For some reason, the one personally accompanying the troupe on today's monster hunt was Scoia'tael commander Yaevinn himself. He only brought two subordinates as escorts, and the three of them—along with Angoulême—kept a tacit silence the entire way, never once inserting themselves into the exchange between the "leader" and the "captain."
According to Angoulême's later verdict, those mystical, airy, cryptic conversations were simply not something human beings were meant to speak.
As they moved forward, a few strands of sunlight pierced the seams between clouds, slipping through the canopy's cover and landing warmly on Yaevinn and Victor.
Victor wore a bright, easy smile. "…You know, you personally guiding us puts a lot of pressure on us—especially on my younger crew member. She's still just a girl, hasn't seen much of the world. You make her very nervous."
—Why the hell are you here in person?
Yaevinn was clearly in an excellent mood as well. "Oh… that's not something I can help with. In fact, I'd say I'm rather mild-mannered. At the very least, I don't have a scar. And if we're judging purely by looks… you might be far more frightening than I am." He sounded genuinely amused, joking as he walked.
—I'm not telling you a damn thing.
Today the elf wore light hunting gear reinforced with metal plates. A faint smile rested on his lean face, and those narrow brown eyes gave away very little.
The captain and the commander chatted about everything under the sun along the way, lively and warm, like two people who'd been waiting forever to meet.
…
"To me… it was like a flower.
A flower that was ugly, revolting, and sickening.
—Blasco Ternav's last words"
…
When they were about ninety feet from the strange plant ahead—roughly the length of a basketball court—Yaevinn raised a hand, signaling all five of them to stop.
"Vic, is that thing really an archespore? It's nothing like what the book described…" Angoulême asked, staring in disbelief. "It looks like that—what kind of idiot would walk up to it and then get eaten?"
"Mm…" Victor was just as thrown off. It was his first time seeing this creature too. It looked like a carnivorous plant from a children's game—except its petals had hardened into sharp blades, and its flexible stem let it sway and whip around, turning into a weapon that could actively stab and slash.
Victor turned his head toward Yaevinn and asked silently with his eyes: Are you sure you didn't bring us to the wrong place?
Facing that doubt, the elf nodded firmly. "Yes. Don't second-guess it. That thing is an archespore."
So because its outer skin was a disgusting glossy brown, people decided to call it an "archespores"? Why not just call it a giant man-eating flower? It didn't resemble a normal "tree" in the slightest.
"So," Victor couldn't help asking, "what kind of idiot sees something that weird and still goes closer, close enough to get attacked?"
The elf folded his arms. "Two reasons. First, it's nocturnal. Its active range at night is larger than during the day. And under the sun it's obvious, but under moonlight it's not easy to pick out."
Then Yaevinn pointed at a hole in the ground, about a foot across. "Second—this is the secret behind its speed. Burrows opened by its underground stem.
Centered on where it is now, there are many holes like this within a ninety-foot radius. Once it switches into hunting mode, it can slip in and out of these burrows and launch attacks with ease."
…That made a lot more sense.
Victor crouched, studied the opening for a while, scraped a small amount of sticky mucus from the inside with a wood sliver, and collected it—then stood again.
Shaking his head, the witcher apprentice said, "This isn't quite what I expected. If you only read, you'd assume it's fixed in place. But now it looks like my preparations aren't enough. We'll stop here for today—I need to go back to the city and put together more gear to deal with it."
Yaevinn's expression flickered with mild surprise, and then he smiled. "Is that so? But since you came out here, you must have prepared something. Won't you show me a witcher's methods?"
Victor considered the request for a moment.
Then he took the long bundle off his back, untied the oilcloth, and revealed a rod-like object inside. "Fine. I'll handle it, then. If you want to watch, watch. The method's more or less the same—I don't believe you've never solved this by shooting oil-soaked arrows from a distance."
He opened it slowly. The object was, unmistakably, an iron umbrella—fitted with a ground brace. Once propped up, it could fully cover a person crouched behind it, and its canopy was coated with a glossy substance of unknown composition.
"Back up farther…" the witcher apprentice said.
Then he took out several packets of powder, mixed them together, and sprinkled the blend evenly into the nearest burrow. Next he pulled out paper, tore it, rolled it into a fuse, and ran it from the mouth of the hole back to the umbrella's cover. He said to Yaevinn, "This is Dancing Star powder—a burning agent from a witcher formula passed down in secret."
After confirming everyone was protected behind cover, Victor picked up a stone and threw it from a distance.
The awakened archespore suddenly plunged from its original position with a booming crack, burrowing underground.
The first time it dove, it missed its mark—popping back up still some distance from Victor. It only spat a few streams of acid from afar, all of which the iron umbrella blocked. Then it burrowed again—this time successfully bursting out from the hole dusted with burning powder.
Its own grave.
Yaevinn smiled at the result. A plant that hunted by instinct might be vicious, but it wasn't intelligent. Once a large portion of it caught fire, it wouldn't burrow to smother the flames—it would thrash in panic until it burned down to ash.
It didn't take long. The blazing torch that had been the archespore gradually guttered out. The elf stepped from behind cover and clapped repeatedly.
"Beautiful. From where I stand, that was a complete success. It seems you don't need more preparation—you can solve it efficiently right now, can't you?"
Victor shook his head again. "No… it was a failure. I need to collect archespore sap, and archespore tendrils—two materials. Burn it like that and it's useless to me…"
"Heh. I see. Different priorities, then." Yaevinn's smile remained. "To me, gathering ingredients isn't important. Eliminating the archespore is the key. You did, alone, with ease, what we need an entire squad of archers to accomplish. Truly a witcher—an expert at facing monsters."
Being praised again, Victor corrected him with a serious face. "Apprentice… I'm still only an apprentice."
…
Not long after, once they watched the three Scoia'tael disappear into the distance, Angoulême finally relaxed, stretching with a lazy yawn. She accepted Catherine onto her left hand and teased the bird lightly. "Heh heh… honestly, they're not bad people. They're really enthusiastic about our business, and all they want is a little help."
Victor tucked away the letter Yaevinn had asked him to deliver before leaving, then let out a short, cold laugh. "…Believe me. Everyone's a good person—so long as you don't have a conflict of interests with them."
"No conflict of interests…?" Angoulême rolled her eyes, then asked, "Now that they're gone, what do we do next? Are we really going to the logging camp?"
"Of course. I wanted to go take a look at the logging camp anyway. It wasn't an excuse I made up just to separate from them."
Victor waved Catherine off to stretch her wings. Angoulême's expression turned stern and grave, her thick brows knotting together so tightly it made Victor burst out laughing.
"Pff—what is this now? What are you thinking about?"
Angoulême shot him an annoyed look as he started drifting off the rails again. "…I'm thinking… Vic, you don't trust Yaevinn, and you don't trust Jacques either. Why? Why didn't my instincts warn me that something was off with them, but you still keep your guard up?"
Victor poured the archespore acid into a bottle, wrapped the iron umbrella back in its oilcloth, and slung the long bundle onto his back—gesturing for them to talk as they walked.
"Maybe right now they really aren't a threat to us, so your instincts aren't warning you. As for me—I'll never fully trust any hansa leader. That's all.
And as for why I told Jacques I'm from the School of the Cat, and why I didn't pull out a proper Dancing Star bomb in front of Yaevinn—it's even simpler. I don't want to look too valuable.
Back in my hometown of Bell Town, there's a saying: 'Wealth calls thieves.'
If I want to study peacefully in Vizima for a while—and we're already on their radar—then we should stay useful… but not so useful that we become conspicuous."
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