Chapter 162 The Secret of Alchemy's Invincibility

Located at the southernmost tip of the Skellige archipelago, the most pristine and uninhabited island of Faroe is a destination that seasoned travelers with a passion for wild nature must not miss, overflowing with vibrant scenic charm.

Naturally, such desolation comes with numerous inconveniences. The sole exception is the Dimun clan's settlement, the port of Harviken, which offers adventure-seeking travelers a wonderful travel experience.

Should one happen to arrive just as the clan's warriors have returned from overseas raiding and are splitting the spoils, the village hosts a feast lasting several days. This is a rare opportunity to taste local delicacies and observe native customs.

For details, see the chapter "Feasts and Festivals."

— *The Lonely World Guide to Faroe*

...

The ship docked in the evening, and even standing on the deck, the grand bonfire in the center of the town was visible. Vigi glanced at it and concluded, "Good luck, they just got back from a raid. True to being the poorest clan, the others rarely travel far once winter sets in."

Angoulême held the travel guide, pointing to the section on feasts and festivals. "So if we go over there now, they'll treat us to food?"

"That's right, this is when they're at their friendliest. That bastard Blackhand has ruthless methods; when attacking rival clans, he shows no mercy to villages or ships alike, fighting just like he's slaughtering Nilfgaardian bastards. Yet the Dimun clan is too poor, and launching a retaliatory raid against them yields nothing, so normally nobody bothers them." Vigi explained while dropping anchor.

The young girl tilted her head to look at Victor, who was rubbing the freshly grown stubble on his chin. "Very well, then let's accept their hospitality tonight! Vigi, please take care of arranging things for the crew, and thank you for your hard work."

"No problem! Sir, no... Commander, please leave it to me." The rogue patted his chest in assurance.

"You have a good time too, and meet back here tomorrow at noon."

...

The feast on Faroe was lively, functionally a sort of harvest festival. ...Ale was in endless supply and meat was abundant, much like the elven celebrations in Flotsam Woods. Judging by the types of wine bottles, they must have raided Nilfgaard this time.

Victor ran into the local ruler, Holger Blackhand, by the bonfire. At the time, Holger was chatting and drinking with several of the clan's warriors. Aside from missing one eye and having skin darkened on one arm due to frostbite, he looked little different from any other warrior by the bonfire.

Yet, the moment the youth drew slightly closer, he could feel countless sharp gazes fixed upon him. He stopped in his tracks, bowed slightly, and said in a clear voice, "Holger, Lord of Dimun, the Dragonborn Victor Corleone extends his greetings to you."

"The Dragonborn!?"

The title announced by the youth caused a minor stir among those nearby.

"That outsider who cleared the Warriors' Path and became the new Fists of Fury champion?"

"Have you heard about him? That guy beat a brown bear to death with his bare hands..."

"No way! That's definitely false, how could anyone pull off something like that?"

Old Gunnar apparently hadn't been exaggerating; even in this remote place, the tales of the Dragonborn's martial prowess had already earned him whispers.

Staring at the youth with his remaining single eye, Holger raised a hand to signal a young man nearby. Understanding the gesture, the man walked over to Victor and spread his hands. "Habiborn of the Dimun clan. It is an honor to meet the Dragonborn, guest?"

The youth smiled, unbuckled his sheathed sword, and placed it into the young man's hands. "Yes, a guest. And this letter is from Lugos the Mad for you."

Having surrendered his sword and letter of introduction, the hostility in the surroundings instantly vanished by half. Victor walked straight over and sat down on a chair beside Holger.

"What's this, is there a letter for me as well?" Blackhand observed with his remaining dark eye, picked up an entire leg of beef, and handed it to the youth.

Handing Mad Lugos's letter over, Victor took the leg of beef and immediately began tearing into it, while also leaning sideways to snatch a flask of pepper vodka from the foot of his neighbor.

By the firelight, Holger read the letter at a glance, then looked with a peculiar expression at the Dragonborn who was devouring his food like a wolf. After a moment of thought, he said, "Let's enjoy the feast first. Come to my longhouse tonight to warm up by the fire, and we can discuss your business then."

"It is an honor."

...

Late at night, the revelry paused—or rather, relocated.

Unlike the Turgach or an Craite clans, which boasted prominent palace complexes, the lord's longhouse where Holger lived was, aside from being more spacious and warmer than commoner dwellings, fundamentally no different, sharing the same stone-and-thatch construction.

