First was Karl, who was now well-known in Vizima.
Champion of the tournament, hero who saved the princess, new heir to the barony—these titles made him the center of attention wherever he went.
When the patrons recognized him, their faces showed surprise, admiration, and even flattery.
Many nodded to him and whispered greetings.
"Lord El."
"Congratulations, Your Excellency Karl!"
However, when their gazes shifted to Geralt beside him, the atmosphere changed subtly.
Those cat-like eyes and the two swords on his back were the most distinctive symbols of a Witcher.
The looks from some patrons immediately mixed with surprise, curiosity, and a barely concealed disgust and contempt, followed by whispers.
"That freak..."
"How is he with Master El?"
Almost all the attention was focused on Karl, while Geralt seemed to become an insignificant accessory, intentionally or unintentionally ignored.
However, the waitresses in the inn didn't have the same complicated worldly prejudices as humans.
Their gazes swept over Karl and Geralt with pure interest and a hunter's sharp eye.
Five young women in fitted, elegant dresses immediately greeted them warmly.
Their smiles were charming and captivating, their movements natural and intimate.
"Welcome to the House of the Night, distinguished gentlemen!"
The first girl, with long, dark auburn hair, had a soft voice and gently took Karl's arm.
Another blonde also naturally attached herself to Geralt.
They used a soft but irresistible force to guide the two of them, half-leading, half-pulling them towards a secluded yet visible booth.
During the process, their bodies inevitably made close contact.
The soft touch and alluring scent of perfume constantly tickled their senses.
Karl distinctly felt the cold fingertips of the girl holding his hand and an unusual sense of strength.
This further convinced him that they were bruxae.
Pressing them both onto comfortable cushions, the dark auburn-haired bruxa leaned over, the view from her neckline hanging prominently.
She asked with a sweet smile: "Two handsome gentlemen, what would you like to drink today?"
"We have the finest Toussaint wine brought from the south, as well as local spirits~"
Karl's gaze was like a precise ruler, quickly sweeping over the view the leaning bruxa had presented before moving away without a trace.
He maintained a polite and indifferent smile: "Let's start with two bottles of Toussaint wine, thank you."
His voice was even, betraying no ripple.
Toussaint wine?! Several guests who had pricked up their ears secretly exclaimed at the words.
That was a fine wine from the winemaking country, a true luxury in this tavern.
A bottle cost two silver coins, enough for several weeks' wages for an ordinary person.
It was simply incomparable to the ales that cost only three to five copper coins, or the common sours.
Hearing this, Geralt glanced at Karl with his cat-like eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching almost imperceptibly.
He said to the bruxa waiting for the order: "Miss, give me three bottles of Dwarven Spirit."
He paused, as if deliberately teasing Karl: "I'm not a pretty lady who needs atmosphere, nor am I impressed by a certain baron heir's style."
"Coming to an inn for wine? It doesn't work as well for me as the hard stuff."
Karl knew in his heart that Geralt was making his point in his own way.
Maintaining proper sobriety in such places was more important than enjoying the alcohol.
Of course, Karl had thought the same. His choice of wine meant tasting a famous product.
But the main reason was that wine had a relatively low alcohol content.
Especially in this environment, surrounded by bruxae, where the air, though fragrant, might actually carry risks.
He wanted to keep a clear head, even if these bruxae seemed unusually peaceful.
After the bruxa left to get their drinks, Karl turned to Geralt.
He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice: "Come on, White Wolf, don't tell me you didn't notice anything."
When Geralt heard this slightly playful nickname, his brow lifted slightly, and the lazy look on his face sharpened a bit.
He also replied quietly, almost inaudibly: "I noticed as soon as I walked in. Their heartbeats are much slower and lower than ordinary people's."
"Moreover, you can feel a slight, abnormal coolness radiating from their skin, but I didn't expect your perception to be this sharp." His amber pupils narrowed slightly.
They exchanged a knowing glance, both seeing the vigilance in each other's eyes.
They appeared relaxed in the booth, but the Witcher's mutated senses were heightened,
combined with Karl's keen observation, they constantly scanned everything around them.
While they waited for their drinks, the eyes of the bruxae moving through the tavern always swept past their table—intentionally or unintentionally.
But there was no clear malice in their gazes; rather, it was curiosity, appraisal, and the excitement of trying something new.
And most of that attention was focused on Karl.
His attractive appearance, upright posture, and especially the aura of "hero" and "noble" that now surrounded him
acted like a giant magnet, attracting the attention of these non-human races.
Several bolder bruxae even deliberately slowed down as they passed their table.
The sway of their waists was more pronounced, the hems of their skirts fluttering, their eyes meeting Karl's gaze boldly.
Seeing that he didn't look away, they would unconsciously arch their backs, making their already alluring curves even more prominent, as if silently offering themselves.
Their pale, delicate skin had a porcelain-like sheen in the dim light, very different from human women.
And Geralt, watching all this, couldn't help but feel a little helpless; Karl's appeal seemed to transcend racial boundaries.
The behavior of these bruxae was no different from that of a young girl seeing her crush, but more direct and bold.
He even noticed that a few bruxae had become a little strange when they got near Karl.
Their slender fingers unconsciously twisted the hems of their skirts, their breathing slightly quickened, clearly showing signs of arousal.
This made him, a Witcher—a "freak" constantly despised by ordinary people—truly feel what it was like to be treated differently for once.
Soon, the drinks arrived—the dark auburn-haired bruxa brought them.