Chapter 21: THE ITHLINNE'S CODEX
The Wyvern fell on the ninth day.
Contract from a village three miles north — livestock losses, a child injured, the kind of situation where waiting meant more deaths. Gervin took the left flank while I approached from the angle Anatomy Read recommended, and the creature's priority points lit up in amber as it launched from its roost.
Three strikes. One to the wing joint that collapsed its flight pattern. One to the exposed throat when it overextended on a ground attack. One to the heart cluster when it tried to retreat.
[COMBAT COMPLETE — WYVERN (ADULT, VELEN)]
[HIGH-VALUE TARGET: +75 CP EARNED]
[TOTAL CP: 512]
The number crossed the threshold while I was still cleaning ichor from my blade.
Five hundred twelve. More than enough.
I waited until midnight.
The manor was quiet, the settlers sleeping, the watch rotation handled by Gervin's careful scheduling. I sat alone in my quarters with two fingers pressed to my left temple — the gesture that opened the Store interface.
The Ithlinne's Codex of Flesh glowed green for the first time since I'd arrived.
[ITEM AVAILABLE: ITHLINNE'S CODEX OF FLESH]
[COST: 500 CP]
[CURRENT BALANCE: 512 CP]
[CONFIRM PURCHASE?]
I focused on the confirmation for three seconds.
The weight appeared in my hands before the notification finished.
[PURCHASE COMPLETE: ITHLINNE'S CODEX OF FLESH]
[CONTINENT-LEVEL IMPLICATIONS — HANDLE WITH APPROPRIATE CAUTION]
[STORE BALANCE: 12 CP]
The document was physical — not manifested from nothing, drawn from some archive the system had access to that I didn't understand and couldn't explain. Several hundred pages bound in leather that had aged without deteriorating, dense medical notation in a hand that predated the current calendar.
I set it on the table and did not open it until dawn.
Six hours of reading.
The morning light shifted from grey to gold to the flat white of midday while I worked through the text, parsing old medical terminology against the veterinary knowledge I'd brought from my past life.
It was genuine.
A complete procedural guide for reversing magically-imposed infertility. The specific magical architecture that caused the condition. The alchemical compounds required for treatment. The surgical techniques — and they were surgical, not purely magical — that would restore function.
I understood what it meant for the one person on the Continent it was most famously written for.
A century of searching. A hundred years of being told the condition was irreversible, of watching every promising lead collapse into disappointment or deception. And here, in my hands, was the document that could end that search.
I also understood what leverage it represented.
Three years of having Yennefer of Vengerberg in my corner. Three years of the most dangerous mage on the Continent invested in my success because I held something she couldn't acquire any other way.
The transaction was straightforward. The ethics were not.
I sat with the Codex for an hour after I finished reading, thinking about what it meant to offer someone something they'd wanted for a century.
If I was manipulative about it — if I dangled the prize and extracted maximum concession — I would be doing exactly what every other person who'd ever offered Yennefer hope had done. Using her desperation. Treating her desire for a child as a weakness to exploit rather than a goal to respect.
If I was honest — completely honest, about what the Codex was and what I wanted and what I would accept if she said no — then the transaction became something different. A trade between equals. A contract where both parties understood the terms and chose freely.
The difference was in the honesty.
I pulled out parchment and began writing the second letter.
The document is genuine. I have verified its contents personally. The meeting location is the Crossroads Inn, two days' ride from Velen on the northern trade route. I will be there in ten days. If you choose not to attend, I will not contact you again. The offer stands regardless of your decision about the contract terms — you may examine the Codex and leave without obligation if that is your preference.
No manipulation. No pressure. No implication that her attendance committed her to anything.
If she came, she would come because the offer was worth evaluating, not because I'd trapped her into it.
I sealed the letter and went to find Brokk.
He was in the workshop, reviewing structural calculations for the eastern wall extension. He looked up when I entered, noted the sealed parchment in my hand, and set aside his work without comment.
"Second letter. Same routing."
"The first one reached the Brotherhood network three days ago," he said. "This one should arrive faster — the route is established."
"Ten days. I need it there before then."
He took the letter the same way he took a load-bearing specification — as something that mattered and required no embellishment. "It will be there."
"Thank you, Brokk."
He nodded and returned to his calculations. The conversation was over because it didn't need to be longer.
That evening, I stood in my quarters with the Codex secured in the locked chest I'd salvaged from the manor's original furnishings. The 500 CP parchment still hung on my wall — the target I'd set months ago, in a different season, when the settlement was barely habitable and the CP trajectory seemed impossibly long.
I pulled it down and wrote "0 CP" next to the original number.
The gap between them represented everything I'd accomplished since arriving. Every species documented. Every milestone achieved. Every integration completed. Every failure learned from.
I put the parchment in the fire and watched it burn.
The Codex was real. The meeting was set. The CP balance was zero.
And the only question left was whether the offer was honest enough for someone who had been lied to by professionals for a hundred years.
I would find out in ten days.
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