Late at night, La Valette Castle.
After bringing the battered Aryan La Valette to his mother, Ambassador Shilard immediately ordered his men to carry the baron somewhere comfortable for treatment. Maria Louisa embraced Angoulême and Victor, touching cheeks with each of them, before following the black clad men in winged helmets away.
Seeing that everything had been settled, the white haired Shilard smiled broadly.
"Viscount Corion, thank you for your assistance. I have now witnessed your chivalry firsthand. I am glad that even at such a sorrowful time, amid such an ugly conspiracy, the light of humanity can still shine."
The castle dungeon was dark, as were the people and affairs within it. Victor stared into his eyes.
"To be honest, I thought you would be delighted to see Temeria plunged into chaos. For an ambassador to appear here at such a sensitive time inevitably inspires all kinds of speculation."
"Mr. Victor, I believe you have misunderstood me. I am personally a pacifist, and a stable, harmonious North is in Nilfgaard's interests. No one wishes to see regicide. It is a challenge to the sacred authority of kings, and no monarch would ever forgive such a thing."
"Perhaps, but as far as I know, regicide has a long tradition in Nilfgaard. Few emperors across the generations have died peacefully, Emperor Fergus var Emreis being one example. I cannot believe a nation capable of treating its own emperors so ruthlessly would hesitate before murdering another king."
"Honourable Viscount, I cannot pretend that I did not hear the insinuation in your words. However, out of my personal respect for you, I am willing to forgive it as wild speculation born from grief over this tragic incident.
"I cannot deny that in the South, when opinions differ, Nilfgaardians sometimes resort to rather forceful methods of expressing themselves. Yet precisely because of that, and in order to preserve stable rule, the Empire has never encouraged such conduct. Please include that point in your considerations."
Victor truly envied the many transmigrators who had come before him. They could effortlessly detect cruelty, cunning, or venom in another person's eyes.
Victor watched the white haired old man throughout his explanation, but unfortunately saw nothing at all. With his M shaped receding hairline, narrow eyes, and hooked nose, the ambassador actually appeared quite sincere when he spoke.
The late winter night was cold. The witcher's voice remained calm and even.
"In that case, Your Excellency, please allow me to take my leave. It would not matter much if we were discovered, but Angoulême and I have no reason to be seen anywhere near this place."
Shilard's voice drifted steadily through the dark dungeon.
"Whatever the circumstances, I am glad to have met you. Before you leave, may I ask why? Why did you come north? I remember that when we last met in Toussaint, you said you intended to enjoy a pleasant winter in the South."
Victor closed his eyes for several seconds, then opened them again.
"Perhaps... because of destiny. Destiny wanted me to come north."
"Destiny... is that so?"
Perhaps it was merely the surroundings, but Shilard Fitz-Oesterlen's smile looked distinctly unsettling.
They bowed to each other and parted ways.
...
Dawn had barely broken when Victor stood on a nearby hill, watching La Valette Castle's oil storage district burn in a sea of flames. He laughed loudly.
"Holy shit! Geralt of Rivia, what happened to slipping away without making a sound? This is one hell of a spectacle!"
After using the megascope to confirm that the White Wolf had appeared aboard one of the ships hastily setting sail, the Phantom Troupe began its journey toward Ellander.
Traveling overland on horseback, the pair passed through Houtborg and Dorndal. The ripples caused by the king's death had not yet reached either place, and both remained peaceful and tranquil.
Several uneventful days passed. That night, inside their camping tent, Victor asked, "We should reach Ellander by tomorrow evening. Are you certain you will not come with me to the Temple of Melitele? Nenneke would be very happy to see you."
Angoulême was feeding strips of meat to Catherine. She shook her head so vigorously that her hair whipped around her face.
Not every wound needed to be confronted. Avoidance might be shameful, but sometimes it worked. Victor did not pressure her and merely smiled before continuing to stir the large cauldron.
Outside the tent, the northern wind howled. Inside, the fire crackled warmly. For once, the world felt peaceful.
Slap!
Angoulême suddenly smacked her thigh.
"Vic, I've pulled myself together. Come tell me what will happen to Temeria now that the king is dead. And what exactly happened with this whole affair?"
During the past few days of travel, Victor had avoided discussing the Kingslayer because Angoulême had been in low spirits. To her, King Foltest had been the first truly important person to take her abilities seriously. His recognition of her as an honorary knight had also given her a faint sense of belonging to Temeria.
Victor continued stirring as he answered in a calm but firm voice.
"Very well. Knowing early will at least give you time to prepare yourself. To put it simply, Foltest's sudden death has created a temporary power vacuum. As the defeated party in the war, Lady Maria Louisa is destined to lose custody of her children.
