A powerful sense of accomplishment filled Victor after bringing down such an enormous creature. He nodded to Geralt, walked directly toward the monster's massive body, and placed his right hand against it while it was still fresh.
The Voice of Death activated, and a low, hoarse voice sounded.
"The flesh is sour, toxic, and unsuitable for consumption. The suckers may be used as... The venom may be used for... !@&#$, ^@$!>(&, &$!#%... The hectocotylus may be used to create a regenerative elixir. After consumption, it temporarily restores testicular function for twelve hours, allowing the production of healthy male genetic material..."
The corpse spoke clearly and continuously reported its many possible uses to the alchemist.
The information was always described in terms the listener could comprehend. Whenever the corpse mentioned a use that lay beyond the alchemist's understanding, its words became completely incomprehensible gibberish.
Victor concentrated on memorizing everything.
The recently deceased Old Man was currently capable of providing the clearest explanations. Once the corpse began to decay, its descriptions would become fragmented. Not only would Victor have to spend much longer listening, he might also lose important information.
Síle de Tansarville slowly floated down from above and nodded to Geralt.
"We did it. A magnificent battle. The White Wolf certainly deserves his reputation. Are both of you unharmed?"
"It was not quite that easy. The monster nearly caught us several times."
"I have heard many legendary stories about you. I am certain you have survived far worse situations."
"Perhaps you would be willing to tell me some of those stories in detail?"
"Oh... You will certainly never hear them from me! For now, I must collect as many valuable materials as possible while the corpse remains fresh.
"If I could, I would transport the entire carcass to my laboratory and strip it down to the bones. Unfortunately, that would consume too much magical energy and time, so I will content myself with taking a small portion."
Noticing Victor touching the monster's corpse, the sorceress curiously asked the White Wolf, "What is he doing?"
Geralt shook his head without answering.
He genuinely had no idea.
Victor turned around.
"Lady Síle, allow me to formally introduce another side of myself. In addition to being a witcher, I am also an alchemist. A valuable specimen like this has many parts I can use. May I ask which portion you require?"
Hearing this for the first time, the sorceress's pupils widened slightly. She studied the witcher thoughtfully.
"Since you are also an alchemist, should I assume that your question is an attempt to uncover my formula?"
"I do not believe that merely knowing one ingredient would allow me to reproduce one of Lady Síle's advanced formulas. However, to demonstrate my sincerity, I do not mind revealing my own requirement first.
"I need the third arm from the left, the one with the spoon-shaped lobe at its tip."
Throughout the entire battle, the Kayran had never used that particular tentacle to attack.
According to the Voice of Death, it was the male Kayran's hectocotylus. Its function was to transfer an entire mass of genetic material into the female, and it possessed the remarkable ability to restore vitality to the testicles.
There was no doubt that this was also the part the sorceress required.
"It appears you have indeed studied the subject," Síle said with a smile. "Although our requirements overlap, I need only a small portion. I will trouble you to cut it for me. That will save me some work."
"Gladly."
...
Some time later, the sun set and the sky darkened.
The witchers watched as the sorceress carried half of the harvested material through a portal and departed.
Geralt turned toward Victor.
"If there is nothing else, shall we leave together?"
The alchemist shook his head.
"You go ahead. I will remain here tonight."
His reason for staying was simple.
The magical energy within the modified creature had become unstable after its death, causing its remains to decay at an accelerated rate. Victor had to butcher it and store the materials in his herbal satchel as quickly as possible.
Should he return several days later, there might be nothing left except the skeleton.
Once Geralt confirmed that Victor was serious, he embraced him, and the two temporarily parted ways.
...
Time always passed quickly when one was busy.
The moon had already climbed above the treetops by the time a campfire was finally lit a short distance from the Kayran's carcass and a tent erected beside it.
The alchemist Victor Corion sat beside the fire, roasting meat, drinking wine, and taking stock of his gains.
Killing the Kayran had produced a remarkably abundant harvest.
First, Síle had been correct. Megatron truly could not resolve certain forms of infertility, particularly those caused by advanced age or defects in the body's ability to produce viable genetic material.
Now that the Kayran's hectocotylus had fallen into Victor's hands, creating several potions that could complement Megatron should not be particularly difficult in theory.
He merely needed time for experimentation and development.
The most important result, of course, was the acquisition of Void traits.
