On the Pontar River, aboard a boat pushing upstream, deckside chatter,
Victor smacked his fist into his palm. "Let's call the place Utopia!"
Angoulême pulled a face. "No way! A shop with a name like that would definitely do terrible business. I already picked one out, we're calling it the Spice Girls!"
"…That name, you are absolutely going to get sued!"
"By who?" She lifted her arm and let Catherine settle onto her bracer.
...
Love without memory is nothing more than an illusory dream, sooner or later it will burst like a bubble. Only philosophy is eternal.
, Utopia, entrance sign ,
...
In the alchemy laboratory at Kaer Morhen, when Triss had come here a few years ago, she had been curious about the Trial of the Grasses and had wanted to probe the witchers' secrets, but Vesemir had not opened this place to her back then.
This time, however, the sorceress did not care about any formula, and the old witcher master did not care in the slightest about opening the place to her, allowing her to brew potions here to treat Geralt's amnesia.
According to rumor, it was here last year that a young witcher apprentice researched several enhanced versions of witcher potions. So the laboratory's bottles and jars, the distillation equipment and furnaces, had all been maintained in excellent condition, and in Triss's hands they served their purpose perfectly.
"Take that bowl of mushrooms over there, crush in some horse-dung stone, then add dog fat and aged vinegar to ferment it," she said.
Lambert took the mushrooms and got to work, muttering under his breath, "Merigold, can you actually do this or not? It's been days and I still haven't seen any progress. Geralt hasn't remembered a damn thing."
"It was never going to happen that fast! His case is troublesome. If you'd shut your mouth and do your work properly, maybe we'd get results sooner.
And how many times do I have to say it? Call me Triss. Calling me Merigold to my face is rude!"
Lambert only shrugged carelessly.
"Or do you need me to help refresh your memory?" The sorceress swept her right hand through the air, magical light flashing as though she were about to give the witcher a little surprise.
"Triss, my child, don't bother arguing with Lambert. He's an idiot." Vesemir happened to walk into the laboratory just then and smoothed things over.
Lambert snorted unhappily. "Old man, don't stop her. If we really fight, I'm not afraid of her. I've wanted to test the power of a dimeritium bomb for a long time."
The sorceress let out a small sound of surprise.
"A dimeritium bomb? Where did you get the formula for that?" Vesemir raised a brow. The moment he heard it, he knew exactly what it was.
Lambert made a smug face, clearly aware of the thing's strategic value. "I was passing through Kovir when I heard someone yelling for help. Turned out some noble and his mistress had gone to the riverside in the middle of the night looking for a little excitement, and then four or five drowners popped out wanting to join the fun. Got a bit too exciting.
I saved him, and he was so grateful that, for whatever reason, he insisted on paying me with the Law of Surprise.
The next day I went back with him, and his steward brought out this formula, said his father-in-law had just sent it over."
The Law of Surprise was an age-old custom in the witcher world, as old as human history itself. The one who saved another's life could claim a reward under that law, demanding the first thing the saved person saw upon returning home, or something the saved person already possessed without knowing it.
"I've heard of this kind of bomb, but the materials are too expensive and the uses aren't all that broad. There aren't many monsters that can cast spells," Vesemir said, reaching out to take the formula Lambert offered him. "Later I'll study it with Eskel."
"Don't make it anywhere near me." Triss's expression darkened. "That sort of bomb affects my casting success rate. And don't let any other sorcerers find out you have it, either. That could bring enormous trouble."
"What's the problem?" Vesemir asked.
The sorceress folded her arms across her chest. "The problem is serious. This is a controlled item now. In theory, only Kovir, the Order of the Flaming Rose, and the Church of the Eternal Fire possess the manufacturing process.
There are a lot of political factors involved. The formula should be under the strictest secrecy, especially after the Battle of Sodden Hill. Even the amount of dimeritium allowed for export is under the harshest control, never mind something that's basically a mage's bane."
Lambert impatiently scratched at his ear. "Come on, spare me the politics. We're not interested in any of that. The way you nag reminds me of Victor. He liked talking about this stuff too. Back when we traveled together, he'd always grab me and yap on and on and on."
"Ah, you bunch of fools. Your traditions are already hopelessly outdated. Thank goodness there's Victor. That boy might be the School of the Wolf's only hope for the future.
