The foundation of a sword dance is using feints to guide an enemy's attack into empty space, then turning your body and letting centrifugal force carry your cut through.
And drowners attack in a very simple way: a left-claw swipe, a right-claw swipe, and a small hop into a two-handed pounce. Just those three. On land they're not even like nekkers, who can burrow in and ambush you from below.
So unless the battlefield is somewhere you can't dodge—or the drowners truly have overwhelming numbers—the pack collapses in the blink of an eye. They come in brimming with swagger, and they leave clutching their heads and scattering in panic.
From triumphant screeches to desperate, shrill screams, the whole fight lasted only a few minutes—so easy their pre-set traps didn't even get the chance to matter.
They chased the survivors to the riverbank, then the three of them quietly watched the monsters dive and vanish. That was it for today. Jumping in after them and wrestling drowners in the water would be idiotic.
And then, unexpectedly, it was the knight who spoke.
"They won't come back. After being culled like this, drowners will avoid this area and relocate to some other waterway closer to a human settlement."
Victor knew he was right.
He flicked the slime off his silver sword and sheathed it, then turned to face the knight properly, hand to his chest. "Victor and Angoulême salute you, brave knight. Thank you for your selfless assistance."
"Siegfried of Denesle, of the Order of the Flaming Rose." He glanced at the many drowner corpses around them, then returned his sword to its scabbard and offered a courteous salute in return, his tone gentle. "I wouldn't call it assistance. If anything, I intruded on your work… monster hunter."
He nodded to Angoulême as well, then continued. "Forgive my interference. Female monster hunters are rare. In that situation, a knight must fulfill his duty—protecting women and children, and slaying monsters."
He wasn't wearing a helmet, revealing short blond hair. His features were sharply defined, set around bright green eyes, and his build beneath the armor was lean and solid.
"No. We're just an ordinary mercenary company," Victor corrected him immediately.
Back in Ellander, the first time he'd hung up a witcher's signboard, he'd made enemies out of thin air. This time in Vizima, he only intended to operate as a sellsword.
"Don't misunderstand," Siegfried said, as if seeing straight through Victor's caution. "I have no prejudice against witchers. On the path of slaying monsters, we're companions in purpose." He pointed toward the small kettle by the campfire, where a bit of leftover blade oil still clung to the bottom. "An expert's choice. My father once traveled with witchers."
"It truly isn't. Just mercenaries, that's all," Victor replied, shifting slightly so the light fell across his face.
When Siegfried clearly saw Victor's normal, unmutated pupils, disappointment spread openly across his expression. "What a pity. We have many contracts we could entrust to witchers."
Victor didn't bite. "Sir Knight, what brings you out here at this hour?" He smiled and gestured at the bodies on the ground. "We were hired by an alchemist to collect materials. You don't mind if we start working, do you?"
Siegfried shook his head, eyes lingering on the drowner remains. "My purpose here has already been fulfilled. Go on with your work."
He turned to leave, but after a few steps he looked back. "As mercenaries, your skill is quite refined. Would you be interested in accepting other monster-hunting commissions?"
Victor smiled. "We check the notice board in the center of the Temple Quarter every day."
With that answer, Siegfried nodded—and this time he truly left.
Once the knight was far enough away, Angoulême—silent through the entire conversation—came to Victor's side and began helping with harvesting. Even if a few had escaped, the remaining workload would keep the two of them busy for quite a while.
…
On the way back, loaded down with their haul, Angoulême reunited with Catherine, who had spent the afternoon roaming freely. Girl and eagle played around for a while before Angoulême sent her soaring into the night sky again.
Then, out of nowhere, she said, "Captain, I could do that."
"Huh?" The sudden, contextless sentence left Victor completely lost. "You could do what?"
Angoulême turned her head, her expression dead serious. "The thing you mentioned last time. The whole 'would I ever feel like finding someone to sleep with' thing. If he joined our troupe… that knight just now—Siegfried—I could do him."
Now that Victor finally understood what she meant, he replayed Siegfried's appearance in his head—blond, green-eyed, strong and imposing. It was true: the man cut an impressive figure.
Unfortunately…
"Don't even think about it," Victor said flatly. "Did you see the insignia on his shoulder? He's a church knight. By tradition and the restraints of a monastic vow, he's sworn himself to the Eternal Fire. He's meant to remain unmarried for life."
Angoulême replied without a care, "I wasn't thinking about marrying him. Just… using him once in a while. Is even that not allowed?"
"Of course it's not!" Victor rejected it instantly. Dragging someone into your group just to make them break sacred vows for "using them once in a while"—what kind of punchable worldview was that?
Thinking that, Victor's voice turned faintly ominous. "Looks like you need to develop a tiny bit more understanding… about religious vows and cultural morality…"
"No—no, no, never mind, I don't want it," Angoulême immediately shrank back. "I was just saying it to you. If we're recruiting new members, his looks at least meet my minimum standard."
The moment "more studying" came up, she folded.
Victor mentally sighed in relief, successfully crushing his troupe member's unrealistic thirst. Still, he couldn't help thinking like a long-suffering guardian: If Siegfried is her minimum standard, then her taste is at least decent. I won't wake up one day to her dragging in some lopsided disaster to scare me half to death.
…
When they got home—
"Huh? What's this?" Angoulême picked up a note from the floor near the window, glanced at the signature, and handed it straight to Victor.
He also checked the signature first, and his eyes widened in surprise. It was from Shani—apparently slipped inside through the window gap.
Thinking back, it had been several days since they'd last run into each other outside the hospital. Victor's days had been packed and busy; he could easily imagine the doctor had been just as swamped.
The note carried a faint rose scent. The handwriting, like the woman herself, was neat and delicate—pleasant to read.
"Victor… my friend. This afternoon I suddenly had a short break. Even though you mentioned no one is usually home at this time, I thought I'd come by anyway—consider it a walk. Unfortunately, you weren't here.
Shani"
Victor finished reading and smiled. The moment he lifted his head, he found Angoulême staring at him. Those sly brown eyes really could talk—her desire to sniff out gossip couldn't have been clearer.
He handed the note to her, gesturing for her to read it herself. "Stop making that face. It's just Doctor Shani—the one I mentioned—dropping by, that's all."
Then, without paying Angoulême any more attention, Victor went down to the basement to sort through the day's harvest.
With fresh drowner brains on hand, tomorrow morning's schedule was to deliver the goods to Kalkstein. And since he'd finished the previous book, it was time to borrow the next one too.