[Name: Golden Eagle]
[Type: Weapon]
[Quality: Fine]
[Attack Power: Strong]
[Trait: Force of Destruction, Damage Feedback]
[Enchantment: None]
[Note: IENBAMMAC]
...
At night, somewhere in the Kingdom of Redania, beside a campfire, Angoulême Corion, chief enforcer of the Phantom Troupe and acting vice-captain, was carefully wiping down and maintaining the steel sword in her hands.
"I can tell you really treasure that sword," said the legendary witcher of the North, Geralt of Rivia, seated across from her.
The girl narrowed her eyes and curled her lips into a smile. "Of course I do. Vic and I worked forever to get this beauty. At last I'm not stuck with those toy swords he used to fob off on me. I call it Golden Eagle."
The witcher smiled. "Golden Eagle, good name."
Hearing his praise seemed to flip some switch in her, and she immediately began muttering away. "Of course it's good. Let me tell you, you've got no idea how awful Vic used to be. He kept giving me weird enchantments that were completely useless..."
This time, serving as guide while escorting Geralt of Rivia to Vizima, Angoulême had chosen the overland route. Thanks to Eagle-Eye Vision and the White Wolf steel sword, Amber and Roach had safely crossed the Kestrel Mountains from Kaedwen into Redania.
In the coming days they would turn south, pass the Pontar by way of White Bridge near La Valette Castle, and enter Temeria.
Amber was Angoulême's horse, while Roach was Geralt's mount.
She had chosen the overland route because the last time she sailed from Vergen, the experience on the water had been far too miserable. And according to rumor, that Kayran was still alive even now. It simply had not attracted wider notice yet because it had not completely blocked the waterway.
Ever since she left Kaer Morhen, she had started noticing things she had never quite appreciated while they were together. Now that she was leading on her own, Victor's many unreasonable demands and training sessions often revealed their brilliance in the smallest details.
Like now. If Victor had not deliberately trained her, Angoulême would never have been able to make camp and start a fire this cleanly and efficiently.
And to Geralt, it was equally surprising that such a young-looking girl could handle things with such steadiness. She had clearly received a thorough education.
These days, traveling together and listening to her talk about the past, the White Wolf found himself stirred as well.
That long, wind-and-rain-soaked stretch when the company searched for his daughter, they had crossed most of Aedirn looking for Ciri, with war zones all along the الطريق, and only after overcoming every hardship had they finally reached Toussaint.
They wintered in Toussaint. Then, after losing Dandelion and turning north again, the group fought their final battle against an evil sorcerer at Stygga Castle.
In the end, only Angoulême and Geralt remained of the entire hanse. Everyone else had died.
Hearing the girl speak the names of all those people from that company, the White Wolf could not remember a single one of them. But he knew he could trust her, and because of that he could understand the sincerity of those feelings.
To this girl, the hanse was her faith.
After hearing the epic they had written together, the witcher nodded with feeling. "I see. So the daughter-search company you mentioned, that White Wolf hanse, has now been reorganized into the Phantom Troupe..."
Geralt meant it as nothing more than a simple observation, but the moment Angoulême heard his summary, the smug look on her face suddenly stiffened.
Because she had just realized something. If the former captain had never died, then the legacy of the White Wolf hanse would never have passed to Ciri, and naturally would have had nothing to do with Ciri's brother Victor. So then what would happen to the Phantom Troupe!?
Luckily, even though Geralt had lost his memories of everyone, he had not lost his sharp mind. The moment he noticed the panic and conflict on Angoulême's face, he knew exactly what she was thinking.
He could not help finding it a little funny. She actually thought he was trying to seize control. Other than her, who would even take this so-called hanse seriously?
...No, that was not quite right.
There really was one other person, that ordinary-looking boy Victor, who was seriously building up that little circle with her and had already given the Phantom Troupe a modest reputation.
What an enviable friend.
Geralt clapped his hands lightly to get her attention and explained directly, "Relax. I have no intention of fighting over the White Wolf hanse. Since I vanished, the captaincy passed to Ciri, and then from her to Victor. Honestly, I'm happy for you. It's obvious enough. During your travels, you helped a lot of people and did a lot of good."
Satisfied with the White Wolf's answer, the knot in her heart came undone, and the girl brightened up again.
"Heh heh! Let me tell you something, old man. I may not be a witcher, but I have dealt with spirits before. Let me tell you about an adventure I had on Spikeroog..."
It was early spring, the night air still cold, but the fire was warm.
As he listened to Angoulême chatter on and on, Geralt could not help wondering, if my daughter Ciri were still here, would she also be this lively and happy?
...
[Name: the Sword Against the Catriona Plague: Requiem]
[Type: Weapon]
[Quality: Fine]
[Attack Power: Fairly Strong]
[Trait: None]
[Enchantment: Repel Rats, Repel Fleas]
[Note: Actually, I gave myself another nickname, Plague's Bane.]
