Iron Rat House

Led by Laud, Witt and Geralt headed for the Iron Rat Gang's headquarters deep in the slums to negotiate with Laud's creditor.

The slums of Ard Carraigh were built against the towering city walls. The ground was uneven, the streets narrow and winding, and some filthy children had set up stalls, selling things they had picked up who knew where and whose purpose even they did not know.

Simple, dilapidated houses leaned against the city walls, crammed together like piles of building blocks. The damp conditions had left moss growing all over them, inside and out.

The ragged, sallow, emaciated residents paid no attention to the three men passing by, blindly rushing toward the next place where they might find work.

After walking through the narrow streets, entering a two-story wooden house under wary gazes, descending into its cellar, and passing through a long, pitch-black tunnel, the three finally reached their destination.

After all those twists and turns, Witt no longer knew where they were. Only the remnants of exquisite murals on the walls and the extremely faint sound of running water overhead suggested that they were somewhere in the elven ruins beneath Ard Carraigh.

The spacious underground cavern was brightly lit, a world unto itself-the headquarters of the Iron Rat Gang.

Banners that seemed to have been painted with blood hung high on the walls of the underground space, while vicious-looking Iron Rat Gang enforcers eyed everyone who passed them like predators.

More than a dozen tables stood on the ground, where well-dressed people shouted as they laid down their chips. The spectacle in the middle was even more exciting: two fighters wearing no armor were battling in a dilapidated arena enclosed by iron barriers, every punch striking flesh. The dirt beneath their feet had long since turned black from drinking its fill of blood.

At the far end of the cavern, a man seated high on a "throne" of scrap iron rose and walked around the arena to meet Witt and his companions.

"Welcome to Iron Rat House. I'm the head of the family. You can call me Brody, the 'Giant Rat.'"

He wore a pair of tattered shorts, his upper body bare, with several healed scars "stitched" together to form his shirt.

"Friends, as you can see, we have nothing here..." Brody spread his hands with a smile. "So please forgive me for being unable to offer any hospitality after your long journey."

"Cut the crap, Brody," Laud said impatiently. "Hand over my things!"

Before Brody could respond, the one-eyed enforcer beside him drew the short blade at his waist and pointed it at Laud, snarling, "You son of a bitch! Who do you think you're trying to impress here?"

Seeing that Brody remained silent, looking as though he were watching a show, Witt reached out expressionlessly and grabbed the one-eyed enforcer. He moved with incredible speed, snapping the man's knife hand before most of those present could react.

Only when the agonizing pain reached his brain did the one-eyed enforcer realize that the young man he had initially ignored had broken his hand. He let out an uncontrollable howl of pain. "Aaaaargh!"

Brody raised his eyebrows, whether because his subordinate had been defeated so easily or because even he had failed to see Witt's movements clearly.

"Friend, these are all my men, and there are plenty of Iron Rat Gang guests here too. Isn't it a bit rude to make me lose face like this?"

Witt refused to back down. "Your guests are still enjoying the match. Are you going to spoil their fun over your own problems, big rat?"

"You!" Another subordinate pointed at Witt, only to hastily withdraw his hand on instinct, afraid that Witt would break his hand too.

"Don't worry. I know exactly how far to go. I didn't use enough force to cripple him permanently. He'll recover naturally with some rest."

"Should I thank you for showing mercy, then, friend?" Brody asked with a smile, waving the injured one-eyed enforcer away.

"Of course."

At those words, Brody's smile faded. He narrowed his eyes at the young witcher before him. The air grew cold in the ensuing silence, and even the noisy shouting seemed to gradually die down.

Laud watched in terror as the nearby enforcers closed in, his heart in turmoil. He dared not make the slightest unnecessary movement, afraid of becoming the spark that started the fight. He could only hope that if a fight really did break out, his teleportation spell would not send him ten thousand meters into the sky.

Though Geralt remained as steady as a mountain, his expression gradually grew grave. He tensed his muscles, ready to bend down, draw his sword, and cut down everyone around him at any moment.

Facing Brody the "Giant Rat" directly, Witt's expression did not change. Only the pupils of his amber eyes contracted slightly, gradually narrowing into vertical slits.

Suddenly, Laud sensed a ripple of air elemental power and started in alarm. Could there be another mage here?

The standoff was finally broken by Brody's soft chuckle. He looked at Witt and said earnestly, "You're good. I'm sure you can handle the task I have for you." He waved the approaching enforcers back.

Laud let out a long breath. In those few moments alone, his back had become soaked with cold sweat.

Seeing that the situation had eased, a subordinate who had been waiting for some time stepped forward. "Groll's hand is nothing serious. A few days of rest and he'll be fine." Then he glanced at the outsiders present and leaned toward Brody's ear. "Also, a few more went missing yesterday."

"Why are you only telling me now?" Brody asked openly, having already intended to hand the task to the witchers.

"Because those latest missing people had been working in the inner city during the day and only coming home at night. Their families discovered this morning that none of them had returned, and only then reported it to me."

Brody frowned and turned to Witt and his companions. "You heard him, witcher. There's no time to waste now. I need you to deal with that giant centipede in the sewers as soon as possible, to repay your companion's debt."

"We still need to make some preparations," Geralt said. "Do you have..."

Brody raised a hand to interrupt Geralt and turned to the subordinate who had delivered the report. "Take them to the storeroom. Any reasonable request can be met. Use your own judgment." He then whispered a few more words to him.

Then he said to the witchers, "Let Carlson take you to prepare. I have other business to attend to, so forgive me for not keeping you company." With that, he turned and left.

With his keen hearing, Witt faintly caught a few of Brody's questions. "Where do those families live? Are there any children in their households..."

Carlson looked at Witt, who was still standing where he was. There was a hint of coldness in the eyes behind his glasses as he made an effort to look polite. "This way, please, witcher."

Just as Carlson was about to lead the three into another tunnel, a deafening roar erupted around the arena behind them, mingling excited howls with bitter curses.

A man who seemed to be the announcer walked into the center of the arena. Once the medical team behind him had carried away the fallen loser, he picked up a filthy gray-brown square of cloth and wrapped it around the victor, wiping the blood and sweat from his body. At the same time, he raised the victor's hand and shouted:

"Let's congratulate our new hundred-win champion! The banner of his blood and sweat, together with his conviction, will hang forever in Iron Rat House!!!"

"Ollie! Ollie! Ollie..." The spectators seated at the gambling tables rose to their feet and cheered until the gray-brown cloth, stained with blood and sweat, was hung high on the wall of the enormous cavern, joining the dozen or so banners above.