Come Meet a Real Man

She was a happy thirteen-year-old girl, with a father who adored her—a reputable and honest merchant—and a gentle, kind mother, a simple and dutiful housewife.

This trip to Vergen was the first time she had ever left Ard Carraigh. She had begged her parents for a long time before they finally agreed.

Unlike the bustle and crowds of the city, she could never tire of the lush green scenery outside the window. Her bright eyes brimmed with longing for the world.

He was a happy thirty-year-old man. He had a loyal wife, a daughter who adored him, and decent financial means as a traveling merchant.

This trading trip to Vergen was his first since the war had ended. He believed Vergen's market had long been awaiting Kaedwen beer and magical items from Ban Ard.

His daughter's company had brought unexpected delight. Her childish chatter and laughter had filled the journey.

By evening, dark clouds had obscured the setting sun, casting a leaden gray over this desolate wilderness ravaged by war.

The horses moved steadily along the highway, their light steps carrying them past bandits and their victims by the roadside.

The bandits merely watched the witcher and alchemist in silence, while the girl had barely let out half a choked cry for help before a bandit kicked her in the back, cutting her off.

"Don't interfere. They already have prey; they won't come looking for trouble with two fully armed men," Lambert said quietly.

"..."

The witcher and the boy continued onward. What happened by the roadside had nothing to do with them... but the glimpse they had caught while passing kept replaying in Victor's mind.

He was huge, filthy, bald, with yellowed, blackened teeth.

He had dragged the girl down from the cart...

He had torn off the daughter's clothes in front of her father...

That girl was still just a child...

He had said: "It's time you met a real man!"

Monster! You deserve to die!

Victor suddenly yanked on the reins and growled, "Lambert!"

Leaping from his horse, the boy drew the steel sword from his back and strode forward.

The witcher had understood what was happening almost the instant Victor pulled the reins. With a sigh, he violently tugged his horse's reins with his left hand, making it rear up and wheel around in a wide turn. With a flick of his right hand, he used the Axii Sign to control the restless horse. "I'll take three, you take one. The crossbowman's mine."

Clamping his legs around the horse, Lambert rode past Victor and charged in first.

Such a huge commotion naturally alerted the four bandits in the midst of their violence.

Faced with the unstoppable horse now picking up speed, the two nearest bandits hurriedly grabbed their battle axes and moved to either side of the horse, intending to attack the witcher from the flanks.

To their surprise, Lambert suddenly urged his horse into an even faster burst. As he swept past them, he swiftly drew his steel sword and slashed once to each side. The blades rode the momentum of his charge across their necks. Two heads immediately flew into the air, while blood spouted from their headless bodies like fountains.

The horse continued charging toward the third man, who held a crossbow. He hastily aimed and fired, but the bolt was blocked by Lambert's Quen Sign. Seeing the horse bearing down on him, he threw away the crossbow in terror and turned to run.

Unfortunately, he could not run faster than a horse. Lambert struck from behind, severing his spine and sending him sprawling to the ground.

Then he wheeled his horse around and trampled over him.

While Lambert was slaughtering his foes, Victor encountered a small unexpected complication.

Filled with hatred, the boy approached that "real man." The distance between them rapidly closed, until he could clearly see the panic on that ugly, broad face—and the utterly unstructured, frantic slashing of his sword.

If he had an axe, he might have made this a little harder, Victor thought. This kind of unstructured movement is practically suicide. The steel sword in his hand thrust out sharply, slicing precisely across the man's wrist and knocking his sword to the ground. Agony and terror sent him collapsing onto the ground.

All Victor had to do was take one more step forward and thrust downward!

But at that moment, a voice suddenly echoed in his mind: "Kill him!"

The voice was so clear that Victor froze in shock.

"Don't hesitate. Now, kill him!"

"Quick! Don't listen to his pleas. Stab him!"

"He's the monster. Kill him!"

"Show no mercy! Do it!"

"Stab him! Then we'll..."

The echoes overlapped, some clear and some faint, but every one of them screamed for blood! Victor's mind swam with dizziness.

When Lambert rode back at full speed, he saw the bandit lying on the ground, repeatedly crying, "Spare me! Have mercy on me!" while Victor stood rooted in place, dazed and confused, lost in thought.

Naturally, the witcher assumed Victor had gone soft. It was perfectly normal for a boy to hesitate before killing someone for the first time.

After crying out several desperate pleas for mercy, the last bandit realized in astonishment that Victor had truly stopped. Seeing the boy's blank and helpless expression, he sensed that this might be his chance. He suddenly drew the dagger hidden in his clothes and sprang up to attack.

He moved quickly, and his target was clear. The dagger was only a few centimeters away from plunging deep into the boy's eye when... an overwhelming shockwave slammed into the bandit from the side and sent him flying. It was Lambert's Aard Sign.

The pain jolted Victor awake. Though the shockwave had come in time, the dagger had still grazed the bridge of his nose, cutting a bloody gash.

Regaining his senses, the boy watched Lambert do what he should have done long ago—drive his steel sword into the ground, pinning the monster dead.

His first monster hunt had ended with a whimper.

He had jumped down from his horse so stylishly, only to accomplish nothing...

The chaotic cries of "Kill him!" that had filled his mind seconds ago had now fallen utterly silent.

In their place came a piercing scream—the little girl's terrified shriek. She screamed at the mangled corpses and severed limbs, screamed at the blood covering him from head to toe. The sound drew the boy's gaze, and when their eyes met, her screaming became even more shrill.

Is that frightened, terrified look in her eyes directed at me?

Why?

Why is she screaming?

Did I do something wrong?

Otherwise, why would she scream at me?

Can she please stop screaming?

Or would she rather see the so-called "real man"?

With his emotions in turmoil, the boy suddenly began to doubt himself.

Pulling free the steel sword that had pinned the bandit down, Lambert stepped forward and used an Axii Sign to calm the girl, putting her to sleep.

Victor looked around but did not see her father. "Where's that guy? Did he actually run away? What about his daughter?" His throat felt dry, and his voice was so hoarse that even he barely recognized it.

Lambert smiled, sharply flicking the blood from his blade before sheathing it. "You're too worked up. You've lost your normal judgment. With us standing here, of course he wouldn't dare show himself. Her father is lying in the grass not far to our left."

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, the boy said listlessly, "...Then let's go."

"Say, Sir Victor, champion of the helpless—aren't you going to drag that man out and make him pay under the Law of Surprise?" Lambert teased.

"I remember that if it's killing, witchers can't demand payment. So let's go. Even one second sooner—I just want this to be over." Amid the blood covering the ground, Victor wore a desolate expression.

"We were clearly slaughtering monsters! Fine, fine, don't look at me with those aggrieved eyes. Poor little Vic... Let's go."

After racing on in silence, the two reached the banks of the Pontar River at midnight. Once the blood had been washed away—mostly from Lambert, since Victor was spotless—they made camp by the ferry crossing, planning to take a boat across in the morning.

Seeing Victor's gloomy expression, Lambert did not deliberately provoke him into talking. After wolfing down some dry rations, the two lay down to sleep.

But no one could have expected that Victor would not live to see the sun the next day.