After seeing Christina out of the villa and watching her return home safely, Geralt finally relaxed. Without wasting a moment, he went straight home, changed into studded leather armor, riding trousers, and black hard-leather boots, then left with his steel sword in hand. He did not tell the Black-Robed Mage what had happened.
Nor did He Shenyan ask.
Geralt raced through the city and reached Dale's door as quickly as he could. It was a classic middle-class house, two stories with a balcony, in a decent neighborhood. But the Witcher had no mind for such things now. He did not even bother knocking politely, instead pounding on the door hard enough to make it boom.
An impatient voice snapped angrily from inside, "Who is it?! Damn it, why are you pounding on my door in broad daylight?"
He pulled open the door. The sight of the tall Witcher with murder written across his face froze him in place, and his tone instinctively weakened. "...What do you want?"
"Don't recognize me?"
Geralt asked in a low voice.
Dale's expression turned terrified. Pointing at Geralt, he stammered, "I-I was just impulsive that day! Cronin and I are fine now, really! Ask him if you don't believe me! Gods, don't hit me!"
Geralt yanked him up from the floor, covered his mouth, and dragged him inside, kicking the door shut behind him. He seized Dale by the collar, looked at the man now drenched in sweat from fear, and clenched one hand into a fist.
"Now, I ask. You answer."
"What is your relationship with Cronin?"
"I'm his teacher!" Dale answered with unbelievable speed. He really seemed terrified of getting hit.
"Why did you try to stab him with a dagger that day?"
"I was just impulsive! Gods! For the love of the