"During that temporary meeting on the night of the assassination, Baron Kimbolt and Count Maravel appeared to be competing for control of La Valette Castle. In reality, they were competing for control of Anaïs and Boussy.
"Some nobles were attempting to deny the siblings' right of succession through false accusations. If they succeeded, the married Adda and her child, or perhaps some other person of 'noble blood' who has yet to reveal themselves, would gain a chance to claim the Temerian throne.
"The two children's most reliable protector, and the leader of the genuine royalists loyal to Foltest's direct line, is probably Marshal John Natalis, who is currently guarding the southern front. Natalis Square was named after him.
"Thaler, Roche, and Keira all believe that once Natalis is free to march north, he will set things right and end the present chaos. I believe the situation will only continue deteriorating. Temeria will eventually burn."
After listening to Victor's explanation, Angoulême stroked Catherine's feathers and fell silent, lost in thoughts she did not share.
The alchemist did not disturb her. Instead, he began filling bottles with Draconid Oil.
Made with ergot seeds and dog tallow as its base, the oil increased a blade's lethality against draconids. Although there were no recorded cases of it being used against true dragons, it had proven effective against every lesser draconid.
Before long, Angoulême listlessly walked over and sat beside Victor.
"What about the Kingslayer? From what I heard when you argued with Keira, you seem to know who he is. But we've always traveled together. How can you know something that I don't?"
"That is because you do not know what the Kingslayer once commissioned me to make. On the banks of the Yaruga, he asked me to make Frost Bombs, a high quality replica of Batman's glider, a monk's robe that would conceal his build, and a mask that would alter the shape of his face."
"On the banks of the Yaruga!? Wait... Don't tell me the Kingslayer is..."
"Letho of Gulet. Yes, him. Our good friend, the witcher from the School of the Viper. As soon as I heard how Demavend had been assassinated, I suspected him. That was why I was in such a hurry to reach the monastery.
"Unfortunately, I was still one step too late. He used the robe and mask to disguise himself as a monk, waited until Foltest lowered his guard upon seeing his children, and struck. Then he leaped through the window and escaped on the glider.
"I saw his footprints on the windowsill. They could not have belonged to anyone else. I do not know whether Serrit and Auckes were involved, but considering the bonds between the Vipers, I doubt any of them stayed out of it."
"So they were already planning something this serious back then... I can hardly believe it. Why didn't they tell us?"
Victor placed the stopper into the final vial of Draconid Oil. The orange liquid glowed clearly within the glass.
"My guess is that they did not want us dragged into it. This affair is a cesspit. Anyone who touches it comes away covered in filth and branded infamous. Even knowing about it and failing to report it would be a crime.
"In truth, I would never have become involved if I had obediently remained in Toussaint instead of rushing north to warn everyone about the assassin. Even if the glider looked suspicious, Keira would never have questioned me. Fortunately, she did not tell Roche or Thaler. Otherwise, I might have found myself in some genuine trouble."
"What do we do now? Will rushing to Flotsam truly allow us to find the Kingslayer?"
Now that she knew who the murderer was, Angoulême immediately understood Victor's goal. He wanted to stop them from committing any more assassinations.
With the bottling finished, Victor sat cross legged and shared drinks and food with Angoulême.
"There is no need to doubt it. We will definitely find him. If I had not interfered, Geralt would currently be preparing to travel to Flotsam. Therefore, there is a ninety percent chance that Letho is there."
Angoulême patted her stomach and released a drunken burp.
"Heh... That reasoning is really strange. Chief, there's something I've wondered about for a long time. Why do your prophecies and deductions so often revolve around Geralt?"
Victor stuffed a custard and cream brioche into his mouth. It was fluffy, light, and deliciously sweet. The cream filling had been made through miraculous alchemy, so its quality was beyond question.
There was no reason to hide the truth from her. The witcher swallowed the bread.
"Because every one of my prophecies and glimpses of the future is seen through the eyes of Geralt of Rivia. You still will not believe me, but I am willing to say it again. He is one of the Sword of Destiny's edges. The very best and the very worst things often have something to do with him."
Angoulême did not answer. She merely rolled her eyes at Victor.
She knew Geralt far too well and had seen far too much of his ordinary daily life. She simply could not connect him with something as lofty and grand as destiny.
...
What is destiny?
Destiny is an endless chain of cause and effect. All things exist by virtue of it, and the world's own course follows the same law of causality.
Plutarch, Parallel Lives.
...
The following evening, in the hills behind the Temple of Melitele outside Ellander, Victor worked beside Nenneke inside the greenhouse grotto.