Victor sat by the fire in the hall, his sharp ears faintly catching the rhythmic sound of piston-like movements. Judging by the frequency and volume, Blackhand's kidneys were in excellent condition—so sustained in duration that Angoulême opposite him was already drooling at the corner of her mouth, slumped against the heated brick bed and falling into a deep slumber.

Feeling no impatience, Victor withdrew a few siren vocal cords from his herb pouch and held them in his hand, closing his eyes to immerse himself in meditation, feeling the gift Corleone had left him upon parting.

After a while, footsteps sounded, and Blackhand emerged from the inner room. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Victor."

Opening his eyes, the youth returned a smile. "It's no problem, though it certainly did keep me waiting quite long enough."

Laughing smugly, the lord sat down cross-legged without ceremony, brandishing the letter. "Dragonborn, I want to ask you, is everything Lugos wrote in this letter true?"

Hearing Holger's question, a sharp sense of vigilance rose in Victor's heart. Having been screwed over by Dandelion too many times, he knew he absolutely could not simply acknowledge it blindly right now. Heaven only knows what the mad lord wrote in that letter! What if he pulled a prank and claimed the Dragonborn had come here to farm and sow crops? That would be disastrous...

"Having not seen the contents of the letter, I cannot give you a definite reply. This letter of introduction was given to me on the premise that it would help young Lugos pass the dream trial, and the lord said it would save a lot of trouble. However, I believe it is still more appropriate to explain my intentions in person."

"Hahaha! What a cautious Dragonborn. But don't overthink it; the letter is entirely praising you, just praising you a bit too much to the point of being hard to believe." With that, he handed the letter directly into the youth's hands.

Unfolding it, Victor quickly finished reading and had to admit that having been bitten by snakes too many times, he was truly overthinking it this time.

Old Lugos had mostly described him based on young Lugos's account, and since it all took place in the dream world, the combat achievements were rather exaggerated, even including the detail of him chopping a plate-armored warrior in half with a single sword... Fortunately, they hadn't seen him awake with all "special effects fully enabled" in hand-to-hand combat, otherwise they might have taken him for Heimdall reborn.

Following that, the letter mentioned the Dragonborn's personal vendetta on this trip, hoping Holger Blackhand could do him a favor and simply disclose the whereabouts of the pirate Hammond.

The youth silently returned the letter. "The combat prowess is somewhat over-exaggerated; within the dream trial, one can wield greater power. As for the rest, it is indeed as the letter says."

Hearing the reply, Holger stared at Victor's face with a peculiar expression, as if trying to find a flower blooming on it, before shaking his head. "Very well, Hammond is at Totthheim. Leave Harviken and follow the road east; about two days' ride, and you'll see the place. You can't possibly miss it."

...

Two days later, in the afternoon.

An eagle's cry pierced the air, drifting into the primitive jungle. The gracefully descending harrier began conversing with the young girl in a bird language that no one else could understand.

Yet judging by her talent for learning foreign languages, Victor did not believe they were communicating in actual bird-speak; he interpreted this phenomenon as the body language of spiritual resonance, and besides, Angoulême could only communicate with Catherine.

After chattering back and forth for a few moments, she nodded toward the youth. "That's right, there are quite a few people up in the back mountains, not just this village right here."

Vigi looked at Angoulême with envy. "As expected of the Big Boss, this falconry skill is truly amazing!"

The praised girl rubbed her nose with smug satisfaction, but immediately returned to the immediate situation, her expression turning less than optimistic. "Commander, isn't this trip a bit too thrilling? At least a hundred-plus pirates, and with just the three of us to handle them, even with the new weapons, it's probably going to be very difficult... What do you think, Vigi?"

Hearing Victor's serious expression as she spoke further, Angoulême simply let Vigi voice his opinion as well. The rogue, called upon by the Big Boss, also understood that it was time to use his brain, thinking carefully before speaking.

"It'll probably be pretty hard... I guess."

Hearing his companion's thought, Victor was not angry; his own judgment was also that they could not meet them head-on with sheer force.

"Totthheim"—this village had once been famous throughout the Skellige archipelago because it consisted entirely of women, all the men having died in battle while away on raids. However, after falling into ruin over time with the passage of history, it had now been renovated into a pirate stronghold.

The entire village had been expanded upon its original foundations, now surrounded by towering stone walls. The longhouses had been converted into holding cells, campfires dotted the village, torches blazed brightly, and with guards on regular patrols, it essentially possessed the embryonic form of a quasi-military organization.

Recalling that night in Harviken and Holger's peculiar expression, the youth now understood what it meant—he had been smiling at his overestimation of his own abilities. "And there are quite a few captives inside; to harm only the pirates without injuring them..."

