The Secret of the Wine Cellar

They walked down a corridor carpeted with bearskin, the torchlight revealing a hall decorated in resplendent gold and splendor.

Within arm's reach, meticulously maintained half-plate armors gleamed temptingly in display cases, and every few steps, a vase or porcelain piece with soft hues adorned the space.

Over a dozen priceless oil paintings hung on the four walls, most of them portraits. Roy squinted curiously, recognizing one as Emperor Emhyr var Emreis, who had ousted the usurper years ago and reclaimed control of the Nilfgaardian Empire.

Roy remarked admiringly, "Daring to hang a portrait of an enemy emperor in Aedirn—Sevir sure knows how to suck up."

"With the dwarves' influence, as long as he doesn't rebel, the local military can't touch him. It's normal for dwarves to like Emhyr—at least that guy doesn't discriminate against non-humans."

"I don't think so." Roy shook his head, his voice barely audible. "The Southern Emperor just wants to use non-humans." Witchers and the Scoia'tael would both become sacrifices in Emhyr's northern campaign.

But since Roy was here, he wouldn't let the School of the Viper be foolishly used again.

The topic ended there, and they continued forward.

At the stairway leading from the hall to the second floor, two maids were watering flowers in vases. When Roy saw their faces, he couldn't help but gape, stifling a laugh with effort.

They were dwarf maids.

Women in skirts, stout and short, with beards as thick as any adult male's.

"Respect the customs of every race."

Letho muttered, pulling a pouch of white powder from his alchemy kit and scattering it throughout the room. As he did, he explained to Roy, "This is dried Black Hellebore powder. It'll irritate certain mischievous types and force them to reveal themselves."

Roy sniffed curiously, his nose twitching. "A faint scent... pleasant to humans, but foul to some creatures."

"Any idea what's been messing with Sevir?"

Letho didn't answer. He led Roy through the first-floor hall, then the second-floor guest rooms, and finally the third-floor master bedroom where Sevir was catching up on sleep, searching every inch.

"Any findings, gentlemen?" The awakened dwarf rubbed his dark-circled eyes, yawned, and breathed in the faint scent of hellebore in the air, feeling refreshed as the lingering irritation faded.

"Nothing yet. By the way, aside from the third-floor rooms, do you have any secret chambers in this house?"

Sevir frowned and stayed silent.

Letho's tone turned stern and blunt. "This concerns catching the culprit—you have to tell me!"

"Otherwise, if we don't catch the monster, no refunds!"

The dwarf twisted his braided beard tightly, then sighed after a long pause. "Fine, I trust the reputation of the Viper School witchers. It's not that I didn't want to say—it's just a big deal."

"There's a hidden door by the kitchen shelves on the first floor, leading to... the wine cellar."

A wine merchant's cellar was his Achilles' heel.

"Be careful when you search—don't damage my barrels."

His eyes flickered, and when he came out of the room, he cradled a key with great reverence. "I've decided to go with you to check the cellar."

"No need. Give me the key. Just remember the witchers are still searching downstairs. Go back to sleep for an hour and forget this ever happened."

Letho's voice carried a hypnotic tone as he traced a Sign before the dwarf's eyes. The latter's gaze instantly went blank, and he dully handed the key to the big man before returning to his bedroom, closing the door, and collapsing with a thud as thunderous snoring began.

Roy's face flickered with surprise. "You hypnotized him?"

Letho said flatly, "He lied to a witcher's face. Sometimes you have to adapt to uncover the truth."

With Sevir's writ and key, they passed unimpeded to the kitchen and entered the cellar.

It was a vast cellar, far larger than the house above. Roy estimated it extended beneath the courtyard of the dwarf's estate.

Torches lined one wall, illuminating every corner of the cellar. The entire space was filled with wine—round wooden barrels stacked two high and two wide in groups of four, each marked with a clear sign noting the year and variety.

Roy marveled, his eyes darting around.

"1259, wine."

"1258, mead."

"1257, nut wine."

The front barrels were younger vintages; the deeper they went, the older they got.

"1200, Mandragora wine."

"1158, Aefluth wine."

"Did Sevir haul the entire dwarven brewing stock into this cellar? He's even got century-old wine."

"Too bad I don't like drinking."

Letho's meaty palm slapped Roy hard on the shoulder, making him wince, and said earnestly, "You'll only understand the taste of good wine when you become a real man."

"I'd rather not become a drunkard."

The vast cellar would take half an hour to walk through, but in less than ten minutes, Letho stopped in front of a row of 1198 Dwarven spirit barrels.

His nose twitched like a hound's, then he halted, running his thick hand over a barrel and tapping it lightly.

"Thump, thump, thump." Roy couldn't tell much from the sound, but his nose caught something.

"There's a smell..."

Roy spoke up suddenly. His Perception, over 7, gave him a sense of smell far beyond normal. Near these barrels, a faint, lingering stench of rot hung in the air.

Letho shot him a surprised glance. "An ordinary person wouldn't even catch a whiff of it."

But what he smelled was far more precise. "It's the smell of a corpse. A human corpse, soaked in fifty-year-old Dwarven spirit. The strong alcohol has masked most of the stench, but it can't fool a Witcher."

Roy's heart jolted. He pointed at the barrel. "You're saying there's a body hidden inside?"

Letho nodded, his thick brows arching like blades. "No wonder that Seville Hogg wanted to come down to the cellar with us. He was afraid we'd discover the barrel's secret."

"When I first walked in, I thought it was just the Little Earth Spirit playing a prank on him. Now it looks like things aren't that simple."