After Thor was taken away, the throne hall fell silent and oppressive for a time.
No one spoke.
With the atmosphere as it was, Lynn could hardly bring up his payment with Brovar.
Of course, he was not afraid Brovar would welch on their agreement.
Through this contract, he and Geralt had already proven their strength.
Unless Brovar was a fool, he would never offend two witchers capable of dealing with a plague maiden in one fell swoop over a mere few thousand orens.
Just as he had expected, after a period of silence, Brovar spoke first, breaking the quiet.
"Master witcher, you did very well. Not only did you complete the task I gave you, you also exposed a traitor plotting against me. Your work is done. Now it's time for me to keep my promise."
"Bring the things up."
Two dwarven attendants in robes emerged through another door in the throne hall.
Each carried an item as they approached Lynn.
The first dwarven attendant carried a chest.
Inside, it was packed full of neatly arranged, gleaming gold orens.
Some of the coins bore the portrait of the previous king of Temeria, while others bore that of the current king, King Foltest.
But whose portrait they bore did not matter. None of them had been clipped or damaged; every gold coin was whole.
The second dwarven attendant carefully held a sheathed sword in both hands.
Lynn first accepted the chest and set it by his feet.
Only then did he take the sword from the second dwarven attendant.
Shing!
The sword was silvery white throughout, gleaming with a cold light, like a mirror or a pool of lake water.
A recessed fuller ran down the center of the blade.
Perhaps for the sake of appearance, the end of the hilt had an openwork design.
Lynn drew both Gwyhyr and his own steel sword.
Then he held his steel sword in his left hand and Gwyhyr in his right.
The next moment.
He struck the two swords together hard.
With a clear clang, a notch appeared in the edge of his steel sword, and visible cracks formed in the blade near it.
Gwyhyr, however, was completely unscathed, still gleaming as though new.
Lynn could not help drawing in a sharp breath.
There was no doubt about it. This was truly a peerless sword.
Seeing that Lynn had finished testing it, Brovar smiled smugly. "Well, master witcher? I didn't lie to you, did I?"
Lynn put the weapons away again and gave Brovar a solemn bow.
Although they had agreed beforehand on a payment of four thousand orens and a Gwyhyr Sword.
Brovar could actually have paid him with just an ordinary dwarven sword.
After all, even a dwarven sword forged from ordinary steel was more durable than a human-made sword, so there was no fear of Lynn noticing in the short term.
By the time a problem actually arose, who knew how long would have passed? Even if Lynn came to Mahakam, the other party could simply turn hostile and deny knowing him.
Those troublemakers with too little brain and far too much nerve would certainly have done just that.
Yet despite his high position, Brovar still kept his promise.
Before entering the working world, Lynn had always thought keeping one's word was the bare minimum. Only after struggling through it for more than ten years had he realized how lucky one was to find a boss who actually did.
A weapon was a second life to someone who lived by the sword.
Brovar was truly willing to give him a priceless sword, and that deserved a solemn bow.
Finally, before leaving the throne hall, Lynn told Brovar about the Order of Benevolent Apothecaries.
Brovar also said he would send people into the mine to recover their bodies and give them a proper burial.
In addition, he would erect a solemn monument in the mountains, so that Mahakam would forever remember everything they had done for the dwarves.
Leaving the throne hall, Lynn took the four thousand gold orens and the Gwyhyr Sword back to the guest room to wait for Geralt.
Before long, Geralt returned too.
Geralt had visited the quarantine ward and found that the red rashes and blisters on the sick miners were already showing clear signs of fading.
He believed it would not be long before they recovered without medicine.
Hearing this, Lynn felt reassured.
Although witchers worked for money, they still had to make sure the job was done properly, without leaving problems behind for their employers.
Witchers lived long lives, and cutting corners to make quick money was a thoroughly inadvisable approach.
Vesemir had taught them this too.
When it came to monster-hunting contracts, Vesemir was always right.
They could never go wrong following his advice.
Lynn counted out Geralt's two thousand orens and gave them to him.
He also handed Gwyhyr over.
Geralt gave it a few swings, clicking his tongue in admiration.
Even in his decades as a witcher, he had never seen a better sword.
Dwarven craftsmanship in itself was not particularly rare; weapons forged from ordinary steel could be bought directly in Mahakam.
The weapons trade was, after all, one of Mahakam's major sources of income.
What was truly precious was a weapon made with adamantine.
At least, Geralt really had not heard of many people who could afford a weapon this fine.
But what Geralt did next left Lynn frozen in place:
He did not accept the Gwyhyr Sword.
Instead, he handed it back to Lynn.
"Geralt?"
Lynn looked at him in confusion.
Geralt said quite seriously, "Keep it. This is the reward Elder Brovar gave you."
Lynn immediately shook his head. "No, this is our shared reward. Besides... this sword would be of greater use in your hands, wouldn't it?"
"But I believe you'll put it to good use too. Take it!"
Without allowing any argument, Geralt thrust the Gwyhyr Sword into Lynn's hands.
Without waiting for Lynn to say anything more in thanks, he strode outside.
"Now that the elder's contract is finished, I'll go find Istredd and tell him we can set out with him."
"You've already had more adventures since coming down the mountain than plenty of witchers. Their first year on the road wasn't nearly as exciting as yours. Get some rest for now. You've earned it."
Watching Geralt leave, Lynn did not know how to describe what he felt at that moment.
But just then, he suddenly understood something he had never been able to figure out before.
Why had the other witcher schools dwindled until barely anyone remained, while the School of the Wolf could still remain one big family?
Lynn stroked Gwyhyr's blade, cold as the depths of winter, and silently made a vow.
I will never let the School of the Wolf fall apart in the "future"!
I will restore the glory of the witchers!