The rain intensified, droplets rattling against the window in a ceaseless clatter.
Victor climbed to the second floor of Limping Sam's Inn, opened the door, and entered the room. Under the witcher's superhuman senses, every minute clue inside was laid bare.
Signs of battle covered the disorderly room, shattered tables and chairs, overturned medicine mortars, an unfinished magic circle, and a megascope that had been kicked to the floor.
A pool of dried blood lay nearby, dark red like rust. It had probably been left behind when Letho wounded Cedric. It certainly could not have been the sorceress's menstrual blood, since she had stopped menstruating years ago.
Victor was not interested in anything on the floor, however. He looked up at the unfamiliar ceiling, where wooden beams crossed one another. Near the end of one beam, amid the accumulated dust, there was a clearly visible handprint.
He leaped upward and caught the beam with his left hand at the location of the print. Reaching higher with his right, the witcher felt around for several seconds before releasing his grip and dropping back down.
A specially constructed cryptex now rested in his palm.
It was a smooth stone cylinder. Six marble disks, each about the size of a doughnut, were tightly arranged inside an exquisite brass frame. Both ends of the cylinder were sealed with marble, making it impossible to see inside.
Each disk was carved with a complete set of Elder Speech letters. By rotating them independently, one could form any six-letter word.
The cryptex worked like the combination lock on a bicycle. If the disks were rotated to form the correct password, the entire cylinder would open.
The secret message inside was written on a thin sheet of papyrus wrapped around a fragile glass vial filled with vinegar. If someone who did not know the password tried to force the cryptex open, the vial would shatter. The vinegar would rapidly dissolve the papyrus, making the message impossible to recover.
A note had been attached to the outside of the cryptex. It contained only one sentence.
"The place where the Viper and the Wolf played."
Victor swept the scattered clothing aside and sat on the bed. After staring at the note for a moment, he rotated the disks until they displayed:
V-I-Z-I-M-A.
Click!
A mechanism shifted inside.
The witcher pulled outward with both hands, smoothly opening the first layer of the cryptex. Inside was a second cryptex and another note.
The second cylinder was dull gray and nowhere near as visually impressive as the first. However, the exquisitely carved serpent patterns covering its shell showed that it was not as simple as it appeared.
"The true master of the north wind."
Victor understood the riddle almost without thinking.
In Elder Speech, the word "master" could also be interpreted as an expert or a person's title. In other words, the answer to the riddle was the recipient's name.
Victor rotated the disks until they displayed:
V-I-C-T-O-R.
Click!
Another mechanism shifted.
This time, however, the witcher did not immediately pull the gray cryptex open. He took out a thin needle and carefully examined the serpentine pattern on its exterior.
Sure enough, once the correct password had been entered, a tiny hole had appeared in the serpent's eye.
Victor inserted the needle.
Clack!
Another hole appeared near the serpent's tail.
He inserted the needle there as well.
Snap!
A third hole appeared on the serpent's belly.
Victor stopped and put the needle away. If he inserted it into the third hole, the secret would be destroyed immediately.
"A head and a tail, only two punctures."
Only four people in the world knew that phrase.
He pulled outward with both hands, and the cryptex opened.
At last, Victor removed the sheet of papyrus wrapped around the vial of vinegar.
Message Inside the Cryptex
My friend,
I regret having to communicate with you in this manner.
But perhaps this is the most appropriate way.
Regarding the operation to assassinate Foltest, I am sorry that you and the White Wolf were drawn into it. That was never our intention.
Someone offered us terms we could not refuse and commissioned us to kill kings. By "terms we could not refuse," I mean that we were unable to refuse them and had no desire to do so.
In other words, I am not acting under coercion. I genuinely intend to complete the mission to the best of my ability.
You and the White Wolf may be the greatest variables affecting that mission.
I know you are trying to stop me, but I do not need you to do so. I understand perfectly well what I am doing. As for clearing the White Wolf's name, he only needs to remain hidden for a while. His innocence will be proven in the near future.
Perhaps you would also be willing to tell him that his sorceress lover was not harmed.
You cannot imagine how many people have actively or passively assisted these regicides. The complicated web surrounding everything reeks of the political filth I despise and you dislike just as much.
So stay the hell away.
Perhaps that sounds too harsh.
Please stay the hell away.
A knight of Skellige and Toussaint's Duke of Wine, it has been a very long time since a witcher received such widespread recognition. You should value your reputation more. Do not become involved in these regicides.
Should we succeed, I promise to explain every cause and consequence the next time we meet.
Should we fail, the records of the School of the Viper are hidden in the sewers where we first met. Please take them all back to Kaer Morhen.
Finally...
Even when terrible things happen, such as a witcher you know degenerating into an assassin, do not lose faith in humanity. Do not abandon your mission either. There will always be people capable of understanding you.
Letho of Gulet
...
Victor frowned after reading the message.
Letho had clearly left this explanation specifically for him after Cedric lost consciousness.
The habit of hiding things above ceiling beams and the method used to open the cryptex were both things Letho had taught him beside the Yaruga. Perhaps he had already been preparing for the day when Victor would need to discover such a message.
