There Is No Hatred Out of Nowhere

After Knight Tylles and Commander Kramer left, Mother Nenneke beckoned Victor over to support her and said, "Let's go to the greenhouse!"

Once they left the side hall, they found the early-summer garden awash with blooming flowers. Along the way to the greenhouse, female students and priestesses occasionally asked whether she needed help, but Mother simply waved them off gently and told them to attend to their own duties.

Victor knew perfectly well that she did not need anyone to support her. She was remarkably nimble when she worked, so this display of intimacy was merely a statement—one meant for the others in the temple and the commoners who came seeking aid...

Still, while he had the chance, Victor had many questions about the play they had just staged that he wanted to discuss with his elder. Angoulême had organized the outline and conclusions for him, but details determined success or failure.

Keeping his steps steady and even, Victor walked in time with the priestess.

"Mother, you seem to have known Knight Tylles for a long time. Do you know why he hates witchers so much?"

Nenneke replied evenly, "Didn't you already know he was prejudiced? Why ask?"

"Because the hatred he displayed just now far exceeded anything I had expected. It feels as though there must be a deeper reason."

There was a moment of silence.

With a sigh, Mother slowly said, "It happened a little over ten years ago. Tylles had just joined the Order of the White Rose and become that old man Hereward's favorite—"

"Uh... that kind of favorite?" Victor interrupted without thinking.

It was far too shocking. Who would have thought that Tylles, with those thick brows and big eyes, would actually be...!

"Heh, who knows? It wasn't any concern of mine." She continued, "Young men are hot-blooded and easily led astray. Back then, the mentors of the White Rose filled him with hatred for witchers and the notion that he could proclaim his own martial prowess by defeating a famous witcher.

"Then Geralt happened to come here to recover from his injuries."

The boy immediately laughed. "Wow... the White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken. A young knight wanted to defeat him in a duel of swordsmanship? That was bold. Pure fantasy."

"So, in a very practical fashion, they demanded that Geralt not touch so much as a finger of his, only defend himself while taking a beating. Otherwise, they would hang him." The priestess shook her head disdainfully.

Victor raised an eyebrow. "And then?"

Amusement appeared on the priestess's face. "He tripped over a stone and cut his own face with his sword, then wailed as though someone had chopped off his hand.

"Geralt kept his promise and never touched him, so Kramer stopped Falwick from flying into a rage and let Geralt leave."

Drawing on his experience of being beaten in countless creative ways by Vesemir while training with a sword at Kaer Morhen, Victor could fully imagine how Geralt had managed it. He could also imagine how deeply Knight Tylles's fragile pride had been humiliated by it, even if he had brought that humiliation upon himself.

"Who was Falwick?"

"Count Morne, Tylles's mentor in the Order of the White Rose, and one of the witnesses to that farcical duel."

A while later, they stepped onto the mountain trail.

"Mother, you said at the end that you would write to the duchess. Are you close with her?"

"Emeir. For many years, my apothecary has supplied her with aphrodisiacs.

"But I'm afraid she won't be able to help with this. Hereward may not dislike witchers, but neither does he care about them."

The answer did not surprise the boy. If Tylles had been responsible for maintaining the city's security all these years while the prince knew nothing of the knight's methods, that would have been unrealistic. Getting indifference rather than hatred was already good news.

As they spoke, the two arrived at the greenhouse. Victor stepped forward, opened the door, and ushered the high priestess into the cavern.

The priestess picked up a pair of shears and a bone stick, then walked briskly into the potted plant area. "Come to think of it, you were very composed just now. For a moment, I thought your anger had gotten the better of you and that you would declare you were leaving immediately. The deadline you set at the end must have infuriated them.

"But you should understand that you have truly offended them now. If they had only planned to beat you before, they will certainly beat you much more severely now."

Victor replied nonchalantly, "They'll have to catch me first. If they can't catch me, it's all meaningless."

Lady Nenneke smiled. "I'll prepare a good horse for you. Let them stew for a few weeks first. Once they let their guard down, you can leave on horseback a few days early and be fine."

Though he had other plans in mind, Victor replied, "Thank you, Mother."

Time flowed like water, and more than ten days passed in the blink of an eye...

The meals Lame Anton sold were truly awful!

Angoulême could not understand it. Both were fragrant roast basil chicken, so why was the difference between them like heaven and earth? The captain's chicken had crisp, fragrant skin and tender, succulent meat. The inn's version looked similar at first glance, but the difference was obvious the moment it entered her mouth.

Letting herself go had been fun, but she missed the captain a little. Even though he had Catherine bring her all kinds of instructions every other day—such as buying things or reminding her to read—without his sharp-tongued mockery in person, life seemed to lack a little flavor.

As she grew through reading, she now understood that a direct assassination had been inappropriate from the start. Most importantly, she had not even known how strong her opponent was. What if he turned out to be another Iophis?

Even if he were merely as capable as Toluvel, if he could hold her off for a while, reinforcements would surround her.

So her new proposal was to use a trap: the bear trap that had shone so brilliantly during their pursuit through the forest. Xilang had even asked her privately why the trap's hit rate was so high. Unfortunately, she did not know either.

But she knew Victor had not spent much time setting it up, while Tylles had clearly come to hate the witcher apprentice. Every few days, he personally went into the forest to confirm that the captain was still in the temple and had not left, and that the men stationed there had not grown lax.

So all she had to do was arrange it for him in the forest. Once he stepped into the trap, it would clamp shut from both sides and guarantee that Tylles happily "jumped" about. Then she could come out and finish him off. Easy and pleasant!

The crucial point was that only Angoulême Corleone would act. Everyone in the temple could prove that the captain had nothing to do with it. The plan was simply perfect!

That good feeling lasted until the girl confidently opened the letter Catherine had brought. Then her smug expression collapsed—

"This plan is not bad, but it has a fatal flaw. The trap is lured by scent, which disperses quickly in a natural environment. In other words, it has a time limit. Unlike last time, when we were being pursued closely, it cannot be maintained over the long term.

"And that is the end of it. You need not think about that person anymore. He will soon cease to be a problem.

"Have you finished the reading list I gave you last time? Make good use of your time. Read more, learn more. I have high expectations for you. Do not disappoint me.

"Your captain, Victor Corleone"