the witcher.
"My apologies, sir. Please come outside and wait with us. The deputy commander and captain left explicit instructions that there is an extremely urgent matter they must discuss with you immediately!"
Their words surprised Victor slightly.
From the sound of things, there really was an emergency.
Yet he couldn't imagine what sort of problem could have arisen.
His gaze drifted toward Regis, who had already blended naturally into the surrounding crowd.
Noticing the witcher looking at him, the herbalist rubbed his chin, pointed at the bootblack with one finger, then patted his herbal satchel.
Victor immediately understood.
Regis was telling him to go handle the official business without worrying about anything here. He would take care of the young bootblack himself, and they could meet afterward at The Clever Clogs Tavern.
Considering the centuries of knowledge and experience possessed by a higher vampire, Victor certainly didn't need to worry about Regis being unable to handle one child.
Seeing no reason to make things difficult for the officers, the witcher followed them out onto the street and waited.
Sure enough, it wasn't long before his old friend Horace de Funés came hurrying over, accompanied by more than twenty considerably better-equipped soldiers.
The man known throughout the city as "Barrel Junior" was wearing his standard uniform today, the formal attire of an officer of the Toussaint Ducal Guard.
Horace looked delighted to see Victor.
His actions, however, did not appear particularly friendly at first glance.
Without saying a word, he waved his hand and ordered the elite guards to spread out, completely surrounding Victor as though afraid he might escape.
Then the deputy commander let his expression turn cold.
He swaggered forward with the cocky stride of a man who owned the entire street, planted both hands on his hips, and stopped in front of the witcher.
"Make no mistake about it, Sir Victor Corion. You're in trouble. Come along with us."
//Check out my P@tre0n for 30 extra chapters //[email protected]/Razeil0810