Being immersed in thought did not mean Victor's senses had shut down. He suddenly detected approaching footsteps.
With swift, practiced movements, he placed the cryptex and the papyrus inside the Endless Herbal Satchel.
The door opened the next moment.
Ves entered, slammed the door behind her, and walked to the bed, where she glared down at Victor.
The Blue Stripes' adjutant was dressed remarkably properly today. Every button was fastened in its correct place, perfectly complementing the severe expression on her face.
Rain.
An inn.
Beside a bed.
A man.
A woman.
A woman and a man, one standing and one sitting, staring at each other beside the bed.
"You?"
"Me."
"You came."
"I came."
"You shouldn't have come."
"I'm already here."
"And yet you came anyway."
"And yet I came anyway."
Silence.
A long silence.
They faced one another like statues molded from clay and carved from wood, while the rain continued without end.
"What are you doing here?" the woman finally asked.
"Searching for clues about the Kingslayer."
Victor answered cleanly, enunciating every word without a trace of hesitation.
After considering him briefly, Ves slowly asked, "Why must you help him?"
"We were friends when neither of us had anything."
Again, his answer came without the slightest hesitation.
The woman's expression changed.
"Leave. This matter is becoming increasingly complicated. It now involves political struggles between kingdoms. It is no longer something a single witcher can interfere with. Continue involving yourself and you'll be crushed to pieces."
"And if I refuse to withdraw?"
"Stop struggling pointlessly. We know you had nothing to do with the regicides, and this is the last time we'll tolerate your interference. Should you continue acting without understanding the consequences, Roche really will come after you. When that happens, the bounty hunters pursuing you will not be playing games."
"Everyone keeps telling me to stay away. Fine. I'll leave."
"You mean it?"
The man lazily spread his hands.
"Perhaps?"
The Blue Stripes' adjutant stared at the person before her.
He was extremely young, but anyone who saw his eyes would remember them forever. They were calm and deep like the sea, their blue carrying profound melancholy.
She knew the young man before her was no ordinary person.
But she also knew that a single witcher was insignificant when faced with the overwhelming current of history.
Outside the window, rain continued to fall in a steady patter.
The sky gradually darkened. Ves looked around the ruined room and felt an indescribable helplessness.
She smiled bitterly.
"Do as you please. At least I tried to warn you. You may not know this yet, but Angoulême caused an enormous commotion last night. She was hit by seven or eight arrows and nearly died."
"What?"
Victor's calm shattered instantly. He sprang to his feet and grabbed the woman by the shoulders.
"What happened?"
Seeing his anxiety, Ves burst into laughter.
"Well, well. You pretended nothing could get through that thick skull of yours, but apparently there are still things you care about.
"Relax. She's fine. Every arrow lodged in her leather armor without penetrating it. Incidentally, which master craftsman made that armor? I'm curious."
"Tell me everything immediately, and I'll give you a suit next time!"
Ves did not keep him waiting. She looked up at Victor.
"I don't know the details. She apparently angered some of Loredo's men but refused to explain why. She only asked me to find a way to smuggle her out of town. Helping her was the reason I didn't join the operation against Iorveth."
Victor released her shoulders and placed a hand over his chest.
"Thank you. Truly. Now I really do need to leave."
The Blue Stripes' adjutant folded her arms.
"Stay the hell away. Or, to phrase it more politely, please stay the hell away."
Victor had just opened the door when he froze.
The declaration sounded absurdly familiar.
Shaking his head, he stepped outside and disappeared into the rain.
...
In the mud outside an herbalist's shop somewhere in Flotsam.
Rain struck the girl's bare skin. Fetid panting writhed above her, while her lifeless eyes reflected the darkness of the sky, as bleak as her heart.
She had once been a happy fifteen-year-old girl.
She had a father who cherished her, an honest and hardworking herbalist, and a gentle, kind mother, a loving woman devoted to her family.
Their life in Flotsam had not been wealthy, but compared with her uncle living in Lobinden and another relative hiding in the forest, their circumstances had been quite comfortable.
That small happiness had been destroyed completely during the riot.
Their home had been invaded. Her father had been dragged toward the gallows square, his fate unknown, while her mother lay motionless beside her.
The girl shed no tears and made no cries.
She knew she would soon die, but she forced herself to remember every face that appeared above her in turn.
She would use her life to curse them.
She would curse everything in Flotsam.
...
"Leave the town, find Angoulême, and take the Phantom Troupe far away. Get out of this damned cesspit!"
Victor had thought this perfectly rational plan would be easy to follow. He only needed to avoid every place where screams could be heard, then use Axii on the guards at the gate.
But the instant he rounded the corner, the scene outside the herbalist's shop nailed him in place.
"Clack... clack-clack... clack-clack-clack..."
How strange.
Where was that teeth-grinding sound coming from?
Oh...
Was I making it?
Monsters.
You deserve to die!
...
Some time later, inside the Blue Stripes' office, Vernon Roche heard people outside shouting frantically and tilted his head to listen.
"A demon wearing an iron mask. Blood everywhere. That bastard is back. The monster killed a lot of people. Send reinforcements."
