Chapter 67: A Century of Grievances
The interrogation was a pure waste of time. Even after a thorough application of the Great Memory Restoration Spell (intensive interrogation), the two ruffians couldn't provide much useful information.
The person who hired them had been extremely careful about secrecy: they were completely hooded and the job site was the 'Black Tavern.' This place was essentially the medieval hiring hall for mercenaries and thugs; the entire point of recruiting there was anonymity and randomness.
The lead was dead before it even began.
Arthur didn't take the matter too seriously; he had enough people tracking him already, and one more shadowy figure wouldn't make a difference. Instead of constantly worrying about anticipating his enemies' schemes, he decided to focus on steady self-improvement according to his own rhythm.
Speaking of which, Arthur looked back at the Blue Stripes guard: "Are there any monsters in the vicinity?" The werewolf recorded in the booklet had been on the run for a long time, and Arthur worried he wouldn't find it.
The Blue Stripes guard scratched his head and said: "Thirty miles north, near Big Black Tree Village, there's a monster. The tax contractor is offering a bounty of three hundred orens for its head."
He paused, lowering his voice to warn Arthur: "But I hear that monster is trouble. It attacks passing caravans and tax collectors all the time, and a lot of people have died over there."
Arthur nodded: "I just passed through that area recently. That monster wasn't just attacking caravans a mercenary squad of five men was killed by it. And now they want me to risk my life for three hundred orens? He truly lives up to the tax contractor name!"
As he spoke, he felt eyes on him from above. He abruptly spun around to look up at the window of the tax contractor's office on the second floor of the town hall. A figure awkwardly disappeared from behind the picture window.
Arthur deliberately raised his voice: "If the contractor hopes to see this matter properly resolved, offering crowns instead of orens might give him a chance. However, I absolutely refuse to take this job. That bastard is trying to conceal crucial information, and he'll probably find some other excuse to withhold payment later!"
He hoped this speech would buy the villagers of Big Black Tree a little more time. As for those who stubbornly chose to stay behind… Arthur could only offer his blessings.
A certain obnoxious philosopher once said that if anything can go wrong, no matter how small the probability, it will go wrong.
Arthur dragged Kolgrim along and searched the area marked in the booklet for a long time, but they couldn't find any sign of the werewolf. However, they did sell quite a bit of low-grade healing potion.
This was actually quite strange. One would assume that under the tax contract system, the common folk would be destitute. How could they possibly squeeze money out of their meager savings to buy potions?
Zoltan spat on the ground and said: "To save their lives, of course! This area is close to Brokilon, one of the most active regions for the elves. You could be working in the fields, and an arrow might just fly out of nowhere and stick in you."
"If you buy a bottle of this potion, as long as you don't die on the spot, you still have a hope of survival."
Arthur was surprised: "Why would the elves attack common folk?"
At that question, Zoltan and Dandelion both turned to stare at Arthur, as if they'd discovered he was an alien.
Fortunately, Kolgrim stepped in to explain: "Arthur had a bit of a shock while he was in Pontar, and he's forgotten things from his past."
"A memory-lost youth embarking on the path to become a hero! Ah, what a magnificent subject!" Dandelion dramatically exclaimed: "I must weave this story into my poems!"
Arthur looked wary:
"You can write whatever story you like, but you are absolutely forbidden from inventing so many lovers for me!"
It wasn't that he was strictly averse to romantic tales; it was just that Dandelion was so wildly exaggerated. Thanks to the rabble-rousing of a certain Dwarf obsessed with lowbrow humor, most of Dandelion's bedtime serenades were dedicated to recounting the untold stories of Geralt and various beautiful women. Most often, the heroine was a sorceress, sometimes a princess, but the most outrageous was always the succubus! Even for poetry, this was too ludicrous Arthur simply refused to believe the white-haired Witcher could bring himself to do the deed with a furry, horned monster!
Bong!
A furious note snapped from the lute string, and Dandelion protested loudly: "I am a disciplined bard! Every story I compose has an event prototype! I merely apply appropriate exaggeration and rhetoric in keeping with the poetic method!"
Arthur scoffed: "No one believes you!"
Seeing the two were about to descend into a shouting match, Kolgrim quickly changed the subject: "Elves don't attack common folk; their attacks are mostly aimed at humans. Halfling villages, for instance, rarely suffer elf attacks."
Arthur glanced around nervously, as if an arrow might fly out of the leaves at any second: "Why do the elves hate humans so much? Can't they just coexist peacefully?"
Since crossing over, he had met many Dwarves. These bearded folk, while not exactly family with humans, at least tolerated them. Surely elves were less stubborn than Dwarves, so why the deep-seated enmity toward humanity?
Zoltan let out a short laugh: "Because humans stole their entire world! You've been to Vizima, right? If you looked closely enough, you would realize that the sewers there are more magnificent than the bloody King's palace those were left behind by the elves. It's not just Vizima; Novigrad, Tretogor, even the great poet's alma mater, Oxenfurt, are all built upon elven ruins."
Arthur was stunned: "Elves were that powerful?"
He hadn't seen Vizima's sewers, but he had seen those tall, magnificent palaces. Based on Zoltan's description, it wouldn't be strange if a mechanical sphere popped out of the sewers one day.
But if that was true, then the elves' production capacity would absolutely crush the current human world. How, then, did the humans defeat them in the first place?
Zoltan said: "Because in war, it's never the most brilliant race that wins. It's the race best at smashing other people's heads and filling women's bellies that takes the crown. Even if one elf could kill ten human soldiers before dying, you humans could conjure twenty more in the blink of an eye a feat that takes the elves a hundred years."
The lute in Dandelion's hands played a sorrowful melody, and the poet softly sang an ancient battle song: "Fight on, fight on, until the world ends! Though spears may break, though shields splinter into pieces, we still swing our swords and fight until the sun bleeds across the sky!"
Kolgrim, however, countered: "Dwarf, you're not the only long-lived one here. Regarding that war, I have far more authority to speak than you I was a part of it."
"With all due respect, to entirely blame the war on humans is unfair. And to claim that elves are superior to all other races is a fallacy!"
"In my memory, the elves before the war were completely different!"
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