After finishing his work on the second floor, Victor headed toward the third.
His footsteps landed lightly upon the stairs. The floorboards still bore the marks left by whatever had recently been dragged across them. As he walked along that trail of blood, never before had he felt so certain that he was carrying out justice.
If Heaven would not punish them and the law could not judge them, then he would deliver Heaven's justice himself!
He stopped outside the room. His superhuman senses had already relayed enough information for him to form a general picture of what lay inside.
He quietly pushed open the door.
The room beyond was roughly the size of a quarter of a basketball court. More than twenty different racks and beds filled the space, restraining women in all manner of degrading and humiliating positions.
Six men were amusing themselves inside. Following the winding trail of blood led toward another man at the far end of the room. From the side, Victor could see fresh blood staining the man's chest.
Ves was bound beside the window at the opposite end.
So this was the amusement park attached to the Flotsam garrison?
Had the women been willing participants, that would have been one thing. But one only needed to look at the unconscious Ves and remember what lay in the cellar below.
On behalf of humanity, I apologize.
...
She had been assigned a kneeling position, so her head hung low while a rack held her on her knees atop a wooden bed.
The man behind her suddenly stopped moving, and a large splash of warm liquid sprayed across her entire back.
She could not see what had happened behind her, and the gag in her mouth prevented her from making a sound. Yet the liquid running from her neck to her cheeks was vividly red, and the heavy scent of blood filled her nose.
Hope suddenly returned to her heart.
...
The man was slightly deformed, with an oversized head and a thin body.
The blood on his chest had come from the woman he had just been playing with. He had become so excited that, just as he used to do during his days as a bandit, he had drawn a knife across her throat as he approached climax and allowed the spraying blood to cover him.
The throat-cutting motion resembled a praying mantis, except that it was the female mantis that severed the male's head, and she did so for survival and reproduction.
He did it for perverse pleasure.
He would never forget the first time he watched praying mantises mate. It was vulgar to admit, but he had actually become aroused.
As he continued thrusting, he felt himself nearing climax again. An impulse urged him to reach for his knife, but he knew he could not kill another one.
Loredo brought two new prostitutes into the residence at a fixed time every month. The others could tolerate him occasionally killing one, but if he killed too many and reduced their selection, he would inevitably be punished.
At that moment, warm liquid suddenly sprayed across his back.
He instinctively assumed one of his companions was playing a trick on him. He pulled out, turned around, and prepared to argue.
All five men who had been enjoying themselves with him were lying dead on the floor.
Before him stood a figure wearing a cold iron mask.
The man immediately tried to scream, but a hand clamped firmly around his throat and lifted him high into the air.
"It was you... Yes, it was definitely you. There can be no mistake. Just look at that hideous face of yours. My superhuman senses are telling me it was you! You truly deserve to die!"
The corners of Victor Corion's mouth rose in delight.
Terrified, the man struggled desperately. He struck Victor's armored hand again and again, trying to make him release his grip.
Nothing worked.
He could only stare as the witcher raised his other hand in front of the man's face and slightly curled his index finger.
"Igni!"
A torrent of fire erupted.
Several seconds later...
Sniff, sniff...
Whether they had become little more than living corpses, had been blindfolded, or remained dazed and barely conscious, the women suddenly smelled roasted meat.
They also heard something completely opposite to the usual sounds in this room, a man's screams strangled in his throat.
A moment later, Victor released his hand.
With a thud, a freshly made bootleg Ghost Rider dropped to his knees before collapsing face-first onto the floor.
Victor felt thoroughly refreshed.
He did not immediately release the women. Rescue work also required efficiency and proper methods. Human nature was difficult to predict, and he did not know how many of them had been forced into this place or how many had already lost their minds.
"Wait a moment. I will rescue all of you. Remain quiet and do not make any noise."
Victor walked to the window, removed his mask, and freed Ves from the upright wheel-shaped rack.
He then began repeatedly slapping her face.
When she showed no signs of waking, he took out some menthol and placed it beneath her nose.
She slowly began to struggle, but she remained groggy. It seemed the guards had given her a considerable dose of whatever drug they had used.
Normally, such a moment would offer several possible methods, a prince's kiss, mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, or even the breast-massaging revival technique.
Time was limited, however, so Victor chose to pour an Enhanced Golden Oriole directly down her throat.
Its excellent detoxifying effects worked immediately, and the Blue Stripes officer began shaking her head from side to side.
Ves had dressed as a practitioner of the world's oldest profession today. To be perfectly honest, the sight was exceptionally pleasing.