Victor had been fortunate enough to extract a trait called Terrifying Overlord from one of the long, sucker-covered arms. It could provide a fixed amount of blunt-force damage.
Combined with the other miscellaneous parts he had obtained, he had also completed several basic traits.
Overall, it had been an excellent harvest.
Neither of those benefits, however, compared with the true unexpected surprise.
Victor was not confident that he could personally master the technique of magically infusing bombs, but he could have Keira practice it.
More importantly, inspired by Síle's spellcasting and assisted by his magical perception, the Yrden Sign he had cast earlier had gained an additional yard of effective range.
A single yard might not sound significant, but in a real battle, that extra distance could mean the difference between life and death.
...
Victor continued eating and drinking, enjoying himself beside the fire.
The wind rustled through the leaves and carried the sound of another person's footsteps toward him.
The approaching figure made no attempt to conceal his presence and walked directly toward the camp.
"Truly incredible. I never expected the Old Man to die at your hands. I also never imagined that you had become powerful enough to fight something like that."
Emerging from the trees, Iorveth, the true ruler of Flotsam's forests, raised his head and stared at the Kayran's corpse with an astonished expression.
Victor was not surprised by his arrival.
There was no possibility that the Scoia'tael had failed to notice the battle. Síle's spellcasting that afternoon had changed the sky itself, while the monster's roars had echoed throughout the region.
Anyone who was not a complete fool would have realized that a hunt was taking place here.
"My contribution was insignificant. The credit belongs to my two powerful companions. They did most of the work. One was a sorceress named Síle de Tansarville. The other was my senior from the School of the Wolf, the White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia, whom you nearly had shot not long ago."
Iorveth ignored Victor's sarcasm. He sat beside the fire and grabbed a bottle of red wine.
"Lafite!? You certainly know how to enjoy yourself. This is the finest wine produced in Toussaint this year."
"Your information network is impressive, but apparently not quite impressive enough. Allow me to share something with you. Lafite is produced at Corion Estate, and its owner is named Victor Corion."
The young man took out another bottle and knocked its neck against Iorveth's.
"Hah!"
The elf took a long drink.
"Your estate produced this? That is difficult to imagine. It currently sells for a considerable price."
He paused and looked toward the dead monster.
"And thank you, witcher. The Kayran caused us no small amount of trouble as well."
"Since you wish to thank me, Iorveth, is Letho still here?"
"Why have you still not abandoned that idea? Give up. Unless you have decided to become my enemy, I will never betray a comrade, regardless of the circumstances."
As the surviving leader of the Vrihedd Brigade, Iorveth was known not only as the Vengeful Ghost, but also as the Betrayed.
The latter title came from the story of Iorveth and Queen Francesca Findabair of Dol Blathanna.
Victor also took a drink of wine.
"I truly have not given up, but I understand your principles. That is why I am only asking whether he is still here."
Iorveth considered the question.
Deciding that the answer did not matter, he nodded slightly.
"He has not left. He remains somewhere nearby."
Victor raised an eyebrow at the answer.
So Síle had no connection with Letho?
"Iorveth, do you not find that strange? Letho could easily travel through Flotsam's forests and go anywhere he pleased. Yet even after his pursuers arrived, he remained here without moving.
"I cannot help suspecting that he is planning something."
The elf folded his arms across his chest.
"Are you attempting to sow discord between us?"
"No. Just as you gave me advice during our last meeting, I am giving you advice now. When dealing with someone determined enough to kill kings, there is no such thing as being too cautious."
Victor added two pieces of wood to the side of the fire, causing the flames to crackle brightly.
"Very well. I accept your warning."
"There is something else. Why have I not seen Ciaran recently? Ciaran aep Easnillen, your lieutenant, and the object of Angoulême's affection."
The elven commander shook his head.
"Ciaran aep Easnillen is dead. He and six warriors were ambushed and killed last week. That bastard Loredo of Flotsam was responsible."
"I... am sorry. He was a fine young man."
"Hah!"
Despite the somber atmosphere, Iorveth suddenly laughed.
"What do you mean, young man? Did you know Ciaran was more than eighty years old? He was more than four times your age. He was old enough to be your grandfather."
"Very well. I withdraw the words 'young man.'"
Having asked everything he needed in only a few sentences, Victor took a lute from his tent.
"I happen to know a song suitable for mourning. Would you like to hear it?"
Iorveth raised his bottle.
The gentle music of the lute drifted through the night.
