Returning the Corpse

Roy couldn't possibly take Toya along on a Witcher's trial journey—getting to Cintra and then detouring to Aretuza was out of the question, and Master Letho would never agree to drag along another dead weight.

He needed someone else's help.

And in all of Edersberg, the only big shots he knew were Seville Hogg, the dwarven spirits agent, and the headmistress of House of Cadell, a member of the Revolutionary Army.

If he wanted to send Toya all the way to Aretuza and get her into the academy, the solution lay with these two.

In the wealthy district, at Seville Hogg's mansion, on a clear morning.

The dwarven wine merchant was lounging in a deck chair in the courtyard, soaking up the sun. Nearly a month had passed since the Witcher had "exorcised" his demon, and he seemed to be doing well—his dark circles were almost gone, his barrel waist had grown even more "generous," and his thick beard and hair were so glossy black they looked ready to drip oil.

"Roy, it's been a while—you've been living pretty well in Edersberg." Seville waved, and a dwarven maid with a braided beard and faint freckles brought over a bottle of mead, filled their cups, and quickly left. "If I'm not mistaken, you've gotten taller and sturdier. Still no handsome beard, but your manliness has improved a lot... Are you conditioning yourself daily with Mahakam's dwarven spirits?"

Roy, reclining on the wicker chair beside him, took a sip of the mead. It was mildly sweet, smooth on the palate, and he couldn't help but compliment, "You're right, Mr. Seville. Dwarven wine is nothing like those cheap, watered-down fakes. How have you been? After the Hym was eliminated, have the nightmares stopped?"

"Thanks to you and Master Letho," Seville laughed heartily. "The nightmares are mostly gone. I've turned back into a lively, strong little squirrel from Mahakam." He clumsily rolled over on the wicker chair, propping his furry chin on one hand as he looked at Roy. "Only occasionally, in the dead of night, I still think about my poor brother Aken, still soaking in that barrel... and then I can't eat the next day."

The dwarf's hoarse, low voice paused, and he added with a meaningful tone, "When will Aken's remains finally return to his rightful place and find peace?"

"By the way, Roy, why isn't Master Letho here today?"

"He went out on business and hasn't come back yet." Roy asked, "Mr. Seville, how about I help you solve this problem?"

"Roy, if I heard you right," Seville stroked his thick beard, his eyes skeptical, "you mean to secretly deliver Aken's body to the Revolutionary Army's high command without anyone knowing?"

"That's right, Mr. Seville." Roy's eyes were bright, his voice steady, exuding confidence. "Would you be willing to entrust this task to me?"

Half an hour later, in the wine cellar.

A pale man with closed eyes lay unnaturally contorted, half-reclining on the floor in deathly stillness.

At the same time, a strong smell of alcohol and a faint, almost imperceptible stench of rotting flesh—nearly masked by the wine—hit Roy's nose.

He couldn't help but widen his eyes, staring unblinkingly at this long-famous figure, the leader of the Revolutionary Army, Vernon Roche. The dwarves' good brother, Aken. The wise man who never drank but died by fine wine.

The male corpse wore a simple gray linen coat, like a farmer or laborer, and black tight trousers. His limbs were long, his build slender, with pointed ears, a hooked nose, a chin shaped like a melon seed, and prominent cheekbones that hinted at elven blood.

Perhaps due to the agony before death, his expression still held a trace of fear and grimace. His hands lay limp at his sides, as if reaching for something but grasping nothing.

The body had been soaked in wine for who knows how long—his skin was wrinkled, and occasional ugly patches of livor mortis dotted his chest and abdomen.

The scene was eerily similar to those formaldehyde-preserved specimens from his past life.

No, it was more direct, more bizarre and terrifying.

The dwarven merchant's eyes held grief mixed with nostalgia, and he unconsciously covered his nose. "Roy, now that I've moved Aken out of the barrel as you asked, what are you going to do next?"

"If you're thinking of sneaking him out at night, that won't work. I hear the Revolutionary Army is planning a second protest march around New Year's, but two of the Baron's men are still watching outside like hawks."

"Mr. Seville, how about I show you a magic trick?" Roy walked over to the corpse, examined its limbs, pulled up the trouser leg, and spotted a peculiar tattoo on the right heel—a coiled tuft of dense fur.

A squirrel's tail?

He frowned, thoughtful, but didn't mention it to the dwarf. Instead, he reached out and touched the body, and Vernon Roche vanished without a trace.

"What?" The dwarf's mouth fell open, his jaw nearly hitting the floor. "Roy, how did you do that? Are you secretly a sorcerer on top of being a Witcher apprentice? Can you cast teleportation magic?"

"Secret... Lord Seville, please let me keep this secret." Roy said earnestly.

"Alright, a dwarf respects a friend's secrets," Seville said apologetically. "Also, please accept my apology. I shouldn't have doubted you before. With a skill like that, the Baron's lackeys would never suspect a thing."

"So, the payment is the same as last time?"

"How about we settle it after I finish the job?"

