The Unicorn and the Crowned Silver Eagle

They arrived in Ard Carraigh at dusk. As the largest kingdom in the North and the second-largest nation in the known world after Nilfgaard, Kaedwen's capital naturally possessed a matching scale and prosperity.

Protected by towering walls, it had brick houses, stone-paved roads, twenty-eight thousand permanent residents, more than twice that number in transients, and women—women dressed in silk, doused in perfume, with "shoulder-length flowing hair."

After paying the entrance fee, Lambert took Victor to a tavern called Crippled Kate to settle in. Once the horses were stabled and a room for two booked, he tossed down his luggage and turned to leave.

Lambert's hurried manner puzzled Victor, and he could not help calling after him. "In such a rush? Something you need to do?"

Lambert stopped, turned to stare Victor up and down, then beckoned him over. Soon, they arrived at a fine establishment with large bathing tubs and attendants to scrub one's back—where they experienced humanity's oldest profession.

Perhaps Lambert had expected to see the young man's virginal embarrassment. Unfortunately, Victor felt no such awkwardness. In these turbulent times, when tomorrow was never guaranteed, enjoying oneself while one could was perfectly normal.

At the very least, attendants in a major city bathed every day. There would be none of that overwhelming "brotherly warmth."

He chose a half-elven attendant: tall and fair-skinned, with wavy golden hair, slightly dreamy blue eyes, subtly pointed ears hidden beneath her hair, and a notably generous figure.

After fully expressing his gratitude for her attentive service, Victor did not stay to wait for Lambert to finish. After all, a witcher's muscular endurance was simply beyond comparison with that of ordinary people.

He returned to their tavern alone, sat in a corner, and ordered roasted pork ribs with sweet potatoes, garlic bread, and a large jug of hot milk. Listening to the noisy chatter of the drinkers around him, he tried to pick out some useful information.

The pre-departure assessment he had made at Kaer Morhen had been far too naive. Without Lambert's guidance and help along the way these past few days, the journey would certainly have been much harder. Even caring for Faithful on a long trip involved countless tricks. Reading ten thousand books truly could not replace traveling ten thousand miles.

After eating and drinking his fill, Victor realized it was unrealistic to expect valuable intelligence to simply fall into his lap from casual tavern chatter. Better make some money first. He had already formed a plan for that.

Victor approached the innkeeper. "Excuse me, what's the current exchange rate between Crowns and Ducats? Can I exchange some here?"

After confirming the rate, Victor exchanged three Ducats for one Crown, then leisurely returned to his room and shut the door. He deftly set up a small pot and heated water over the fireplace. Counting the remaining sixty Ducats in his hand, he selected twenty old coins with blurred unicorn emblems and tossed them into the pot.

Then, using the exchanged Crown as a reference—Radovid V's profile on one side, Redania's crowned silver eagle crest on the other—he began stirring.

When dawn came, Lambert had not returned. He had most likely spent the whole night hard at work. An energetic witcher cooped up in Kaer Morhen all winter could be forgiven for needing this level of release.

Well-rested, Victor paid it no mind. He decided to go out for a stroll on his own and, while he was at it, find somewhere to break the brand-new Crowns he had on hand.

Medieval city sanitation was generally appalling, particularly when it came to excrement, excrement, and more excrement... But Ard Carraigh had been built atop an abandoned elven city, so it possessed a complete sewer system along with its corresponding aesthetic appeal.

The Crowns commonly used throughout the Northern Kingdoms were smoothly exchanged bit by bit into Ducats. With money in his pocket, Victor wandered through the market and casually bought some ordinary materials: saltpeter, sulfur, calcium, phosphorus, charcoal, and the like. He did not want to attract attention, so he bought only small amounts of each, spreading his purchases across different stalls.

He packed the alchemical materials into the herb pouch slung across his shoulder, continued strolling the streets, and bought several skewers of roasted meat to eat as he walked. This leisurely mood lasted until he noticed, to his surprise, a barbershop by the roadside.

Lambert did not return to the tavern until evening. He entered reeking of an indescribable stench, covered in grime, with several bloodstains and tears in his armor.

The silver sword that had been wrapped in cloth when they booked the room yesterday now hung on his back alongside his steel sword. Combined with his gleaming catlike eyes, it made him unmistakably a witcher.

"Boss, bring a large tub of hot water to my room!" Lambert ordered, then headed upstairs without looking back, failing to notice Victor eating dinner in the corner.

As Lambert's footsteps faded up the stairs, Victor heard the whispers around him gradually grow louder.

"Witcher..."

"...That's a mutant..."

"Damn monster..."

"Freak..."

"...A creation cursed by the gods, something that defies nature."

"The product of evil magic!"

"A demonic creature, some filthy, depraved thing from hell!"

If he kept listening, Victor felt he would lose his temper, so he gathered up his meal basket and carried his food and milk upstairs to his room.

To his surprise, the instant he took his first breath inside, the stench nearly made him vomit on the spot. He regretted bringing the food upstairs... How could anyone eat in this environment? Lambert was removing his armor, preparing to wash away the filth and bloodstains covering him. The smell was truly beyond what life could bear.

"You bastard, you disappear for an entire day and it turns out you were playing in a latrine?" Though he knew Lambert had most likely been hunting monsters, Victor had no intention of being nice to the source of this air pollution.

Lambert untied a small pouch from his waist and tossed it in his hand. The cheerful clink of gold coins rang out. "Easy work. A few rotfiends in the sewers. Not very big, but they had enormous appetites. They'd only just caused several incidents. The moment I came out this morning, the guard took me in. That stingy captain only wanted to pay two hundred at first, but I forced him up to three hundred. Then I was busy until now."

Victor had no interest in Lambert's bare backside. Turning aside, he set the food on the table and sat down. "Ducats?"

"Would you rather have Crowns?" Lambert said sarcastically.

Victor ignored the mockery. He had only asked to confirm the going rate. Pulling a bottle of potion from his herb pouch, he tossed it toward Lambert by sound. "Swallow."

Swallow was a healing potion only witchers could use. Like the other witcher formulas, it was highly effective—and highly poisonous.

Catching the bottle, Lambert gave it a slight shake. The orange-red Swallow gleamed brightly. "Good stuff. I'll save it for later. These wounds will be mostly healed by tomorrow."

"Suit yourself."

After a while, as water splashed and ran, the foul smell either became less noticeable or was washed away. Victor picked up his food and resumed eating.

"I was eating downstairs just now. After you came up, those drinkers..."

"They said some ugly things?"

"Yes."

"I don't fucking care."

After thinking for a moment, Victor added, "Next time something like this comes up, bring me along. I mean hunting monsters. Maybe I can gather some materials to use."

"You sure? When you first came in, that green face of yours—looking like you wanted to puke but couldn't—was quite a sight." Though Victor could not see him, the speaker's smugness was practically visible.

After finishing his milk, Victor patted his belly. "Idiot! Sooner or later, you'll discover that alchemy can do anything!"