The changing season's cold could not penetrate the warm cavern. Breathing the thick, humid air, Victor, who had received permission to harvest, hummed cheerfully while expertly picking camouflage mushrooms.
"One mushroom, la la la. Two mushrooms, la la la. Three mush... Huh? Why won't this one come out?"
Only two people on the entire Continent knew that this inconspicuous, rock shaped, protected species of fungus could be subjected to an elaborate special process to create the miraculous potion currently most popular among the aristocracy, Ultimate Megatron.
Although the potion's actual name was simply Megatron, everyone who used it agreed that only the addition of "Ultimate" could properly describe its effects.
After checking once more that the soil's temperature and humidity were suitable for propagating graycap mushroom spores, the temple's high priestess smiled with gentle affection.
"Thank you, child. I never expected that after being gone for so long, you would still remember me. A hallucinogenic mushroom believed to be extinct, I am very pleased with this gift."
Victor waved his hand.
"No, this is something I should do. You cared for me greatly in the past, and I'm glad that I can finally repay you. More importantly, please take the matter I warned you about seriously."
"Heh, thank you for the warning. Foltest's death is truly unfortunate. Although he could never control what was between his legs, he was still a competent ruler. As for the possibility you mentioned, you need not worry. Even if Nilfgaard conquers Temeria, it would never attack the Temple of Melitele. The Great Sun and Melitele have no quarrel. Perhaps you recognize this ornament?"
The high priestess reached into the tool pouch she carried and produced a triangular, openwork pendant cast from gold. Within it was a star surrounded by flames.
"The Guild of Merchants!?"
The witcher was so surprised that the words escaped him before he could stop them.
The Guild of Merchants was the most influential organization in the southern empire, an organic union between the collective interests of the nobility and those of commerce. Even Emperor Emhyr var Emreis had to treat it with respect. Ambassador Shilard was one of its members.
Nenneke tossed the ornament to the young man.
"Keep it. It might prove useful someday. Do not be shy about accepting it. I have several more."
"How... How did you obtain something like this?"
Victor held the pendant in his hand and examined it with fascination.
Nenneke gave him a mischievous grin, like an old woman who had just played a successful prank.
"Child, have you truly not heard? Ultimate Megatron is sold throughout all eight provinces of Nilfgaard. Its appeal is irresistible!"
"..."
Victor blinked, rendered speechless.
He had fought for his life and practiced swordsmanship until his body nearly broke, yet he remained dozens of miles away from becoming "ultimate." Meanwhile, the aphrodisiac he had created by accident had already reached the finish line and was proudly proclaiming itself supreme.
Could Emperor Emhyr himself be using the temple's products?
What if the potion gave him a son in his old age, causing him to stop obsessing over Ciri? Would Victor then count as having changed the Empire's destiny?
The best laid plans failed while happy accidents flourished. With Megatron, what more could anyone ask for?
The young man shook his head and placed the sun pendant inside the Endless Herbal Satchel.
"Thank you, Lady Nenneke. I appreciate your concern and everything you have done for me."
The high priestess slapped him on the shoulder.
"What is this 'lady' nonsense? I told you to call me Nenneke. Has it been so long that you're embarrassed to say it?"
Victor answered with actions instead of words, embracing Nenneke and touching cheeks with her.
...
The next morning, after promising to bring Geralt to visit her soon, the witcher bid farewell to the high priestess and left the Temple of Melitele along the poplar lined avenue.
After meeting Angoulême at Clearwater Lake, they resumed their journey toward Flotsam.
Another day passed.
As their horses approached the Flotsam forest and the familiar surroundings came into view, Catherine released a shrill cry from the sky.
Back when the Phantom Troupe had first begun making a name for itself, chance had brought them here as guests for a time. They had enjoyed considerable dealings with Iorveth, one of the leading figures of the Scoia'tael.
They could not claim to have formed any especially deep friendship. Their relationship was more like Victor's relationship with Yaevinn. At the very least, neither side would deliberately plot the other's murder, and in such a chaotic, dark age, that alone was immensely valuable.
Stopping a short distance from the forest, the witcher dismounted and took out two warm felt caps. Each was decorated with a squirrel's tail.
He handed one to Angoulême, placed the other on his own head, then led his horse into the forest.
Victor intended to take the direct approach. He would find Iorveth without wasting time, then ask him to lead them to the Kingslayer for negotiations.
Although the present situation remained murky and chaotic, leaving him uncertain how events would develop, the memories from his former life had shown him a glimpse of Letho's distant future.
Letho would be branded a wanted man and hunted by Nilfgaard.
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