Chapter 153 Pre-battle Site Reconnaissance and Weapon Upgrades

Victor was not very interested in what had happened in Cintra seven years ago. It was all in the past anyway; the kingdom had fallen, everyone was dead, and he had never met them in the first place.

However, to the living, those events were deeply engraved and unforgettable. Much like the Archdruid Mousesack, who would always remember his friendship with Queen Calanthe, considering it his unshakable responsibility to look after Ciri.

Or like Crach an Craite, who could never forgive himself for failing to protect his guests and letting Ciri's mother, Princess Pavetta, perish at sea. Thus, he had sworn an oath in his family's name to do everything in his power to help Ciri for the rest of his life.

And now, whether Victor liked it or not, as more people learned of his relationship with Ciri, all these interpersonal legacies were falling upon his shoulders.

Moreover, it was almost entirely beneficial. He possessed neither Ciri's Elder Blood nor her string of inheritance claims that spanned over half the continent. He was simply her "brother," so no one would plot against him; they would only show him favor out of love for her.

Stepping out of the tent, Victor greeted Dandelion and Angoulême, his gaze lingering briefly on Cerys and Svanvige, nodding in acknowledgment before walking straight toward old Gunner.

As the youth strode forward, the clamor and noise gradually subsided. Everyone wanted to hear the conversation between Victor and Gunner.

"The Trial doesn't seem quite as difficult as you said!" This was the Dragonborn speaking.

"The first outsider to complete the Trial, and you are even stronger than I imagined. Truly worthy of respect; I shall spread your fame throughout the isles." This was old Gunner's reply.

As his voice trailed off, cheers erupted from the surrounding crowd: "Dovahkiin! Dovahkiin! Dovahkiin!"

Raising both hands, the youth acknowledged the applause for a long moment before returning to his friends. "Angoulême, who are these two ladies?"

"Cerys an Craite. You must be the Dragonborn? Pleased to meet you!" Without waiting for anyone else to make introductions, the little sparrow eagerly extended her right hand.

Her small gesture was identical to the bard's back then, a detail understood with tacit amusement by the other three.

Their hands met, and Cerys applied a tight grip, immediately realizing she had met her match. No... matching strength was out of the question; she was instantly counter-pressressed.

However, Victor did not push his advantage further, nor did he hear Dandelion's telepathic urging—*crush her hand*. Instead, feeling the other let up her force, he politely released his grip.

This level of probing was nothing; after all, she possessed the bearing of a queen-in-training. It would have been far stranger had she simply bowed submissively.

Furthermore, the members of Clan an Craite were his natural allies, not only due to her father Crach's oath, but because Hjalmar and Cerys were both Ciri's childhood playmates.

Naturally, there was no need for Victor to state these connections himself; having the Archdruid reveal them later would appear much more natural and credible.

Next, the tall lady beside her likewise chose to introduce herself: "Dovahkiin, I am Svany an Sinda."

Facing the daughter of Clan Sinda, the youth instantly drew in a sharp breath. He hadn't paid close attention at first glance, but upon closer inspection now, he realized she was a genuine giantess of muscle...

To call her a female Arnold would be an exaggeration, but a female Stallone was entirely fitting. Fortunately, she hadn't offered to shake hands, or passing this test wouldn't have been so easy.

He placed a hand over his chest and bowed to her in greeting.

"Then, ladies, please allow me to take my leave for now and get some rest."

...

On the second day, at the Fistfight Arena, Victor—wearing sunglasses and leather armor—and his guide, Vren, an expert archer of the Turseach clan, stood on a high vantage point overlooking the grounds.

Only the two of them were there because the rest of the companions had gone their separate ways. Angoulême and the two princesses had run off to explore Wind Bay, Dandelion was inspecting the artillery positions, and Vigi was at the inn proclaiming the glory of the Dragonborn—drinking and boasting until dawn.

Fine snow brushed gently against their faces, and the wind howled its song.

At this moment, the youth wore a blank expression as he pointed forward: "Vren, don't tell me that's your champion, 'Olaf'!"

Looking at the swaggering beast making a show of itself in the arena, the archer replied matter-of-factly: "That's right, he is the champion of the Fistfight, Olaf!"

Taking off his sunglasses, Victor let out a long breath. "Tell me... did really no one notice that it... looks remarkably like a bear?

A grizzly bear standing about ten feet tall, weighing over nineteen hundred pounds, with sharp fangs, vicious claws, and a thick, gleaming coat..."

Scratching his cheek, Vren kept a straight face. "Of course it looks like a bear, because it is a bear—the largest clawed brown bear in the isles. It has been waiting for a worthy opponent for a very long time."

To hell with waiting for a very long time!

