Some Things Can't Be Discussed

Squirrel Party — Floating Harbor Forest Free Camp.

On the third day after the humans moved into the camp, Toluvel finally woke up. Her mind was clear, and her injuries had healed well enough that she could get out of bed and walk immediately. Upon hearing the news, Iophis rushed to her tent at once.

"Oh! You're here. I heard those two bastards who beat me up are in the camp." Standing before a mirror, Toluvel carefully wiped her face with a silk scarf, avoiding the swollen bruises. Her anger was entirely undisguised.

Iophis sat broadly in the only other chair in the tent. He waved for the female elf who had been caring for Toluvel to leave first, then said, "They are my guests now. Please show them the bare minimum of respect."

"After they beat me into this state?"

"I hit them back... and you don't seem to have any lasting effects."

The female elf let out a scornful laugh. "Ha! Did I hear that right? You're speaking up for humans. Was I really only unconscious for three days? Are you still the Iophis I know?"

The elf calmly replied, "There are two humans. The woman is a fool with nothing but brute strength. As for the man, setting aside his status as a witcher apprentice, he comes from Bell Town east of Zerrikania. He has nothing to do with the hatred between us and the humans."

Toluvel strapped two short swords to her waist. "Bell Town east of Zerrikania!? You actually believe that nonsense?"

"Experience, speech, and unconscious habits can't be faked. That boy definitely isn't one of the local monkeys. You know, he bathes every day. In all my years, I've never seen a witcher... apprentice so obsessed with cleanliness." As he spoke, a smile appeared on his face.

Growing somewhat impatient, she casually put on a necklace strung with golden birch beads, her tone unfriendly. "Whatever the case, you handed my subordinates over to his command without asking me. I reserve the right to hold you accountable for that."

Still seated, Iophis lowered his head slightly in apology. "I understand your displeasure, milady. But only the people you brought can properly identify medicinal herbs. For the sake of our kin recovering sooner, I ask for your forgiveness."

She squeezed Iophis's upper arm twice, then walked toward the tent's exit, the squirrel tail hanging from her waist bouncing with every step. "Let's see what he's done to my herb camp before we discuss that!"

As far as Victor was concerned, the greatest regret about moving into the Squirrel Party camp was that he had only made Iophis promise it would be as safe as home, not as comfortable as home.

In truth, the Squirrel Party's quality of life could only be described as utterly terrible in his eyes. Their tents were old and dim, their tools crude and shoddy, their food natural but rough. Even the formerly ruined Kaer Morhen was better than this. Fortunately, it was summer, so warmth was not much of a concern.

An alchemist's apprentice was not a doctor. When it came to treating injuries, his preferred approach was rough bandaging followed by potions, which required all sorts of herbs and a complicated preparation process.

He was clearly unable to handle everything himself, so Iophis gave him around a dozen elven assistants with a barely passable understanding of medicinal herbs.

On the first day, Victor crushed these nobodies' defiance with overwhelming identification knowledge and remarkably effective medicines. On the second day, he earned their respect by generously sharing formulas and teaching them how to prepare compounds.

Then, on the third day, after assigning the day's tasks and clapping his hands to dismiss the elves to their respective duties, he began studying a new formula. That was when someone lifted the flap of his tent, revealing a sight that had left a deep impression on him—the swollen bruises and smooth, high forehead of Toluvel.

He invited her to sit across from him at the low table and brewed a pot of rose tea to entertain her.

Her eyes were beautiful. The decorative patterns of her eyebrows made her jet-black pupils gleam like dark jade. Combined with her refined nose and thin lips, she looked like the sort of person who would be difficult to deal with, Victor thought.

The female elf held her right palm upward before her chest in greeting and introduced herself with graceful composure. "Toluvel aep Ceallach, from the Valley of Flowers."

The youth bowed slightly in return. "Victor Corleone, from Bell Town east of Zerrikania."

She raised the cup, inhaled its fragrance, and slowly took a sip. Then she set it down, her black eyes fixed on his blue ones, and cursed, "Where did that bitch who hit me go?"

Victor raised his brows, momentarily distracted by the thought that his looks were obviously not good enough. Then he said, "That was a terrible misunderstanding. Angoulême has already paid the price for it, and she is also Iophis's guest now. She is as free as the wind."

In other words, he did not know, and even if he did, it was none of her business.

In this era, guests were not permitted to harm their hosts, while hosts were obligated to protect their guests. It was an unquestioned custom. The moral force of this habit sometimes even surpassed the law; even the most despised criminals rarely attacked the household hosting them while they were guests.

Toluvel glanced at Victor without any intention of pressing the matter, naturally changing the subject instead. "Do you know that the people you've been commanding these past few days are all my subordinates?"

"I do. I've talked with them about many things, including why you chose to leave the Valley of Flowers and come out here—to teach the elves beyond it about medicinal herbs and farming."

Warmth entered her voice. "For that, I need to thank you. I asked about the wounded and examined the formulas you taught them. The results are so good they're almost unbelievable," Toluvel said.

Victor waved it off. "Don't mention it. I'm merely returning something to its rightful owners. Those were originally elven formulas; they were simply lost to your people."

"You can admit that so naturally... You really aren't one of the local monkeys. Those humans can't wait to erase every trace of the elves and declare everything to be the achievement of their own civilization!"

Victor had no answer to that. After all, he was human too.

Perhaps sensing the youth's awkwardness, the female elf asked directly, "You know what the humans of this land have done to the elves, don't you?"

"I do. Many books still record it; humanity has not yet reached the point of starting to falsify history. The difficult part is that neither elves nor humans can easily interpret these matters without taking sides or letting prejudice guide them..."

As for Victor, he could understand the elves—and even sympathize with them—because what had happened to them had once happened on the American continent as well.

The Native Americans welcomed civilized people who had crossed the ocean as immigrants. Once those civilized people had gained a foothold, they declared ownership of the land with sword and gun, then enthusiastically helped the natives become civilized and reduce their population burden. It had all been done with extreme savagery.

In this world's version, humans were foreign creatures brought here by the "Conjunction of the Spheres." The native elves accepted them, taught them magic, and helped them establish themselves on the continent. Then humanity usurped their place, slaughtering the elves until their civilization was broken and they could only struggle on in miserable survival.

Hearing the pity in Victor's tone, Toluvel gave a bitter smile. "Whatever the case, I must thank you—Victor of Bell Town. These potions have been a tremendous help. Because of them, many of my kin will suffer fewer lasting injuries."

"And those healthy elves may one day shoot my own kin," Victor said flatly, ignoring Toluvel's expression as she tried to explain. "In truth, the best choice for your people would be to let go of your hatred and retreat to distant places humans have no desire to enter, where you can recover and thrive.

"You have already lost this struggle for survival. More resistance will only spill more blood! Though perhaps it is already too late to say so, because the blood spilled in the past will not allow you to let go so easily."

The air remained silent for a long while. Then Toluvel said softly, "Victor Corleone—an outsider from east of Zerrikania. I heard something similar to what you said long ago, but I still do not agree.

"I do not agree with a single word you said, so please do not speak to me of letting go of hatred again."