A warm, mellow voice sounded leisurely.
"...In pursuit of the Kingslayer, the brave witcher traveled far and wide. In Flotsam, he killed Bernard Loredo, yet even that piece of human filth had a few people willing to mourn him.
"Fortunately, Flotsam remained in Temerian hands. Command of the garrison was transferred to a Temerian nobleman, a sworn enemy of Kaedwen and, more importantly, an enthusiastic fellow angler.
"Even many years later, the people of Lobinden would still gather around their bonfires and tell legends of the witcher's exploits. Stories such as his earth-shaking Dragon Shout, and his beautiful rendition of 'Carrying You.'
...
"In the Pontar Valley of Aedirn, the witcher witnessed Saskia the Dragonslayer achieve a magnificent victory. On the lands previously known as Upper Aedirn or Lormark, she founded Saskia's Republic, creating a haven for all those who dreamed of freedom or had nowhere else to call home.
"Even that mischievous old rascal Zoltan Chivay once believed Vergen was a blessed land. Unfortunately, when Saskia's identity as a dragon was exposed, darkness immediately and mercilessly descended upon those dreamers striving to build a new order.
...
"As for Temeria, after Foltest's death, countless nobles competed for the kingdom's greatest treasure, its throne. Many dreamed of wearing the crown, yet no one could gather enough support to sit upon the throne in Vizima.
"Fortunately, just as the kingdom approached the brink of civil war, little Anaïs La Valette appeared in time to become the patriots' final hope.
"John Natalis became regent and the land's de facto ruler, while the little girl became the symbol of a united kingdom.
...
"The mages secretly manipulating events certainly bore some responsibility for the storm known as the Kingslayers that swept across the North, but by no means all of it.
"Yet under relentless propaganda, common folk turned against sorceresses and came to hate every sort of 'magic freak,' witchers included.
"Castles that had once welcomed sorceresses skilled in the magical arts now closed their gates before they could even arrive seeking shelter. What followed was a fanatical witch hunt.
"It was an age filled with uncertainty, for the old order had been thoroughly trampled into the dirt. People were wise and foolish, faithful and doubtful, all at once.
...
"Fortunately, after enduring those bitter days, those of us who had helped shape the fate of the world could finally enjoy a little respite.
"Zoltan set out in search of opportunity, convinced that once he returned laden with riches, his fiancée would finally look upon him differently. As for me, I leisurely immersed myself in my memories.
"Who could have imagined that the violent storm stirred up by the Kingslayers, the storm that ravaged the North, was merely the beginning of an even darker tempest?
"And as for Geralt of Rivia and Victor of Kaer Trolde, as their most loyal and courageous friend, I shall continue objectively recounting their legendary adventures in the chapters to come."
Excerpt from A Brave Man's Monologue, Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove
...
Cicadas chirped through the summer night as water rushed nearby.
Several hours after leaving Loc Muinne, the Phantom Troupe stopped beside the Pontar, pitched their tent, lit a fire, and settled down to rest.
They could certainly have found more comfortable accommodations inside the city, but neither Victor nor Angoulême wanted to sleep somewhere permeated by the smell of roasted flesh.
And although neither said it aloud, the two shared an unspoken understanding.
Neither ever wanted to return to that city again.
Under a sky filled with stars, Angoulême, the Golden Eagle of Temeria, washed the accumulated blood and grime from herself in the river, dressed, and returned to the tent.
Unsurprisingly, her leader, who had finished bathing earlier, was stirring his miraculous alchemical cauldron.
"Listen carefully, Angoulême! This is a very challenging mixture. I need complete concentration. If I'm disturbed, there's an eighty percent chance it'll explode!"
After that warning, coupled with Victor's intensely focused expression, Angoulême wisely remained quiet rather than interfere with the alchemist's work.
She silently sat down in the reclining chair beside him and began recalling their conversation on the road.
...
"Whaaat... We're going back to Novigrad!?"
"That's right. According to the divine revelation received by your esteemed leader and prophet, Lord Victor, returning to Novigrad is our optimal choice."
"Why? I thought you'd want to go back to Kaer Morhen or head for Toussaint."
"What made you think I'd want to go to either of those places?"
Angoulême thought, Because after seeing an entire city filled with mountains of corpses and rivers of blood, you looked like your melodramatic streak was acting up again and you needed somewhere far away from blood and fire to recover!
But she kept that thought safely inside her head.
Being as clever as she was, Angoulême knew better than to say it aloud.
If she committed the crime of mocking her superior to his face, Victor would undoubtedly invent all sorts of creative punishments under the noble banner of "education."
Victor kicked aside a stone and examined the plants growing along the roadside for any unfamiliar species. He failed to notice his young apprentice silently complaining about him.
Otherwise, he certainly would have taught her the true meaning of Thunderfury!
