Chapter Twenty-Four: Plans Never Keep Up with Changes

In fact, a few days earlier, the elves who had fallen into the traps had already more or less recovered from their injuries, and the Phantom Caravan had been permitted to leave freely. They stayed on only because Angoulême wished to attend the Summer Festival, and Victor, seeing that a little instruction would earn him a host of free assistants for herb gathering, chose to linger a few days more.

So, on the morning of the festival’s second day, the caravan’s journey toward Vizima resumed. They would travel overland first to Aellirand, a city to the east of Vizima—once a duchy, now a vassal principality of Temeria.

Their guides as they departed the forest on foot were Sirol Anisyln, deputy of the Floatingport Squirrel Squadron, and Toruviel ap Ceallach, leader of the Herbal Camp.

The reason for the change in their original plan—from sailing from Floatingport to taking the overland route—was simple.

“Yesterday, Loredo, that mongrel, suddenly blockaded the area around Floatingport and sent armed search parties into the woods for reasons unknown. It’s best not to approach Floatingport by land for now.

“Commander Eiofys also rushed to the frontlines overnight to oversee matters, so he couldn’t come to see you off. Sorry about that.” Sirol explained, his face apologetic.

Bernard Loredo, the guard captain of the Floatingport trade station, was a name Victor had heard often during his stay at the camp.

To the elves, he was a hypocritical and despicable racist—someone who outwardly accepted non-humans but, in truth, exploited and bullied them at every turn.

“Though the overland route isn’t as comfortable or quick as the river, Aellirand boasts the largest Melitele temple on the Continent. I recall Lady High Priestess Nenneke there is deeply knowledgeable about herbs. You should pay her a visit if you can. I’ve long wanted to go myself, but sadly, that city is not welcoming to non-humans,” Toruviel said, her steps light, her manner unaffected, as if Victor’s attack the previous night had nothing to do with her.

“Thank you, I’ll look into it. But is it really all right for you two officers to see us off? Will Eiofys be fine on his own?” Victor walked with steady steps, his voice calm and composed, as though the one who had endured a brutal gauntlet last night was not himself.

“It’s fine. Loredo has never gained the upper hand in the woods. I don’t know why he’s making such a spectacle of himself this time, but it’s bound to come to nothing.” Sirol’s handsome features took on a touch of pride, his words revealing absolute faith in Eiofys.

“I bet it’s because of that giant octopus! There’s one in the Pontar River now, and trade at Floatingport must’ve taken a huge hit. Hey, tell me, how did you guys manage to whip up such a monster? Can you control it?” Angoulême, who had spent the journey playing with her hawk and seemed disinterested, suddenly cut in.

Victor smiled to himself. Who would have thought this silly girl would ask exactly what he’d been dying to know? He’d long wondered how the Squirrels had conjured that giant octopus, but, bound by the unspoken rules among the clever, he’d refrained from asking Eiofys directly.

As a courteous guest, he would not pry into Eiofys’ secret of the octopus, just as Eiofys had not asked why his elves, experts in forest warfare, had so readily fallen prey to Victor’s crude bear traps.

Faced with Angoulême’s question, Sirol’s expression turned awkward and a bit embarrassed. After hesitating, he said, “I’ll tell you in confidence—the giant octopus actually has nothing to do with us. We have no idea where it came from either. But since its appearance obviously intimidated Loredo, we haven’t bothered to correct the misunderstanding.”

Surprised by this answer, Victor turned to Toruviel for confirmation.

She nodded, indicating the elves truly weren’t involved, and then, with a teasing smile, said, “What’s this? Our ‘Master Witcher’ interested in slaying monsters?”

Victor didn’t hesitate. “Not at all, don’t make stuff up. For a creature that size, you’d need at least a high-level mage and a true witcher master to set the traps—if I went as an apprentice, I’d be dead for sure.”

Sirol gave a dry laugh. “Well, sounds like good news. It won’t be easy for that bastard Loredo to find a high-level mage and a witcher master to help him.”

Victor didn’t respond. From his judgment, if Loredo truly was as despicable as the elves claimed, then harm to Floatingport’s trade would spell disaster for the non-humans living in the city. So, whether for humans or non-humans, the boy didn’t see it as good news—though some things are impossible to explain.

…

Dusk—sunset ablaze—edge of the Floatingport woods—

As the moment for farewell approached, Sirol Anisyln made no further attempt to hide his intentions. After apologizing to Victor, he pulled Angoulême aside for a private conversation. Watching the girl chat while playing with her hawk, the caravan leader had little hope for Sirol’s prospects.

Just as Victor was thoroughly enjoying the youthful drama, Toruviel appeared behind him and tapped his shoulder.

He turned to meet her gaze. Her brows were exquisitely arched and beneath her smooth brow, her dark eyes were deep and beguiling. Without hesitation or shyness, Toruviel reached out, traced his face with her fingers, and laughed. “Now that I take a good look, I really did drink too much last night.”

The summer evening was warm, perfumed with drifting scents.

Victor had half expected the elven woman to say something sentimental, but her answer made him burst out laughing. He retorted lightly, “Don’t you know some things are better left unsaid?”

She smiled as radiantly as a flower.

“In fact, after everything was over last night, I didn’t leave. I waited outside your tent, ready to rush in and rescue you if you couldn’t take it any longer.” Toruviel’s voice was sweet and teasing.

Victor shook his head with a chuckle. “Then I must have disappointed you—no chance for you to play the hero.”

The elf rested her left hand on her hip and touched her ear with her right. “I was honestly surprised. I’d heard witchers were robust enough to satisfy even sorceresses, but I didn’t expect an apprentice like you to endure so much…”

The sunset’s afterglow, the scene, and the mood made Victor suddenly want to tell a joke, so he did. “My mentor Eskel once told me, ‘We train our bodies so that even when outnumbered three to one, we can seize the opportunity to turn the tables and defeat our foes in the struggle.’”

Toruviel caught the innuendo and burst into a melodious laugh. “And what about five to one, with props involved?”

“That’s when you focus on survival and look for a chance to escape.”

“And if there’s no escape?”

Victor replied smoothly, “With enough rest, the right potions, and proper breathing techniques, a witcher can achieve remarkable results—though victory is never guaranteed.”

Toruviel giggled. “You really are a joker. Maybe I shouldn’t have gagged you last night.”

The driver's boldness caught Victor off guard—he choked on her words and coughed violently, unintentionally interrupting any further teasing and drawing Angoulême and Sirol’s attention as well.

It was, at last, time to say goodbye.