It's Just That Simple and Unpretentious

A month ago, if anyone had told the boy he would be staying in Vergen for a long time, Victor would definitely have loudly denounced them for talking nonsense. Yet before he knew it, he had been there for a full month—three whole weeks spent recuperating.

He was still sleeping at Angoulême's house. When he received the first payment for the goods, he had considered moving out, but gave up after the girl loudly berated him.

While recovering, he resumed his habit of morning runs. Every day after breakfast, he jogged a circuit around Vergen's mountain city, then drank a large pot of milk. After that, he sparred with Angoulême, which made for excellent rehabilitation training.

Though the girl had never received systematic swordsmanship training, she possessed rich combat experience and wild instincts. As expected of someone who had traveled thousands of miles with Geralt in search of his daughter and fought battle after battle against mercenaries, Victor could draw much nourishment from their exchanges—really, he just could not beat her.

As for the story of her past, Victor got it out of her on their third day together with a few bottles of wine. Of course, that also had something to do with the fact that she had no intention of hiding it.

In summary, she was the illegitimate daughter of a Cintran noble, sent to be fostered by a farming family. When Nilfgaard invaded, she was sent to a temple—but that temple was a children's trade academy. Since she was already a little older, business had been poor.

After suffering abuse, she rose up at fifteen with her companions, burned down the academy, cut down the madam, and became an outlaw, forming a Hansa. At seventeen, she was captured by the Nilfgaardians and about to be executed, only to be rescued from the gallows by Geralt through a twist of fate. From then on, she had given him her heart...

Sure enough, it was the sort of story that made anyone feel terrible just hearing it.

In any case, to her, her family, her sense of belonging, and her sense of safety were all the Hansa... though it should now be called the Phantom Troupe.

When Victor had first heard the story, he had felt a little regretful. The troupe she had invested so much in had made its first move by selling aphrodisiacs, which seemed somewhat beneath it.

Angoulême herself did not seem to mind, however. Every day after sparring, she happily went to and from the herbal shop under the troupe's banner to collect and deliver goods. That was right—whenever she delivered the goods, she always introduced herself as Angoulême Corleone of the Phantom Troupe, as though afraid no one would know.

The afternoons were for reading. Troupe members could not go without knowledge, so Victor invoked his status as troupe leader and declared it a new troupe rule: refuse to comply and leave the troupe. With that ultimate weapon, he suppressed Angoulême's resistance, and the wild girl could only concede defeat.

The evenings were for drinking. Sixty percent of Vergen's population were nonhumans, and more than half were dwarves. With Zoltan's guarantee and introduction, Angoulême's company as someone who had lived there for half a year, and his lavishly free-spending generosity, Victor swiftly became one of the tavern's more popular patrons.

But he never got drunk. Every night, he made sure to return home before nine. After stirring the merchandise, he drank a cup of hot milk, did half an hour of stretching exercises, and slept a full six hours.

Such was the simple, unadorned life of a wealthy man selling aphrodisiacs.

A month passed by in the blink of an eye.

Late April, night. Angoulême's living room.

"This is really for me!?" The girl stared with wide brown eyes, her eyebrows bouncing animatedly. Before her lay a complete set of brand-new leather armor reinforced with iron plates, along with a Mahakam steel sword.

Without hesitation, she picked up the sword first and examined it closely. It was razor-sharp, over three feet long, yet weighed no more than two pounds. Strips of lizard skin were wrapped in a crisscross pattern around its twelve-inch hilt. The matching scabbard was plain and unadorned, without any decorative pattern, but its throat and suspension ring were made of black steel. The workmanship was exceptionally refined.

"This sword looks incredible!" Angoulême turned toward Victor, beaming.

"Hmph! A blade," Zoltan cut in from the side, "is for killing, not looking at. You can't judge it by first impressions alone. The important thing is that your sword is a typical refined alloy. It contains graphite and borax..."

Angoulême glared at Zoltan and pulled a face. "Shut up. Of course my leader would get me the best. I knew that without you telling me!" With that, she happily hugged Victor, bent down to kiss Zoltan on the cheek, then gleefully carried the sword and armor back to her room to continue packing.