...
At night, by the great hearth in the hall of Kaer Morhen, Victor Corion, captain of the Phantom Troupe, was carefully wiping down and maintaining the steel sword in his hands.
"I can tell... you really treasure that sword," said the very pillar of the Wolf School's spirit, witcher master Vesemir, seated across from him.
A nostalgic smile appeared on the boy's face. "I suppose I do. It's full of memories. My very first enchanted piece, the witness to the first time I ever did this.
Back then... I didn't have Void traits to work with. I could only make do with small enchantments here and there, just enough to make sure that wild girl wouldn't catch the plague too easily.
Now she's had enough vitality broth to grow strong and sturdy, and this sword has finally earned its retirement."
Seated in his custom fireside recovery chair, Vesemir lightly patted the right armrest. "After hearing your explanation of Void traits, all I can say is that they're unbelievable. They can even bring out hidden potential. If you make one piece for me and one for Leo, won't that eat up too many materials?"
Victor shook his head. "Money comes and goes, but peace and good health are what matter. I've already secretly enchanted everyone else's armor too, I just didn't tell them.
Once I get better at this, I'll even be able to transfer or copy Void traits directly from one suit of armor to another. So it's fine. Live long enough and sooner or later you'll have everything."
After spreading the sword oil evenly, the boy slid the steel sword into its scabbard and tucked it away in the herbal satchel. Then he stretched lazily and looked at the witcher master. "About time. Shall we go to the trial chamber and welcome the new witcher?"
Taking the pipe from his mouth, Vesemir slowly exhaled a ring of smoke. "Thank you, child... but what I mean is this, there's no need to rush. Even though I asked you to improve the Grass Draught, I never expected results in the short term. The speed of your growth has already far exceeded anything I hoped for."
Victor only smiled and said nothing. He walked behind the recliner and tapped the chair back. The old man truly cared about him, he just did not know that the old tradition of miraculous alchemy had always been about rapid results.
One year to mastery, three to sagehood, five to shaking the world.
Compared to that, his own growth rate was barely worth mentioning.
...
The witcher master and the alchemist entered the little black room. After seven days of brewing in the air, even sweat alone would have been enough to fill the room with a sour stench, and that was without counting all the bodily fluids that had seeped out during the mutation process, including but not limited to nosebleeds, phlegm, spit, and vomit. Taken together and left to ferment, they made the smell in the trial chamber truly formidable.
And Leo, the main character tied to the middle of the room, was breathing evenly and steadily.
Vesemir walked to one side of the iron bed, while Victor took the other, unintentionally leaving the apprentice in the awkward position of having a man on each side.
By their estimate, the mutation was already complete. At this point, it would not have been surprising if he woke up at any moment. They could even have shaken him awake if they wanted.
But there was still the possibility that the mutation had succeeded while his brain had been ruined in the process, so Vesemir did not remove the shackles yet. Instead, he first took out the gag, while Victor used a damp towel to wipe Leo's face clean.
Not long after, Leo drew a deep, slow breath and finally woke up.
And when he opened his eyes, his eyes were like...!?
What in the world was that???
...
"Once, at Kaer Morhen, there was a witcher named Coën from the School of the Griffin. His irises were an unusual mix of white, yellow, and green, and the whites of his eyes were threaded through with red veins. I thought that was the limit. I never imagined I'd live to see something even stranger. My vocabulary is too poor to describe your irises!"
That was what Vesemir said to the apprentice, but in truth he was extremely satisfied, because Leo's gaze was clear, which meant his mind was awake, even if his pupils were, frankly, beyond description.
The witcher master began unlocking the manacles on his wrists and ankles.
Victor watched the entire thing with his arms folded across his chest, too speechless for words, because he knew exactly what that pattern was. To anyone else, it might have been difficult to describe, but he could name it immediately.
Damn it, that was a three-tomoe Sharingan!
Corion, you bastard, you actually slipped in your own extra seasoning behind my back!
What was he trying to do? Was turning Leo into Uchiha Leo supposed to be funny?
He was annoyed, amused, and utterly at a loss.
The world did not stop just because the boy was in shock. Sasuke, no, Leo, was quickly freed. He staggered off the bed and looked at Victor with his Sharingan. "Thank you for the potion! Vic, I made it!"
His words reminded Victor that no matter what subtle adjustment Corion had slipped into the alchemy process, the end result had still been good. So this was not the time to keep standing there with a strained expression, it was the time to smile and congratulate him.
Letting go of that complicated feeling, Victor broke into a bright grin and reached out to support him. "Congratulations, Leo. You're a real witcher now!"
Leo's Sharingan contracted and spun. "Really, it feels strange. The world has become clearer and more complicated at the same time. I think I'll need time to get used to it, but first I want food. I'm starving."