"The reason we're returning to Novigrad is simple. I know that Ciri is coming back soon!"
His explanation was perfectly casual.
That name alone was enough to explain everything.
Sure enough, Angoulême was stunned.
"What!? Ciri is coming back? Melitele's tits! Geralt is definitely going to regret leaving early and missing this prophecy."
"Stop learning that ridiculous nonsense from dwarves!"
Victor yawned.
"It's true, though. If Geralt hadn't left, there are quite a few things about the future I could have revealed in advance. They would've been a great help with the chaotic mess that is his life."
"Is your 'future sight' still centered around Geralt? Can't you switch it to somebody else?" Angoulême asked curiously.
"There's nothing I can do about it. My prophetic ability is limited to Geralt's perspective. I can only observe things that he sees or hears."
"That's how you know Yennefer, isn't it!? I knew it! You told Letho you knew her really well, but you've never even had a chance to meet her. Wait... Does that mean when Geralt has sex with women, you can watch from the sidelines too?"
Victor silenced Angoulême with a look.
"Every sign indicates that my future sight is about to reach its peak. Novigrad is an extremely important crossroads. Unless something unexpected happens, Ciri will appear there before long, and she'll inevitably visit Whoreson Junior. All we need to do is stay in the city and wait. She'll return soon enough."
"Hmm. Then once Yennefer is back too, Geralt's whole family will finally be reunited."
"It won't be that simple. Ciri isn't coming back merely to visit family. She'll be bringing dangerous enemies with her.
"The Wild Hunt."
...
Brilliant, magnificent light suddenly erupted from the cauldron and reflected in Angoulême's eyes, interrupting her recollection.
Strangely enough, despite its intensity, the light wasn't dazzling at all.
Unknown Void runes appeared beneath her feet and throughout the space around her body.
Victor had once explained that the magic formation beneath them was called the Wheel of Truth, a symbol that an epic item had been successfully created.
But now, a massive and substantial pillar of light engulfed the entire tent before expanding beyond it.
It even came with sound effects, accompanied by ethereal music that seemed to descend from the heavens.
The spectacle was enormous.
No matter how she looked at it, this was clearly something extraordinary.
Even Angoulême, who had watched Miraculous Alchemy countless times, had never witnessed anything like it.
The three-dimensional Wheel of Truth sealed within itself the power of laws obtained through communion with the world.
It was proof of the legendary.
The pillar of light gradually contracted and faded, but the excitement within Victor only grew more intense.
Before today, he had succeeded at legendary alchemy only once, when he created the Grass Draught used for his own mutations.
But that success had largely been forced through with rampaging spiritual power. It was almost impossible to reproduce, the sort of miracle one could only encounter through extraordinary luck.
This second legendary creation, however, had relied upon the outstanding quality of its ingredients and stable spiritual power.
This was a success that could be reproduced.
Using a ladle, the alchemist poured the liquid into a test tube.
Even through the glass, he could unmistakably feel the pulse of life radiating from within.
[Name: Dragon Power Potion]
[Type: Recovery]
[Quality: Legendary]
[Traits: Divine Petal, Dripping Dew, Super Quality]
[Effect: Temporarily grants the power of a dragon]
[Restriction: Legendary Physique & Miraculous Alchemist]
[Note: Drink me and survive, and you'll have earned the right to write a legend.]
Victor noticed Angoulême's sparkling eyes.
They practically had I WANT IT written across them.
He shook his head seriously.
"It's not that I don't want to give you one. This thing simply isn't meant for normal people. And without weapons and armor capable of matching the boost, you wouldn't even be able to use its full potential. You'd be better off drinking an improved Thunderbolt.
"It's called the Dragon Power Potion. After drinking it, your body can temporarily erupt with strength comparable to that of a dragon. Unfortunately, the requirements for using it are so harsh that its practical value is limited.
"The minimum requirement is a legendary physique, something far beyond the limits of a witcher. Under normal circumstances, this stuff is meant for trolls or giants.
"If your basic physical condition can't withstand the potion's power, you'll simply explode and die after drinking it. Even I need to rely on my status as an alchemist to use it despite not meeting the normal requirements."
Realizing there was no chance she would get one, Angoulême made a disappointed face.
Having already experienced the power of epic weapons, it was only natural for her to be filled with anticipation toward legendary-grade alchemy.
Victor shrugged and placed the Dragon Power Potions, weapons comparable to miniature nuclear bombs, inside his herbal satchel.
The potion required dragon blood as its base ingredient. Between the rarity of the materials and the extremely narrow range of people capable of using it, Victor had only made two test tubes as emergency reserves.
...
Victor extinguished the fire, packed away his large cauldron, spread out his bedding, and lay down to sleep.
After feeding Catherine, Angoulême zipped straight into her sleeping bag.
The tent remained quiet for quite some time.
