The Blue Stripes' temporary headquarters had been converted from an ordinary residence. Setting aside the revelry their men were holding outside, their commander's office was at least arranged in a distinctly military style.
The racks were filled with weapons, while a huge map covered the desk. It depicted the entire Pontar Valley, including the forests surrounding Flotsam.
"Roche, given the present situation, your old enemy Iorveth is our greatest obstacle. To catch Foltest's killer, we will inevitably have to confront the Scoia'tael," the white-haired Geralt said seriously.
Roche, his face covered in youthful stubble, shook his head.
"I have already sent several groups into the forest to scout, but the woods are too dense to move through easily. They were ambushed and barely managed to escape."
"They were not going on a pleasant hike. Hunting forest commandos was never going to be easy. Tell me something I do not already know. You said there had been a breakthrough. What happened?"
"My men spotted the Kingslayer yesterday. He was living alone in a cave, but disappeared the moment his position was exposed. The problem is that he already knew we had followed him here, yet he remained nearby instead of fleeing or joining his elven allies. I suspect he is waiting for something, or planning something."
Ever since Geralt had brought him into the office, Victor had remained silent, sitting nearby and listening without speaking.
Now that he was actually sitting before Vernon Roche, Victor regretfully admitted that none of the lines he had prepared would come out.
On the surface, the Kingslayer's actions were completely indefensible, and Geralt, one of the victims, was sitting right beside him. Victor did not even know why Letho had done any of it.
Declaring which side he supported under these circumstances would require unmatched courage and shamelessness, neither of which Victor possessed in his normal state.
Roche reached out and tapped the desk in front of him.
"What is wrong with you? You have not said a word today. Do you have any information to tell us?"
"No... nothing. I was only considering why the Kingslayer has not left." Victor rubbed his nose.
That was not entirely an excuse. Geralt and Roche's conversation had genuinely given him considerable food for thought.
Letho had known several days ago that his pursuers had arrived. With the Scoia'tael covering him, he could easily have escaped overland and gone into hiding. Yet even after Victor reached Flotsam, Letho had still not left.
There had to be a reason he remained here.
Victor suddenly realized that he might have left too hastily the day before yesterday. He should have spoken with Iorveth again, perhaps even stayed in the camp to observe the situation.
They soon finished exchanging information, and the witchers opened the door and left the office.
Inside and outside seemed like two different worlds. The Blue Stripes were drinking and celebrating outside. They had invited several ladies from the Ladies' Secret Chamber across the street to keep them company, and there was an unlimited supply of beer.
Seeing the lively scene, Geralt turned to Victor.
"I would not mind having a few drinks before leaving. Interested?"
With too much on his mind, Victor shook his head.
At that moment, the main door was suddenly pushed open, and seven or eight people entered.
Several of them wore scarves wrapped around their heads and loose cotton shirts over their upper bodies, but nothing below except undergarments, leaving two hairy legs exposed.
Judging by their clothing, they were probably villagers from Lobinden. People from Flotsam would not dress that way.
The villager leading them spotted the Blue Stripes and immediately began shouting.
"That is them! The bastards in blue who desecrated the statue of Veyopatis!"
The villagers behind him immediately joined in, brandishing wooden clubs and shouting over one another.
Victor raised an eyebrow.
He knew who Veyopatis was. The deity belonged to an ancient faith practiced around the Pontar Valley. His symbolic statue had a grotesque, gaping mouth and could essentially be described as a Creeper with a mouth.
A bald member of the Blue Stripes stepped out from the crowd.
"Watch your words, yokel! It was only a wooden doll. Are we not allowed to have a little fun?"
"A little fun? You outsiders call cutting off our god's head and shoving it up his ass a little fun?"
Imagining that grotesque face being chopped off and shoved into the statue's ass, Victor almost failed to suppress his laughter.
Roche emerged from the office after noticing the commotion and stepped between the villagers and his men.
"Calm down. What happened?"
"They threw knives at the statue of Veyopatis and cut off its head. These wretched soldiers desecrated our god."
Seeing an officer intervene, the villagers' representative became bolder. He repeatedly jabbed his finger toward Roche, almost poking him in the face.
Roche frowned.
"Hey! They are not wretched soldiers. They are the Blue Stripes. Do you understand what the blue means?"
The commander folded his arms, his expression dark.
The villagers' representative, who wore a red cap, sprayed spittle as he shouted.
