The sewers of Loc Muinne embodied the remarkable style of elven construction. They were not only spacious but also had high ceilings, and thanks to years of abandonment and natural drainage, they were actually quite clean. Of course, with soldiers from several kingdoms now occupying the city, the environment was deteriorating rapidly.
In the darkness, Victor calmly rose to his feet.
The ruby he'd found on the corpse was similar in design to the one he'd picked up on Undvik, and the magical circuitry inside was almost identical.
In other words, there was an excellent chance this woman was the mage who had used an avalanche to ambush Hjalmar an Craite back then.
Victor hadn't expected her to die here.
"Axii: Spirit Invocation!"
Curling his ring finger, the witcher cast the Sign and attempted to extract information from the corpse's final hours.
This crude imitation of Hanmarvyn's Blue Dream could reach back at most twelve hours.
Unfortunately, the woman had been dead longer than that, and no useful information remained.
"Judging by her clothes, she's Nilfgaardian. My guess... Assire var Anahid."
"Really!? Why her? And how do you even know that name?" Angoulême asked, her eyes darting curiously.
"Because Radovid just told me Nilfgaard is purging members of the Lodge of Sorceresses. She was one of its core members. As for how I knew her identity?"
Victor smiled.
"Because I'm a prophet."
Having answered his companion's questions, the leader straightened up, splashed fuel over the body, and ignited it with Igni.
Then they retraced their route through the sewers and returned to the ruins in the northeast.
The Scoia'tael hideout was tucked into the gap between the Nilfgaardian and Temerian sectors, yet there was little danger of either side discovering it because traffic between the two camps normally passed through the central square instead.
After greeting the elves standing guard, Victor didn't slow down. He went straight back to his private luxury tent, sat before his cauldron, and began practicing alchemy.
He needed to make use of every available moment to process the ingredients he'd gathered along the road, converting them into bombs and potions in preparation for the battle that might erupt tomorrow night.
An alchemist was the perfect example of someone who prepared for two weeks just to shine for ten minutes.
Angoulême settled into her usual seat as well, the reclining chair to the right of the cauldron, and watched him work.
From the hesitant expression on her face, Victor knew her head was currently filled with questions.
Ever since Temeria, their strange journey had revolved around the Kingslayers and the Lodge of Sorceresses, only to drag them unexpectedly into wars and revolutions along the way.
There was a great deal she still didn't understand.
Victor tossed saltpeter, charcoal, sulfur, iron filings, and an iron casing into the mixture and began stirring noisily.
"Ask whatever you want. What I'm making right now is simple, so I can spare the attention to talk."
Angoulême abandoned all concern for appearances and patted her stomach.
"If you say so, then I'm asking! Vic, what exactly is this Lodge of Sorceresses you keep talking about? Why are they assassinating kings? And how did Letho end up working with them?"
Victor stirred with his left hand, grabbed a bottle of wine with his right, and took a large gulp.
"Now that's complicated. Fortunately, my logic is impeccable. To explain it properly, I need to start with the background behind this Loc Muinne summit.
"Ever since Raffard the White, kings and magical advisers have shared power. The tradition of mages interfering in government has existed throughout the Northern Kingdoms for centuries.
"Then came the Thanedd Coup. Some mages betrayed the Northern Kingdoms and sided with Nilfgaard in the south, causing the Council of Wizards to fracture and collapse.
"That civil war among mages directly destroyed public confidence in royal advisers, and the kings of the North became increasingly wary of them.
"During the period when the kings governed without their advisers, they suddenly realized something.
"They didn't actually need mages restraining them.
"Meanwhile, without royal authority supporting them, the advisers gradually lost the mystique and prestige that had once surrounded mages.
"With circumstances changing, many farsighted mages realized that even if they couldn't completely restore their former position, they at least needed to reverse the steady deterioration of public opinion.
"Now Carduin of Lan Exeter has taken the lead in inviting the Northern kings here to establish a new order, hoping to use the opportunity to rebuild the Council of Wizards.
"That is the background behind the Loc Muinne summit."
Angoulême rested her cheek on one hand and listened attentively.
"As for Philippa Eilhart, after the Thanedd Coup, she became convinced that kings would always need mages to restrain them if they were to avoid doing something catastrophically stupid.
"So she secretly founded the Lodge of Sorceresses, allowing its members to watch over and support one another. Their greatest achievement was helping bring about the Peace of Cintra, which ended the Second Nilfgaardian War.
"But the world changes unpredictably, and the age itself began turning against mages.
"Dimeritium became widely used to restrain spellcasters. The Church of the Eternal Fire blamed disasters on sorcerers, and kings were more than happy to throw dirt at their former advisers to weaken their political influence.
