Chapter 135: The Beggar King and the Bathhouse Owner

The palace of the Beggar King was called the “Rotwood,” located within a semi-enclosed area of Glory Alley. Bab Tabard, a Serikanian, led the way, and the various checkpoints opened effortlessly before them.

They trod through muddy puddles, passing the Beggar King’s guards, who regarded Victor with curious and complex expressions.

The afternoon’s feat — the witcher’s slaying of the shapeshifter — had already spread among the gang members through Bab’s five surviving men.

Normally, the witcher would be met with disdain or even curses, but today, knowing the massacre had occurred on their turf and was connected to them, they all maintained a solemn silence at the youth’s presence. A rare few even pressed their hands to their chests in respect.

The party of five arrived at a four-story building. Habin and Bosler were stopped at the door, to be entertained separately by the Beggar King’s men.

Following Bab into the house, Victor and Anguran saw the room filled with candles, far more than needed for ordinary lighting. A cursory glance revealed it was a memorial — a ceremony to honor the fallen.

Francis Berlan sat upon the Beggar King’s throne, beckoning Victor to come sit beside him. He appeared calm and composed.

The young man approached with neither arrogance nor submission and took a seat in a chair next to the throne, a small tea table separating them comfortably.

Berlan raised his left hand, and the guards nearby stepped back, leaving a private space for their conversation.

The last time Victor had come here was to set up a blacksmith shop and pay protection fees, presenting himself as an intriguing bard. It was only through Hawthorne’s recognition that he had come to the Beggar King’s notice.

But this time, the youth bore a completely different identity, having just dispatched a particularly “cruel and evil” monster.

Berlan spoke gently, “The Syndicate was right. You are indeed a very capable witcher.” Noticing Victor’s puzzled look, the Beggar King added, “It’s not a person’s name, but an organization — a loose alliance among criminal networks in the major northern cities. No need to take it too seriously. It’s not much of a secret.”

Victor thought to himself — so Lance Mitt was likely part of that organization. The intelligence he had received during his time in Vizima probably came through those channels.

“Knowing that you recognize me puts me at ease. I had expected you to be angry. After all...” Victor gestured toward the surrounding candles.

“Abscesses must be purged, no matter how painful. The removal of hidden threats is a price worth paying,” the Beggar King said, mirroring Victor’s gesture toward the candles.

“Before receiving the latest report, I had some plans for you. But Chapelle’s verdict spared me the trouble of persuasion — I also hope you leave, taking with you the rewards you deserve.”

“I have no objections. But I hope that this expulsion concerns only me and not my partners in enterprise.”

“Of course. Yuna and Fergus — I will instruct Bab to take good care of them. No more fees will be required. From now on, you are one of us. This isn’t an expulsion, merely a request for you to leave temporarily. You’re not a criminal but someone who benefits Novigrad. Don’t burden yourself too much.”

With that, the Beggar King rose. Victor promptly stood as well. Berlan reached out his right hand and gently patted Victor’s arm. “Though we haven’t known each other long, you are undeniably a good young man. If you need anything, you can come to me anytime.”

Victor nodded politely and spoke, “In fact, I do have a request now, concerning the lady who came with me...”

...

Bab escorted Victor and the others to the exit of the Rotwood. By the time they reached the “Easy Bathhouse,” only four remained.

Habin led the way inside, then gestured to the white-haired elf, motioning rightward. “Bosler, Mr. Luven already knows Mr. Alphonse’s stance. You may change in the dressing room and take a bath. I will notify you when the conversation is over.”

He then summoned several maids and instructed, “Prepare a private VIP bath for this lady.”

Seeing the girls about to swarm, Anguran looked at Victor with an embarrassed, pleading expression.

Victor rubbed his nose and spoke up to stop them. “Habin, I want to take Anguran inside and introduce her to Mr. Luven. As you know, I’m leaving soon, and she will be my representative for interests in Novigrad.”

“Oh ho ho! I understand,” Habin said, his plump pale face beaming with smiles. “In that case, both of you, please follow me.”

He led them to the left.

Not far ahead, they entered a library — the largest Victor had seen since arriving. High ceilings, orderly bookshelves crammed with volumes. Sigg Luven’s broad frame sat behind an enlarged desk in a spacious high-backed chair.

He squinted his already small eyes, making it difficult to read his expression, but at least his voice was cheerful. “Ah, long awaited, welcome! Please, come in, our ‘Butcher of Novigrad’ — Mr. Victor Corion.”

“Mr. Luven, are you joking? That joke isn’t funny at all,” Victor said solemnly.

“No, no, no, it couldn’t be more fitting. Because what the shapeshifter could do, you can do as well. He’s just your copy. Isn’t that so?”