"Are you trying to frighten me? I do not give a damn whether you wear blue or green. You are all the same to me! Every one of you is a son of a whore!"
"What did you say?"
Roche's expression instantly changed. The sudden fury radiating from him intimidated the entire group of villagers.
"I, uh... I only..."
The villagers' representative immediately began to panic.
"You spoke what was in your heart. Good. That is exactly what I wanted. Someone bring this brave man a beer! Let him drink to my health."
The enraged commander's authority silenced everyone present. A soldier immediately brought over a mug of beer.
"Use this to toast Vernon Roche, the son of a whore!"
Roche hurled the mug onto the floor. It shattered with a bang, and foaming beer spilled across the boards.
"Ah, but that mug was terrible. It was not suitable for a brave man like you. I have a better idea..."
He punched the villagers' representative and knocked him to his knees.
"Lick the son-of-a-whore beer off the floor!"
Roche then planted a boot on the man's back and forced him to lick the beer from the floor.
His brutality terrified the villagers. The Blue Stripes were all his subordinates, so none of them had the authority to intervene.
Ves hurried over to the two witchers.
"One of you, do something to stop him!"
Victor blinked. Before he could speak, Geralt had already stepped forward.
"Vernon... let them go. There is no need for this."
"And if I refuse?"
Roche's furious gaze abruptly turned toward the white-haired witcher.
The blond witcher sighed.
"Could you do it as a favor to us?"
Roche glared at the two men trying to calm him. After a moment of silence, he lifted his foot and released the villager.
"Leave me alone. I need some time by myself!"
After saying that, Roche returned to his office and slammed the door tightly behind him.
The villagers from Lobinden fled in terror.
Ves waved her hand, ordering the Blue Stripes to disperse and return to their drinking. She then turned toward the witchers.
"Thank you for helping. Please do not take what happened just now to heart."
"He had better have a very good reason for that temper, assuming he has one," Geralt said.
Geralt disliked seeing the strong bully the weak, especially when the whole incident had begun because the Blue Stripes had provoked the villagers.
Ves shrugged.
"Since you want to know... Vernon never had a father. He grew up in poverty, and his mother supported them through prostitution. The other children always called him a son of a whore. He has been unable to tolerate that insult since childhood."
Victor had no objection to that explanation, and Geralt apparently did not either.
The incident was soon forgotten. Loud voices once again filled the surroundings, and the festive atmosphere gradually returned.
Ves smiled at the two men.
"Come on! Let us have a drink. Today is meant for relaxing!"
"Why not?" Geralt agreed with a nod.
Victor shook his head.
"Next time. Definitely next time."
He wanted to return to his room early and practice alchemy, preparing enchantments, bombs, and potions for the following afternoon's battle.
...
At noon the next day, Victor went to Limping Sam's Inn to meet Geralt.
As they prepared to visit Síle, Victor unexpectedly noticed a new tattoo on Geralt's neck. It depicted a half-naked woman holding a sword, in the same style as the tattoos worn by the Blue Stripes.
"What happened to that tattoo? Have you decided to join the Blue Stripes?"
Geralt's expression immediately became awkward at Victor's question, as though he were remembering something he would rather forget.
"Vic, can you make me a potion that will remove a tattoo?"
"I would be delighted to help."
...
They knocked on Síle de Tansarville's door.
The sorceress's bedroom was furnished simply and directly, with several tapestries, a bed, a desk, and a megascope.
Seeing the two witchers arrive together, making the hunt's success almost certain, her face lit up with a radiant smile.
"Gentlemen, I have been waiting for some time. I trust you have made every possible preparation. After hearing Cedric's description, are you frightened?"
Victor silently shook his head.
He was not familiar with the sorceress, and after Triss's warning, he saw no need to cultivate a closer relationship with her.
"No, but we need a way to lure it onto the shore," Geralt said, voicing the request he and Victor had discussed beforehand. "It will be almost impossible to inflict meaningful damage while fighting underwater."
Síle smiled confidently.
"Leave that to me. I will ensure that it cannot escape the barrier and retreat into the river."
"I am certain it will be quite a spectacle."
"Naturally. I look forward to seeing an equally impressive performance from both of you."
Today, the sorceress wore a black hunting outfit. It was far more conservative than the robe she had worn during their previous meeting, clearly showing that she had also made serious preparations for battle.
