Walking home through the Temple Quarter, the boy pulled another vial of Viper School stamina draught from his herb pouch and chugged it down in four loud gulps, feeling instantly clear-headed and brimming with energy.
Thinking back on the two frisking searches that afternoon, the "female inspector's" ultra-modern outfit had been… unforgettable. During the first search, it was that sensation—like she could see everything, yet somehow you still saw nothing—that was truly lethal. No matter how much his rational mind wanted to scold her for having no shame, little Victor still had to rise to his feet and salute her. And when the second search came around and she'd finally buttoned up properly, little Victor was disappointed again.
Still, Victor already knew her name—because his past-life memories sent an urgent, red-alert dispatch straight to his brain. That "fierce" female inspector was Ves. She was good with a bow, decent with a sword too. The attached memory also included her superior, the man who always showed up beside her: Vernon Roche.
And when Victor flipped through those stored impressions of Roche, Thaler surfaced as well—an optional bonus, a background face who'd shared the same frame with Roche a few times. A man's memory was brutally honest like that: if it didn't matter, it simply wouldn't stick.
In any case, according to what the "script" revealed, the three of them were supposed to be easy enough to deal with.
Of course, that was something you only got to truly feel years later, from Geralt's point of view. And by then, Temeria—currently blazing with glory, banners, and confidence—had already been conquered and erased by Nilfgaard. The three of them would be fighting for restoration, scraping by in a state not much better than the Scoia'tael out in the wild.
People were always easier to get along with when they were desperate than when they were swaggering.
Because in that brief encounter just now, Victor didn't find Ves "friendly" at all. That brazen hooligan had outright sexually harassed him. During the search she didn't just squeeze every muscle on his body—she even toyed with his balls like they were a pair of worry stones, looking genuinely surprised at little Victor's size.
Still, it stopped there. Nothing else got triggered, no further "plot" unfolded, and Victor was broad-minded enough not to treat it like some unforgivable humiliation.
If anything, Ves's careless attitude was the most sincere reminder he could've gotten: Victor Corion was still a nobody. It wasn't time to bare his fangs yet.
Watch a man build his palace; watch it collapse.
That thought brought a detached, superior calm back to him. Who could've imagined the northern powerhouse Temeria would fall in just a few years? Victor, at least, couldn't see a single warning sign right now.
Even if his "foreknowledge" was incomplete, history had a weight of its own. It didn't change easily. Knowing the shape of what was written gave Victor the steadiness to face whatever came next.
Ciri would return—after her leap through time—roughly not long after Temeria's collapse.
So until this kingdom began to show real rot, Victor could take his time, accumulate strength, and brew the finest "Grasses potion" possible—rising into a full witcher with absolute certainty.
…
But the moment he got home, Victor hurled that lofty detachment straight out the window. Right now, he only wanted to punch the handsome, smug, grinning Mr. Dandelion in the face.
He'd already made it crystal clear in their earlier chats: he did not want to become a famous bard. Dandelion had agreed readily enough—yet apparently the moment he got drunk, it all vanished, replaced by wild nonsense and loose talk.
Victor still didn't throw the punch.
Because Shani was right there. Angoulême was downstairs too. Everyone sat around chatting, the atmosphere warm and cheerful—clearly waiting for him to return.
The dining table was loaded with fresh drink and delicious food. The main dishes included a Camembert fish tart, confit duck, roasted beef ribs, fried pork cutlets, and lamb stew. On the side was a huge bowl of mashed potatoes, small round rolls, and Ban Ard butter. The soup was tomato, and dessert was baked apples.
Victor recognized that plating instantly. It was absolutely the Hairy Bear Inn's chef's work—he'd been treated to that craftsmanship more than once, courtesy of Ramsmeat from the Rams.
Before he could even ask what the occasion was, Angoulême burst out excitedly.
"Vic, look! Shani made all of this at home and brought it over! Isn't she amazing? I never knew she could cook like this!"
Blocked by that, Victor silently shot a glance at the bard. Dandelion beamed.
"Right? She said she wanted to thank you properly, so she cooked it herself. I truly didn't expect Shani to be this good. We're all benefiting from you tonight."
Facing the little sister's excitement and the senior's praise, Shani wore a composed, gracious smile—calm as someone who'd seen too much blood and death to flinch. She was lying without even blinking, and she somehow managed to look faintly proud of it.
Victor was impressed.
Which raised an important question…
When you realize a lovely lady is lying through her teeth, what is an upright, honorable man supposed to do?
With a spark of righteous integrity in his chest—unyielding in the face of falsehood—this was the style of "straight-laced Victor."
He should absolutely expose her!!!
And then, the very next second, his expression naturally shifted into pure delighted astonishment.
"Really? That's incredible! It looks so good. You made all of this yourself? That's unbelievable—you must've put so much effort into it."
At least Shani's smile turned a little shy under the praise. Otherwise, Victor felt he might lose faith in women entirely. A sweet mouth could sell you a lie without you noticing.
"What's going on? Why make so much amazing food?" Victor asked, genuinely curious.
Before the words even finished leaving his mouth, Angoulême snatched the answer.
"Because Shani's leaving Vizima tomorrow! She's going back to Oxenfurt Academy to promote the stethoscope!"
Victor froze and turned toward her. Shani smiled faintly.
"The stethoscope should be introduced to every doctor as soon as possible. So I finished up at the hospital today. Tomorrow I set out for Redania."
It was so sudden Victor didn't know what to say. All he managed was a muted question.
"You're traveling alone? That's dangerous, isn't it?"
Shani shook her head.
"It won't be dangerous. I'm traveling with the medical team. We came from Redania in the first place to help respond to the Catriona plague."
"…Still, it's abrupt. You never mentioned you were going back."
Shani smiled.
"The medical team was always leaving tomorrow. I originally planned to stay a while longer…" She paused slightly, then lifted the stethoscope hanging around her neck. "But this changed my mind."
"…I understand."
A mug filled to the brim with Viziman Champion was pressed into Victor's hand—courtesy of Dandelion.
The bard handed beer to everyone present, then raised his mug first, speaking loudly to Shani.
"I don't fully understand how important that tool is, to make you leave so urgently—but let's drink to you! Safe travels!"
Everyone raised their cups together.
"Safe travels!"
That night, with Dandelion running the room and keeping the mood bright, with the Hairy Bear Inn—no, Shani's—food being genuinely delicious, and with drinks flowing without limit, it became a successful, happy farewell feast.
…
Some people say today's parting is for an even sweeter reunion next time.
I say whoever said that had to be drunk out of their skull.
The truth is simple: people leave, and then they vanish.
—Bras of Ban Ard
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