He's been out there making his own way, and he hadn't even gone through mutation yet before he'd already reached the point where money wasn't a problem. I've visited his alchemy workshop. It's even more luxurious than this place, and fully equipped too."
The moment she finished speaking, Triss noticed Lambert and Vesemir staring at her. "What? Don't tell me you didn't know how he was doing?"
"We really don't know much about Victor's recent situation, and what surprises me even more is that you actually know him," Vesemir said.
Lambert had also dropped his usual joking expression. "Please tell us about that kid. I went to Vizima to look for Master Alchemist Kalkstein, but I heard Victor hasn't gone to learn from him in a long time."
At first Triss found that strange. Victor's reputation was so broad, yet the witchers hadn't heard of it. But the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Witchers could be said to be the least sensitive people alive when it came to what was popular. They didn't even care about politics, so how could anyone expect them to pay attention to poetry?
"All right, then I'll tell you the part I know. Victor is now a famous bard!"
"A famous what!?" Lambert's eyes went wide. He could hardly believe his ears.
Vesemir cut in at once. "Shut your mouth and let Triss finish."
So the sorceress spent some time recounting it all, how Victor and Angoulême got connected with Dandelion, how he was introduced into the royal palace to perform for King Foltest, how he won the king's praise and was granted the title of Dragonborn Bard, and how Dandelion later introduced him to her.
Just that whole sequence alone was already close to a fairy tale for ordinary witchers.
But what came next was the truly shocking part. Somehow, Victor got dragged into the Scoia'tael conspiracy to rob a bank and had to flee Vizima.
After that he vanished for a while, and the next news of him was that he had already made a name for himself in Skellige, where King Bran called him Dovahkiin, the Last Dragonborn. Then after King Bran died, Victor became involved in the royal election among the six claimants, defeated a frost giant, slew hundreds of sirens, and finally cast the sacred vote that personally pushed the current King Cerys onto the throne.
Seeing Lambert and Eskel standing there in a daze, and even a man like Vesemir, who had weathered all the storms of life, struck speechless, the sorceress suddenly felt a faint streak of mischief.
"His full formal style now is, Victor from east of Zerrikania, Crosser of the Korath Desert, Stormborn, Fate-Chosen, the Pure One of Melitele's Prophecy, Eastern Dipper Fist, the Dragon of Bell Town, Dawnbreak, the Witcher Alchemist, Crosser of the Path of Warriors, Arena Champion, the Bare-Handed Bearbreaker, Nightmare Transcendent, Hundred-Man Sword Draw, the Last Dragonborn, Dovahkiin, Giant-Slayer Victor Corion."
Once that string of titles came out, it truly was something unprecedented. Not even the most ceremonious royal bloodlines of the ancient elves had ever carried anything so extravagantly arrogant.
Eskel rubbed his forehead. "I think I must have gone temporarily deaf just now." Lambert had gone out to drag him in not long after Triss began talking. "I distinctly remember I didn't teach him that way. He was supposed to be like me, just a plain ordinary witcher. How did he turn into someone like Geralt, always stirring up trouble? It hasn't even been a year and a half. Where did that absurd pile of titles even come from?"
"I don't know how he did it either. In fact, I've only met him once myself, back in the palace. At the time, my impression was that he was a very steady, very well-behaved young man. I don't know why the moment he went to Skellige he started causing this many waves. Most of this information came through intelligence channels, and it's considered highly reliable."
What Triss said set off a storm in the hearts of the three witchers. Eskel felt the regret of a failed education, the little junior brother he had once thought had fully inherited his style of playing it safe had apparently completely let himself off the leash.
Lambert, meanwhile, was simply stunned. He had only been away from the boy for a short while, and Victor had already caused this much chaos. Maybe he should never have left him back then.
As for Vesemir, from Victor's trail of actions he had already sensed the young man's real purpose. Out of everyone there, only he understood the potential of miraculous alchemy. So long as the spirit was strong enough and paired with a genuine desire, the great cauldron was almost an all-powerful wishing well.
So if there was enough external pressure driving him, the old witcher master did not find it strange that Victor could carve out such an enormous reputation.
Whenever something seemed unnatural or unbelievable, like the comfortably furnished old keep before their eyes, there was often an alchemist's shadow behind it.