The youth pinched the bridge of his nose. "Can you tell me which genius let it into the arena and then made it the champion?"

"The previous champion."

"...Bloody brilliant!"

"Pardon, what did you just say? I didn't catch that."

Ignoring the question, the youth continued pressing: "And where is that former champion right now?"

"He is sharing glory with the ancestors in the heavens," Vren answered quite earnestly.

Victor rolled his eyes. "Ah... exactly as expected."

"Hand-to-hand combat is a Skellige tradition, and on Greater Skellige, it is practically a religion. Our great ancestor Tor built this island after defeating the giant bear Ingvar barehanded..."

...

At night, in the annex of the Skellige Palace, Victor and his friends were staying here, thanks to the generous hospitality of King Bran.

The bedchamber had, as usual, been set up as an alchemy workshop. Victor sat before a large cauldron trying to spark some inspiration, because the Fistfight was simply too坑人 (infuriating/rigged); he had to come up with the right items to defeat Olaf.

One had to understand that in the world of hand-to-hand combat, weight might not be everything, but it certainly accounted for a vast proportion.

Take boxing for example: a difference of as little as three pounds or at most twenty-five pounds required dividing fighters into different weight classes, which showed how massive an advantage weight could confer during a bout.

With Victor weighing under a hundred and eighty pounds, facing a giant bear of over nineteen hundred pounds meant a nearly tenfold disparity in weight that could be considered utterly unbridgeable. Moreover, his striking force would have to penetrate at least eight inches of thick fat just to injure the creature.

Therefore, even if he used a second-generation Thunderbolt combined with a second-generation Blizzard, landing blows on Olaf would be no more effective than a light pat on the chest with tiny fists, whereas a single swipe from the beast would undoubtedly crack the youth's skull wide open.

Though he desperately wished to win fair and square, cheating somehow always seemed like the better option no matter how he thought about it. Miraculous alchemy was precisely the means by which one could conjure up maximum destructive power in such desperate circumstances.

Just as he was racking his brains, the door pushed open. "I'm back!" Angoulême staggered in, evidently having consumed quite a bit of alcohol once more.

Yet she had told Victor long ago that her previous experiences were so harrowing she refused to share a bed with those two princesses ever again. Judging by this, although she was drunk, she was still clearly conscious.

Dragging a large sack behind her, she waddled over to Victor with a goofy grin and abruptly ripped open the top. "Ta-da! Brought you a present!"

*Pop!* A rich stench of blood and rotting acid burst forth, and the youth was nearly knocked flat by the foul odor on the spot. Fortunately, his usual rigorous training held firm, and the scent was also quite familiar.

Seeing the leader's reaction to the prank, the crew member smiled with great amusement.

He rummaged through the contents casually. "Drowner tongues, drowner brains... well, there are even mutagenic extracts. Didn't you say you were going to play at Wind Bay today? Where did you get this drowner combo pack? It's so fresh, must have been freshly sliced!"

The young girl looked immensely pleased with herself. "That place called Wind Bay has been deserted for ages. When we got there, there were a dozen or so black-backed drowners, fierce as hell. But they were no match for me; I had my necrophage oil."

Victor nodded. He had essentially given Angoulême backups of all his important alchemical products, and after watching long enough, the girl had learned how to apply certain formulas. "Necrophage Oil" only required dog fat and dandelion as low-tier ingredients, making it one of the easiest sword oils to brew.

"Cerys, Svany, and I, we coated our swords, charged in, and started fighting—*urgh... burp*—let me tell you, the troupe cannot take Svany in!"

Suddenly switching topics incoherently, Victor smiled. "Why? Why can't the troupe recruit her?"

"Because she's too strong, seriously too... too strong. Yeah, right, if she joins, I won't be the top brawler anymore. Do you know how terrifying she is with that flail?"

Victor shook his head.

"The moment she swings her weapon, monsters literally get knocked flying away. Whatever she hits dies, whatever she touches perishes! There were over a dozen drowners; Cerys and I took down two each, and the rest were all beaten to death by Svany. I just charged in, finished cutting down two, looked back, and they were all lying flat on the ground."

The youth raised an eyebrow. It seemed the princess of Clan Sinda was truly powerful—so powerful that it wounded the girl's pride and triggered her insecurities.

"It's fine, don't overthink it. She's a priestess of Freya's temple; there's no way she's joining us."

With that, Victor crouched down and began doing some preliminary processing on the alchemical ingredients before packing them away into his herbal pouch.

Come to think of it, his last restock had been in Vizima, the time he met Siegfried, and he hadn't encountered any opportunities to clear out drowners since.