Victor was not in the mood to appreciate it at the moment.
Keeping his hands outside her field of vision, he reached into the Endless Herbal Satchel and pulled out a complete set of leather armor, a matching undershirt, and a spare steel sword.
Ves spat out the potion's foul taste.
"Cough... cough..."
The Blue Stripes' second-in-command opened her eyes and stared at the witcher. She froze for a moment.
"Why are you here!?"
Victor shoved the undershirt, leather armor, and steel sword into her arms.
"This is the leather armor I promised you. Consider the steel sword a complimentary gift. Loredo kidnapped the wife of one of Angoulême's friends, so I came here to rescue her. I never expected to rescue you first."
True to her elite training, Ves looked around the room. After briefly recalling what had happened, she immediately understood the situation and began equipping herself.
While changing, she casually tore apart the practically nonexistent miniature outfit and tossed it aside. Ves began putting on the undershirt and leather armor while completely naked.
Her well-trained body was firm, shapely, and remarkably toned.
This female hooligan had once proved herself terrifyingly skilled at handling a man's balls. Since she clearly did not mind Victor seeing her, Victor folded his arms and openly admired the view.
"What are you people doing here? Disguising yourself as a prostitute makes it obvious that you have hostile intentions toward the commandant of Flotsam."
Ves shot Victor a sidelong glance.
"We intend to eliminate Loredo in a single assault tonight and capture a Kaedweni spy. I disguised myself as a prostitute so I could let the White Wolf inside. I simply never expected Loredo to be even more disgusting and shameless than we imagined."
"Can your people take responsibility for these women?"
So her panties really were pink.
Noticing where Victor's gaze had settled, Ves proudly thrust out her chest.
"Of course. Unless something unexpected happens, once the White Wolf deals with Loredo, Roche will charge inside and restore order among the garrison. A handful of villains will not be able to cause much trouble."
"I'm worried there may be too many villains among the guards. You could fail to finish the job and have it come back to bite you."
"The kingdom's glory endures forever. The Blue Stripes have dealt with this kind of situation many times. Without Loredo leading them, these villains will not have the courage to challenge Temeria's authority."
Since Ves sounded so confident, Victor nodded in approval.
He slightly raised his voice.
"Ladies, I am Victor of the Phantom Troupe. I am now announcing two things.
"First, Ves of the Blue Stripes and I will begin releasing you from your restraints. Do not struggle or scream during the process, and do not leave on your own. Put on your clothes, help maintain order among yourselves, and the Temerian Blue Stripes will take care of you.
"Second, Moril. I came here in search of Moril. Her husband, Seherim, commissioned me to find her. If any of you know where she is, tell either Ves or me immediately."
After finishing, the witcher glanced at the Blue Stripes officer. Once he confirmed she had nothing to add, the two separated and began releasing the women throughout the room.
They had only just settled everyone down when a human woman spoke between ragged breaths.
"Moril... Is the woman you're looking for an elf? I've heard that name. She's in the room next door. A few months ago, Loredo stopped allowing anyone else to use her. He locked her in that room and kept her entirely for himself."
Following the direction of her finger, Victor finally noticed a small adjoining room.
He gratefully patted the back of the woman's hand, walked over, and pulled open the wooden door.
Inside was a pregnant elf.
A metal collar encircled her neck, and her enormous belly made it obvious that she had reached full term.
She was beautiful.
Looking at her was almost like looking at Cymoril. She possessed the elegant bearing of the noble elves of old.
Many Aen Seidhe of the new age had become gaunt, sharp-featured, or even unpleasant-looking because of malnutrition and a lack of education.
Moril was most certainly not among them.
"Who... who are you?"
Joy and fear mingled across her exquisitely beautiful face.
Victor looked nothing like one of Loredo's villains, but the bloodstains covering his heavy Undvik armor were equally frightening.
Victor placed a hand over his chest in greeting.
"Good evening. I am Victor, Angoulême's leader. Seherim commissioned me to find his wife. Are you Lady Moril?"
Upon hearing those two familiar names, the elven woman's eyes lit up with excitement. Tears immediately filled them.
"Yes! I am Moril, Moril of Lobinden!"
Victor examined the collar around her neck.
It had actually been forged from an alloy containing black steel. An ordinary sword would be useless against it. Without the key, he would have to use Golden Eagle to remove it.
As he considered a solution, his nose suddenly caught a subtle scent.
Victor noticed the liquid steadily seeping from beneath Moril, along with the terror and pain on her face.
He was stunned.
The colorless, transparent liquid continued flowing. It did not smell pungent at all. On the contrary, it possessed a faint, naturally sweet scent.