Still, achieving that much growth in barely more than a year was astonishing. In another few years, Victor would surely become one of the defining figures of the age. It was a pity Triss had not managed to bring Victor back to Kaer Morhen with her this trip. Otherwise, perhaps he might have had some way to deal with Geralt's amnesia.
...
It was fortunate Triss had not managed to bring Victor to Kaer Morhen after all, because the alchemist in whom the old witcher master had placed such high hopes had only one method for fighting amnesia, the blunt-object method, and the blunt-object method, repeated strikes.
...
Time flashed by like running water. Happy times were always short. Victor was back on the Pontar now, riding a boat downstream. The Phantom Troupe had already paid a visit to La Valette Castle, and now they were returning to Novigrad.
After all, for an alchemist like Victor, a major city was the most comfortable place to live, and he had no desire to keep running around collecting ingredients every time he wanted to brew something.
Over the past week, the noble young lord Aryan La Valette had completely fulfilled the promise he made aboard the Black Pearl, sincerely welcoming Victor's visit and accompanying them the whole way while they toured and enjoyed themselves.
They stood atop the battlements and gazed across the river toward the Kingdom of Redania. The scenery truly was beautiful. Then they walked all the way to the White Bridge spanning the Pontar and watched the sunset from there.
And Victor also fulfilled his promise, performing The Return of the Dragonborn for Aryan's entire family, with a bonus new song thrown in, the Black Pearl, He's a Pirate.
During the performance, Victor not only saw Aryan's father, Baron La Valette, he also met his younger brother Boussy and younger sister Anaïs. Worth special mention was Baroness Maria Louisa, Aryan's birth mother, a very young and beautiful woman possessed of a blooming beauty, glossy black hair, and soft crimson lips.
That charming woman and the decrepit old baron were complete opposites.
"Poor thing! The baroness is basically living like a widow. She must be tossing and turning alone every night. Even Vic's virility potion can't save her. Is there any way we can help that beautiful woman? Maybe..."
On the deck, Victor kicked out without hesitation. Angoulême had been ready for it and hopped back a full three steps, so no matter what Victor did, he couldn't reach her.
"Shut it. That's somebody's mother. Aryan is my good friend, so don't talk nonsense. Did you forget how warmly he hosted us?"
"That's exactly why I think we shouldn't let his friendship go to waste!"
"Your understanding of friendship is seriously warped. Today I'm going to correct that rotten streak of yours once and for all."
The captain of the Phantom Troupe and one of his members began trading nimble blows on the deck. Lightning Reflexes gave a more obvious increase to combat ability than Eagle Eye Vision, so Victor and Angoulême were now evenly matched in battle strength.
But the support effect of Eagle Eye Vision was far too broken. If he had the choice, Victor would actually rather have Eagle Eye Vision.
...
Vizima, capital of Temeria,
One of the city's two major gangs, Salamandra, had recently begun drawing in its reach quite noticeably. They had stopped harassing women returning home at night, no longer competed with Ramsmeat's gang over every little advantage, and even refused to respond to provocations.
Captain of the City Guard Vincent Meis was naturally pleased to see such peace. It was far better than having one or two people turn up dead every single day like before.
His good mood lasted until Ramsmeat, boss of the rival gang, privately asked Carmen to bring him a message, and only then did he frown.
"Salamandra's second-in-command, the Professor, has left Vizima with a large group of elite gang members. Their destination is unknown."
That alone was enough to give him a headache. More troublesome still, there were reportedly two mages among them. If a force like that intended to cause trouble, it could bring no small amount of chaos to the region.
Ever since Thaler of the King's Eyes fell from power and Princess Adda's subordinate, Lily Knight Roderick, took over the intelligence apparatus, Vincent had clearly felt just how clumsy the lily knight was when it came to information control.
Take the present situation, for example. If Thaler were still managing things, the city guard would definitely have already received a full report on Salamandra, even with their objective and destination marked down clearly. Instead, at the moment, he was completely in the dark.
Suppressing the dissatisfaction in his heart, he reminded himself that no matter what, policing the gangs was still the city guard's responsibility. He decided to go report the situation to Mayor Velerad first, and then see whether he ought to lodge a complaint with Princess Adda.
Factional struggle and competition for power were one thing, but once power was in your hands, the job that came with it had to be done properly. Roderick's performance could not honestly be called satisfactory.
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