No wonder Holger had mentioned at the end of their chat that Victor could come back anytime he needed help, and Habiborn had said not to stand on ceremony when seeing him off outside the village.

Presumably, Lugos and his son had hyped up the "Dragonborn" to such an extent that they wanted to watch him make a fool of himself—arriving full of enthusiasm and returning bruised and battered.

Fortunately, times had changed. Before going to the Cave of Dreams, he might have needed roundabout maneuvers, but now, with Corleone's parting gift, the "Voice of Death," he should be able to brute-force his way through the problem.

After surveying the environment and retreating deep into the jungle, Victor pitched his tent, set up a large cauldron, and hung out the sign of an alchemy workshop. His confident demeanor also infected his two companions.

Seeing that he had quietly begun stirring the brew, Angoulême took the initiative to speak. "Vick, do you have a way to deal with that many people?"

The stirring rod paused slightly, and Victor nodded. "Of course I do. The Commander tells you, there is a well-known proverb in Bear Town: 'There is no problem that an explosion cannot solve; if there is, it simply means the payload wasn't large enough.' A hundred-odd pirates are nothing much; just blow them up and it's done."

Having spent a bit more time together, Vigi dared to ask questions on his own initiative. "Commander, does 'not large enough' mean the bombs aren't big enough?"

"You could understand it that way!" Victor flashed a mysterious, amateur-scientist smile.

Angoulême covered her mouth to suppress a laugh, because the Commander's smile right now was truly vulgar. Although she knew describing it that way was extremely impolite, she insisted on using the term; whenever the Commander talked about Bear Town customs or Cintra-style cold jokes, he loved to smile just like that.

Moreover, whenever he smiled like that, it meant someone was about to suffer a misfortune. Fortunately, the one about to have bad luck this time wasn't her.

She watched as the Commander stirred with one hand while slapping two pieces of beef down in front of his crewmates with the other. "Take a look. Do you know the difference between these two pieces of beef?"

Hearing the question, Vigi widened his eyes in earnest observation, while Angoulême had zero desire to answer. Fortunately, Victor wasn't actually expecting them to know; if they did, that would truly be miraculous.

Confident and poised, he extended his index finger and poked. "The piece of beef on the left has the void trait 'Quality Enhancement.' Throw it into the cauldron together to brew an item, and choosing to activate it during trait inheritance will increase the finished product's quality by ten percent.

And the piece of beef on the right has the void trait 'Destructive Power Increase.' Activating this trait increases the effect of 'offensive items' by five percent. As for the upper limit equivalent to enchantment transfer, I can currently activate two traits per item."

Listening quietly, Angoulême felt as though she had turned to stone. Was the Commander under too much stress? Why did his condition seem particularly severe this time, holding two pieces of beef and babbling nonsense?

"Whoa! So they're that powerful? What amazing beef!" Vigi exclaimed excitedly, looking left and right trying to spot any differences.

Witnessing Vigi's enthusiastic response once again, the young girl felt a bit dizzy and tightness in her chest...

Seeing someone playing along, Victor continued explaining with a beaming smile. "It's fine, not being able to tell is completely normal. This is your Commander's innate talent, 'Listening to the Voice of Death.' As long as an alchemical material originally belongs to animal tissue, once it falls into my hands, it will proactively inform me of its hidden effects and void traits."

"Oooooh! That's too overpowered!" The rogue looked thoroughly fired up. "So every piece of beef has traits? Can the Commander hear other kinds of voices too?"

"Well asked, Vigi! Not every piece of beef has traits, nor can the voice be heard in every material. At present, I can only listen to the Voice of Death, but I have a hunch that I'll be hearing more in the future—plants, minerals, and so on. Furthermore, the power of certain rare traits will far exceed your imagination!"

Though he didn't quite understand it, it sounded truly amazing, and Vigi widened his big eyes in extreme excitement.

Watching the two men banter back and forth in such harmonious joy, the young girl suddenly felt a pang of heartache. Without realizing it, her position as the chief straight-man foil had actually been shaken!? Shouldn't she be the one who believed in the Commander the most?

Reflecting on her shortcomings and resolving to do better, she immediately took the initiative. "So, does this mean we're going to add these two pieces of beef into the brewing of Devil's Puffball, and then activate those two traits at the end to make an upgraded, high-potency version of Devil's Puffball?"

The youth approvingly patted the young girl's shoulder. "Spot on. As expected of you, you've grasped my essence. Right now, without better ingredients to achieve a higher purity, forcibly boosting it using 'void traits' is a viable solution worth trying."