Tomorrow, the Phantom Troupe would leave this city and continue their journey toward Vizima, Temeria's capital. Given Victor's personality, he naturally wanted to equip them with the best gear possible in Vergen, this gathering place for goods from north and south.

Compared with Angoulême, he had not only acquired a Mahakam steel sword from the dwarves' homeland and custom-fitted leather armor reinforced with iron plates, but had also commissioned one additional item: a silver sword with a silver-plated blade.

The sword had come about because of a conversation before Lambert left.

"Th-this Wolf School medallion?... Is it for me?"

"Yes. Vesemir told me to give it to you. He said that if you couldn't become a mage, you'd want to become a witcher instead. You're rather obsessed with possessing supernatural power of your own, after all. I have to say, the old man really does judge people accurately."

"But I haven't undergone the Trial..."

"The old man says you can, so you can. Besides... there aren't many Wolf School witchers left anyway... You know it. Our entire kind is disappearing. Even so, are you willing to accept it?"

"A medallion that can detect magical power and the presence of monsters—I've wanted one for a long time."

"You still need to be careful. You can't rely on it completely. The medallion isn't omnipotent. It can't detect certain concealed magic or higher-level monsters—such as vampires.

"Hey! What are you doing? Don't come hugging me. I'm not interested in men!"

"You know, I'm grateful that you accompanied me this far, and for everything that happened along the way. You may be an old bastard, but you're also a good friend. Sorry that I can't do anything for you yet."

"No need to be polite. You can thank me with a bag full of Crowns! I know you have them."

"That simple? Then I believe these two bags of Crowns can get you to give me a hug!"

"Stay alive. Once I've wrapped things up, should I come find you in Vizima?"

"No need. We'll meet at Kaer Morhen."

The next day, at the ferry dock outside Vergen, Victor let Angoulême board first while he stood on the pier to bid Zoltan farewell. The first stop on their journey to Vizima would be Floating Harbor, the gateway to Pontar Valley, reached by ship.

Just before he boarded, the dwarven warrior said he had something to tell the boy and kept Victor behind alone.

Though Zoltan had not yet spoken, Victor could vaguely guess what he wanted to say.

Zoltan waved toward Angoulême, who had already gone up to the ship's rail, then spoke from behind his thick beard. "I don't much like you... I haven't since the third day after you woke up."

Hearing that, Victor raised an eyebrow and was about to speak, but Zoltan continued, giving him no chance to interrupt. "The reason I don't like you is simple. Your thoughts run too deep. No one can tell what you're thinking, and that makes me uneasy.

"The good thing about a complicated mind is that it can protect Angoulême. The bad thing is that the girl might be harmed by you without even realizing it. Even if, from what I can see now, you've been treating her well enough...

"I know why she chose you. It's her choice. I can't stop her from going with you, but I can tell you about my concerns."

Having said that, he turned to Victor. "Now then, leader of the Phantom Troupe, Ciri's brother, Victor Corleone of Bell Town—what do you have to say to me?"

At the end of the day, there was still a lack of trust in Zoltan's gaze, Victor thought.

Vesemir's trust came from Ciri's wholehearted guarantee and more than half a year spent together. Lambert and Eskel had Vesemir and Ciri's joint assurance, plus an entire winter of living together.

But it wouldn't work with Zoltan. They had originally been strangers, and the only proof he had was the Wolf School medallion. The medallion might persuade him to help treat an illness or assist with business, but it was not enough for him to trust Victor with taking Angoulême away.

Victor had made a mistake as well. Because of his preconceived fondness and familiarity with Zoltan, he had not concealed his sharpness too carefully. He had not expected that, in Zoltan's eyes, it would make him seem calculating and unlike a boy his age.

Yet Victor did not feel the slightest bit guilty about Zoltan laying his cards on the table. Time would prove everything.

The boy turned to look at Angoulême on the deck. She was nimbly climbing the mast like a monkey, gazing into the distance. "Zoltan, do you believe in fate?" His voice was calm and far-reaching. "I don't. I don't believe in fate, yet fate waved at me and brought me a miracle."

Victor lowered his head to look at Zoltan. "I can't explain the reasons to you in detail, but Angoulême is very important to me. She is the starting point of my interaction with this world, proof that I can change it.

"I will do everything I can to protect her."