This is the Miracle of Fate

The cave dwelling's ceiling was very high, a hallmark of dwarven architecture. Though dwarves stood only half as tall as humans, their architectural style was precisely the opposite. You could see it in the fact that every grand, majestic building still standing among humans was either an elven ruin or built under dwarven supervision.

Candlelight fell across Lambert's face, leaving it half in shadow and half illuminated. "After you passed out, I had no choice but to wait until dawn to cross the river. When I brought you into the city, I ran into Zoltan—the punk-haired dwarf from yesterday, Zoltan Chivay."

At the name, a strange expression appeared on Victor's face. "You knew him before?"

"No, I didn't know him. He recognized my medallion. Seeing me carrying you, he came over and said he was Geralt's friend, asking if I needed help.

"I told him you were Ciri's younger brother and asked him to find a doctor and somewhere to stay. That was how you ended up here." At that point, Lambert scratched the back of his head. "Only later did I remember that he'd been at the Rivia massacre, fighting the mob alongside Geralt. Dandelion mentioned his name when telling the story, but since I didn't know him, I never brought it up."

"What a coincidence, running into him like that."

"Yeah. After we got you back, we didn't know what was wrong with you at first. Then you curled up like a bent spider. Even a child would know that was lockjaw..."

"Lockjaw?"

"They don't have that illness in Bell Town? It's an infection caused by an external wound. Before it sets in, it's simple: pour strong liquor over the wound, then drink some bitter decoction. That can significantly prevent it. Once it breaks out, though, there's nothing to be done. You can only tough it out on your own constitution.

"And these past few days, you've been staying at Angoulême's house. She's been the one taking care of you, so you should properly thank her for all the effort."

Sounds like tetanus...?

Out of habit, the young man argued with Lambert. "Thank her for what? Marry her?"

"That won't be necessary. She thinks you look pretty ordinary and doesn't feel anything special about you. If you want to thank her, join her Hansa."

"Tch! Fine, then keep talking. What exactly is this White Wolf Hansa?"

"That starts with her background. Back when Geralt was searching for Ciri, he gathered several companions to help him. This girl was one of them.

"According to her, Geralt saved her from the gallows. A debt of life and death can never be broken, so he became the leader of her Hansa."

Lambert was getting a little thirsty, so he took out a small flask of vodka and drank from it. "Then came the battle of Stygga Castle. Other than her, every member of the group searching for Ciri died in battle. With no family left, she followed Geralt around for the next few months, until something happened to him in Rivia.

"Zoltan saw how alone she was and brought her here to live.

"Now that you've appeared, Angoulême naturally considers Ciri the first heir after the former leader, the White Wolf, passed away. And after they both vanished, you—Ciri's acknowledged younger brother—naturally took over as leader of the Hansa."

"So... this organization is entirely something she imagined by herself? I refuse to believe Geralt would have admitted to being the leader of some White Wolf Hansa!" Clear-headed, Victor swiftly reached his conclusion.

"Tsk tsk, don't reject it so coldly. Just think of it as playing along with her. That girl's pitiful—this Hansa is all she has to cling to. Anyway, I can't explain the details very well. Some of this was Zoltan's analysis too. You can ask her yourself when you get the chance!"

"The way you put it, I can completely imagine that it was all trivial nonsense you wouldn't want to hear—or tragedies that would weigh you down if you did." Victor replied irritably.

"If you want something major, there is one thing." Apology appeared on Lambert's face. "I have to leave you for a while!"

"What happened?" Though it certainly counted as major news, Victor looked calm. He knew Lambert would never say he was leaving without reason; he must have a good reason.

"I have a good friend named Aiden—a witcher of the School of the Cat. We get along well, close as brothers. I received a message he left behind, and it seems he's gotten himself into some trouble. I need to help him."

"Witchers have no fixed home. How did he get a message to you? Can I help?"

"It's work-related. You can't help with it. And he didn't send me a message; he left one for me. Just as you have Brass in Ban Ard, I have some local friends in Vergen."