Sitting opposite him, Geralt repeated each word he could distinguish.
Roche suddenly understood.
"Angoulême again? But didn't she already escape from the town?"
Someone knocked heavily.
The office door opened, and Ves entered with a thoroughly indifferent expression.
"Roche, people outside are shouting about someone wearing an iron mask. His appearance perfectly matches the person who broke into the commandant's residence last night.
"He started two streets away and killed more than twenty rioters along the way. Finally, he cut down the guards at the gate and escorted a small group of nonhumans out of town.
"Loredo is now beside himself with rage. He has sent large numbers of men to secure the gates and is conducting an extensive search for suspicious nonhumans."
"Could Angoulême have done it?"
"Unlikely. I personally escorted her out of town. But I believe someone else also possesses an iron mask..."
Ves did not identify that "someone else," but all three people in the room understood perfectly well whom she meant.
Roche waved a hand.
"Then forget about it. Ves, sit down. We need to discuss the details of our operation at dawn. This chaos cannot be allowed to continue. We have too few people for a prolonged battle, so one assault must eliminate Loredo completely."
...
The rain continued falling.
Outside Flotsam, beside the village of Lobinden, a small stream flowed through the forest. Iorveth sat in a tree beside the water and played his flute, while Victor stood completely naked in the stream washing away the blood.
When the final notes of With You faded, whether because of the musician's interpretation or the listener's state of mind, the song sounded unusually sorrowful.
"Thank you for bringing those people out," Iorveth said, his voice warm and filled with emotion. "You had no obligation to do that."
Victor waded ashore and pulled on his trousers.
"It was merely an outburst after I could endure no more. Next time, as long as it doesn't happen directly in front of me, I'll pretend it doesn't exist."
The witcher's voice was cold.
However, the blue Rinnegan in his eyes, now drenched in blood-red light, revealed that he was far less calm than he appeared.
Iorveth loosened his bandana and began wrapping it around his head again.
"I've already sent someone to inform Angoulême. She'll arrive shortly. At dawn, the Scoia'tael will attack Flotsam. You..."
"I refuse to participate. I will not take part.
"Killing rioters is one thing. Attacking an entire town is another. I will not betray my own people. No matter what happens, I am still human."
The elf carefully tucked every strand of black hair beneath his bandana.
"Don't be ridiculous. You're a witcher. They don't consider you human. They've even placed a bounty on your head."
"It's only a minor misunderstanding. I believe I'm more human than many of them...
"The rioters...
"Those rioters...
"No. I am the real human here!
"Humanity isn't supposed to look that ugly!
"I'm not the one who's wrong. The world is!"
Victor suddenly roared, turned, and fired an Aard through the curtain of rain. The shockwave struck the stream, sending water exploding in every direction.
He exhaled.
"Sorry. I'm rather agitated at the moment and can't control my emotions very well. Could you leave me alone for a while?"
Iorveth jumped down from the tree and put away his flute.
"Of course. I understand your position now. I was wrong to ask for more after everything you've already done."
The witcher waved to show that no apology was necessary. The elf bowed before departing.
...
Half an hour later, inside the large tent erected beside the stream, the alchemist stopped stirring.
The great cauldron appeared to emit no light, but only because Victor had deliberately restrained and suppressed it. The weapon inside had already been successfully enhanced.
[Name: The King's Guardian]
[Type: Weapon]
[Quality: Epic]
[Attack Power: Strong]
[Traits: Terrifying Overlord, Power of Destruction, Enhanced Sharpness]
[Enchantment: None]
[Note: Even if I am the last one standing]
The blood-red light in Victor's eyes faded back to blue.
He swung the sword twice, then returned it to its sheath.
Afterward, he took out a beef pie and a bottle of Lafite. Sitting beside a low table, he relaxed with alternating bites of pie and sips of wine.
"At this moment, Victor deeply missed Angoulême, for only beside his strong and decisive younger sister could her melodramatic and weak-willed older brother find even a trace of inner peace..."
Victor stopped chewing.
He slowly turned his head and glared at Angoulême, who had appeared at some unknown moment.
Her School of the Viper concealment skills had certainly improved, and her narration was becoming increasingly accomplished as well.
"Tell me, strong and decisive lady, where did you hear that I was melodramatic, weak-willed, and in need of inner peace?"
"I met Iorveth along the way, and he told me. It sounded perfectly normal. You've always been someone who agonizes over everything."
The moment she finished speaking, Angoulême saw him put down the pie and wine.
Immediately sensing danger, she retreated.
However, at such a short distance, lightning reflexes decisively overwhelmed Eagle Eye vision.
Victor's foot landed mercilessly against her backside, sending her rolling across the ground until she struck the side of the tent.
"You little menace! Leave you unsupervised for three days and you start tearing the roof apart!"
The leader strode forward arrogantly and looked down upon his subordinate from above.
"Confess everything! What disaster did you cause this time that forced the entire Flotsam garrison to chase you out of town?"
//Check out my P@tre0n for 30 extra chapters //[email protected]/Razeil0810