Chapter Ninety-Seven: Let You See My True Power

After leaving the Hall of Pure White, he walked along the white stone corridor, and through the carved pillars he could see the flowers in the courtyard memorializing Pure White Lafard slowly fading, with only the chrysanthemums still blooming in solitary brilliance.

Following in the footsteps of the Lily Knight, Roderick, Victor walked on, replaying every line of their conversation in his mind, then tracing it further back to the night before last, to every word Roderick had spoken to him, until the moment he had stopped listening upon hearing Triss’s name.

“Is King Foltest coming?”

“Indeed. It is a rare honor. The ruler of Temeria has finally found time to grace us with his presence, so your ‘Exotic Heroic Epic’ had better be impressive. That is the style His Majesty likes best.”

Roderick spoke as though it were only natural. It did not seem like a setup. Besides, for someone as insignificant as himself, there was no reason for anyone to frame him. No one would bother confirming things with him at the last moment the way Velerad had.

Lost in thought, Victor unconsciously slowed his pace. His hesitation did not escape Roderick’s notice.

“What is it? Is something wrong?”

“There is indeed a problem. He is a witcher apprentice, skilled at bathing with drowners in swamp water, fighting for scraps with rotfiends in the sewers, and wrestling hair with ghouls in graveyards. You expect someone like that to go onstage and perform poetry? Are you trying to kill him?”

It was a female voice, familiar to both of them, and it was saying something distinctly unpleasant.

The Lily Knight and the witcher apprentice both stopped and turned toward the speaker. It was Keira Metz, who had somehow caught up with them. She had heard the Lily Knight’s question at the perfect moment and rushed to answer before anyone else could.

She extended her left hand, gloved in sheer gauze, for Roderick’s elegant hand-kiss. She did not offer it to Victor, and the boy did not make the mistake of offering his own.

“Esteemed royal adviser, I cannot pretend I did not hear what you just said. May I ask why you mentioned that this poet is a witcher apprentice?”

Keira let out a bright, musical laugh, her lively whiteness trembling softly. “I would like to know the same. A month ago, a nocturnal assault broke out in the Temple Quarter. A rural lord from Morhen took offense at a passing witcher apprentice and hired killers to murder him. He was the victim then.

And yet, a month later, he appears here with complete composure, transformed into a poet from the far East. I never imagined that when Velerad asked me to help bring someone in for questioning, I would end up finding him.”

Victor could imagine perfectly well how furious Roderick must feel now.

And indeed he was. The Lily Knight could hardly believe he had made such a blunder.

“But Master Dandelion clearly…”

“If by that you mean that lecherous bard who turns into a fool when drunk, then I must tell you that his irresponsibility is as famous as his poetry.”

The royal adviser was still smiling merrily. Victor kept his eyes fixed on her chin, stealing only the slightest glance at her expression from the corner of his eye, and then he understood.

Ironically, although Keira had embarrassed him over and over, she did not actually bear him much ill will. If he were to lie facedown on the ground now and beg her to save his life, saying that he was not a poet at all, only a passing witcher apprentice, she would probably still go off cheerfully and help explain things.

In simple terms, so long as he was interesting enough, she did not mind tossing him a bone. Keira was a spoiled little girl, her confidence nourished by her formidable magical power, just as the Rose Knight Siegfried had the capital of sincerity in his status and strength.

With Keira peeling back the truth layer by layer like this, Roderick’s expression grew quite ugly. Before he could speak, the boy explained, “Allow me to clarify. Victor Corleone, from the town of Belle in the east of Zerrikania. At four, I began learning staff notation and the lute; at five, I composed my first piece and became convinced I was one of the finest musical poets beneath this night sky.

Last year, when I crossed the Zerrikanian Desert and first set foot on this land, I was saved from a griffin by a witcher of the Cat School. He refused my money as thanks, never even invoking the Law of Surprise to claim payment, and asked only that I repay the kindness by becoming his apprentice.

That is the whole story. As for the poetic exchange between myself and Dandelion, I do not believe that a sorceress so enamored of magic could appreciate the finer points of music and literature.”

The last few lines of Victor’s explanation were unquestionably offensive, but even if he understood that Keira was merely looking for amusement, her repeated sabotage irritated him, and he could not help adding a jab of his own.

Retaliation was not the most rational choice at the moment, but he himself had not even noticed the reason for it. The real cause was the hormones now coursing in abundance through his young, strong body.

When a man stands before a beautiful woman, it is only natural that he wants to show his best side. To be looked down upon is also only natural to make one wish to win back one’s dignity twice over, especially when her attire was enough to set a beast’s blood boiling.

If he did not show off his skill to this woman in that white, strappy, deep-V gown and allowed himself to be scorned in every possible way, what remained of a man’s pride?

Yet the moment he answered her back, Roderick’s expression improved somewhat, while Keira Metz became thoroughly displeased.

Earlier, before Velerad, she had not exposed him on the spot not only because Princess Adda was present and she did not wish to embarrass the princess, but also because she wanted to see exactly what this witcher apprentice would say.

The royal adviser actually remembered the boy’s shyness from a month earlier, and had noticed the polite way he looked at her when he followed her. So she was surprised when he admitted it so readily. She had chased after him to give him one last chance to withdraw, but he not only failed to appreciate it, he even seemed rather confident in his poetry.

Her smile faded, and she said coldly, “Is that so? It seems you are very confident. Then let me remind you that I know nearly all the poetry known on this continent. If your performance later turns out to be a recycled work from the past, or nonsense that cannot even count as poetry, I will advise the king to grant you appropriate punishment. You had better be prepared.”

Victor lifted his head sharply, meeting Keira’s gaze for the first time. His eyes were blue; hers were brown.

“In our East, there is an ancient saying: true gold fears no fire. In other words, truth needs no defense, and falsehood will never become truth. Please look forward to my performance.”

Victor’s defiance was calm and measured, stopping just short of offense.

The royal adviser gave him a fierce glare, then lifted her chin with aristocratic disdain. “I shall look forward to it.”

Then she turned and left, leaving behind the faint scent of rosemary.

Rubbing his neatly groomed mustache, Roderick coughed twice. “Victor... sir, Lady Keira’s command of poetry is quite renowned at court. Are you certain you are confident?”

“Relax. I’ll give them quite the shock. A true heroic epic, absolutely foreign in flavor, the immortal legend of Belle, east of Zerrikania.”

In truth, the Lily Knight had already believed most of what the royal adviser said, but he was in no position to back down now. Could he really go in there and tell Princess Adda and Mayor Velerad that it had all been a misunderstanding? And worse, the solemn beat of drums was already ringing in his ears: the sound of the King of Temeria’s arrival.

He hurriedly waved and pointed toward the far end of the corridor. “Quickly! This way, Victor.”