"Radovid and Philippa Eilhart are the classic example.
"A young king entering adulthood craved absolute authority and eventually became unable to tolerate the adviser who constantly restrained him.
"But the Jewel of the Court at Tretogor had no intention of quietly leaving the political stage. Since she couldn't defeat Radovid on his own ground, she decided to build herself a new stage in the Pontar Valley."
Angoulême crossed her arms.
"If she wanted to keep being an adviser, why the Pontar Valley? And why choose Saskia?"
"There's an old Northern saying, whoever controls the Pontar Valley controls the North."
Victor took another drink of red wine.
"And I'd add a footnote of my own. To control the Pontar Valley, first control Vergen.
"Vergen sits along the upper reaches of the Pontar River, bordering all four Northern Kingdoms. It's the perfect place for diplomatic maneuvering.
"So when Saskia, the Virgin of Aedirn, began her uprising, they decided to eliminate Demavend, plunge Aedirn into chaos, and create favorable conditions for Upper Aedirn to become an independent kingdom.
"Spirit Invocation confirmed that Síle de Tansarville was the one who hired the witchers of the School of the Viper."
Angoulême bit her finger thoughtfully.
"I understand everything up to there. But why would the Lodge kill Foltest? And from what you've said, they also tried to assassinate Henselt. Does that mean Saskia was working with them too?"
"Of course Saskia is innocent! She had nothing to do with the assassinations!"
Iorveth pulled aside the tent flap and strode inside.
"Saskia doesn't even know Letho. I'd stake my life on it."
The instant Angoulême saw the elven commander, she realized she'd said the wrong thing.
She sprang out of her chair and retreated to the corner to feed Catherine.
Iorveth glared at her but couldn't be bothered pursuing the matter.
"Vic, I investigated the house you mentioned. It really was where Philippa had been staying.
"Apparently it once belonged to Geoffrey Monck. There are plenty of magical traps inside. The Redanian soldiers outside are essentially decorations. None of them dares enter a sorceress's house."
Victor raised an eyebrow.
"If they're afraid to enter, why are they willing to stand outside?"
"Because the Nilfgaardians successfully captured Philippa Eilhart. She almost completed her spell, but even she couldn't overcome a properly trained military unit.
"The Black Ones caught her in an ambush and locked her in dimeritium shackles. Radovid is currently negotiating with Nilfgaard for her extradition."
"That's incredible. Ambushing her successfully can't have been easy."
Victor was genuinely surprised by the news.
On further thought, however, perhaps it wasn't so extraordinary.
Triss had fallen into Letho's hands. Dethmold had died with embarrassing ease. Even Raffard the White, who had once dominated an entire age, had ultimately been assassinated.
Philippa being captured wasn't impossible.
"Either way, Radovid will finally teach that arrogant witch a lesson," Iorveth said with obvious satisfaction.
"Any word on what they intend to do with her?"
"I don't know what charges they'll use, but every sorceress has done something rotten at some point. Prison sounds perfect for Philippa Eilhart.
"My guess is they'll either cut off her head or feed her to monsters. Supposedly the dungeons beneath Loc Muinne are full of every kind of scum imaginable.
"Though personally, I think the gallows would suit her better."
"Don't celebrate too soon. If she dies, curing Saskia will become extremely difficult. The power of the Rose of Remembrance comes from love."
The witcher's words immediately ruined the commander's good mood.
"Damn it! We can't get inside the Nilfgaardian camp. The Black Ones will be guarding her as tightly as the Emperor's bedroom."
"I'm not particularly interested in visiting the Emperor's bedroom, but we still need a way into that dungeon.
"You being unable to enter doesn't mean I can't. But I'll need intelligence."
Victor slowed his stirring as he sensed the alchemy nearing completion.
Iorveth abruptly stood.
"I understand. I'll send people to locate Philippa and search the sewers for a possible route inside.
"Are you going to search the sorceress's house? If she wasn't expecting to be arrested, she might have left something interesting behind.
"Ah, I just thought of something that could get you into the dungeon faster than the sewers. You could cause some trouble and let the Nilfgaardian soldiers arrest you..."
"Get lost! The Black Ones would confiscate my weapons, slap dimeritium shackles on me, and then let me experience every torture Nilfgaard has ever invented!"
Victor killed the terrible idea without mercy and waved the commander away to organize the reconnaissance.
No sooner had Iorveth left than rainbow light flashed inside the cauldron.
Victor reached into the center of the vortex, removed a Grapeshot bomb, and stored it away.
Then he added Zerrikanian powder, saltpeter, sulfur, phosphorus, hellebore petals, and Nostrix before stirring once more.
...
Several hours passed.
Night fell.
Victor and Angoulême approached Philippa's residence.
