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On the way back to the laboratory, the atmosphere eased considerably.
After this sparring session, Geralt gained a direct understanding of Karl's strength.
Back in the laboratory, Geralt looked at his still uncomfortable right hand: "I need to buy some alchemy materials, prepare Moon Dust and some potions that might be used against Vampire Birds..."
Karl's face showed clear confusion at the words: "Wait, Lambert, do you mean... you have to pay for these expenses yourself in advance?"
Geralt paused, then showed a calm expression, as if it were only natural, and explained: "That's just how the Witcher profession is."
"All equipment wear and tear, alchemy material bomb preparation... all expenses during a contract are borne by oneself."
"Only after completing the contract and receiving the payment, deducting these costs, is what remains the net income."
He paused, a hint of imperceptible helplessness in his tone: "And most of the time, after deducting costs, there's little left of the reward, or it's even not enough to cover expenses."
"Many Witchers... because they don't have money to maintain equipment or prepare enough potions, they have to grit their teeth and face monsters with just a sword, and the result..."
Geralt didn't finish his sentence, but the meaning was self-evident.
Karl listened, then fell silent for a moment, a look of emotion appearing on his face.
He hadn't expected that behind the seemingly dashing and powerful Witcher lay such hardship and helplessness.
He subconsciously wanted to offer to cover these costs himself, but the words caught in his throat.
He considered that their relationship was still shallow, and such direct financial aid might lead Geralt to misunderstand or become wary, thus backfiring.
Triss, standing nearby, saw all of this. She noticed that Karl seemed intent on befriending this highly skilled Witcher, but found it hard to speak up.
She smiled slightly and naturally interjected: "Lambert, there's a herbal shop in the Trade District. I often go there to buy materials."
"If you go there and mention my name, the owner will give you a discount."
Geralt looked at Triss with some surprise, then glanced at Karl.
Although he wondered why the two of them were being so exceptionally kind to him, he accepted their goodwill.
He nodded, simply saying: "Thank you."
Just as Geralt was about to set off for the Trade District, Karl called out to him again: "Lambert, wait."
Geralt stopped, casting an inquiring gaze.
Karl mused: "Buying materials isn't urgent. I was thinking, the information given by the King is, after all, secondhand."
"Moreover, it comes from a team that was completely wiped out... there might be omissions or discrepancies."
"Vampire Birds don't like to be active during the day. How about, while it's still early, we go to the vicinity of the Old Palace to investigate the situation firsthand?"
"Familiarizing ourselves with the environment and confirming the information beforehand is always better than encountering unexpected situations later."
Geralt's amber cat eyes brightened slightly at the words.
Caution and thorough preparation are one of the key tenets for a Witcher's survival.
Karl's suggestion was very professional and hit the mark.
"That makes sense. Let's go now. Seeing is always more reliable than hearing." Geralt nodded, changing his plan without hesitation.
The two reached an agreement, postponing the material purchase plan and deciding to immediately set off for the Old Palace occupied by the Vampire Bird for their first reconnaissance... Leaving the Temple District, Karl and Geralt walked through Vizima's relatively prosperous streets, gradually heading towards the city's edge.
The further they went into the Old Town, the more dilapidated and desolate the surrounding scenery became.
Most of the buildings here were old and in disrepair, with mottled walls and broken windows.
In the air, there was a heavy smell mixed with garbage, mold, and despair. This was Old Vizima.
After the Temeria royal family moved to the New City, this place quickly became a gathering area for non-human races.
Elves, dwarves, and a few gnomes who had lost their homes during human expansion, or who had been assimilated but were still ostracized.
They and other mixed-blood races were forcibly driven here, crammed into corners that even the poorest human paupers wouldn't set foot in.
Along the sides of the street, many thinly clothed figures huddled.
Skeletal elves had lost their former grace, leaning against walls with numb eyes.
Bearded dwarves were no longer boisterous, merely silently polishing worthless broken stones, trying to exchange them for a bit of food to fill their stomachs.
They saw Geralt and Karl approaching, and a slight ripple appeared in their numb eyes.
When their gaze fell on Geralt, their emotions became very complex.
It was a look mixed with slight curiosity, vague recognition, yet also deep jealousy and detachment.
Geralt was also a mutant, ostracized by mainstream society.
But he possessed strength, a clear identity, and could even earn rewards and walk freely with this identity.
To some extent, he lived the life that these oppressed people might have fantasized about but could never achieve—a marginalized person with strength and "usefulness."
However, when their gaze shifted to Karl.
That complex emotion was instantly replaced by naked anger and fear.
Karl was well-dressed; although it was only casual wear for ease of movement, the material and tailoring still appeared luxurious.
He was tall and upright, his steps composed, and he exuded an aura of a "superior" that was out of place in this ruin.
In their eyes, Karl was a symbol of the oppressors, a representative of the humans who had taken their homes, driven them here, and bullied them wantonly.
A low murmur of curses in Elvish or Dwarvish, like the hiss of a venomous snake, rustled in the shadows.
"Damn human pigs..."
"Noble's lackey..."
"Get out of our place!"
Despite the hostility, no one dared to truly step forward; their resentment was suppressed by a deeper fear.
Because not far away, a squad of fully armored Temeria Guards, armed with halberds, patrolled with synchronized steps.
The Guards' cold and wary gazes swept over the non-human races, as if looking at a pile of unsightly rubbish.
Their hands remained on their weapons, ready to suppress any potential "unrest" at any moment.
Geralt lowered his voice and said to Karl: "Foltest's soldiers. It seems the King is very concerned about the security here."
His tone carried a hint of subtle sarcasm, and Karl immediately understood Geralt's unspoken meaning.
These Guards were not just here to maintain order or protect these non-human races.
Their presence was more likely to ensure that no one accidentally or intentionally entered the cursed palace.
And furthermore, to prevent anyone from harming the monster-turned-princess inside—Adda.
Even if Adda had become a monster, she was still a princess...
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