The three of them burst into hearty laughter, and soon returned to the hall to enjoy the rich meal that had been prepared in advance.
...
In Temeria, on the outskirts of Vizima, Amber and Roach came north together.
After many days of long travel, the girl and the White Wolf had finally reached the royal capital. Then Angoulême was stunned to discover that Vizima had once again been sealed off, this time as a precaution against the Catriona Plague.
The girl immediately froze. As a member of the troupe, she had a pass issued by Captain Vincent of the city guard. The problem was that Geralt did not.
Last year she had entered the city before it was sealed, so she had no idea how one went about finding the right connections once the gates were shut. Fortunately, that was no obstacle to Eagle-Eye Vision.
After riding a full circuit around the satellite settlement outside the city, she led Geralt into a tavern. Among the serving staff, one waitress dressed in gaudy finery was happily chatting with several customers, while another, far more conservatively dressed, was busy carrying food and drink.
Ignoring both of them, Angoulême walked straight into the kitchen and knocked twice on the doorframe at a man who appeared to be the owner. "Sir... I need to get into Vizima, and I believe you can offer some very useful advice."
The owner, fat as a hog, was crouched by the stove roasting a suckling pig. He wiped away his sweat and flicked it to the floor, then turned around impatiently, clearly ready to curse her out,
when, smack!
It was a familiar dull sound, the sound of orens lightly striking flesh. One after another, the coins bounced off the owner's face and fell to the ground with bright metallic clinks.
The Oren Impact technique Victor had taught her had lost none of its old power. With ten shining coin-shots, the girl easily hammered the owner's expression from anger into a smile.
Moving the suckling pig away from the fire, the owner stooped to pick up the orens one by one. The heavy flesh of his face rearranged itself into a syrupy smile. "Ah... my esteemed lady, what service can Old Bad-Knee provide for you?"
"I've got money in hand, and I need to get into the city. Tell me what method I can use to get a pass."
Taking one of the orens and biting it, Old Bad-Knee narrowed his eyes as he sized Angoulême up. Her young face was shrewd and sly, and beneath the dusty cloak she wore leather armor and carried a steel sword. As for the big fellow behind her, pale-faced and crisscrossed with scars, he looked like exactly the sort of man you did not want to provoke.
After thinking it over, Old Bad-Knee spread both hands and showed ten fingers. Then ten more orens were tossed over to him. Seeing how readily the cloaked traveler paid, he could not help feeling a little emotional. Next time, maybe he ought to take off his shoes and ask for more with his toes too.
But that would be for next time. This time, he was not about to risk offending them by raising the price again. Knowing when to be satisfied was the secret to a long and easy life.
Old Bad-Knee said, "If you want a pass, then if you're willing to prove your piety, the priests of the Eternal Fire can help."
Then he lowered his voice and added in a hush, "Or if all you want is to get inside, you can pay a visit to the local muscle in Vizima, Salamandra. You can find them tonight in the row of houses near the moat, but you'd better make sure your sword is sharp enough."
Angoulême yawned. Sharp swords and orens were exactly what she had the most of.
She took a wicker basket, packed it with two roast chickens and two bottles of wine, then sat down outside with Geralt to eat. "Old man, which way do you want to do this? As far as I know, Salamandra doesn't exactly have the best reputation. And Vic also has some ties to another big gang in the city, Ramsmeat's gang..."
...
After riding out of the Kaer Morhen mountains and reaching the campsite at the confluence of the Gwenllech and the Buina, the witchers and Victor were about to part ways.
The witchers would head south through Vergen and continue all the way to the Duchy of Toussaint. According to rumor, the people there were quite friendly to witchers, and Vesemir planned to take contracts there and train Leo against real monsters in live combat.
Victor, meanwhile, planned to head west over the Kestrel Mountains and take the same route as Angoulême to Vizima, where he would meet up with her.
After hearing from Triss that one of the King's Eyes, Thaler, had already fallen from power, the boy naturally no longer feared returning to the Temerian capital.
As the farewell lingered, Victor took two dimeritium bombs from his herbal satchel and handed one to Vesemir and one to Leo. "Sorry, materials are limited, so I can only spare one each. Use Igni to light them."
Vesemir had given Victor the formula, and the boy had naturally treasured it as soon as he got it. He had originally even considered finding a chance to use them against the Order of the Flaming Rose, and thanks to Lambert, he had gotten the whole thing without much effort.
Unfortunately, the materials were scarce. Even after exhausting the entire stockpile, he had only managed to make four dimeritium bombs.
Still, no matter what, having these meant having at least a little confidence when facing sorcerers.
As for Leo's Sharingan, it had only been a short time since his mutation, so there was no telling yet whether it had any special functions. Victor could only ask Vesemir to keep a close eye on it during Leo's later training.
After all, it was contraband Corion had snuck in. Who knew whether it was just a prank, or whether it really had some marvelous effect.
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