Victor understood. In this age of poor communication, drifters without fixed homes, like witchers, naturally had their own ways of staying in touch. Of course, witchers of the School of the Wolf also had Kaer Morhen, where they could winter every year.

Witcher: "I'm sorry I can't stay here and look after you!"

Victor raised an eyebrow and smiled. "You know me. I can take care of myself, especially in a city. With Zoltan introducing me around, I'll live extravagantly well. Just as the Bell Town saying goes: where there are people, there are aphrodisiacs."

Would virility potions ever struggle to sell? Impossible!

Lambert felt certain Victor had made that proverb up, but he had no proof. After all, if Kaedwen's "A man without money is like a bow without arrows" counted as a proverb, then Bell Town's proverb was acceptable too—they were both truths.

"Will your journey continue, then? Or are you going to wait for me here?"

"No telling how long you'll be gone. Once I've recovered and earned some money, I'll set off on my own. Don't worry, the rest of the journey is all by water. There shouldn't be many chances for anything to happen aboard a ship."

Lambert considered it for a few seconds. "True enough. If something happens to you on the Pontar River, you'd have to be absurdly unlucky!"

The next morning, after eight days, the young man finally saw the sun again as he left Vergen. He also saw the dwarven-made iron gates that weighed tens of thousands of pounds. It was thanks to those incomparably strong defenses that they had twice repelled Kaedwen's mighty army.

"Watching Lambert ride away, Victor was suddenly overcome by a powerful feeling: perhaps this would be the last time in his life he saw Lambert alive!"

"Hey! Could you stop randomly adding narration beside me? Do you hate him that much?" Victor, who had been watching Lambert depart, turned and glared at Angoulême in both annoyance and amusement.

Her round brown eyes showed not the slightest embarrassment as she looked back at him with complete conviction. "I don't like him. He always makes fun of people in all sorts of ways, so I cursed him a little. Perfectly reasonable!"

"What did he make fun of you for?"

Puffing up her cheeks, she said, "That bald man said my hair looked like dry straw, and that I had a flat butt, a flat chest, a thick waist, and that I was a short little turnip..."

Victor was helpless. It seemed Lambert really did like this little girl. "Stop, stop, enough. I admit it's perfectly reasonable for you to curse him a little. Anyway, he'll live a long life. That's my real premonition."

"If you say enough, then enough. You can order me around. You saved my life, and you're Ciri's younger brother. You're the leader of my Hansa now!" the girl said seriously.

He could understand the Hansa leader part, but this was the first time he had heard that he had saved her life. "You said I saved your life? How does that work? We should have met for the first time eight days ago."

The girl took out an empty bottle. After a moment of surprise, the young man recognized it—it was actually one of the bottles his grandmother used exclusively. What had it contained...? "The healing potion you gave Ciri! Back at Stygga Castle, my thigh was stabbed." As she spoke, she directly lifted her skirt high, exposing a completely healed wound near the root of her thigh. Though much time had passed, the scar was still plainly visible, showing how severe the injury had been. "I bled until I was almost dead. Ciri gave me this to drink and saved my life!"

Victor politely turned his eyes away while gesturing for Angoulême to lower her skirt quickly. They were out in the wilderness; a girl should still have some modesty. Though this wild girl clearly understood all that, she simply could not be bothered to act modest.

His gaze drifted into the distance. Lambert's figure had already disappeared behind the grass and trees. Brilliant sunlight covered the earth, while a breeze rustled through the forest and carried fresh air toward them.

Fine. I'll just treat her as another helper!

When she brought out that bottle, Victor truly experienced a strange thrill. It came from knowing that his actions had affected this world. His grandmother's healing potion, combined with his own generous gift, had allowed a life that should have died to stand before him now. It truly was a miracle of fate.

No matter what kind of person she used to be, since I played a part in snatching her back from death, then some shares of her belong to me, Victor could not help thinking. My person... my Hansa?