The Redanian soldiers guarding the entrance immediately became alert when they saw someone approaching.
"Who are you?"
The question had barely left the guard's mouth when Victor stepped into the firelight.
The man happened to recognize the witcher who had visited the Redanian camp that morning.
"You're that... Victor of Kaer Trolde. What are you doing here?"
Victor glanced left and right to make certain there were no witnesses.
Then he curled his ring finger and silently cast Axii.
His blue Rinnegan rotated.
Light from his pupils reflected into the guards' eyes, and the two Redanian soldiers immediately sank into confusion.
"Tonight has been peaceful. Nobody has entered or left this house. Standing here is boring, so you've decided to find somewhere nearby and sleep for two hours before returning."
As soon as Victor finished speaking, the two guards behaved as though no one else existed.
They staggered into a nearby alley, sat down, and promptly began dozing.
Angoulême's eyes shone as she watched them obey.
"Damn! Axii is terrifying! Just making eye contact lets you completely control someone's thoughts and actions..."
"In your dreams! It's nowhere near that convenient."
Victor opened his Magic Sense and pushed the door open.
"If the target is highly alert, Axii becomes difficult to use. And normally it's a single-target Sign, so it can only affect one person at a time.
"I've undergone specialized training, which is why I can control two simultaneously."
Angoulême followed him inside and shut the door.
"That's still amazing. And you promised you'd make me the Grass Draught. Once we find Letho and save Saskia, you can't keep delaying it!"
Victor didn't object.
If one crisis after another hadn't erupted ever since Vizima, Angoulême, who had already made her decision, should have become a witcher long ago.
They split up and began searching the rooms.
Victor wasn't worried about Angoulême accidentally triggering a magical trap.
In fact, one reason he'd brought her along was specifically to help clear them.
Eagle Eye was absurdly reliable.
If her instincts told her somewhere was dangerous, it was dangerous.
If they told her somewhere was safe, then it was safe.
Angoulême carefully searched through a cabinet.
"Vic, Iorveth interrupted us this afternoon. Let's continue. Do you think Saskia is innocent when it comes to the regicides?"
Realizing that she genuinely cared about the answer, Victor chuckled.
"Don't overcomplicate it. Saskia probably knew nothing about their little schemes. Otherwise Philippa wouldn't have needed the Rose of Remembrance to manipulate her."
"Good..."
Angoulême smiled.
"I don't want her involved in killing kings."
Victor shook his head and said nothing.
Even after all the time he'd spent teaching her, Angoulême still hadn't escaped the limitations of this age.
The reason she needed reassurance was simple.
Before society fully matured, there was one crime almost every civilization considered beyond compensation and beyond forgiveness.
Regicide.
To kill a king was considered a violation of both human and divine law, a blow struck directly against one of society's most vulnerable foundations.
The hands and weapons stained with royal blood were believed to carry a mark that could never be washed away.
Even rulers who wielded power to cause bloody destruction and took pleasure in doing so were considered beyond punishment, because they supposedly stood above the law, and ordinary people had no authority to judge their crimes.
That was the prevailing belief of this age.
Victor preferred a simpler principle.
Once a king became nothing more than a tyrant, killing him wasn't regicide.
It was simply putting down a tyrant.
While these thoughts wandered through his mind, Angoulême suddenly cried out from the next room.
"Huh!? Blazing Strike!?"
The witcher hurried into the adjoining room in surprise.
In the girl's hands was unmistakably his long-lost steel sword.
Blazing Strike.
Victor stared, stunned, before stepping forward and taking the weapon from her.
Its weight, balance, and construction all fit his hands perfectly.
He gave it a light swing.
Flames flowed along the blade.
There could be no doubt.
This sword was Blazing Strike!
The discovery astonished Victor.
He had lost the sword at La Valette Castle while fighting the dragon. The blade had been lodged in the creature's body when it carried the weapon away with it.
Later, he'd discovered Dragon's Dream in Vergen, proving that the dragon had appeared somewhere in Upper Aedirn.
But throughout that entire period, it had never been seen flying above the Pontar River.
Victor had already prepared himself for the possibility that he'd never recover the sword.
The hilt was spotless, and the blade had been maintained exceptionally well.
This was the work of an experienced warrior, not a sorceress.
The furnishings in this room consisted almost entirely of armor and weapons.
It was scarcely different from Saskia's quarters in Vergen, fully reflecting the owner's simple tastes and disciplined lifestyle.
Victor slid the sword back into its sheath, still deeply puzzled.
"Strange. How did Blazing Strike end up in Saskia's possession?
"Could she have encountered that golden dragon too?"
//Check out my P@tre0n for 30 extra chapters //[email protected]/Razeil0810