Cicadas sang on the summer night, and the river murmured along the bank. Suddenly, a dark figure leaped down from beneath a tree.
"You idiot. It was definitely you who exposed our trail again. Can't you improve even a little?"
That cold, sharp-tongued style belonged to Serrit. With his headscarf tied on, his upper body alone made him look a little like a masked assassin, though his lower half was clad in fitted leather trousers.
"Bullshit! It has nothing to do with me, all right? Vic's become a witcher now. If he still couldn't sense us, that would be a real problem!" The second dark figure stepped out from behind a tree. Wearing a medieval assassin's hood, Auckes was still as cheerful and talkative as ever.
"What's interesting is that little Angoulême noticed us even earlier than our dear Victor! Her improvement is even more exaggerated than a witcher's. Last year, she had no idea what was going on from beginning to end." From behind a huge boulder emerged the shadow of another boulder. The burly, powerful bald man with the cross-shaped scar on his head was none other than Letho of Gulet!
Dropping the stirring rod, Victor was in an excellent mood. He stepped forward and embraced the three of them one by one, then brought them over to the campfire.
In Victor's heart, these witchers of the Viper School were all good friends, the kind he did not often meet, but could trust with his heart.
Last year, when he had fought the vampire woman in the sewers, they had appeared in time to help. Afterward, by the shores of Lake Vizima, they had feasted, boasted drunkenly, exchanged heartfelt words, compared scars, and fooled around in the cemetery. The few of them had built a very good friendship.
Moreover, the vitality broth formula Letho had selflessly shared before parting was still a drink Victor often used, and he always remembered that kindness.
And Angoulême, as though nothing had happened, helped arrange seats and provided food and drink. That proved even more that their friendship had not gone sour.
After a long separation and reunion, this time the wealthy Victor was hosting. Of course, it would not be as shabby as last time, when they had only roasted fish. Wild boar legs and beef ribs went straight onto the grill, Vizima Champion came first, and pepper vodka followed!
"Oh, my dear heavens, those eyes of yours really are special. I've never seen anything that strange!"
"Shut up! Doesn't the roast pork leg smell good? Stuff your mouth. No one will think you're mute!"
"Vic, don't mind him. It's a side effect of the Trial of the Grasses. He's good at talking nonsense!"
"It's fine. I'm sure he's jealous!"
"Tch! I don't need to be jealous. Look at these deep golden cat eyes. Lilian from the Thighs of Desire loves them. She says every time she sees them, her whole body gets hot!"
"You idiot, you actually took sales patter seriously?"
"Hahahahahahaha!"
Everyone burst into laughter.
The air was filled with cheer. Four witchers and one banquet expert drank in great gulps and ate meat in large bites. Once they had eaten and drunk their fill, they began boasting, telling the tales of martial glory they had experienced after parting. In this regard, witchers were no different from ordinary men.
However, what differed from last time was that Victor did most of the talking, with Angoulême adding details, because what the two of them had experienced over the past year was truly extraordinary.
Especially the stories that had taken place in the Skellige Isles. Although Victor spoke very reservedly and tried his best to omit the power of his unbelievable alchemy, even the castrated version of the Journey of the Rising Dragon made the well-traveled Viper School witchers admit that it was full of twists, turns, and astonishing moments.
The banks of the Yaruga became a place where snakes and wolves played. That day, they drank until dawn.
…
The next morning, while Angoulême was still sleeping soundly in the tent, all the witchers were already awake. Serrit and Auckes went into the woods to move around, while Letho solemnly invited Victor to speak by the banks of the Yaruga.
The big man's serious appearance made the youth become serious as well, so the two of them arrived at the riverside one after the other. The surroundings were open, with no danger of being overheard.
Stopping, Victor stretched lazily. "What's going on, Letho? What do you want to tell me?"
Letho turned around. His snake eyes stared at Victor. Seeing the calmness in his gaze and the smile at the corner of his mouth, his granite-like face also loosened slightly.
"Brother Vic, there's a difficult matter I'd like to ask your help with. Originally, you weren't the first choice, but since we happened to meet here, I thought you might be willing to help."
Bending down, Victor picked up a pebble and threw it toward the center of the river.
Letho's voice was deep and heavy. "The Grapeshot and Dancing Star you gave us last time later showed their brilliance in a certain conflict, fully proving how exquisite your craft is. And in our Viper School, there is a special bomb that has long been lost. It's called Northern Wind. I hope you can help me recreate it!"
The moment he heard that name, Victor's heartbeat suddenly sped up by one beat, because he remembered it deeply. Northern Wind was an extremely useful freezing bomb in the game, capable of unconditionally freezing all monsters within a certain range.
