The Caravan Master's guts were practically turning green with regret.
When he first met this sorcerer at the port of Novigrad, all he could think about was that this trip was in the bag; with a Wizard accompanying them, what were mere monsters to worry about?
Why hadn't he thought a layer deeper? Things that didn't cost money were often the most expensive; cheap goods were never good.
"What are you thinking about?"
Asa spoke irritably, "Come over and sign a non-disclosure agreement, and you can leave."
In the end, Asa decided to let them go, as long as they kept the secret.
As for leaking the secret and then dying a painful death—well, if you've already leaked the secret, you're naturally an enemy, and why should one care how an enemy dies?
He pulled a piece of parchment covered in gold-stamped runes from his robes and spread it out on the carriage shaft.
The members of the caravan exchanged glances. Seeing the broken steel sword of the Witcher who had ambushed them, they decisively realized their place.
The Caravan Master was the first to step forward, picking up the quill and tremblingly signing his full name.
Then came the coachman, then the guards, one after another; no one dared to hesitate.
Offending a sorcerer was far more terrifying than offending a Witcher. A Witcher would at most fight you, but a sorcerer was highly likely to turn your entire family into toads.
As for the claim that a Wizard was weak in close combat, one had to have the chance to get close first. The Cat School Witcher, trapped and unable to move, along with the steel sword with the shattered tip at his feet, made anyone else with other ideas let them go.
Asa collected the last signed agreement. When his gaze fell upon the surname at the very top, he suddenly paused.
Oster?
A noble from Wizima, dark red hair, the surname Oster. With these few elements combined, Asa immediately performed a divination, and the corners of his mouth curled up slightly.
When he first set out with the caravan, he only knew the Caravan Master was named Mr. Phil. It wasn't until he signed his full name just now that he saw the red-haired noble's full name: Wilson Phil Oster.
"Mr. Oster, don't leave just yet." Asa called out to the Caravan Master, who had already turned to leave, "The matter isn't finished yet."
He picked up the non-disclosure agreement that had just been signed and, in front of everyone, slowly tore it in half. The scraps of paper were swallowed by a burst of flame, turning into ash that drifted away in the air.
The Caravan Master's face turned deathly pale.
"Perhaps we have a better solution."
"Mr. Oster, I wonder if you have heard of the Law of Surprise?"
A flash of surprise crossed the red-haired noble's eyes, followed by a nod of relief. Of course he knew what the Law of Surprise was.
The Law of Surprise was a customary law, its origins almost unknown and as ancient as human history. According to its rules, the savior could demand from the saved the first thing they encountered upon returning home, or something they did not yet know of but already possessed.
Legend had it that beyond its contractual validity, the Law of Surprise also contained a certain power of magic. Once a qualifying request was made, the bond of fate would be firmly established between the two parties of the oath, linking them tightly together.
This time, when the giant Ghoul besieged the caravan, Asa had intervened to save everyone. Although Oster had prepaid part of the reward, he himself had said that the true payment would only be fulfilled after returning to Wizima.
This perfectly met the conditions of the Law of Surprise: the savior, the saved, and the reward. The request Asa proposed was reasonable and fair.
The red-haired noble was overjoyed. Not only did he not have to sign that deadly non-disclosure agreement and could leave freely, but he could also pay the Wizard's reward at the lowest possible cost.
The Law of Surprise sounded mystical, but the first thing a commoner saw upon returning home, or something they didn't know they had, was usually just new furniture added by the family or a newborn animal in the pen—how much could that be worth?
Oster was forty. His wife was in her forties and had long since passed menopause. His son had just turned eighteen this year and hadn't married yet; where would an "unexpected child" come from?
"Fine, I agree." Oster readily consented.
"Then the contract is established; you may leave." Asa said. The Law of Surprise required no written treaty; fate and the sorcerer's magic would ensure Mr. Oster obediently fulfilled his duty.
"Mr. Wizard, I await your arrival in Wizima." Oster left his home address and commanded the caravan to get back on the road. The sound of wheels gradually faded into the depths of the jungle.
Asa watched the caravan's receding figures, the corners of his mouth curled up slightly.
Wilson Phil Oster, a down-and-out noble of Wizima, was also the grandfather of Shani Phil Oster.
The Law of Surprise—in the original trajectory of fate, the bond between Geralt and Ciri was formed precisely because he had demanded a reward via the Law of Surprise after saving Emperor Emhyr, and Ciri was the child Emhyr did not yet know of.
This was also the reason why Ciri could always be saved by Geralt when she was young. This ancient law seemed to contain certain rules of the world.
Before establishing the Law of Surprise contract, Asa had already performed a divination. The results clearly showed that Mr. Oster already had a granddaughter, but because he had been traveling for trade for years, he did not yet know the news.
When he returned to Wizima, the moment he pushed open his front door, Shani would become the child bound by this thread of fate.
What was important wasn't Shani, the red-haired girl from the game, but the effect of the Law of Surprise and the joy of getting something for nothing.
As long as he took Shani as his student or daughter, he could establish a bond again without having to bitterly wait for the character to grow up.
With an extra bond appearing in the unseen, Asa retracted his thoughts with satisfaction and turned around.
The bald Witcher was still frozen in place by the Dark Arts, his limbs immovable as if nailed into invisible shackles.
Just now, when Asa was talking to Oster, to prevent him from interrupting and making noise, he had even sealed his mouth. At this moment, the Cat School Witcher could only frantically roll his eyes, signaling for mercy to the Wizard.
Asa raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
A ghostly green light drilled from his fingertips into the Witcher's body, and the bald man's whole body began to twitch violently.
Sweat, tears, and snot flowed uncontrollably down his face; his eyeballs rolled up until only the whites were visible, and he almost fainted on the spot.
Torturous pain, also within the scope of the Dark Arts, could magnify the physical pain a human could endure to the limit; those who could not withstand it would directly turn into a puddle of blood.
Such methods were almost impossible to find in the orthodox spells of Thanedd Island, or rather, the pain caused by orthodox spells simply could not reach the threshold formed by the mutations a Witcher underwent. Only the Dark Arts could let them truly taste what it meant to wish they were dead.
"Remember, I ask, you answer. Don't talk nonsense," Asa warned.
The pain was almost too much for the mutated Witcher to bear. After a good while, the bald man recovered his senses, his eyes sliding downward to signal that he understood.
Asa released the restraint on the bald man's mouth, and the other party indeed stopped making noise.