"He had a head of white hair and two swords on his back. He came from the North, sweeping all before him! Like a whirlwind, he had witnessed countless vile things along the road, yet they never stained his heart. In Novigrad, he slaughtered many in the name of the innocent! But that was not his intention. He was a kind man. A most unusual Witcher!"
A bard stood by the roadside, a wooden crate beneath his feet and a bowl beside it filled with quite a few Crowns. Standing atop the crate, he passionately told his tale. He wore an extravagant white feathered hat, already somewhat stained. Dressed in dark red everyday clothes, he looked like a brightly colored rooster.
Quite a few people had gathered around him to listen, and several young girls even held flowers out to him, hoping only that he would tell more stories of the White-Haired Knight-Errant. It was obvious they loved it.
Two travelers squeezed through the crowd and hurried past. One of them wore a black hood and did not even dare look back.
"Give me a break," the Witcher groaned softly.
"You're rather popular."
The Black-Robed Mage mocked his companion. The Witcher now wore a black hood to hide his white hair, and even his twin swords were no longer on his back, but strapped to either side of his horse. More than a month had passed since they left Kaer Morhen. Along the way, Geralt had been harassed beyond endurance—or perhaps it could be called the troubles of happiness.
He no longer received those hateful, contemptuous, or even resentful looks from before, nor was he cursed at in taverns with fingers pointed in his face. On the contrary, whenever he arrived in a new town, those who recognized him would