The alchemist had long wanted to make this kind of bomb. That liquid-nitrogen-like freezing effect could not possibly be so terrifying in reality, but there should at least be a prototype.
Unfortunately, after two years in the witcher world, he had practically worn through the Wolf School's texts and still found nothing of the sort. He had not heard of it in any major library either. Who would have thought it was actually a secret of the Viper School?
Thinking that Bombman was about to add another sharp weapon to his arsenal, Victor, overflowing with craftsmanship and enthusiasm, took Letho's hand without the slightest hesitation.
"I do!"
Their eyes met. Suddenly, both of them thought of the reappearance of a certain subtle scene…
As if nothing had happened, Victor released Letho's hand. "I mean, I'm willing to help recreate the lost bomb, Northern Wind!"
"I understand. Thank you, Batman. Also, I'm sorry, but you don't fit my tastes. I won't marry you." While saying such outrageous things, Letho's deadpan face remained as steady as a mountain. "There are also a few small tools, the *** you used before, and the **** as well. I'd like to trouble you to make a few sets. Of course, we'll pay!"
"Is this about money?" After hearing the request, Victor rolled his eyes at Letho, then spread his hands and shook his head. "With our friendship, you were so serious and called me out here alone that I thought it was some troublesome situation.
"That's it?
"What problem is there? Victor's Alchemy Workshop is happy to serve you."
…
The first and most important rule of selling bombs is this, never be injured by the goods you sell yourself.
, Sapience Ignis, Elder Speech: Sapiens ignis
…
In the distant south, in the capital of the Nilfgaardian Empire, the magnificent city seated on the banks of the Alba River, the City of Golden Towers, shone brilliantly beneath the setting sun.
Bowing as he withdrew from the audience chamber, Viscount Vattier de Rideaux brushed off his epaulet beneath the awed gazes of the attendants, then marched away with proper steps.
Today truly was a good day. As the emperor's loyal hound, Mr. de Rideaux was currently very pleased, because his diligent work had received His Majesty's praise and approval.
"A sword is merely one of many tools in a ruler's hand, Vattier. Your service is worth its price!"
This infiltration and sabotage operation in Temeria had not achieved complete success, but the emperor had liked that hand-drawn picture, Burning Vizima, very much. Although they had failed to retrieve the method of producing mutant monsters, as long as the other countries did not have it either, then Nilfgaard's sword remained the sharpest.
However, thinking of the subsequent developments, Vattier frowned. Foltest was actually willing to marry Adda the White to Radovid V and form a marriage alliance. Whether they were each making their own calculations, or truly intended to reconcile, required more personnel to investigate.
Then there was Victor Corion, the one rumored to have been recognized by Ciri as her younger brother, the Dovahkiin of Skellige. Somehow, he had gotten mixed up in this incident as well. And his actions, even if they conformed to the rules of a witcher, had caused disastrous damage to the entire plan.
It could be said that without Victor, there would be no Adda the White. And without Adda the White's identification, Roderick might not necessarily have suffered losses, and there certainly would not have been a marriage alliance between Temeria and Redania.
As for the method of producing mutant monsters, although it was uncertain who had killed Azar, according to the Professor, it had been either him or Geralt.
And speaking of Geralt, that connected once again to the Burning Omen. By this point, every prerequisite of the Burning Omen should have been fulfilled. Then, would Ciri really appear again?
Remembering the emperor's ambiguous reaction after reading the report just now, Vattier sighed deeply. The great Emhyr var Emreis perhaps had only this one weakness, his daughter, Cirilla.
Arriving in the central courtyard, according to his schedule, the viscount should originally have reviewed documents for several more hours. However, his overall mood was quite good at the moment, so he decided to reward himself a little.
Yes, he thought. By the gods, I deserve this. Work can wait until tomorrow anyway. I'm going to find Cantarella and relax body and mind beside lovely Cantarella.
His mind made up, the viscount no longer hesitated. He directly changed direction, did not return to his office, and instead crossed the garden and left the palace.
…
Living in the Trade Quarter of Nilfgaard City, the girl nicknamed Cantarella, Carthia van Canten, was a nineteen-year-old university student. Because of the preferences of her patron, Viscount de Rideaux, she had dyed her golden hair brown. Her emerald-green eyes were hazy and mysterious.
In the room, lying face down on the bed with a pillow under him, Vattier de Rideaux continued playing with Carthia van Canten's fingers. "Ah, still so comfortable. Thank you for your service. Where was I just now?
"Oh, right. Only after receiving the follow-up report did I learn that our Dovahkiin, do you remember him? That false prophet from Skellige last time! He got involved again this time. Who does he think he is, a prince from the East?
