Chapter 130: The Girl Goes Fishing—Willing Prey Bites the Hook

Autumn morning light spilled into the blacksmith shop. After Victor and Angoulême departed early, Yuna remained behind, chatting with Fergus. No one noticed the apprentice, Ruff, vanish for a brief moment before reappearing.

The injuries he had sustained a dozen days prior—when he was beaten and dragged by thugs—were mostly healed. This was partly due to the fact that his vital organs had been spared, and partly because the medicinal ointment provided by his master was of exceptional quality.

Furthermore, the daily morning tonics provided by the master had worked wonders on him. He was no longer the sallow, gaunt boy he once was; he now appeared full of vigor. It was likely that, with a little more recuperation, he would soon be a fierce and hardy Skelligan once more, ready to pick up a blade and commit murder, arson, or robbery at a moment's notice.

Glancing at Yuna, who was still deep in conversation, Ruff picked up an iron shovel and began feeding charcoal into the furnace, one scoop at a time. The life of an apprentice was full and busy.

***

At the same time, in the fruit and vegetable market by the gates of Tretogor, the usual hustle and bustle prevailed as low-to-mid-range goods circulated among the crowd.

Donning the "Doppler Detection Suit"—a name insisted upon by the Leader—Angoulême felt a trifle embarrassed as she stood atop the elevated platform.

Her shyness did not stem from anything improper about the outfit; it was not some scandalous getup like those worn by cat-girls. In fact, the costume was essentially a female version of a Van Helsing ensemble, and it looked undeniably sharp.

The issue lay in the fact that Victor had made her wear two swords on her back, covered by a cloak emblazoned with the words "Doppler Hunter" in bold letters.

He had instructed her to stand on the platform and draw eyes to the cloak. Every fifteen minutes, a group of beggars—hired by the Leader for the occasion—would gather around the platform and shout from a script he had prepared.

"Doppler! Look here! I know you are here. You cannot escape my grasp. I will find you, cut you into ribbons of yellow slime, and return you to the wretched form you truly are!"

In short, the so-called Doppler Detection Suit was merely a regular, albeit stylishly crafted, outfit intended to attract attention. Most people would not be offended by the title of "Doppler Hunter."

However, if a Doppler were to notice Angoulême and feel a surge of hostility, the girl would immediately sense it. This was a unique method of tracking enemies known only to the lead enforcer of the Phantom Troupe.

Though she found the cloak's wording hyperbolic and the beggars’ shouting foolish, she had to admit it was likely to work. She had always been sharp and observant, and since Katherine had bonded with her, this intuition had grown even stronger. Several previous ambushes intended to wipe out the Troupe had been exposed early because of it.

Standing on the elevated platform, usually reserved for spotting pickpockets, with Katherine perched on her shoulder, Angoulême scanned the market with the caution of a king surveying his own territory.

***

Near the market entrance, Victor was dressed more discreetly, as he was not the protagonist. He wore simple iron-studded leather armor and, aside from his silver and steel swords, he carried a Moon Dust bomb to facilitate the incapacitation of the Doppler.

Yes, incapacitation, not extermination. The mimicry ability was highly useful. Whether in lingering rumors or written accounts, the sheer power of their racial talent was well-documented.

By observing a person for a time, a Doppler could become that person—not just physically, but also mimicking their clothing and even the tools they carried. The only limitation was that they could not mimic someone whose weight differed too drastically from their own, as a Doppler could not alter their mass without limit.

Victor intended to subdue the Doppler and offer him a new job: working for the Phantom Troupe. At the very least, it would be more promising than stealing food.

Furthermore, according to the principles of a witcher, a sentient Doppler was not a monster and therefore not a target that had to be eliminated. A witcher with high moral standards, like Geralt of Rivia, would not strike down intelligent creatures—such as succubi, dragons, or higher vampires—without cause.

According to Sylvester the merchant, the little imp visited the market roughly every three days. By that frequency, he should appear today, if he wasn't already on the scene.

At this thought, Victor leaned against the wall, his hand resting on his sword, ready to act.

***

Closing her eyes and then opening them, Angoulême released Katherine into the air. She stared at a specific direction within the crowd, leaped down from the platform, and gripped the hilt of her "Anti-Flea Skelligan Steel Sword." Ready to draw, she stepped forward with full confidence.

Noticing the girl’s movement, Victor also moved with light, quick steps to flank the target. Soon, the two drew closer… and then, involuntarily, their pace slowed until they finally came to a halt.

Angoulême froze in place, unable to believe her eyes. She even doubted her own intuition, for the "target" her senses pointed toward was currently reprimanding a richly dressed market official, flanked by twelve temple guards in full plate armor.

Furthermore, the girl recognized him. Aside from the transcendent Hierarch of the Eternal Fire, he was the most powerful figure in the city, standing on equal footing with the "Big Four." He was the captain of the temple guards, the enforcer of the city’s violent arm: "Chappelle."

It was actually... "Chappelle." The "target" who had directed hostility toward her moments ago. That such a prominent figure would harbor ill will toward her made absolutely no sense.

Noticing the girl’s ornate armament and the safe distance she kept, one of the plate-clad guards stepped forward. "I am Caleb Menge. Lady, do you have a problem?"

Angoulême was stunned, unsure how to respond. Was she supposed to tell the guard that their commander had just glared at her?

"My apologies, Mr. Menge, is it? My younger sister didn't expect to see such a noble servant protected by the Eternal Fire here, so she was taken aback," Victor interjected, his tone respectful as he offered an explanation on her behalf.

Observing the expressions of the two, Caleb Menge sensed nothing amiss. "The Commander is very concerned with the prosperity and order of the market," he said, waving for them to leave.

Victor quickly pulled Angoulême away, darting through the crowd until they reached the wall on the other side of the square. Only then did he whisper, "Who was it?"

"...Chappelle."

The boy’s pupils dilated. He rubbed his beardless chin with his left hand. "I suspected as much. You wouldn't be that shocked by anyone else. Forget about it for now; after all, we have no proof of anything."

Angoulême nodded in agreement. Then, as if sensing something, she snapped her head around to stare at someone in the crowd behind them.

Following the girl’s gaze, Victor’s eyes met those of a man wearing coarse linen clothes, a bald head, small eyes, and a pig-like nose. The expression on his face was unequivocally radiating a profound sense of "hatred" toward the boy.

"Doppler, I see you! You fake, made of slime and flour! Stop!" Having misidentified the target last time, Angoulême hesitated for a second before shouting.

The Leader had communicated with the Troupe beforehand: the girl had to draw the "hatred" onto herself. As long as the Doppler continued to harbor malice toward her, no matter how he "transformed" next, he would not be able to escape Angoulême’s pursuit.