Chapter 119: The Role of Medieval Prestige

Pushing open the heavy wooden door, a wave of steam rushed out to meet him. Victor inhaled the damp air and stepped forward, hearing the door click shut behind him.

In the VIP chamber, men wrapped in bath towels with towels draped over their necks turned their gazes toward Victor. They were the "Big Four" of Novigrad. Acknowledging their stares, Victor bowed in greeting.

At a glance, he identified them by his first impressions: an old man with an aquiline nose, a dwarf with a mohawk, and two burly, bald men. It seemed being bald was the standard look for a kingpin.

"Ah! Victor, come here, come here! We've been waiting for you for quite some time," Whoreson Junior’s father, Alphonse Willie, beamed.

Beside the bathing pool sat a wooden chair with a lute resting upon it. Victor picked up the instrument and took his seat, cool and composed.

The hook-nosed old man was Alphonse "Whoreson" Willie, and the mohawk-sporting dwarf was "Cleaver." Although there were two bald men present, their physiques made it easy to distinguish who was Siggi Reuven. According to historical records, contrary to the typical image of a slight, spindly spy, Sigismund Dijkstra was a giant of a man, seven feet tall. The bathhouse owner’s brawny frame and pale skin—a plump giant who looked dull and sluggish—made it easy to imagine him as a pig that had just finished a bath.

As Victor tuned his lute, Siggi Reuven shared information about him with his three peers in a booming voice: tales of a brave mercenary, a talented witcher apprentice, a song in the forests of Flotsam that moved a thousand people to tears, commendations from King Foltest himself, and the feat of crossing the Korath Desert alone.

The "Korath Desert" lay in the distant southeast, between the Nilfgaardian Empire and Zerrikania. The people living on its fringes called it "The Frying Pan," and for creatures unaccustomed to the lack of water and extreme heat, it was a place of deadly peril.

Listening to these accounts, Victor raised an eyebrow. The part about a thousand people shedding tears was pure nonsense, and as for crossing the desert, it was the first time he had ever heard of it himself. In other words, his list of miraculous deeds had grown once again without his knowledge. Since the stories were plausible, even this King of Spies had no way to discern the truth.

While fame was convenient, the root of these rumors had to be dealt with. Master Dandelion needed to understand deeply that some things could be said, while others should not be embellished so wildly. For now, the boy could still smooth over the exaggerations, but Victor felt that if the bard continued his travels, his tall tales would soon spiral into pure fantasy, and he would eventually have to pay the price for the backlash.

Soon, the tuning was finished. Victor plucked the strings and began to sing.

...

Evening, Gildorf District. After finishing his performance at the "Relaxation Bathhouse," Victor returned to the Whoreson mansion alone.

In the small parlor, he sat at a table with Angoulême, Yuna, and Fergus, enjoying freshly baked cookies and aromatic black tea.

Hearing Victor recount the afternoon at the bathhouse, Angoulême was astonished. "Wow! So, Vic, you just met the 'Big Four' of Novigrad all at once? And you bathed with them?"

Yuna and Fergus’s eyes also lit up. From the border outposts to the street rumors, the influence of the Big Four was undeniable in this city.

Victor took a sip of tea. "I didn't bathe. Regardless of the Hierarch of the Eternal Fire, the most powerful people in Novigrad do not gather just to take a bath or listen to a poem. My performance was merely an interlude. Once I finished singing, I accepted their thanks and left." Victor spoke with nonchalance, and the other three realized that this was indeed the logical situation.

"But they must have enjoyed listening to you! Did you get any rewards?" Yuna asked. Ever since she heard *The Return of the Dragonborn*, she had become a devoted fan of the bard Victor, possessing full confidence in the boy’s ballads.

Brushing away Angoulême’s prying hands, Victor popped the last jam cookie into his mouth. "Hmm... after the performance, Mr. Alphonse was still moved to tears, 'Cleaver' gave a symbolic clap, and 'King of Beggars' Bedine’s smile was quite flat. On the other hand, 'Bathhouse Owner' Siggi Reuven—I hadn't expected much, but surprisingly, he appreciated my performance. His applause was quite enthusiastic, and he was even concerned about whether I was adjusting to the environment here."

After answering Yuna’s question, Victor turned to Angoulême. "How did the task I gave you go?"

She glanced at Yuna and nodded. "Well, we went to inspect 'The Bits,' and there are suitable storefronts, but the commercial activity there really isn't prosperous—"

Victor interrupted softly, "Listen to me."

Angoulême immediately fell silent, and seeing this, Yuna and Fergus found it impossible to argue.

The boy continued: "Just after the performance, I informed the King of Beggars that I intend to open a shop on his turf, and I also requested an appropriate amount of gold from Mr. Whoreson as payment for my performance. In short, we will stay one more night, and tomorrow we will leave the Gildorf District, move to our new home in 'The Bits,' and start our business."

Having finished his concise instructions, Victor stood up and headed to his room.

Fergus and Yuna looked at Angoulême expectantly. The girl shook her head. "It's useless. The Captain has made up his mind."

Then, leaving the two behind, she followed the boy into his room.

Closing the door tightly, she lowered her voice and asked, "Vic, did you see a vision of the future? Is Whoreson unreliable?"

Angoulême could think of no other reason why Victor would insist on drawing a line with Whoreson, especially since the man had been very friendly and had already hinted at gifting them a property in the middle-class neighborhood of the Vivaldi district.

He pulled back the curtains, the sunset shining in obliquely. "The official explanation is that I must stand on my own two feet; the traditions of Bell Town cannot be broken."

The Captain then turned to face his companion, delivering a clear and crisp prophecy. "In the future... when Whoreson passes away, the Junior is highly likely to become an enemy. Siggi Reuven is too shrewd; I don't want to owe him any favors. As for Cleaver, the non-human races will struggle to survive on their own."

Deeply shaken, Angoulême curiously pressed, "How long from now do you think these things will happen?"

"Whoreson’s body can last at least another five years... though I suspect the Junior might be too impatient to wait."

"Shouldn't you warn Mr. Alphonse?"

"He is Whoreson. That son-of-a-bitch is too clever to need a warning. If the Junior manages to succeed, it will certainly be because of love or betrayal."

...

Late at night, Victor sat before the fireplace, meditating.

With this performance, he had met everyone he needed to see in Novigrad: the "King of Beggars," the "Butcher," and the "Bathhouse Owner." By making his mark in their minds and demonstrating a fraction of his value, it would be much easier to operate here in the future.

From this perspective, he had to thank Dandelion for his actions. If the "Dragonborn Bard" hadn't earned King Foltest’s praise, coupled with the bard's tireless promotion, "Whoreson" would never have paid Victor any mind.

The boy would not have been able to face the four powers of Novigrad on his third day of arrival. Without his fame, he would have been invisible to them all. The path the bard had paved for him was, in a sense, worth its weight in gold.