The Squirrel Party Collects Everything

A few months earlier. Winter. Kaer Morhen's courtyard—

Eskel held his sword with effortless fluidity, calmly dealing with the spinning collisions of three windmills while still able to speak. "We learn swordsmanship so that even when we're at a disadvantage of one against three, we can find an opening to turn things around and kill our opponents in battle."

Victor, whose eyes had been opened, followed up with a question. "What about one against five, if they have crossbows too?"

"To stay alive and look for a chance to run."

"What about one against ten?"

"No hope. Just wait to die."

Then the witcher slipped through the high-speed pincer attack of the three windmills, removed the blindfold over his eyes, and looked at Victor. His scarred face was gentle and composed. "Remember this: witchers are not knights. Being able to fight many opponents alone is impressive, but if I have a choice, I will always prefer many against one.

"Fully armed, with bombs and Signs, a witcher might inflict astonishing casualties. But so what? Not only would that violate our rules, more importantly, no one would pay us for it.

"In certain circumstances, we can take on ten or even twenty alone. But rather than discussing how to survive in such a situation, it's better to consider how not to end up in one. Especially when facing regular troops in formation, the rational choice is to run as far and as fast as possible.

"Swordsmanship is important, but choosing the right opponents is what lets you live a long life."

As Eskel spoke, the knife scar winding across his face twisted with his expressions. It was ugly, but in retrospect, it was also warm.

Angoulême was facing off against a female elf. From behind, Victor could not see her face, but her slender figure and the two one-handed swords told him plenty. The fact that she could stand against Angoulême meant that even if she could not win, she would not be much weaker.

Thanks to Eskel's general swordsmanship lessons, he knew the simplest thing to do at a time like this. With a sharp hiss, he drew his steel sword, deliberately letting the blade scrape along the scabbard's inner wall and produce a loud ring.

Seizing the instant the female elf was startled and distracted, Angoulême sprang forward like a tiger. With a two-handed strike, she knocked away the elf's sword in her left hand, then punched her right arm with her left fist to prevent a counterattack. At the same time, the pommel of her sword ruthlessly smashed into the side of the elf's head.

The girl struck with tremendous force. Even Victor, standing nearby, felt the pain at the dull impact that sounded like a hammer striking an anvil. That pommel blow sent the female elf spinning over once before she crashed to the ground and lay still.

Victor hurriedly waved to stop Angoulême from delivering a piercing finishing blow. He first kicked the two fallen one-handed swords far away, then took out some medicinal powder and gently sprinkled it over the female elf's exposed hand.

After waiting a moment and confirming that she did not react, he squatted down with relief and turned her over.

The female elf had fluffy, charcoal-black hair hanging loosely over her shoulders, with a thin braid tied at each temple. Thin lips, patterned brows, a high forehead, and a swelling of clotted blood where the side of her skull had been struck.

She wore a dark green top beneath simple handmade leather armor, with tight sheepskin trousers below and riding boots on her feet.

She wore two accessories. One was a necklace made from a thin leather cord wrapped several times around her neck, strung with what appeared to be carved golden wood beads. The other made Victor frown: a squirrel tail tied around her waist.

That meant the female elf was a member of the "Squirrel Party."

The so-called Squirrel Party had begun as a nonhuman protest group formed in response to humanity's oppression and discrimination against nonhuman races. After humanity's bloody suppression, they quickly evolved into an armed resistance group, then into forest guerrillas.

Victor vaguely remembered, amid the drunken chatter at Vergen's tavern, that the Squirrel Party leader around Floating Harbor was... Iophis!?

Damn it. The moment he recalled that name and the things associated with it, Victor had the urge to turn around and run. But first, there was something he needed to test.

He drew his steel sword and tentatively held it against the female elf's neck. Sure enough, he heard those voices again.

"Kill her!"

"Do it. She's Squirrel Party. Her hands must be stained with plenty of human blood too. Killing her would save lives."

"Kill her. Cut open her throat."

"Just give it a gentle push forward. She won't feel any pain."

The same familiar formula, still that layer upon layer of echoes. But this time, they were extremely faint, barely more than whispers, nowhere near as loud and overwhelming as before. And the moment he withdrew his sword, the voices stopped abruptly.

Carefully considering the differences between the two incidents and their causes, the boy fell into thought.

Angoulême, who had been standing guard beside him, noticed Victor's motions as he gestured with his sword and then sheathed it. After pondering for a while, she silently stepped forward.

She patted the boy's shoulder, her voice gentle. "It's all right. Don't force yourself. If you can't do it, I'll do it for you!"

Victor, his thoughts interrupted, shook his head. He brushed aside Angoulême's wrist to stop her attempted stab, then pressed his hand down to signal for her to sheathe her sword.

Angoulême continued persuading him. "There's nothing shameful about it. You can't do it because the captain is too kind. It's fine. I'm willing to kill for you."

Speechless, Victor slapped his forehead. "Forget Lambert's nonsense. I don't have a problem, and I can do it. I just need time to think some things through."

For some instinctive reason, whether on the day he had first acted as a hero or when he had awakened after recovering from his illness, he had had countless opportunities to ask about it. Yet he would rather be mistaken for weak than mention to Lambert the murderous cries that inexplicably rang in his head.

His intuition told him this was a secret that could not be spoken of.

Angoulême had wanted to keep trying to persuade him, but after the captain's mildly angry glare sent her retreating, she could only obediently watch as Victor took two vials of potion from his herb pouch, lifted the female elf's head, and poured them down her throat in sequence.

Then he tore off half the sash wrapped around the female elf's waist. After considering it for a moment, he used blood to scrawl a line of writing she could not understand across it, then tossed both elf and message into the bushes to hide them.

Once he had finished, Victor's voice was unusually stern. "Let's go! We're heading for Floating Harbor. Move quickly!"

Angoulême followed Victor's footsteps. "She's Squirrel Party. Won't she tell her companions something once she wakes up?"

"That's why she drank two vials of potion." Victor maintained a steady, brisk pace. "And we need to make the most of our time. Get as far away as we can."

"You seem really nervous. Is it that serious?"

"If, when you were drinking, you hadn't just been sitting there grinning like an idiot and had actually listened, you'd know that the Squirrel Party leader around here is that bastard Iophis!"

Angoulême shut her mouth and quickened her pace. Even someone as carefree as her had to admit that Iophis was a name like thunder.

This Aen Seidhe elf, the legendary former commander of the Vrihedd Brigade, was renowned for his hatred of humans. After becoming a member of the Squirrel Party assault force, he had borne direct responsibility for the burning and slaughter of many human villages and civilians.

These evil Squirrel Party members gathered everything they could gather, including human heads.