Chapter 100: Full Version to Dominate Amber's Lost Trail

After several rounds of verbal sparring, the battle between the female sorceresses ended in a stalemate—at least, that was Victor's assessment. The elegant composure they had cultivated in the game had now crumbled, each one assuming a far more down-to-earth, almost worldly image.

Once, in the game, they had been good friends of Geralt the White Wolf, steadfast comrades against the Wild Hunt, figures who could easily form alliances. Thus Victor had no desire to damage the relationship with either of them, nor to hear any secrets he ought not to know.

Unfortunately, when two powerful parties confront each other and discover they cannot prevail, and neither intends to resort to open violence, they inevitably shift the battlefield to a third party for leverage.

Feeling four sharp gazes probing him, Victor lowered his arms, closed his eyes, and interlaced his fingers before his lower abdomen. He silently chanted, “A heart as clear as ice remains unmoved even if the sky should collapse,” and imagined himself as a statue.

He appeared neutral, yet if they truly meant to decide a victor, of course he would stand with Triss. After all, their temperaments differed; Merygord was entirely the kind and benevolent elder sister.

Fortunately, the Lily Knight arrived in the nick of time, sparing him the need to choose.

A soft cough from Siegfried broke the mounting tension. The youth was surprised to see him there; he had not noticed the knight before.

“Respected ladies, urgent news has arrived from Nilfgaard. Captain Jacques sent me to invite you both to a meeting—do not keep His Majesty waiting.” The knight delivered the message succinctly.

Triss and Cira switched modes like pressing a button, once more assuming the noble bearing befitting royal advisors. Cira raised her chin and departed first. Triss offered Victor a faint smile, then gracefully exited the garden.

Siegfried, last to leave, winked at Victor and gave a thumbs-up. The youth had no idea whether the gesture referred to the poetry performance or the two sorceresses fighting for his affections in the garden.

Though he knew the latter was entirely fabricated, distant gossiping nobles—such as Lord Sempir and his companions—would certainly seize upon the tale, twisting it and spreading it in the appropriate circles.

Late that night, after drinking a vial of Snake-Pie's vitality tonic, Victor walked the streets of the trade district, clearing his thoughts and reflecting on the day's events—from the morning's clothing selection to his early departure.

The rest of the night had gone well. Only his encounter with the sorceresses had been lacking. When Cira tried to undermine him, he had reacted impulsively; her actions had held little malice, and there had been no need to speak harshly.

Later, he recalled that Cira might have come to the garden intending to speak with him, her tone conciliatory. Yet Triss had already arrived first, and her opening remarks had been sharply sarcastic.

“Fearless Merygord” could not tolerate losing face before her newly adopted little brother, so she struck back decisively.

Perhaps that was the true story unfolding in the garden that night.

In any case, Victor chose not to comment on the accumulated grievances and entanglements among the sorceresses. Even the rumor that they called each other sluts earned his reserved silence.

After all, he had grown up with feminist ideals; the idea of bodily autonomy was nothing new to him. The sorceresses, after all, had simply seized an advantage through raw power, still far from the radical feminism they claimed to embody.

Moreover, he was no innocent virgin who could afford to judge others. Such tolerance came easily to him.

After stretching his limbs, he continued through the temple district at night. Suddenly, the familiar path brought Ciri to mind, and Victor realized with clear certainty that she had truly left the city.

If he had never invented the stethoscope, would the elder sister still be here?

What was she doing now?

The following morning, the front page of the Vizima Morning News proclaimed:

“King’s Voice: Temeria Welcomes the Dragon’s Return.”

“At the autumn harvest banquet hosted by Princess Yeda last night, the poet Victor from the distant East…”

The subtitle beneath the headline was apt, the content concise. Satisfied, he turned to the second page.

“Men Most Admired by Sorceresses? The Dragon’s争夺战!”

According to an unnamed noble, during the free time at yesterday’s banquet, two royal advisors had clashed in the garden over the Dragon poet vying for their affections…

He touched his nose; the headline and details were pure invention. He continued to the third page.

“Dark Knight Might Be Late, But He Will Arrive.”

“Last night, the Batman struck three times in righteous fury, battling through the streets, beating nineteen male harassers of women. Particularly noteworthy was his roar during the fight: ‘A dada dada dada.’ The author must admit it lacks the warmth of last time’s ‘Ola ola ola’… but…”

In the market buying vegetables, Victor was startled to find the Batman relegated to the third page, the sensation already cooling so quickly he could not even hold the second. Yet the first three pages remained devoted to him; only the fourth page threatened to complete the full takeover. Dandelion was truly a menace.

He stared at the fourth page in speechless dismay.

“Polite! Gentle! All the Dragon poets you wish to know are gathered here, a true confession from a bathhouse back-scrubber.”

“I work at ‘Desiring Thighs’…”

He muttered an incoherent string of curses; he had actually achieved the “full-page domination”!

From somewhere nearby, an aunt selling vegetables could be heard passionately explaining to customers how the Dragon poet had fought tooth and nail with the two sorceresses, the story told as vividly as if she were there.

Folding the newspaper, he reflected that if real images had not yet been invented in the Middle Ages, this city could hardly remain habitable.

After purchasing the vegetables and walking back to his street, he suddenly spotted ahead the Lily Knight leading a group in the opposite direction. Beside her, a nobleman’s face had turned green with rage as he cursed loudly. Victor listened politely but uncaringly. He felt something amiss, yet when the knight noticed him she gave a subtle shake of her head, signaling no need for greeting.

Detecting something wrong, Victor hurried home. Fortunately, Angaran was there, squinting and sitting on the sofa munching an apple. The chaotic arrangement of tables and chairs suggested outsiders had been entertained earlier.

“Did the Lily Knight bring people over recently?”

Seeing Victor return, Angaran leapt up like seeing a savior and clung to him, complaining, “Captain! That bastard Dandelion ran away! And he stole my Amber!”

Victor blinked, stunned. “What? He ran? Why?”

The promising troubadour, at the height of his popularity, why flee?

“He spent the night with a countess’s wife. Today the count himself is bringing men to kill him. When Dandelion came home to pack, he asked me if I had a good horse. I didn’t want to lend Amber, told him to pay for one, but he left a note saying it was urgent and stole my Amber!”

Listening to Angaran’s indignant rant, Victor covered his face with his left hand, overwhelmed by an absurd, unreal feeling. He had meant to settle the score with the now-sober poet, yet he had simply fled.

The passersby cursing along the way were probably that “eco-count.” Luckily Roderick remembered last night’s old ties and granted Victor some mercy; after checking the third floor and confirming the poet had left and taken nothing, he promptly escorted the aggrieved party away.

“The nobleman is middle-aged, short and stout, with graying beard and hair, dressed in lavish finery—clearly wealthy. His wife must be young and attractive; he is exactly the finest potential customer for my Victor Pharmaceuticals.”

“Mm… indeed… damn it!”

Victor kicked out at Angaran; she deftly flipped her hand and retreated.

“Do not interrupt when I am thinking!”

Ignoring the girl’s random interruption, there was actually nothing called “Victor Pharmaceuticals.”

Dandelion this bastard was truly impossible to know what to say about. He was a troublemaker, a drunkard, a pervert, and an idiot, though he still possessed a few endearing qualities. Taken together, however, he was simply a bastard.

Having such a friend was hard to explain. Victor let out a long sigh.