Looking left and right to make sure no one else could overhear, the innkeeper lowered his voice and tried to sound casual.
"Listen, good sir, I don't want any trouble..."
"Do I look like I'm here to cause trouble? Are you sure?" Victor smiled calmly and pushed his empty cup forward, signaling for another drink.
The innkeeper took out the cloudy ale and filled the cup again, his tone turning deferential.
"Don't misunderstand me, sir. Of course I don't mean you. But the man you're asking about, Hendrik, that bastard is trouble!"
"There's nobody here but the three of us. Give him the information he wants, and you'll get more."
Angoulême pulled out a small pouch of crowns and slapped it onto the counter with a crisp, pleasant clink.
One gesture was worth a thousand words.
Radovid effortlessly demolished the man's defenses.
"Hiss... All right. But please, don't ever let anyone know you heard it from me!"
"You just said Hendrik is trouble. Does anyone else care about him?" Victor asked with a derisive chuckle.
The innkeeper nodded and picked up a cup, pretending to polish it.
"Actually, yes. Last week another witcher came through here asking about Hendrik... Course, I've no idea what he wanted with him..."
It had to be Geralt.
Angoulême understood immediately, but did not interrupt.
"Hendrik's a strange fellow. Nobody knows where he came from or why he came here. He lives with a widow in Heatherton. Her husband got stabbed to death over a scrap of bread."
At this point, fear crept into the innkeeper's expression, and his voice dropped even lower.
"And last week, the very morning that witcher came asking about him, Heatherton was attacked by riders of death who brought the frost with them. The whole place is a silent ruin now. Nobody dares go near it."
The innkeeper told the story with complete seriousness, but Angoulême had already heard Victor's prophecy. They had only needed to ask because they wanted the village's exact name.
Their prophet remembered the plot.
He simply couldn't remember what the village was called.
Angoulême glanced sideways and saw Victor nod, then pushed the pouch of coins forward.
"Good. It's yours. Now go check on our meal. Tell your wife to add some more herbs. We'd better get our money's worth!"
The innkeeper tucked the purse into his clothes and hurried toward the kitchen.
The two were left alone at the bar.
"Good job adapting to the situation, but there was one small flaw."
The witcher mentor began evaluating his apprentice's performance.
"The way you pulled out the money was quite stylish. Half as impressive as me, even. But this time you should've been more discreet.
"Pay attention to the table behind you on the right. See the villager with the mouthful of rotten teeth? You've completely captivated him. I'll wager a hundred crowns that if he gets the chance, he'd be delighted to put a pitchfork through your back and take your coin purse.
"Don't look so unconvinced. If there weren't two of us traveling together, there's a good chance blood would've been spilled the moment you stepped outside this tavern.
"Never overestimate the morals of desperate people. Under extreme circumstances, an impatient mob won't even wait for you to leave. They'll attack you right here, then blame the whole thing on the outsider for provoking them."
Angoulême raised her thick black eyebrows, making her white eyes look strangely lively.
"I don't mind killing anyone who tries to rob me!"
"Of course you should defend yourself. I've got no objection to that. But you can avoid letting things reach that point in the first place.
"Unnecessary killing would tarnish all the work Vesemir and the others have done. People who know nothing about what actually happened would just start calling you the Butcher of the Crossroads.
"You have to understand, being a witcher comes with a label.
"Your personal actions shape how people see the entire group. Because of what some witchers from the School of the Cat have done, plenty of people believe witchers are nothing more than hired killers.
"I used to think Vesemir's insistence on neutrality was ridiculous. But once I truly started traveling the world, I understood why he did it. There have been many occasions when I've used neutrality as an excuse to reject requests I didn't want to accept.
"And as your mentor, here's my advice. If you don't want people forcing moral obligations onto you, start by avoiding unnecessary moral dilemmas."
Angoulême pulled a long face, raised her cup in a toast to Victor, and silently ordered him to shut up for a while.
...
Some time later.
They ate pork with their ale.
Just as the two were finishing their meal, the sound of galloping hooves suddenly came from outside.
The noise drew steadily closer. Judging from the rhythm, there were at least thirty riders.
The hoofbeats seemed to spread through the village like some kind of signal.
The drunken villagers inside immediately began fleeing the tavern as though they'd seen a ghost. Within moments, the Phantom Troupe were the only patrons left.
Then the witchers heard a loud, coarse shout coming from the square outside.
"All of you, listen up! I'm Captain Shafrin, sent here by Sergeant Ardal, and tonight I've brought you the latest administrative order from Crow's Perch!
"Listen carefully! Anyone with a cow that gives milk must bring it to Crow's Perch before the end of the week.
"After the week's end, if we find a milk cow in anyone's yard, that person gets fifty lashes on the spot, and all their property will be confiscated.
"And as a reward, anyone who reports someone hiding a milk cow will receive one sack of grain!"
A wave of agitated discussion rose among the villagers outside, but it was quickly silenced.
"Now we'll be carrying out routine security inspections to make sure no Nilfgaardian spies have infiltrated our community. If we happen to discover any hidden food stores, we'll confiscate those too, for your own protection."
He then ordered his men to begin.
Soon, cries, desperate pleas, and curses echoed throughout the Crossroads.
Angoulême pulled down one eyelid and made a face.
"You don't even need to say it. We're just going to sit here and watch. Jumping in recklessly could make things worse.
"Besides, there are thirty of them. Even if we won, we might get hurt. And the moment that happened, these peasants, terrified the Baron would retaliate, would probably tie us up themselves and sell us to the Bloody Baron!"
As she finished speaking, her hands sped up and she stuffed the remaining pieces of pork into her mouth.
Her puffed-out cheeks made her look like a hamster.
Victor raised his right hand and slapped his forehead, then closed his eyes.
"I really want to praise your brilliant summary and congratulate myself on teaching you so well, but for some reason, I feel strangely sad instead. If I had to describe the emotion precisely, I suppose I'm mourning the death of chivalry."
"Don't start acting weird again. Chivalry isn't dead. The risk is just too high to make it worthwhile!
"You understand all this perfectly. Whenever you're lecturing me, you've got an answer for everything, so why are you always the one making things difficult for yourself?"
With her mouth stuffed full of food, Angoulême's complaint came out slightly garbled.
Victor drained the rest of his ale.
"I constantly examine my own actions because I don't want this miserable world's cruelty to reshape me too quickly. It's the last bit of stubbornness I have left..."
He was just preparing to launch into a flowery explanation about the corruption of human nature and the collapse of morality when a loud bang from the door interrupted him.
Three soldiers dressed like regular troops swaggered into the tavern.
Judging by his voice, Captain Shafrin was among them.
Their footsteps abruptly stopped.
All three simultaneously looked toward the unusual pair sitting at the bar.
Two travelers in leather armor, a man and a woman, each carrying two swords across their backs. They were obviously together, and neither looked remotely easy to provoke.
Witchers again!?
Shafrin remembered the white-haired witcher they had encountered the previous week, who had later become an honored guest of the Bloody Baron.
He shook his head at his men.
No one stepped forward to cause trouble.
Instead, they pretended the two witchers did not exist, chose their seats, and called for the innkeeper.
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