Chapter 143: Until the End of the Horizon

In the blink of an eye, time flew by, and it was another busy and bustling morning. Down by Pier 7 at the harbor, Yuna, dressed in a sky-blue dress, a peach-red top, and the latest trendy lady's hat, came to see Victor off on his long journey.

Bound for Skellige, the young man was to board the "Black Pearl," captained by Captain Skjall—wait, Captain Skjall—no, Captain "Skjall" was not it, it was Captain "Scurvys," who offered a completely free fare, a cabin upgrade, and three meals a day.

Although it sounded miraculous, it was indeed the case. When the Phantom Troupe visited the Golden Sturgeon tavern to inquire about ships heading to Skellige, Captain Scurvys proactively stated that it would be his honor to transport the "Dragon-Blooded Poet," and he was willing to waive the fare entirely.

Although free things usually came with sugar-coated poison, and the local proverb warned that "the free ones are the most expensive," Angoulême's danger sense had not given off a single warning from start to finish. In other words, the captain genuinely had no intention of harming them.

Therefore, Victor did not reject Scurvys's kind offer.

As for why Angoulême did not come to see him off today, it was because she was throwing a tantrum. She was angry that Victor had ultimately decided not to take her along, leaving the young maiden behind in Novigrad to guard "Fergus's Blacksmith Shop."

The sea breeze rustled her golden braids as Yuna took Victor's hand. "Actually, you should have taken Angoulême with you. Fergus and I will be fine. With the reputation you've left behind, our properly taxed smithy won't run into any trouble; there's simply no need for her to stay."

Victor placed his other hand over the female blacksmith's and gently patted it a few times. "I have other considerations. There are some personal issues that need to be resolved urgently, and it's temporarily unsuitable for Angoulême to follow. Once things are handled and I'm certain there are no lingering complications, I'll come back for her."

Yuna's hands were covered in rough calluses, which felt strangely comforting when rubbed. "Besides, leaving her here is also because there are you, Fergus, and so many friends to watch out for one another. Novigrad will be a place where I frequently operate in the future. Building a profitable smithy means your responsibilities are heavy.

Just as I mentioned before, do not cut off the donations sponsored for the school, nor the food donated to non-human communities. Don't be afraid to spend money; do good things within your power, and we'll discuss the rest when I return."

"Alright, I understand, Boss. I will do as you command. You must also be careful out there and return safely. You know your dragon-slaying sword is still waiting for you."

A mere few days were naturally not enough to complete Victor's order—that oversized, custom dragon-slaying sword. After confirming it was an inevitability, Yuna now sometimes went to Hattori's dumpling shop—no, it should now be called Hattori's Blacksmith Shop—to keep an eye on the progress.

Her mindset was simple. As Angoulême had put it, she was one of their own, and since the dragon-slaying sword was destined to hang on the wall as decoration sooner or later, she naturally had to ensure genuine materials and exquisite craftsmanship were used.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of my health and stay away from danger. Just wait for me to bring back the tools of the Todaloch family! In my mind, I already have a very fine design waiting for you to forge for me with that set of tools. Tell me again where they are?"

"The Todaloch family lives in the mountains of Undvik. As long as you return safely, even if you want me to forge armor for a rock troll, I'm willing to make it for you."

She said this because, after a few days of Angoulême sharing her perspective, Yuna had completely let go of her worries and reached a consensus with Hattori: if the boss wanted to act crazy, let him act crazy, just humiliate him by humoring him. As long as it didn't happen too often, she wouldn't bicker with him.

...

Just as the casual conversation came to a natural pause, an unexpected person appeared at the dock. Though unexpected, it was still within reason: the Beggar King's sabre warrior, Babu Tabard.

Seeing the Zerrikanian, Victor squeezed Yuna's arm and told her to go back first. Conversations involving the underworld might touch upon many aspects, and there was no need to drag the female blacksmith into it.

"Scurvys, how much longer until the ship departs!" Clearly knowing the captain, Babu asked in a loud voice.

"I need to unload these godforsaken casks of mead, probably another two hours."

Scurvys was a standard Skelliger: tall, robust, with a few strands of gray mixed into his black hair, right at his prime fighting age. In good weather, Skelligers were armed merchants; in bad weather, they were pirates.

Therefore, even facing the notoriously ferocious Zerrikanian, Scurvys's attitude did not shrink back in the slightest.

"There's still time. How about accompanying me for a walk?" Babu turned to ask Victor.

"Very well."

The tattooed Zerrikanian and the Witcher in standard mercenary attire strolled along the paved streets of the harbor district.

Seagulls cried, and the heavy smell of fish drifted from the roadside. "You know what? Ever since that day, I've been thinking about you."

Hearing this, Victor frowned. The man was certainly not confessing his love to him.

Babu was in high spirits, clearly in a pleasant mood. "I've checked a lot of records. I know what doppelgängers are; it's not unusual for one to go mad occasionally, but no matter what, they must copy the correct person to unleash their power.

So I kept thinking about you—thinking of your lightning-fast swordsmanship, your superb combat skills, and your biting intent to kill.

Ah... I really want to fight you to the death... to cut you down or be cut down by you."

"Don't be like this, alright? There's no need for us to go that far."

"It is necessary. The doppelgänger's swordplay left an impression in my heart that's hard to forget. Under immense pressure, these past few days I could feel my swordsmanship making obvious progress.

I used to think I was great, until I met him and realized I still had a long way to play. So, Viktor Corleone, give me a chance and let's fight again. I really want to know just how strong you truly are."

