The next day, the Phantom Troupe's morning began with a run.
"Morning runs are good for body and mind. You get to see sights other people never do—the pure, unspoiled face of a city. At a time like this, when everyone else is still in bed, you get to have all of Vizima's beauty to yourself." Running at the front, calm and unhurried, was Victor.
"But I… would rather still be in bed… You don't have to share that beauty with me." Trailing behind and panting slightly was Angoulême.
"That's just your body not being used to it yet. Run regularly, and once you adapt, you won't feel this tired."
He finished speaking, and seeing she still looked half-dead, he added without mercy, "Think back to that forest cross-country run in Flotsam. Doesn't that give you a little motivation?"
With her weak spot exposed, the girl didn't answer. She just clenched her teeth and pushed off, striding past him.
But she hadn't gone far before she suddenly stopped, pointed at a narrow alley to the side, and turned back with a mocking expression. "Heh. So this is the beauty the boss wanted to share with me? Really unforgettable!"
Victor caught up in a few steps and saw what Angoulême had seen. It was indeed unforgettable—just not in any way connected to the word "beauty."
In the alley, blood had splattered in great sheets across both walls, staining them a dark red. On a heap of straw lay what looked like a human body—"looked like," because…
"Tsk. Gutted and hacked to pieces—doesn't get much worse than that. Let's go. Run faster. We didn't see anything."
With that, the boy turned and left immediately, not hesitating for even a heartbeat.
Angoulême followed at once. "I thought you'd want to go take a closer look. Since you're such a righteous person."
Victor shot her a sideways glance. "Don't talk nonsense. I've got nothing to do with 'righteous.' I just still believe there's such a thing as justice in this world.
"And before we talk about justice, I'm a person with common sense. You didn't go closer either—do you think I'm stupid enough to do it?"
Even though the information he'd gathered over the past few days painted the Temple Quarter's public order—and Captain Vincent of the city guard—in a very positive light, Victor had zero interest in testing an old-style "lawman's" sense of integrity. Not finding the killer and deciding the first witness must be the culprit wasn't exactly unheard of.
"You saw something, didn't you? If you didn't, you wouldn't have run off that fast." Angoulême narrowed her eyes, confidence brimming in her voice.
Honestly, after being together this long, a lot of his reactions didn't get past her. Victor had seen something—and it wasn't good news.
First, this murder probably wasn't done by a human. To reduce a body to something that unrecognizable required monstrous strength.
Then there were the claw marks—how deep they bit into the wall. Considering this was an alley in the Temple Quarter, a rough outline of what kind of thing could do that formed instantly in Victor's mind.
Parsley was easy enough to find. Wolfsbane would need to be bought—and there was no guarantee it would be available. If it came to it, they'd have to gather it themselves.
By the time he'd finished thinking it through at a jogging pace, the boss spoke to his crew member in a grave tone. "This afternoon, we're going to a forest a bit farther out to hunt wolves. We need dog tallow and wolf liver. I think we've got a dangerous neighbor."
His seriousness affected her. "What is it? How dangerous?" Angoulême asked, equally serious now.
"A werewolf—"
…
In Kalkstein's alchemy workshop, after checking the goods, the alchemist bared his teeth in a broad grin. "Excellent, excellent. These drowner brains are very fresh—brimming with vitality. It's practically as if they were harvested just now. Well done. I'm satisfied."
"Your satisfaction is my honor. I put quite a bit of effort into acquiring this batch of materials," Victor replied with a smile.
Last time, the boy had gotten chewed out by the alchemist, but that had only been a failure of communication. His read on the man hadn't been wrong at all—Kalkstein was a naïve, pure, stubborn scientist who relentlessly pursued his own goals.
And people like that, once you figure out how to deal with them, are often much easier than "normal" people.
Sincere effort—and giving them exactly what they want—is usually enough.
"You've worked hard. Good. Go pick something from the shelves to read. You have two hours—take your time. No need to rush." With that, he stopped paying attention to Victor and started preparing his experiment.
Victor, satisfied, moved to the shelves and began flipping through notes. When Kalkstein said "take your time," what he meant was that Victor could read freely for that stretch—however much he could manage—his reward for being thoughtful with material preparation.
"Has there been a werewolf sighting in Vizima?" Victor asked suddenly, thinking that maybe the alchemist would know something.
"Hm! A werewolf? Haven't heard anything like that. You've seen a werewolf?" Kalkstein snapped his head around. With that atavistic face and a look of pure bafflement, Victor almost burst out laughing—like a walking reaction gif.
Barely holding it in, Victor said solemnly, "No. I just saw a corpse in an alley this morning. It was… badly damaged."
After hearing that, the alchemist immediately lost interest, turning away as he lectured, "Listen, Victor. This is a great city. The Temple Quarter alone has more than fifteen thousand permanent residents, and the number of people coming and going is countless. Gang conflicts—killing one or two people a day—is perfectly normal.
"In short, that's the city guard's problem. If you've got time to think about that, you're better off putting more effort into studying and gathering materials."
There was no need to argue. Kalkstein meant well.
"Understood, Master," Victor replied.
…
That afternoon, they led Amber and another black horse out from the city stables. The Phantom Troupe left through the north gate—there was a forest closest to the city in that direction, and rumor had it that gray wolves prowled there.
They rode hard side by side, with Catherine accompanying them, while Angoulême strutted in triumph atop Amber.
The horse swap was simple: the moment Angoulême saw Amber, she fell in love. Then she forcibly "sold" her own black horse to the boy. And the longer they spent together, the more she understood that Vic never refused her over little things like this.
Wind in her face, Angoulême's blond hair streamed wildly behind her. "Boss, did you learn anything from this morning's information gathering?"
She'd never encountered a werewolf herself, but something that infamous had to be terrifying. And based on her understanding of her boss, the morning's information hunting had definitely been aimed in that direction.
But at her question, Victor's smile turned subtle—almost a smile, but not quite. "You know… maybe I misjudged it. Maybe it wasn't a monster killing at all. I asked over at the city guard. This morning, the Temple Quarter only had one case: a gang brawl turned homicide."
"Huh? A gang fight could make that big a mess? Blood was everywhere!"
"It's fine. Trust the city guard—they're the professionals in public order. Just remember that after nine at night, you don't go out.
"Now, let's do what we came to do. This afternoon, what I'm teaching you is how to brew Cursed Oil. The ingredients are dog tallow, wolf liver, parsley, and wolfsbane.
"Applied to a blade, this oil makes striking a werewolf inflict intense pain, and it slightly slows the rate their wounds heal. For a while, wherever we go, we're carrying it on us."