She walked lightly, carrying a tray, and sat down directly next to Sir Karl.
Her soft body leaned almost entirely against Sir Karl's arm; she seemed completely unafraid of spilling the wine bottles and glasses on the tray.
She leaned forward to place the wine bottle and glasses one by one on the table, a movement that almost completely exposed her ample bosom to Sir Karl's eyes.
Beneath the cool silk fabric, the breathtaking curves and full sensation were even subtly pressing against Sir Karl's upper arm.
Sir Karl could clearly smell a cold and strange fragrance from her hair, mixed with a faint scent of... blood amber.
He remained outwardly composed, pretending to be engrossed in her movements as she arranged the glasses, as if oblivious to the close proximity of temptation.
However, his fingers, holding the wine glass, tightened slightly.
Geralt took his three bottles of dwarven spirits and looked at the succubus almost clinging to Sir Karl.
Then, he looked at his own empty seat, and a very subtle hint of envy and speechlessness flashed in his cat-like eyes.
This differential treatment was a bit too much...
The two began to drink in a subtle and alluring atmosphere.
Sir Karl initially savored the Toussaint wine; its liquor had a beautiful color, a mellow and smooth taste, with complex fruit and grape aromas.
But after a few glasses, Sir Karl felt that the wine was too mild for him.
The alcohol content was too weak, more like a high-end grape juice beverage.
So, he gestured for a few more glasses of locally brewed, richer-tasting ale, and only then did he find it to his liking.
Meanwhile, Geralt began to show his 'drinking barrel' side; the dwarven spirits were spicy and strong, yet he drank them like water.
Glass after glass, a slight flush gradually appeared on his face, and his eyes seemed a little hazy.
He leaned back in his seat, seemingly completely immersed in the relaxation brought by the alcohol.
Sir Karl paid a little attention and noticed that deep within Geralt's seemingly unfocused eyes, a fleeting sharp glint occasionally flashed.
At this moment, Geralt was like a leopard lurking in the grass.
Moreover, Geralt's hand resting on the table maintained a relaxed state, ready to strike at any moment.
Sir Karl immediately understood that Geralt was not drunk at all; he was merely using this method to lower the guard of potential enemies while observing his surroundings more discreetly.
As long as there was any disturbance, or some inconsiderate fellow came looking for trouble.
This seemingly napping White Wolf could pounce at any moment and solve the problem in the most lethal way...
Outside, the sky gradually darkened, and the candlelight inside the House of Night became brighter, the atmosphere growing more ambiguous and hazy.
Seeing that it was getting late, Sir Karl gestured to the dark-haired succubus who had been keeping an eye on their table to come and settle the bill.
"Including my friend's, thank you," Sir Karl said.
Geralt, beside him, instinctively reached for his coin purse, seemingly intending to pay separately.
A Witcher was accustomed to being alone and not owing favors.
Seeing this, Sir Karl made a dismissive gesture with his hand and looked at Geralt.
His tone was sincere, with a hint of unyielding insistence: "Geralt, if you truly consider me a friend, let me pay this time."
"Next time there's an opportunity, you can treat me back."
Geralt's movements paused; he raised his cat-like eyes to meet Sir Karl's gaze.
He was silent for a few seconds, then slowly tucked his coin purse back into his waist, nodding simply: "Alright."
Sir Karl ordered three bottles of wine, twelve glasses of ale, plus Geralt's eight bottles of dwarven spirits, totaling one oren and five silver coins.
Sir Karl directly took out two gleaming oren and placed them on the tray, telling the alluring succubus: "Keep the change."
The extra five silver coins were a generous tip.
The succubus's face instantly bloomed into an even brighter smile, and a hint of surprise flashed in her eyes.
She leaned closer to Sir Karl, her red lips slightly parted, carrying a cool fragrance, seemingly wanting to imprint a kiss of thanks on his cheek.
Sir Karl reacted extremely quickly, almost subconsciously raising his palm, perfectly blocking the space between his cheek and her lips.
"Hmm?" The succubus let out a soft, displeased hum, looking at Sir Karl with a resentful gaze, as if accusing him of being unromantic.
Sir Karl smiled slightly, without explaining.
He wasn't repulsed by her, but he was genuinely worried about leaving a lipstick mark.
If he went back with that, Triss wouldn't be easily appeased with just a few explanations.
One should know that the main business of the House of Night was not selling drinks, but rather 'softening' the hard edges...
After settling the bill, the two prepared to leave.
Just as they were about to reach the door, a clear voice came from the direction of the stairs leading to the second floor.
"Please wait, Mr. El, Mr. Geralt."
The two turned around to see a blonde, blue-eyed girl in a dark blue, low-cut, high-slit long dress standing at the top of the stairs.
She was elegant, with a bright smile on her face: "Our boss wishes to meet with the two of you."
Sir Karl and Geralt exchanged a glance, both seeing wariness and curiosity in each other's eyes.
The mysterious boss of the House of Night, the rarely seen Night Queen, actually wanted to meet them?
They followed the girl up the stairs; the second floor was more private and exquisite than downstairs, with thick carpets and walls adorned with strangely styled oil paintings.
Strangely, a large number of candles were lit here, their flames flickering, illuminating the room brightly, as if the owner had some special lighting Hobbies.
In a spacious living room, they met the owner of the House of Night, the Night Queen.
She was languidly reclining on a crimson velvet sofa, holding a goblet in her hand.
The liquid in the cup was a deep dark red, viscous and clinging to the sides, definitely not wine, but more like... fresh blood.
She had a thick head of reddish-brown curly hair, a face as exquisitely sculpted as a statue, and a pair of eyes as deep as ancient wells.
She wore a provocative red low-cut gown that accentuated her breathtaking curves, and black silk openwork long gloves, adding a touch of mystery and allure.
"Welcome, the pride of Vizima, the champion of the Martial Arts Tournament, Sir Karl."
She spoke first, her voice possessing a peculiar magnetism, pleasant yet sending a chill down one's spine.
Then, she turned her gaze to Geralt: "And you, the famed Geralt of Rivia."
"Welcome to my humble establishment, I hope you had a pleasant afternoon, and please feel free to visit often."
She exchanged a few seemingly warm pleasantries, praising Sir Karl's bravery and Geralt's past.
But the conversation consistently revolved around trivial small talk, never getting to the point.
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