The young man knew the other party had misunderstood, and that misunderstanding happened to be the exact reason he decided to travel alone. He wanted to find a place where no one knew him and look for a target worthy of a slash to test his blade.

Victor had a hunch that with his current mental state, killing one or two bad villains might not plunge him into madness, but he could not gamble on it, which was why he had to temporarily distance himself from Angoulême.

Falling into a state of madness evidently meant losing all reason, leaving only a pure intent to kill and a swordsmanship that grew stronger the more one killed.

"I don't want to fight you," Victor refused calmly. There was neither benefit nor low risk in doing so.

"Don't be like that. That will only force me to find a way to compel you to fight me."

Victor frowned even deeper. Babu was clearly a bit obsessed; his proud swordsmanship had been suppressed by an even more demonic sword pressure, making him eager to seek a breakthrough by any means necessary.

"Give me some time, alright? When I'm ready and return, I will accompany you in a serious fight." The young man agreed helplessly.

Having obtained the promise, the tattooed Zerrikanian smiled. "I knew you would agree. Don't worry about your shop; while you're away, I'll keep an eye on it."

...

Bidding farewell to the sabre madman, the two of them unconsciously walked near Hierarch Square while chatting, and the young man simply decided to wander into the square.

Passing by the Kingfisher Inn, Victor stopped in his tracks. It was the largest inn, tavern, and comprehensive entertainment venue on the east side of Hierarch Square, and it even boasted its own resident band.

What made him pause was not any performance at the Kingfisher Inn today, but rather a specific poster on the notice board whose content he was very familiar with.

...

*Looking for Missing Apprentice*

*Our blacksmith's apprentice, Luu, has gone missing, and we don't know where he has run off to.*

*He is a Skelliger, young, medium height, and handsome. We are very concerned for his safety.*

*Anyone who knows his whereabouts, please provide information. The reward will satisfy you.*

*Fergus's Blacksmith Shop*

...

Victor looked at the notice earnestly, pressing every single word into his heart. He could tell from the tone that it was written by a dwarf; Yuna's Common Speech was spoken rather than written.

This notice was destined to be pasted over and covered by new advertisements, just like the countless old and dim flyers on the notice board.

And then, no one would ever remember the name Luu again.

As the young man walked away, it wasn't long before the innkeeper posted a new advertisement board.

*The Kingfisher Inn*

*Welcome all patrons*

*Tonight's scheduled performance:*

*Priscilla Callenita will perform passionately!*

*Guaranteed to touch everyone's heartstrings!*

...

At the same time in Hierarch Square, a gentleman walked up to a newsstand and skimmed through the papers. "Still no news of Batman today?"

The owner replied enthusiastically, "Ah! Sir, you're here again! There's still nothing today! Who knows what went wrong; previously the Bat appeared every day, but now he's suddenly vanished without a trace..."

Ignoring the newsstand owner's chatter, the gentleman turned and left, merging into the crowd, muttering to himself, "...Batman, where are you? Have you abandoned your followers..."

...

Returning to Pier 7 at the harbor, Victor was unsurprised to see someone who should have appeared earlier: the white-haired elf, Borch Three Jackdaws—no, wait, Borchel.

The white-haired elf was full of enthusiasm. "It's wonderful to receive your notice. Should I say thank you? At least you didn't leave without a word like Master Dandelion."

"Heaven knows what that fellow is thinking," Victor replied casually.

"Master Dandelion? He's having a wonderful time in Skellige right now. Word is he's already a favored guest of King Bran." The interjection came from Scurvys, who happened to walk past carrying a barrel of mead.

"Is that so? Mr. Alphons will certainly be pleased to receive the latest news of the Master," the white-haired elf said with a smile.

Scurvys twisted his thick neck. "I heard it just before I came over this trip. It's definitely the latest news."

A small pouch of crowns sailed through the air and landed in the captain's arms. "Thanks for the intel, and take good care of my friend."

Scurvys tucked the coin purse into his bosom. "Need you say it? The Dragon-Blooded Poet is an important..." The rest of his words were spoken in a low murmur that neither Victor nor Borchel could hear.

They chatted, and they laughed.

...

Shortly after, the Black Pearl hoisted its sails and departed punctually, bidding a temporary farewell to Novigrad for Viktor Corleone.

Standing at the bow, the sea breeze was salty and damp. Riding a fantasy-world three-masted sailing ship for the second time, the young man still felt a sense of wonder, breathing in the romance on the eve of the Age of Discovery.

Quietly recalling the images and voices of Captain Sarah, Captain Blackbeard, Captain Edward, Captain Luffy, and others—as the great river flows east... washing away the heroes of a thousand ages—Victor stood aboard the vessel that was cutting through the wind and waves, pondering his own strange thoughts.

Unwittingly, Angoulême gave him a light push from behind, nearly sending him overboard. However, the moment she pushed him, she grabbed the young man's belt, turning it into nothing more than a scare.

"What are you thinking about this time?" Before Victor could make an issue of it, the young girl asked first with wide, round eyes.

"That's enough to scare someone to death, you know!" Regaining his footing, the young man let out a long breath. "...Wondering why you're here, though I already have the answer."

"Disobeying the commander's orders, a month's allowance deducted—I've already made peace with that."

Looking at Angoulême's earnest face, Victor didn't feel angry; in fact, he was somewhat gladdened.

Although he had unilaterally made the executive decision to leave her behind in Novigrad, traveling alone still filled him with a trace of lingering hesitation.

He rubbed his nose.

"The road ahead is dangerous..."

"I am willing to follow you to the edge of the horizon!"

The sunshine was brilliant.