"No problem." The dwarf said cheerfully. "If you pull this off, you'll be a brother to me, Seville Hogg. I won't shortchange a brother!"

For Cadell, the past few days had been a headache. First, to deal with the hateful monster that had kidnapped several of her children, she'd taken a serious wound to her abdomen that still ached.

Then came bad news from the Revolutionary Army—the second protest march was going terribly. The Baron's iron-fisted crackdown had scared off plenty of opportunists whose will and conviction weren't strong enough.

So far, fewer than fifty people could be rallied. That many people taking to the streets for a protest might as well be a circus act.

"Sigh..." Cadell sighed. If only everyone were as easy to handle as that new student. Smart, brave, decently skilled, and unafraid in the face of Monsters.

Too bad he was a Witcher's apprentice and wouldn't stay long.

With that thought, Cadell listlessly returned to her office...

But as soon as she pushed open the door, a strong smell of alcohol hit her. Frowning, she followed the scent to behind her desk.

Then, her pupils shrank to slits, and her eyes filled with utter shock.

Under the desk lay a male corpse. The face was pale, swollen, and all too familiar.

Cadell was instantly devastated.

"The great leader, my spiritual mentor, Vernon... dead?!"

Down in the courtyard, Roy rubbed his hand against the Horn Tree beside him, watching the headmistress enter her room. Soon, she came out with a letter, her face full of grief and anger, and he let out a long sigh.

"I didn't mean to scare you. But you're the only Revolutionary Army big shot I know... Sorry about that. Consider it payment for that meal you owe me..."

"So the headmistress of House of Cadell was actually a high-ranking member of the Revolutionary Army..." The dwarf wine merchant nodded with satisfaction after hearing Roy's report. "My informants had long noticed something off about that school, and I'd suspected her before, but never found solid proof. In any case, Roy, you handled this beautifully—the baron's lackeys didn't catch a whiff. My dear brother Aken has finally returned to the place he's been longing for."

The dwarf extended his hand to Roy and said solemnly, "I'm a man of my word. I once promised that whoever solved this problem would be my brother... and between brothers, there's no need for formality. Roy... tell me, what do you want? Money, wine, weapons? Name it..."

The dwarf had long seen that Roy wouldn't have taken this commission at such a time without wanting something in return.

"Or do you need my help with something else? As long as it's within my power, I'll lend you a hand."

Roy hadn't expected that a commission he'd reluctantly shelved upon arriving in Edersberg would come in handy now. In truth, he hadn't exerted much effort—it was more like delivering a "package."

"Mr. Sevir..."

"Stop, Roy. From now on, just call me by my name, or you'll be looking down on me as a brother!"

"Uh... Sevir," Roy corrected himself quickly. Though he couldn't imagine calling a seventy-year-old dwarf his brother, he figured the man's words were mostly polite.

"Do you know any mages? Someone living near Edersberg, preferably a sorceress who graduated from Aretuza."

The dwarf stroked his beard and thought for a moment.

"Sorry, Roy. As far as I know, no spellcasters live near Edersberg. There's a black-haired sorceress over in Fangerburg, but that's too far."

"But why are you looking for a sorceress?" the dwarf asked. "If you trust me, tell me the whole story. Maybe there's another way to solve the problem. In this city—and I'm not bragging—I've got some pull."

Roy thought it over and saw no harm in it. He told the dwarf about Toya from the mill outside town.

After hearing the story, the dwarf's expression turned strange, as if he were sizing up a rare animal. "Roy, if I remember right, you're a Witcher apprentice, and you'll become a Witcher one day. Why help an ugly country girl? Go through all that trouble to send her to Aretuza? After years of training, she might not even remember you."

"Just because you pity her?"

"Sevir, don't you think Witchers and mages have something in common... a miserable childhood, life forcing their hand, no chance to choose their own path..." Roy spoke from the heart. "I think she deserves a chance to choose."

"And I hope that someday, when I'm in that kind of bind, someone will give me a chance..."

The dwarf's expression softened slightly. He suddenly found that the human boy's face, though not as handsome as a dwarf's, was rather agreeable. He laughed heartily.

"Roy, you're a really interesting fellow. Nine out of ten Witchers I know wouldn't bother with this kind of meddling... but you just had to stick your nose in."

"For that line you just said, I'll help you. I'll send a carriage with dwarf guards to escort the child to Thanedd Island. Like you said, give her a chance to choose her own life! As for whether she gets into Aretuza, that'll be up to her own skill and luck."

"But it'll have to wait a few days..." The dwarf strained to stand on tiptoe and slung an arm around Roy's shoulder. "Little brother, New Year's is coming. Don't the coachmen deserve a good holiday too?"

"I hope those Revolutionary Army folks can keep quiet. Getting their leader's corpse out of nowhere—who knows if they'll stir up something else big."

"Actually, besides the body, I left a letter for Lady Cadell," Roy said. "A threatening letter written in the style of the Sparrow Gang. I don't expect it to fool her, but at least it might shift their focus, keep the Revolutionary Army from blindly provoking the baron and getting exploited by someone with ulterior motives."