Two days ago, while trying to traverse the underground tunnels and brewing Killer Whale potions, he had consumed a fair number of drowner tongues. One could say Angoulême's haul this time was a timely rain falling just when needed, and it was touching that a young girl like her had spent time collecting materials for him after fighting monsters.

Thinking of this, the youth said, "Thank you for bringing these back for me. Is there anything you want, or anything you need me to do for you? How about an extra month of allowance?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, the girl—who clearly had this planned all along—stared at Victor with glowing eyes. "I want to change my enchantment!"

She loudly declared, "I want to change the magic on my weapon! What was that flea-repellent enchantment you put on me before, are you kidding me?

A couple of days ago when I got into a fight with someone, I was too embarrassed to even state its name. I'm being entirely serious. This sword is now called 'Golden Eagle,' and I hope to wield it just as swiftly and fiercely as Catherine!"

She swayed slightly as she spoke, but Victor ignored her and continued organizing his materials.

"If not that, at least... help me turn it into something like the Sword of Dawn! Do you know how heartbroken I was when I saw Vigi pull out that sword?

Why are other people's swords so pretty? My sword can only repel fleas! I clearly came first, why?"

Hearing the grievance in her tone, the youth looked up at the tipsy lass and rubbed his chin. "Understood. Leave the sword here! I'll update your enchantment tonight and guarantee I'll fulfill your wish."

...

The next day, after sobering up, Angoulême felt a bit remorseful, wondering if she had grown arrogant because of his pampering.

Yet when she reached the door, she found the youth hiding inside the room without stepping out. Hanging below the wooden sign reading *Victor's Alchemy Workshop* was a sign that said *Alchemizing! Do Not Disturb!*, and below that yet another sign: *Opening Door May Cause Explosions!*

Helpless, she had to drag a chair over and sit by the door the entire time, blocking Dandelion—who had no sense of gravity—the two princesses who came to visit, and the king's son Svanrige.

To her astonishment, Victor's alchemy session this time lasted a full day. Not only did it take much longer than usual, but by evening, glowing runes had even surfaced across the ground in a circle around the room. Angoulême had no idea what those were, but they looked immensely powerful.

She kept watch until the morning of the third day. Just as she was dozing off, a heavy thud of an object hitting the floor came from inside the room, followed by a groan of pain.

Startled, the girl threw caution and the prohibition to the wind, hastily pushing open the door to enter. She found the youth sprawled on the floor, clutching his stomach, sweating profusely from the pain.

She stepped forward, wanting to speak, but Victor spoke first: "I'm fine, just... the experiment was a bit *too* successful."

He propped himself up, flipped over to sit, and chugged a potion. His complexion quickly improved.

Stunned by the sudden accident, Angoulême didn't know what to say for a moment, so she casually fished for a topic: "Vren has already arrived and is waiting for you outside."

The corners of her mouth twitched upward. Recognizing her thoughts, Victor rose proudly, grabbed a steel sword, shoved it into her arms, and gave her a thumbs-up.

"Rest assured, it completely meets your requirements. Your sword is the best one now; Vigi's Sword of Dawn glows for at most two hours, and Prometheus burns continuously for barely an hour. Only your effect approaches permanent fixation—even I don't know how long it will last."

Hearing the leader say this, the crew member smiled, but after swinging it a few times and feeling no difference, she asked, "Didn't you say it would speed up my movements and make me swift as an eagle?"

The youth shook his head vigorously. "No, no, no, not at all! Your latest request exceeded my capabilities; I fulfilled your *previous* request!"

Previous request!? What request did I make previously?

"Now that you wield this steel sword, it can simultaneously repel fleas and rats, saving you from being bitten by them. I have named it *The Sword to Combat the Catriona Plague: Requiem*.

You could say that with it, plagues will find it very difficult to approach you, and the effect lasts an exceptionally long time—near-permanently."

Angoulême could sense that Victor was not joking; he was completely serious. But precisely because of that, it was twice as infuriating.

Why did one person get a glowing sword, another get a flaming one, while the special effect on hers was literally *pest control*?!

Regrettably, before the girl could voice her complaints, the youth had already walked away to meet the waiting Vren, who had come to escort Victor to the Fistfight Arena.

...

The weather was clear, the Fistfight Arena offered a great view, every seat in the house was filled, and the atmosphere was blazing.

The Dragonborn clearing the "Path of Bravery" was already news from three days ago, so today's brawl attracted even more attention.

The most distinguished spectators in the entire audience were naturally located in the central box: King Bran, Queen Birna, the Archdruid Mousesack, and Crach an Craite of Clan an Craite, who had rushed over at Mousesack's invitation to intervene and save Ciri's brother if necessary.

Meanwhile, among the younger circle nearby, a heavy-hitter had also been added today: Hjalmar an Craite, son of Crach and brother of Cerys.