"He actually ran into an abandoned ancient tomb and saved that bitch Adda. If he hadn't interfered, the gains from my work this time would have multiplied several times over! Sweetheart, don't you think he's very annoying?"
There was no answer. Cantarella left the bedside and walked toward the wine cabinet with an absentminded expression.
Because Viscount de Rideaux did not need her answer. She only needed to massage and listen, providing her patron with a relaxed environment where he could speak freely and say whatever he wanted.
Conversely, if she showed interest, answered rashly, or offered an opinion, Mr. Vattier would soon lose his affection for her and seriously consider sinking her to the bottom of the Alba River.
And because of certain reasons, even after a year had passed, her work was still limited to massage, massaging Vattier. To this day, it remained so.
However, Cantarella's skill and methods in massage, combined with her passion and focus, were enough to ensure the user received ultimate enjoyment.
"In our line of work, accidents are unavoidable. Usually, we only need to eliminate them," Vattier said bitterly. "But this Dovahkiin won't do. He's Skellige's treasure. Extreme measures against him must be used carefully. His Imperial Majesty's attitude is also ambiguous. He only instructed me to continue observing! This kind of hesitation when decisiveness is required is simply…"
With a dissatisfied snort, Vattier de Rideaux sat up and accepted the wineglass Cantarella offered with both hands, the cup filled with Toussaint's Fiorano rosé.
Although its reputation could not compare with Est Est, Fiorano rosé had a uniquely sweet flavor and counted as the viscount's new favorite.
After taking two sips, he set the wine aside, inserted his fingers into Cantarella's brown hair, stroked it gently, and spoke again. The girl listened attentively.
"Victor Corion, Dovahkiin," murmured the head of the imperial intelligence department. "The Burning Omen is a very cunning verbal trap. Four sentences with no logic or connection, and not even any rhyme! Yet because the final result conforms to people's wishes, it has become a prophecy they expect to be fulfilled.
"I increasingly feel that he is a hateful fraud. Yes, since I cannot act against him directly, perhaps I can try starting elsewhere. For example, by targeting those connected to him and exposing his true face…"
As the viscount spoke, Cantarella lifted the blanket, untied his robe, and bent down to begin the massage.
Feeling her soft, burning, and smooth fingers touch his body, Vattier exhaled in harmonious anticipation. Truly an innate talent, he thought.
"Do you know? We actually have a major plan right now. A truly major plan is being carried out! By the Black Sun, if it goes smoothly, the North will fall completely into chaos, allowing Nilfgaard to take whatever it wants!"
Having received praise, de Rideaux was in an excellent mood. Comfortable and relaxed in both body and mind, he unknowingly began to speak of something he should not say, a genuine secret that had to remain hidden in the dark.
And behind the viscount, slowly and skillfully using her talent for massage, Carthia van Canten's lips curled upward. She had a feeling she was about to learn another new secret!
As the informant placed beside Vattier by the imperial sorceress Assire var Anahid, during more than a year of massage sessions, every sentence the viscount told her, every fragment of information, every single word he had spoken, Carthia would afterward repeat to the sorceress without missing the slightest detail.
But never once had Vattier's words made her tremble from the depths of her soul the way they did now!
"Cantarella, do you believe kings can be assassinated?"
For people of the medieval world, the shock of this topic was beyond doubt. Even though Carthia had been expecting to hear a secret, her stable hands could not help trembling slightly, and Viscount de Rideaux immediately felt it.
Suddenly realizing what he was saying, Vattier abruptly sat up and glared fiercely at Cantarella, as though he wanted to chew her up and swallow her.
The university student showed just the right amount of ignorant fear. "I… I'm sorry. That word was too frightening…"
The viscount took a deep breath and felt that perhaps he was being overly suspicious, but de Rideaux no longer had any mood to enjoy himself. Refusing Cantarella's service, he got out of bed and dressed.
"Don't mind it. I simply remembered something very important that must be handled right now. I'll come see you again in a few days." Before leaving, Viscount Vattier de Rideaux gently comforted the bewildered university student, then turned and left without looking back.
He had already made up his mind. Once he returned, he would send someone to deal with Cantarella. Over the past year, she had learned far too much. This matter was extremely important and had to be handled immediately.
And Carthia, who leaned against the door with tender affection and watched Vattier leave gently, closed the door and immediately pulled out the packed luggage from under the bed. She used candle flame to set the curtains and sheets alight, then slipped into a hidden passage and began her escape.
She knew very well that what she had heard was not merely a secret, but a lethal secret. If she did not leave now, she would definitely die here.
That night, a fire broke out in the Trade Quarter of the City of Golden Towers.
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