Geralt suddenly asked in a seemingly casual tone, "Speaking of which, I did not expect to see you at Loredo's residence."
"Unlike you, I was certain you would appear there. Bernard is extremely cautious about his little trading post. Sooner or later, every outsider is summoned for questioning."
"What did he want with you?"
Síle answered coldly.
"Geralt, that is my concern, not yours. Remember, we are not partners. We are merely cooperating to kill the Kayran."
Victor paid little attention to their exchange, but a question suddenly occurred to him. Perhaps she would be willing to answer it.
"Lady Síle, as far as I know, you are a royal adviser in Kaedwen and have almost no connection to this region. May I ask why you wish to kill the Kayran?"
The sorceress gave the blond witcher an amused look.
"Did Geralt not tell you? He asked the same question, so I will answer it once more. I need a certain organ from the Kayran to brew a special elixir for treating King Henselt's infertility."
"I thought Megatron was already unrivaled in that particular field?"
"The problem is not function, but age. Even the mighty Megatron cannot cure infertility caused by aging."
Síle's words flashed through Victor's mind like lightning.
He felt as though he had caught hold of something, yet the idea remained hazy and indistinct.
It was only much later that Victor realized that, at that moment, he had seized fate by the throat.
...
The three of them headed toward the Kayran's lair.
On the way, Victor handed a bomb to Síle so she could infuse it with magic. This was new knowledge Geralt had shared with him, something Victor had previously known nothing about.
Mages could infuse bombs with magical power, effectively increasing their blast radius and destructive force beyond the bomb's original capabilities. Opportunities to receive such assistance, however, were rare.
Watching Síle's practiced movements as she infused the bomb gave Victor a strange thought.
There was probably a mage behind Letho who had helped empower his bombs. The destructive power of an epic-grade Northern Wind had already been tested. When Victor detonated one against the dragon's back, it had only frozen the creature long enough to bring it down from the sky.
It had certainly not possessed enough power to freeze an entire pleasure boat.
At the same time, the sorceress experienced a sense of familiarity when she accepted the blond witcher's bomb.
The finely polished casing and exceptional seal were almost identical to those of two bombs she had recently infused, although this one was not designed to freeze its target.
Using one hand to manipulate the surrounding magical energy, Síle guided it around the bomb's casing and condensed it into place.
She looked into Victor's eyes.
"This bomb is well made. Did you craft it yourself? Can you also make bombs with a freezing effect?"
The witcher innocently shook his head.
"Yes... I made this one, but this is the only kind I know how to make. What do you mean by a freezing effect?"
The sorceress's attempt to read his mind yielded nothing.
His expression and manner showed no irregularities, and he did not appear to be lying.
Considering that they were about to fight together, Síle decided not to pursue the matter.
Victor, however, immediately became far more vigilant.
She had spoken about freezing bombs with absolute certainty. Perhaps she had seen one in person, and at this particular point in time, anyone who had seen a Northern Wind bomb might be connected to the Kingslayer.
Letho had remained in Flotsam, and Síle had also come here.
Could there be a connection between them?
For the rest of the journey, the three travelers remained silent, each occupied with their own thoughts. They reached the outskirts of the Kayran's lair without incident.
Geralt first took out a vial of potion and handed it to Victor.
"Mongoose potion. It will protect you against the monster's venom."
He then turned toward Síle.
"My lady, after we descend, we will set several large traps to help restrain the Kayran's tentacles. Please do not provoke the monster until you receive our signal to begin."
The sorceress raised her head proudly.
"I will act according to the situation."
Victor and Geralt exchanged a glance before sliding down the hillside. They soon reached the area near the lair.
It was an abandoned ancient elven ruin, magnificent and imposing. Numerous wrecked ships lay scattered around it, trophies the Kayran had accumulated over the years.
Their claim that they needed time to prepare traps had not been an empty excuse.
Geralt had made extensive preparations to confront this enormous creature, including having Cedric help construct a Kayran trap.
Meanwhile, Victor held the fully infused bomb in his hand and examined it carefully.
He could feel the explosive power contained within it.
He knew this might simply be a coincidence. He had happened to encounter a sorceress, and she had happened to be proficient at magically empowering bombs.
But... it was still suspicious.
Whenever anything became entangled with the White Wolf, a coincidence was not necessarily a coincidence.
//Check out my P@tre0n for 30 extra chapters //[email protected]/Razeil0810