At this moment, Kedve had not yet noticed the subtle change in Karl El's expression.
Still brimming with enthusiasm and pride, the dwarf continued his introduction in a loud, coarse voice.
"Lord Karl El, look! In order to perfectly reflect your supreme majesty and divine authority—"
"We strictly followed every one of your requirements," he went on, gesturing animatedly. "The sun motif has been incorporated throughout, and we selected only the most sacred and noble color scheme!"
Kedve pointed toward the dazzling throne behind the statue, his voice growing ever more impassioned.
"I believe there is no color in this world that can better highlight your divinity, majesty, and power than gold!"
"This throne behind your statue was cast as a single piece using the strongest brass we could obtain."
"To achieve the optimal visual effect, we applied multiple layers of high-purity gold paint to its surface. Our Great Masters personally carved these patterns, each one symbolizing eternity, authority, and power."
"Unless someone deliberately destroys the throne's structure, anyone who sees it will believe it was crafted from a single, massive block of pure gold!" Kedve concluded proudly. "Among us, it has already earned a name—the Golden Throne!"
Only after finishing his long explanation did Kedve finally turn his head, looking toward Karl El with eager anticipation.
"My Lord, what do you think?"
Karl El's eyelids twitched violently.
For several long seconds, an eerie silence filled the hall.
A golden throne with brass beneath it.
The Imperial Laurel.
The Iron Halo.
The whole damned set was complete.
Not only had Kedve designed something that looked suspiciously like a glorified golden toilet, but he had also unintentionally turned Karl El into something that resembled a war god straight out of a grim prophecy.
Was he expected to sit on that thing and glare at people all day?
At last, Kedve noticed the indescribably complex expression on Karl El's face.
The dwarf swallowed hard. His throat bobbed nervously as his booming voice dropped several octaves.
"Uh… Lord Karl El?" he asked cautiously. "H-how do you feel about it?"
Karl El looked at him without expression. After several seconds of silence, he finally spoke in a flat, measured tone that betrayed none of his inner turmoil.
"The design is… very creative," he said.
Kedve's heart skipped a beat.
"But," Karl El continued, his gaze sweeping slowly over the glittering throne, "don't design it like this next time."
He paused, then emphasized his words deliberately.
"Especially that 'Golden Throne.'"
The color drained instantly from Kedve's face. Cold sweat broke out across his brow.
Was the Lord dissatisfied?
Had they offended him?
Was all their hard work—and the generous bonus they had been anticipating—about to vanish in an instant?
Seeing Kedve's face turn pale and his expression teeter dangerously close to tears, Karl El felt some of the speechlessness brought on by the dwarves' overly bold design slowly dissipate.
He understood that they had only been trying their best. It was simply that their aesthetic sense was… far too uninhibited.
Turning his head, Karl El spoke calmly to Hans, who had been standing silently behind him the entire time.
"Hans, go and pay Great Master Kedve and his team the remuneration they deserve—in full."
"Including every extra reward I promised for early completion," he added. "Not a single penny less."
Hans bowed slightly.
"Yes, Lord Karl El."
He then turned toward the nearly collapsing Kedve and made a courteous gesture.
"Great Master Kedve, please follow me."
It felt to Kedve as though a royal pardon had been granted. Relief and joy surged through him, washing away his fear completely.
He hurriedly cast a tearful, grateful look toward Karl El before following Hans out of the main hall with quick, clumsy steps.
Left alone, Karl El once again raised his head to look at the statue of himself—a piece that fused multiple cultural and symbolic elements into a single overwhelming whole.
He shook his head helplessly.
"Setting aside those… unique design choices," he muttered to himself, "their carving skills really are master-class."
The facial contours were sharp and lifelike. The muscle lines were powerful yet refined, and even the gaze carved into the stone radiated an unmistakable sense of authority and strength.
It was just that the overall divine packaging was a little too much for him to handle.
As he was still lost in thought, a familiar voice—deep, steady, and carrying a strangely magnetic quality—echoed from the temple entrance. Heavy footsteps accompanied it.
Karl El's eyes flickered with surprise, and the corners of his mouth curled slightly upward. However, he did not immediately turn around.
Instead, he remained standing with his back to the entrance, as if fully absorbed in admiring his own statue.
The footsteps drew closer.
First came the unmistakable thud-thud of Dalton's heavy plate armor striking the smooth stone floor. Behind him followed a lighter set of footsteps—unforced and natural, shaped by long years of habit rather than conscious effort.
"Lord Karl El!" Dalton stopped at a respectful distance and announced loudly. "Great Master Geralt has arrived!"
Only then did Karl El slowly turn around, as though he had only just noticed their presence.
What greeted him was the familiar figure of Geralt—though the witcher looked far more disheveled than usual.
Several clear tears and stains marred his Wolf School leather armor. His face bore fresh bruises alongside dried traces of blood, and his long silver-white hair was tangled and messy.
Most striking of all, however, were the unmistakable marks along the side of his neck.
Clear lip prints.
And faint hickeys.
Karl El's gaze swept over Geralt's battered appearance before lingering pointedly on his neck. He couldn't help but laugh.
"Geralt," he said with open amusement, "the last time I saw you in Erlend, you were injured while dealing with a Vampire Bird."
He tilted his head slightly.
"But this time… judging by your condition, did you provoke a particularly passionate sorceress?"
A rare look of embarrassment crossed Geralt's usually impassive face. He didn't answer right away.
Sensing the atmosphere, Dalton tactfully turned around without a word and strode out of the main hall, leaving the space entirely to the two of them.
Once Dalton's heavy footsteps faded completely from the outer corridor, Geralt raised a hand and awkwardly rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Yes," he admitted after a moment. "As you guessed, it was a sorceress."
He let out a helpless sigh.
"And she's… extremely troublesome."
"More importantly," he added, lowering his voice slightly, "she's probably still tracking me. Somewhere nearby."
He looked at Karl El with clear apology in his eyes.
"Karl El, I really had no other choice but to come to you."
"While escaping, your territory was the closest," Geralt continued. "And besides, you're the only friend I know who has… an intimate relationship with a sorceress."
"Maybe," he said carefully, "you have a way to deal with her. Or at least help put in a good word for me."
Hearing this, Karl El subtly heightened his senses and observed Geralt more closely.
In the air—beneath the smells of blood, dust, and worn leather—lingered an extremely faint yet unmistakable fragrance.
Lilac and gooseberries.
Karl El's gaze sharpened slightly.
He even noticed one or two strands of hair tangled in Geralt's silver locks—black, faintly curled, and dark as a crow's feather.
So that was how it was.
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