"And... these aren't the kinds of premium scents that ordinary tavern maids can afford." Her voice was still smiling, but sharp as a blade.
As she finished speaking, she softly snapped her fingers.
Snap! The candle holders around the bedroom instantly ignited.
The warm candlelight dispelled the darkness and illuminated what Triss was wearing at that moment.
A very seductive dark green lace lingerie, even more striking against her fiery red hair and snow-white skin.
She looked at Karl with a smile, but her green eyes sparkled with scrutiny.
Karl didn't answer, but immediately took action.
He abruptly turned around and embraced her amidst her soft cry.
Then, taking a few steps towards the bed, he gently laid her down on the soft bedding.
Then he leaned over, placing his hands on either side of her body, his face slowly approaching, his intention clear.
Triss extended her pale palm and pressed it against his chin, stopping him from getting closer.
The smile in her eyes grew stronger, her tone sweet and teasing: "Darling, don't try to change the subject so quickly."
"Tell me, how did these different, expensive scents get on you? An ordinary tavern maid couldn't afford them, could she?"
Karl looked at the jealous yet still breathtakingly beautiful sorceress beneath him and smiled helplessly.
He confessed openly: "I went to the House of the Night with Geralt for a drink to celebrate. That's all."
"Of course, just drinks. Nothing else."
"The House of the Night?!" Triss's face instantly changed at the name, and her anger flared.
As a sorceress, she had clearly heard the details of that place.
But when she heard the second half of Karl's sentence, she didn't act rashly.
She looked him over carefully; aside from the smell of alcohol and mixed perfumes, his clothes were neat, and she couldn't find a trace of lipstick on him.
Her expression softened a little, she snorted softly, her eyes still suspicious, but more coquettish and provocative.
"Hmph, you say you didn't? I don't believe it... Is there really nothing else to do? Just talk..."
Before she could finish, she suddenly exerted force, taking advantage of Karl's unpreparedness to push him aside, deftly rolling over and straddling him.
She looked down at Karl, her long fiery red hair cascading down, her eyes sparkling with spring, a hint of mischief and incomparable temptation in them.
"...You need to prove it with your actions."
The candlelight flickered, reflecting the intertwined figures on the bed.
The scent of roses mingled with ambiguous sighs, proving the night was long and intense.
......
The next morning, just as dawn broke, Karl was already up.
He carefully washed and dressed neatly.
Looking back, Triss was still deep in sleep, her cheeks flushed with satisfaction, like ripe apples.
She would occasionally frown slightly, slowly stretch, and a sweet smile always played at the corners of her lips.
She was clearly very satisfied with the "proof" process from last night.
Karl lowered his steps, left the house, and headed to the inn where he had stayed temporarily before the tournament.
At this time, Dalton and Phillip had just gotten up and were washing.
Dalton moved quickly—washing, making the bed, packing luggage—all in one go, appearing capable and composed.
Phillip, on the other hand, was noticeably a few beats slower, having just become Karl's squire.
Although Dalton was teaching him on the side, many habits weren't fully formed yet, and there was still a hint of teenage awkwardness and slight nervousness in his movements.
Knock, knock!
Hearing the knock, Dalton asked cautiously: "Who is it?"
"It's me, Karl."
Dalton immediately stepped forward, opened the door, and respectfully saluted: "Lord Karl!"
Karl entered the room, smiled at the two of them without pleasantries, and said directly: "Get ready. It's time for you to head back to Baron's Meadow."
He pointed to the boxes piled in the corner, containing the winnings from the tournament.
For example, the Temerian Lily Halberd, the Nymphs armor, and the fine warhorse "Night Wind" to replace his current horse; the old horse also needed to be taken along.
"Take all these rewards back and give them to Raymond." Karl calmly ordered.
He still called him Raymond, not father.
Although the legitimization document confirmed their paternity and legal relationship,
the estrangement of over a decade and the almost complete lack of emotional foundation made the title of "father" still feel unfamiliar and difficult for him.
Dalton immediately bowed: "Yes, Lord Karl! We are ready to go!"
Phillip also quickly bowed and nervously followed suit.
They immediately bent down, ready to move the heavy boxes and equipment.
However, Karl gently raised his hand and stopped their movements.
"Wait, don't move them just yet... before you leave,"
"I also need to hire a reliable Witcher to escort you and these things back to Baron's Meadow." Karl's voice was even.
Dalton nodded, no surprise on his face. He knew the value of these items.
The exquisitely crafted Nymphs plate armor, the Temerian Lily Halberd symbolizing glory and strength, and the divine steed Night Wind.
And most importantly, the legitimization document issued by King Foltest himself, which had changed Lord Karl's fate.
These things carried great value, so much so that any robber would take the risk.
Hiring an experienced Witcher to escort them on this journey was a sensible decision.
But one thing filled Dalton's heart with doubt and a slight worry.
He hesitated, looking at Karl's calm profile.
Finally, he gathered his courage and cautiously asked: "Lord Karl... are you... not going back to Baron's Meadow with us?"
He carefully observed Karl's reaction, and seeing that he wasn't immediately displeased, he continued: "If... if Lord Raymond saw you returning in triumph with us, he... he would be very happy."
At this moment, Dalton paused, as if choosing his words carefully.
Then, with a slight nervousness, he softly added the title: "...Young Master."
When the words "Young Master" were spoken, Dalton's heart was in his throat.
He knew very well Karl's attitude towards Lord Raymond; he still called him by name, never once the title of father.
He was afraid that this title, too close and carrying a sense of belonging, might anger the young man before him, who was already high in status and possessed outstanding martial skills.
When Karl heard the title "Young Master," his lips twitched slightly, as if he wanted to say something.