Chapter Thirteen: Come and Meet a Real Man

She was a joyful thirteen-year-old girl, blessed with a loving father—a widely respected and upright merchant—and a gentle, kind mother—a humble and honest homemaker. This journey to Vujan was her first time leaving Adcalay, a trip she had pleaded for many times before her parents finally consented. Unlike the chaos and crowds of the city, the verdant scenery outside the window never failed to captivate her; her bright eyes brimmed with longing for the world.

...

He was a contented man of thirty, with a loyal wife and a daughter who adored him, and, as a traveling merchant, enjoyed a comfortable livelihood. This business trip to Vujan was his first since the war's end; he believed the marketplace there had long awaited Cordwin beer or the magical wares of Banard. His daughter's company brought unexpected delight, her childish chatter and laughter filling the journey.

...

At dusk, storm clouds shrouded the dying sun, casting a leaden gray over the desolate wilderness wrought by war. Horses trotted steadily along the highway, their light steps passing bandits and victims at the roadside. The bandits watched the witcher and the alchemist in silence. As the girl let out a half-choked cry for help, a bandit kicked her in the back, cutting her off.

"Leave them be. They've found prey—they won't bother two fully armed travelers," Lambert murmured.

...

The witcher and the youth moved on, indifferent to the events beside the road; yet, a fleeting glance as they passed replayed endlessly in Victor’s mind.

He was huge, filthy, bald, his teeth yellow and blackened.
He dragged the girl from the wagon...
He tore off her clothing before her father’s eyes...
She was only a child...

He said: It’s time you met a real man!

────

Monster! You deserve to die!

Victor suddenly reined in his horse, growling, "Lambert!"

He leapt down, drawing his steel sword as he strode forward.

The witcher, sensing what was happening the moment Victor stopped, sighed and yanked his reins, making his mount rear and turn sharply. He cast an Axii sign to calm the startled horse. "Three for me, one for you. I’ll take the crossbow."

With a squeeze of his thighs, Lambert spurred his horse past Victor, charging ahead.

Such commotion startled the four bandits in the midst of their crime.

...

Two bandits nearest the path hurriedly grabbed axes and moved to either side of the horse, hoping to attack the witcher from the flanks. But Lambert unexpectedly accelerated, and in a flash, his steel sword swept left and right, slicing across their necks with the momentum—two heads soared skyward, headless bodies spraying blood like fountains.

The horse continued toward the third man, who clumsily aimed and fired his crossbow. The witcher deflected the bolt with a Quen sign, and as the horse bore down upon him, terror made him abandon his weapon and flee.

But he was no match for the horse’s speed. Lambert severed his spine with a single blow from behind, leaving him sprawled on the ground. Then he turned his mount, trampling him as he passed.

...

While Lambert was slaughtering his foes, Victor faced a small predicament.

With hatred burning in his chest, the youth closed in on the so-called "real man." Their distance shrank swiftly, close enough for Victor to see the terror on that ugly face, the frantic, unskilled hacking.

Had he wielded an axe, Victor thought, it might have posed some challenge; but this wild, aimless attack was suicide. Victor’s steel sword thrust swiftly, dragging across the man's wrist and sending his weapon clattering to the earth. Pain and fear made him collapse, sitting helplessly on the ground.

All that remained was to step forward, plunge his sword into the earth...

But then, a voice thundered in Victor’s mind: "Kill him!"

The voice was so clear, it startled him.

"Don’t hesitate, now! Kill him!"

"Do it! Ignore his pleas—strike!"

"He’s a monster, kill him!"

"Show no mercy! Do it!"

"Stab him, and we’ll..."

Echoes overlapped, some sharp, some blurred, but all urging him to kill. Victor’s mind swirled in confusion.

...

As Lambert galloped back, he saw the bandit lying on the ground, begging desperately, "Spare me! Have mercy!" while Victor stood rooted, dazed and bewildered, lost in thought.

For the witcher, it was natural to assume Victor hesitated; a youth’s reluctance at his first kill was only to be expected.

After a few desperate pleas, the last bandit realized Victor had truly paused. Seeing the youth’s indecisive expression, he sensed a chance, and suddenly sprang up, drawing a hidden dagger.

He moved quickly, his aim precise—within centimeters of plunging the blade into Victor’s eye—

A surge of force struck the bandit from the side, hurling him away: Lambert’s Aard sign.

Pain brought Victor back to himself. Though the shockwave was timely, the dagger still grazed his nose, leaving a bloody gash.

Regaining his senses, Victor watched Lambert finish what should have been done: the steel sword stabbed into the earth, pinning the monster there.

His first act of slaying evil ended in a muddled anticlimax.

...

He had leapt handsomely from his horse, only to accomplish nothing...

The chaotic "kill him!" voices that had clamored in his mind just seconds before were now utterly silent.

In their place rose a piercing scream—the little girl’s shrill cry, a wail for the mangled corpses and severed limbs, a scream for her blood-soaked body. Her voice drew Victor’s gaze; their eyes met, and she screamed even more desperately.

"Her terrified, panicked eyes are looking at me?
Why?
Why does she scream?
Did I do something wrong?
If not, why is she screaming at me?
Can’t she stop screaming?
Or would she rather face the so-called ‘real man’?"

In the turmoil of his emotions, Victor suddenly doubted himself.

Lambert approached, drawing out the sword that pinned the bandit, and cast an Axii sign to soothe the girl, making her fall into sleep.

Victor looked around, but did not see her father. "Where is he? Did he run? What about his daughter?" His throat was dry, his voice hoarse, almost unrecognizable.

Lambert chuckled, flicked the blood from his sword with a forceful gesture, and sheathed it. "You got too worked up and lost your judgment. With us standing here, of course he wouldn’t dare show himself. Her father is just a short way to our left, hiding in the grass."

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Victor said listlessly, "...Let’s go, then..."

"Sir Victor, valiant in saving those in need—shouldn’t you drag that man out and make him pay for the accident?" Lambert teased.

"If it’s killing, witchers don’t take payment. So let’s just leave—I want this to end, even if just a second sooner." Amid the blood-soaked ground, Victor’s expression was desolate.

"We cut down monsters! Fine, fine, don’t look at me with those forlorn eyes, poor little Vic... Let’s go."

...

After a silent, hurried ride, they arrived at midnight on the banks of the Pontar River. After cleaning off the blood—mostly Lambert’s—Victor was spotless. They camped at the ferry, ready to cross in the morning.

Seeing Victor’s gloomy mood, Lambert did not press him for conversation. They ate a bit of dry rations and each settled in for the night.

But no one could have guessed that Victor would not live to see the next sunrise.