Three Lives, Three Worlds, Ten Miles of Verbal Sparring

In a temperate broadleaf mixed forest, the classic pairing of a domineering CEO and a commoner woman strolled together. Today marked the hundredth day of their online relationship—a romantic day, a special day. Having chosen today to meet in person, they were fortunate that it did not turn into a disaster, because neither of them was good at editing photos.

But as they walked, they fell into a peculiar awkwardness. Though they had been able to talk about anything online, face-to-face, they kept finding themselves at a loss for words.

Fortunately, this was a famous tourist attraction, and the guide's loudspeaker boomed from afar in perfect support: "Everyone, come closer... come closer and take a look. Don't get separated.

"This monument marks the place where, a thousand years ago, Golden Eagle Angoulême subdued the rioter Iophis with a single sword! Let me tell you, that battle was no joke. Back then..."

As they listened, the young couple exchanged a smile, and an unspoken understanding quietly grew between them.

Then the domineering CEO gently took the commoner woman's hand and said tenderly, "Let's go take a look too."

Angoulême had already been on the verge of collapse after running all day, sustained only by sheer willpower. But against an opponent on Iophis's level, willpower meant very little.

His one-handed sword seemed to dance lightly, yet he effortlessly parried Angoulême's two-handed slashes with one hand.

Overwhelmed in strength, speed, and skill, she lost her sword after only a few exchanges. Then the pommel struck the left side of her head, sending her spinning twice through the air before she crashed into Victor's arms.

Thunderous cheers erupted from the surrounding elves.

Holding Angoulême as he crouched to examine her, he found that her injury matched the female elf's exactly, only more severe. The boy abruptly looked up and glared at the elf butcher.

"Angry? I was angry too when I found Toluvel in the bushes. If you're not convinced, pick up a sword and let's have some fun." Iophis wore a relaxed smile, standing casually as his left hand made an insulting gesture popular among dwarves.

Taking a deep breath, Victor shook his head to indicate that he would not fight. He took out a healing potion and supported Angoulême's neck as he helped her drink it. "Why are you pursuing us? From the beginning, we had no hostility toward the Squirrel Party. Everything was an accident. I thought we had made that very clear."

The elf spun his sword, sheathed the blade in his right hand, then approached Victor with seeming complete disregard for caution. He pulled the sword embedded in the ground free and pointed it at the boy's throat. "I thought... once you saw my scars, you should have known you were dead."

"By ancient law, witchers remain neutral. We do not interfere in worldly disputes. Even the queen of the Aen Seidhe must acknowledge that. Your pursuit of us has no justification." Facing the blade, Victor remained neither servile nor overbearing, because after observing from the beginning until now, he had already seen how this conversation would end.

Before, he had been perhaps eighty percent certain. Now, there would be danger but no real risk. His opponent was a qualified guerrilla leader, so he was sure that as long as he guided the conversation in a certain direction, Angoulême and he would not die.

Iophis said disdainfully, "You are not yet a witcher, human. And as one of them, you will pay for the atrocities your race committed against us."

Certain of himself, the boy answered contempt with sarcasm. "What atrocities? Slaughtering merchants who could not fight back? Or burning the crops farmers had worked so hard to grow?"

"Heh. I have no need to explain myself to you, but this time I'll tell you why. The merchants and nobles joined forces to set up a trade trap meant to surround and kill us, while those crafty farmers poisoned the grain they sold at inflated prices."

Someone else might not have accepted that explanation, but Victor had always pitied and despised this greedy age of arrogance and prejudice, so he did not think Iophis was lying. Of course, he also did not believe Iophis was innocent enough to have acted only in passive retaliation every time.

"In that case, you have even less reason to kill us. Why extinguish genuine goodwill? Why turn potential friends into enemies? Has primitive life in the wilderness worn away every last bit of your reason?"

That argument carried more weight, leaving Iophis silent for a while.

Then he asked, "Was what you wrote on that note true?"

"It was. Aside from the fact that I am still an apprentice rather than a full witcher, every word was true.

"She will only be unconscious for three days, and that unconsciousness will help her injuries."

"Fine." He pointed at Angoulême. "This woman's debt is settled. She will live.

"But you—because you set traps that severely injured five elves and left them with mild lifelong disabilities—will be sentenced to death.

"In consideration of your laying down gravel to reduce the traps' lethality, I can let you choose a bloodless death."

With the conversation having reached this point, Victor lightly joked, "How surprising. Has the Squirrel Party's logistical strength truly deteriorated to such a state? I thought injuries that minor could be fully healed."

The elf said coldly, "The Squirrel Party has fallen to this state entirely because of you humans!"

"Hahaha. The ones who betrayed the Vrihedd Brigade and the Squirrel Party might have been 'the white flame dancing atop the graves of enemies,' or perhaps 'Daisy of the Valley,' but it could never have been Victor Corleone.

"Iophis, have you fallen so low that you cannot even hate the right target?" Thanks to Lambert's company throughout the winter, the boy's sharp tongue crossed twelve years of fairy-tale time and returned to its former glory.

"Shut up!" That needle of painful venom pierced straight to the bone. Helpless rage made the elf's entire body tremble faintly; frost covered his face, and the blade pointed at Victor's throat twitched restlessly.

Though Victor did not mind letting the other man's heart suffer for longer, he was also afraid of pushing things too far, so he changed the subject at the right moment. "What if I can completely heal them? No disabilities, no lasting effects."

Gradually.

The frost slowly thawed.

Iophis calmed down, revealing a faint smile of realization.

"No wonder you were so fearless. Skilled with traps, poison, and healing—you're an apprentice of the Flying Lion School?"

"No." The boy pulled the Wolf School medallion out from beneath his collar. "I'm from the School of the Wolf. I specialize in swordsmanship, blade oils, and bombs."

After pondering for a moment, the elf said, "Fine, Victor. No matter which school you belong to, if you can completely heal my kin, then... you are our guest. Of course, you know what will happen if you deceive me."

Victor shrugged indifferently.

The elf sheathed his left-hand sword and called out loudly, "A few of you, bring the stretcher over. We have two guests, and one of them needs a stretcher."

Then he looked at Victor and asked gently, "Guests... right?"

Lowering Angoulême, Victor silently picked up both his and the girl's weapons. He offered the swords to the elf, hilts first.

"Yes. Two guests.

"I will prove my goodwill once my safety is guaranteed."

Iophis accepted the swords with both hands. "I promise that you are as safe now as if you were in your own home."