Just as Victor was about to fall asleep, Angoulême began a bedtime conversation.
"Vic, there's something I want to ask you. You weren't actually that angry about Letho killing those kings, were you? You don't really care that much, right?"
"Hmm... To tell you the truth, at first I wanted to stop Letho because the deaths of kings would lead to chaos and famine.
"The reason I kept chasing them was because I wanted to understand why people who had held so firmly to their convictions had chosen to change.
"So yes, you're right. I really don't care whether kings live or die."
Corion's voice was gentle and calm.
"You know something? If history has taught us anything, it's that anyone can be killed."
Angoulême chuckled foolishly.
"That's good. I didn't want you to be angry at Letho. More than once, I heard Auckes and Serrit talk about how miserable their lives were in the South. They really wanted to rebuild the School of the Viper."
"Don't worry! We settled this when we camped outside Ellander. The Phantom Troupe always stands with its friends, and only with its friends."
Satisfied with his answer, Angoulême's breathing soon became slow and even.
Victor gradually became sleepy again as well.
...
While the Phantom Troupe enjoyed a peaceful night deep within the Blue Mountains, far to the south, the capital of Toussaint was considerably less tranquil.
Inside Beauclair Palace, Her Enlightened Ladyship, Duchess Anna Henrietta, was furious.
The reason for her anger was quite simple.
A terrifying "Beast" was rampaging across the lands of Toussaint.
And it certainly wasn't one of those corrupted creatures with goat horns that assumed the shape of women.
After all, even Anna Henrietta knew that succubi merely attacked men at night and subjected them to indecent acts too shameful to describe.
They did not disembowel them.
The deaths of two nobles in succession had thrown the duchy into panic, and its knights-errant were helpless against a monster that ordinary blades seemingly could not defeat.
Meanwhile, dear Fringilla Vigo had traveled to the Nilfgaardian capital and never returned.
Even after Anna Henrietta wrote to her cousin Emhyr, he sent no reply or explanation.
Thus, Anarietta was forced to consider recruiting a brave witcher to deal with the matter.
And when she thought of witchers, the first name that entered the duchess's mind was Victor of Kaer Trolde.
She suddenly remembered that before leaving Toussaint the previous year, Victor had asked Vivienne to pass along a message.
"If some terrifying series of murders occurs one day, Your Grace should immediately send someone to find Geralt of Rivia. He is the best man for dealing with that kind of trouble!"
Could Victor have already discovered clues last year!?
Her thoughts raced.
Anna Henrietta ordered her Chamberlain, Sebastian Le Goff, to summon several groups of knights and send them north in search of Victor of Kaer Trolde and Geralt of Rivia.
...
Night passed.
The sun rose.
Far to the south stood the greatest empire in the world and in recorded history, the Nilfgaardian Empire.
Its capital, Nilfgaard, stood on the banks of the Alba and was also known as the City of Golden Towers.
Northern legends claimed the name came from Nilfgaard constructing the emperor's palace out of gold.
In reality, it was simply because sunlight reflected from the roof of the Imperial Palace, making it shine as brilliantly as gold.
That morning, within the palace that embodied the glory of the Empire, Vattier de Rideaux waited outside the study to be summoned.
He wore the traditional black-and-gold formal attire of the Empire.
He had come to report the latest developments from the summit at Loc Muinne.
According to Shilard's letter, the results had been so overwhelmingly successful as to border on perfection.
Vattier was confident he would receive His Imperial Majesty's praise.
The wait lasted longer than expected, but the viscount remained perfectly composed.
He even used the spare time to adjust the position of his epaulettes and smooth the wrinkles from his clothes.
Not everything benefited from haste.
During his long career in intelligence, he had learned to wait patiently until the perfect moment arrived...
Click.
The door opened.
A sorceress emerged from the room.
Her eyes shimmered violet, and her face was dazzlingly beautiful, a provocative, dangerous, almost unnatural kind of beauty.
Glossy raven-black curls spilled over her shoulders, reflecting light like peacock feathers as they twisted and bounced with every movement.
Around her exposed, elegant neck, a black velvet ribbon held a glittering star-shaped ornament, an obsidian star set with active diamonds.
Her carefully shaped eyebrows had been darkened with charcoal. Her eyelashes were long and thick, her lips full, and a small beauty mark adorned the corner of her mouth.
With every breath, the generous curves beneath black fabric and white lace subtly rose and fell.
Every detail of the sorceress had been deliberately emphasized and accentuated, radiating an aggressive, consciously cultivated mature allure.
Their eyes met.
They exchanged polite nods.
At that moment, the herald announced that Vattier de Rideaux could enter for his audience.
He drew a deep breath, bowed, and entered the room.
As the sorceress passed him, a faint, defiant smile curled at the corner of Yennefer's lips.
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