Her water had broken!
The instant Victor realized this, he shouted inwardly.
Fuck!
She was not merely at full term. She was about to give birth at any moment.
This was Victor's first time encountering such a situation, and he was extremely nervous. Outwardly, however, he gently patted her in reassurance.
"Don't be afraid, Moril. Breathe deeply and listen to me. You are about to give birth... I'm not skilled at this sort of thing, so I'm going outside to find a woman who knows what to do. Don't panic..."
At that moment, a deep horn sounded outside.
It resembled a signal used to assemble troops.
Victor then heard Loredo's voice echo throughout the entire fortress through an enchanted amplifier.
"Everyone, wake up immediately! Enemies have infiltrated the residence! They are Scoia'tael demons who intend to slaughter every one of us, but they will not succeed! Arm yourselves immediately and assemble beside me in the courtyard!"
Moril's room had a small window.
Knowing the situation had turned dire, Victor approached it and looked outside.
More than twenty fully armed warriors wearing chain mail had already gathered around Loredo.
The witcher immediately understood.
Perhaps the commandant had intended to come here and relax, or perhaps a guard had gone to the second floor, discovered the corpses covering the floor, and fled to report what he had seen.
Otherwise, Loredo could not have raised a general alarm so quickly.
Whatever the cause, the situation had become extremely troublesome.
Victor considered contacting Roche as quickly as possible. Perhaps he could borrow the strength of the Blue Stripes or even Geralt.
At that moment, the wooden door burst open with a bang.
Angoulême and Ves entered.
The instant Angoulême saw the pregnant elf and the amniotic fluid steadily leaking beneath her, she anxiously rushed to the bedside and grabbed Moril's hand.
"What's wrong? Moril, what happened to you? Don't frighten me!"
Ves had witnessed childbirth before and immediately understood what was happening. Her brows drew tightly together as she turned toward the witcher.
"Vic, I stabbed one of the men who came inside to investigate, and Angoulême killed another when she entered. Loredo and his men have now completely blocked the entrance. This building has no other exit we can use to escape."
Victor felt increasingly agitated.
Without warning, Moril grabbed his hand.
Her face had turned deathly pale from the pain, and sweat covered her brow. She clutched her belly as tears filled her eyes.
"Please... please... No matter what happens... even if I die, you must save this child. I endured all this humiliation and remained alive until now because... he is Seherim's child and mine."
Her prayer-like plea left Victor momentarily dazed.
Moril and Seherim looked nothing alike, yet at this moment, the same brilliant starlight shone within their eyes.
Moril had been abducted shortly after becoming pregnant. Perhaps she had wanted to die long ago, but for the sake of the unborn child inside her, she had endured everything with unyielding determination.
Her hope for this new life shone so brilliantly that Victor turned away, unable to look directly at her.
Before such radiance, evil ought to shrink away and vanish.
Demons ought to flee in terror.
Looking at the growing number of soldiers outside the window, he murmured to himself.
"Yes, this world is imperfect, but some things will always be worth giving everything we have."
He turned back. His voice carried an authority that permitted no argument.
"Ves, find several women who know what they're doing. Have them remain here and help her deliver the child."
Victor then drew Angoulême's sword, Golden Eagle.
The moment it entered his hand, he activated Hammer of Justice and precisely split Moril's collar with a single stroke.
He pushed the sword back into his companion's hand.
"Defend the third floor. Do not allow anyone to come up here. Can you do it?"
It had been a long time since Angoulême had seen her leader truly enraged.
She nodded earnestly without the slightest hesitation.
Finally, Victor gazed at Moril.
She was such a vulnerable and pitiful woman, and she looked at him as though she were gazing upon a savior.
Deliver Heaven's justice!
Now, I will act in Heaven's stead and answer your prayer.
He drew the King's Guardian and pressed it against his chest. His voice was as devout as a prayer.
"I, Viscount Victor Corion, swear in the name of the Dovahkiin that I will rescue both you and your child and return you safely to your husband."
...
Ves held the vitality broth meant to replenish Moril's strength and watched Victor descend the stairs one step at a time.
She looked uneasily toward Angoulême.
"Hey! Is he serious? You people aren't actually joking about this, are you?"
Angoulême swung Golden Eagle.
A faint white radiance shimmered along its blade, proof that her leader's words had moved her and driven her into an impassioned state.
Her face shone with excitement.
"Of course he's serious! We are the Phantom Troupe! We roam the world defending the innocent, punishing the wicked, and destroying evil wherever we find it!"
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