Chapter 116: Every Family Has Its Troubles

Before the Phantom Troupe could fully experience the spirited upward struggle of the impoverished or the proactive ambition of the middle class in the city of Novigrad, they were first taken to the affluent district of Gildorf to witness the decayed decadence and the dull simplicity of wealthy life.

The sky was as clear as if freshly washed, the green waves of the pond shimmered gently. Victor squatted by the garden pond, admiring the swimming fish—seemingly carefree, yet when he scattered some bait, they eagerly pecked at it.

Bosler quietly approached the bard and bent down to whisper, “Master, the salon is ready. Mr. Alphonse and Mr. Sepulian are already waiting in the hall.”

Sepulian Wiley II was the only son of Alphonse Wiley.

Without a word, the youth scattered the remaining bait from his hand far into the pond, allowing the golden-scaled fish to frolic, forever creatures of the water.

...

Alphonse was undoubtedly a man who knew how to enjoy life. The salon had excellent acoustics, the seats were soft and comfortable, and the food was exquisite—even including cherries past their harvest season. Victor was not surprised by this; he had seen natural greenhouses before at the Merittely Temple.

In the luxurious reception room, the central figure was none other than the first generation Hawthorne—Alphonse Wiley himself. With dark golden hair and blue eyes, a high forehead, a hooked nose, and deeply etched nasolabial folds, he appeared aged and thin, yet his gaze was as sharp and piercing as a hawk’s.

Upon seeing Victor, he displayed genuine courtesy and delight; this was no pretense. Yet if Victor were a fraud, countless lost souls could attest to Alphonse’s ruthless cruelty.

A mage and several swordsmen stood guard, with Bosler evidently the finest among them, naturally positioning himself behind Hawthorne upon entering the room.

True talent never panics. Taking the delicate lute, Victor leisurely tuned it and surveyed the fortunate audience gathered today.

Alphonse narrowed his eyes slightly, a smile playing on his lips, his hands resting easily on his knees. Anguran remained calm and composed, popping cherries into his mouth one after another. Yuna and Fergus, overwhelmed by the opulence, sat upright and motionless. The youth who drew the most attention was Sepulian, arms crossed, expressionless.

The particular focus on Sepulian stemmed from his future role as the renowned "Hawthorne II." The name Hawthorne carried a dark legacy—Alphonse was, in essence, a despicable man, and Sepulian was set to inherit this ignoble tradition perfectly.

In the game, players had to navigate a series of branching plotlines to fully understand his villainy, proving that whoever ended his life would be offering a tender mercy to the world, thus completing the main quest of "Defeat the Second."

Sepulian bore an uncanny resemblance to Alphonse—dark golden hair, hooked nose, deep nasolabial folds—but was younger, with a gaze even more sinister.

Yet Victor regarded him with a measure of disdain, recalling what Lance Mitt of the Ram Gang had said: one can read many things from a person's eyes, and it is unwise to place one’s emotions there openly.

...

After tuning, Victor gently plucked the strings, and the melody flowed like a stream.

“The Dragonborn Returns!”

A voice full of grandeur, vastness, and a haunting solemnity thundered through the salon.

“Duvakin, Duvakin,
He swears by honor, never to let evil return.
Hearing his victorious roar, the fiercest enemies flee.
O Dragonborn! We pray for your blessing.”

The poem that once shook the Pure White Hall rang out again, easily commanding respect in this mansion.

Any lingering doubts Alphonse had before the performance vanished.

Poetry, as an art, was about the story for the untrained, but about interpretation for the connoisseur. This grand and majestic recital, surpassing even Master Dandrian’s, could only be delivered by the "Dragonborn Bard."

As the piece ended, silence fell over the reception room. Then Alphonse led the applause, his guards and servants following suit, the cheers and clapping rising in waves.

Anguran was somewhat prepared and took it in stride. But Yuna and Fergus, listening to Victor perform for the first time, were utterly speechless, unable to believe such beauty could come from their usually wayward boss.

For Yuna, born in the Skellige Isles, the song “The Dragonborn Returns” resonated deeply, embodying the Skellige values of bravery, strength, and fearlessness.

Yet amid the room full of admiration, one voice broke the harmony—a face full of disdain sneered loudly, “Plenty of breath, louder than that old hippie selling charms, and your mouth opens wide enough. Maybe you’d like to put those talents to use blowing a horn for someone?”

He spoke loudly, silencing the room instantly, but no one dared to openly retort because he was Sepulian Wiley.

Except for Alphonse, whose face darkened with rage. “You despicable wretch! If you can’t appreciate the performance, get out!”

His rebuke was merciless and humiliating.

Sepulian moved his lips, seemingly about to say something, but ultimately remained silent. He abruptly stood and left the room without looking back.

Hawthorne had expelled Hawthorne II from the salon.

An awkward silence descended upon the hall.

...

Old Alphonse waved his hand, and the other members of the Phantom Troupe—Anguran, Yuna, and Fergus—were led by servants to their rooms to freshen up and rest, leaving only Victor to speak with him.

He stood and walked to the wall, gazing at a hanging painting. “You may find it strange why I am so harsh with him.”

Though a question, the youth sat calmly in silence. The elder did not expect an answer.

Placing his hand on the mural, Alphonse sighed deeply. “Because he has nowhere to vent his malice, and that is very dangerous. I must warn him with scolding.

“People like me, in my position, extortion, plunder, murder—these are everyday affairs.

“But I have never, not for a moment, abandoned the peace of my own soul. I do evil because it is my duty as a villain, not because I enjoy it.

“If one enjoys evil itself, that person will soon lose control—and those who lose control cannot rule Novigrad.

“Poetry is how I cultivate my temperament, but sadly, my son did not learn this. He only learned my cruelty and ruthlessness, yet fails to understand that there is much beauty and goodness in this world.

“It is truly regrettable that even the poetry of the Dragonborn Bard cannot move him. I am very sorry.”

At this, one of Novigrad’s Four Emperors bowed slightly in apology.

Alphonse undoubtedly loved his son, but that did not change Sepulian, nor did it alter the fact that he remained the despicable “Hawthorne.”

Victor remained silent. This old man did not seek comfort; he only needed a stranger to hear him speak.

After finishing, as if aged several years suddenly, he said in a low voice, “Mr. Victor, please perform again in three days. Next time, we will change the venue and invite three other distinguished figures of this city to enjoy your performance.

“Rest assured, my payment will not disappoint you.

“Bosler, take good care of my guest.” With that, the old gentleman rose and left the room.

According to Victor’s observations as an alchemist, Hawthorne’s health was well preserved, with at least five more years of life remaining.

So, there were still five years before ‘Ciri’ returned!?