Troublesome indeed. As expected of Sigismund Dicoscher, former head of the Redanian royal spies. He always saw straight to the heart of matters. Playing dumb won’t work with him; he himself is a master at feigning ignorance.

Victor remained silent.

The bathhouse owner chuckled and continued, “With just a steel sword, you subdued that madman Bab with his saber and nearly castrated Habin again. Truly, we underestimated you. Though I’m a passionate lover of poetry, the return of the Dragonborn is indeed welcome.”

“But I must say, others may not have realized yet, but you and your steel sword are the most precious.”

“People like you, at certain times and places, can accomplish what armies cannot.”

“I will remain neutral, adhere to the witcher’s code, and even if I’m a cat-aligned witcher, not all are killers,” Victor said seriously, disliking the bathhouse owner’s jokes and the implications beneath.

Dicoscher waved his hand. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to belittle you. Just reflecting. ‘Butcher of Novigrad’ reminds me of an old friend.”

Victor guessed he meant “Butcher of Blaviken” — Geralt of Rivia — but that was beside the point.

“Your implication made me think of the tragedy in the Redanian royal family — the assassination of Vizimir II. Perhaps that was something even armies could scarcely achieve.”

Vizimir II was the father of Radovid V, the current Redanian king. A sorceress, Philippa Eilhart, and Sigismund Dicoscher had served him. He was slain by a half-elf assassin.

His death indirectly led to Dicoscher becoming Sigg Luven.

The witcher felt uncomfortable with the bathhouse owner’s words and decided to return the discomfort. Though Vizimir’s death seemed unrelated to “Mr. Luven,” it was undoubtedly an unavoidable regret in his heart.

The smile disappeared from the bathhouse owner’s lips, his eyes sharpening. He scrutinized Victor’s expression, finding no trace of unease.

He seemed unaware of Victor’s true identity. The ironic retort was an accident, and Dicoscher smiled again.

“Very well, I apologize. And offer my deepest gratitude. If not for you stopping the shapeshifter at the fish market in time, that mad demon would have reached the Chaplain’s Square.”

“My goodness, I can scarcely imagine what a tragedy that would have been. Even Dandelion’s sonnets couldn’t capture such profound sorrow. Speaking of which, have you heard his latest poem? The first two lines of the second stanza don’t rhyme — an unforgivable mistake!”

The former spy chief’s rambling was quite skillful, nearly devoid of any real point, yet subtly diffusing their earlier tension. Victor was also curious about Dandelion’s news.

“Really? I didn’t know he had new works. Where did he publish them? I miss him and hope to see him soon.”

Luven laughed heartily. “That son of a bitch ran off to Skellige. Can you believe it? He actually went to that land of savages. Does anyone there even understand his poetry? No wonder his new work has dropped in quality.”

“I see. Any news on when he’ll return?”

“That, I don’t know. But if he plays ‘The Return of the Dragonborn’ there, he’d be quite popular. Skellige likes that style. If I hadn’t investigated your background, I’d almost think you came from the ‘Barbarian Isles.’”

Unexpectedly, they had gained fresh news on Dandelion through this casual talk, though it was of little significance.

Victor had yet to decide where to go next. Both the Toussant Duchy and the Skellige Isles held their own attractions.

As for a bard in Skellige? Not even a consideration! His presence was more of a liability; heaven only knew what nonsense he might spout.

“Well then, let’s return to the main topic. That’s my flaw — I get endlessly excited talking about poetry.”

No, you don’t have that flaw. Even if it seems so, it’s just a disguise.

“The main purpose of your visit is to thank you — for what you did for the innocent people of Chaplain’s Square. For that, I want to reward you. I know you’re leaving soon and understand why you brought this lady here. Rest assured, I know what to do.”

He nodded at Anguran. “Habin, Anguran can come find me anytime.”

“What else do you need? As the commercial manager of Chaplain’s Square, I can get almost anything you want.”

“Serikan homeland spices? Swords forged in ancient dwarven forges? Toussant wine? Or rare alchemical materials — you name it, I can find it.”

After listening, Victor considered briefly and said calmly, “I need alchemical materials. If you have a giant griffin’s acid gland, the heart of a golem, glands from Queen Quiquim, or the tongue of an albino vampire wraith, that would be perfect.”

Hearing the names of these materials, Anguran’s heart skipped a beat. She wanted to speak up but held back her impulse.

The bathhouse owner laughed joyfully. He was happy to invest in capable people, for he didn’t want his life to end here.

He didn’t fear requests; he found those who asked for nothing troublesome, especially those who acted solely on conviction.

Clearly, Victor was an agreeable person.