Some time later, the clear sound of a flute joined it, the two melodies answering one another beside the fire.
...
At noon the following day, a prison barge arrived at Flotsam's docks.
After Commandant Loredo received confirmation from the witchers that the Kayran was dead, he transferred several serious criminals previously held at his estate onto the barge in preparation for transporting them to Vizima Prison.
According to information provided by Loredo, Geralt and Triss went aboard to question one of the prisoners.
Ciaran aep Easnillen, an important Scoia'tael officer, was supposedly imprisoned on this barge. As Iorveth's lieutenant, he would likely know something about the Kingslayer.
A barge used to transport prisoners naturally offered no pleasant accommodations.
Guided by the dim light of oil lamps, Geralt and Triss found their target lying on a pile of straw.
Ciaran had already been seriously wounded when he was captured. After enduring severe torture, he appeared to be on the verge of death.
Triss crouched beside him and conducted a brief examination.
"He has been tortured terribly. There are fractures throughout his body. Geralt, I need your help. The spell I am about to cast will cause him tremendous pain. If he moves uncontrollably, he may die immediately."
"I will use Axii to keep him calm," Geralt agreed.
A faint blue light flickered.
The sorceress's magic could not heal the elf, but it slightly stabilized his condition and temporarily restored his consciousness.
The handsome elf opened his eyes and glared at the white-haired witcher while breathing heavily.
"Do not even think about it, Loredo's lackey. I will never betray them. You will learn nothing from me."
Geralt crouched beside Ciaran.
"You have misunderstood the situation. I do not serve Loredo. Look into my eyes. I am a witcher, and I am hunting the Kingslayer.
"Is there another witcher among Iorveth's forces? Bald, and exceptionally large?"
"Heh... Is that so? If you are hunting Letho, then perhaps I do have something to tell you. Human or not, that bastard is still a bastard."
Ciaran's attitude changed so abruptly that Geralt and Triss exchanged glances.
Geralt continued in a gentler voice.
"The Letho you mentioned, is he the Kingslayer?"
"Yes."
A faint sense of satisfaction spread through them.
After pursuing their opponent for so many days, they finally knew his name.
"What happened? How did Loredo's lackeys manage to capture Iorveth's lieutenant?"
"Through betrayal, of course. How else could it have happened?
"It was Letho. He betrayed us. He said he had a new proposal, so we arranged to meet where the roses of remembrance grow.
"I should have known that nothing good ever comes from humans."
"Roses of remembrance?" Triss murmured softly.
"Yes. Some of the last remaining in the world.
"He believed I would betray my elven comrades so that I could seize control of the unit. I refused him, and a fight followed.
"I had never seen anyone like him. No human could move that quickly. It was a massacre.
"Perhaps I survived because I was the first one struck. Had Loredo's men not discovered me, I would have bled to death."
Geralt was puzzled by Ciaran's explanation.
"Why does the Kingslayer want Iorveth dead?"
"I do not know. He exploited our hatred from the beginning, but he no longer needs Iorveth.
"Now he considers him an obstacle. I do not understand what Letho truly wants."
Ciaran's face became flushed, and his breathing accelerated.
"No... If this continues, Letho will kill Iorveth. Then everything will be over.
"So many people have died and suffered for change, for the promise of a better tomorrow. Their sacrifices cannot be allowed to become meaningless.
"Listen, White Wolf. Since you are pursuing the Kingslayer, help me warn Iorveth. Tell him Letho is a traitor. Only then will he withdraw his protection from the witcher."
Geralt subtly strengthened the influence of Axii, and his feline eyes gleamed.
"Ciaran, what change are you talking about? What better tomorrow? What is Iorveth planning?"
"Heh... Go to hell! Human magical tricks will never bend my mind!"
A sudden groan escaped Ciaran, and he died.
"What do we do now?" Triss asked.
Geralt reached out and closed Ciaran's eyes.
"We find Iorveth. I have an old proverb prepared for him, 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend.' Are you coming with me?"
Triss shook her head.
"Ciaran mentioned the roses of remembrance. Perhaps you would be willing to help me search the forest for them first.
"They are powerful mental conduits. I am certain they could significantly accelerate the restoration of your memories."
Geralt paused, but did not hesitate for long.
"I will help you retrieve the roses of remembrance first. Do you know where they grow?"
"Not yet, but there is nothing in Flotsam's forests that Cedric does not know about," Triss replied with a smile.
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