Chapter Thirty-Eight: The One Who Ignited the Eternal Flame

Victor and Shani’s lunchtime conversation was truly enriching. She was a physician brimming with energy, open-mindedness, and compassion. Both carrying herbal satchels, they exchanged names and easily found common ground—the plague unfolding in front of them, the Catriona epidemic.

After sharing many symptoms and treatment experiences, the physician politely informed the young witcher apprentice that her morning foray outside the city had fulfilled its purpose and, with lunch finished, she must return to the hospital to continue her work.

There was no lingering reluctance; the boy rose, courteously escorted her to a spot not far from the city gate, and then took his leave.

Though Doctor Shani was among the special few who could freely enter and exit the city, Victor never thought to ask her for assistance. No matter how harmonious their conversation, it was, after all, their first meeting.

Simply knowing the lady physician was enough to lift Victor’s spirits; meeting her was like unexpectedly encountering a favorite celebrity while strolling through town—

“Ah! This is the Miss Shani who shared many genuine, heartfelt scenes with Geralt in the game. Though it never culminated in lasting love, the romance along the way was truly memorable!

I remember every time I played as Geralt, I always parted from her with a hint of melancholy, then turned to pledge eternal love to Triss or Yennefer.

Sigh… Geralt is certainly a sinful man.

Incidentally, by Melitele, Shani has a wonderful figure!”

Smiling, Victor replayed their conversation in his mind, frame by frame, when suddenly he sensed a faint, subtle discord, as if watching a thousand people turning right in a plaza dance, only for one lone figure to turn left—strikingly out of place.

But on careful reflection, the feeling was elusive, intangible, its origin unknown. After much contemplation, he found no answer and could only let it rest for now.

...

In the dead of night, waiting for the patrol guards to pass, Victor followed a Fire Salamander gang member known as “Red Dog” and plunged into the summer night’s chilly moat, climbed a fence that appeared intact but had been sawed through, and slipped into the spacious, foul-smelling sewers of Vizima.

Spacious, in that the elven builders had created passages wide enough for five to walk abreast; foul, in that the combined essence of the city’s populace converged in a powerful stench.

The entire sewer system lay deep underground, woven into a labyrinthine web. Without a guide, one could easily get lost on a first journey. Thinking of the possible presence of rotfiends or kikimores, the boy dared not apply nose-plug balm, for their strong and distinctive odors were the best warning.

Braving the burning in his nose, Victor silently followed Red Dog, all the while reflecting on the gains and losses of his day’s actions.

...

At noon in the tavern kitchen, Old Cold Leg had mentioned proving devotion to a priest with sufficient offerings. Victor instinctively believed it was a matter easily resolved with an “Aard” sign.

Alas, he was rebuffed by the priests of the Eternal Fire.

Founded centuries ago in the Free City of Novigrad, the Church of the Eternal Fire’s main symbol was the ever-burning flame of hope. In recent years, it had grown powerful across the northern kingdoms, becoming a dominant faith.

Its followers believed the undying fire represented survival, a guide through darkness, and a harbinger of a better tomorrow. Thus, the flames in the Eternal Fire’s temples never went out.

But to Victor, it was a quasi-cult. It lacked a coherent philosophy, relying only on fragmented rituals and slogans. Most notably, joining was a one-way path; apostasy was not permitted.

Not taking others’ beliefs seriously resulted in Victor being rebuffed by devout priests. They didn’t want money—they wanted him to join the Eternal Fire and undergo a series of trials to prove his devotion.

Tasks like lighting five faith bonfires outside the city at night, and earning the trust of three respectable villagers.

Rubbing his nose, Victor realized he’d made the mistake of acting without sufficient intelligence. He promptly withdrew, returned to the tavern, and used his Orens to gather every scrap of information about the city’s outskirts.

In doing so, he uncovered a piece of news that was both good and bad.

The White Rose Knights had disbanded and been reorganized as the Flaming Rose Knights.

They now had a new leader—Jacques of Aldersberg, a devout follower of the Eternal Fire—and a new mission: to purge monsters haunting Vizima and its surroundings, and protect humanity from the threat posed by non-human races.

From this new mission, it was clear the commander Jacques was a staunch humanist. He ordered his knights to treat the Scoia’tael like monsters, blaming all human suffering and calamity on non-human incursions.

Such rhetoric resonated with the common folk, who needed a scapegoat for their anger and dissatisfaction.

In short, the good news was that Moen’s Falwick had lost much of his available power; the bad news was that Victor knew the name Flaming Rose Knights well—they were the main force in the future northern witch hunts.

What puzzled Victor was why they appeared in Vizima, loyal to Foltest, when his memory insisted the Flaming Rose Knights were Radovid V’s enforcers...

...

As for the so-called “merchant” controlling entry to the city, he was in fact part of a criminal organization calling itself the Fire Salamander gang. They ran many “businesses,” were infamous for their misdeeds, and included smuggling among their trades—recently, they had begun selling weapons to the Scoia’tael in the forests.

Armed with sufficient intelligence, Victor had no trouble negotiating with them, nor did he need the steel sword Old Cold Leg had warned him about. He agreed on a price, and the man called Red Dog led him into the city.

As a guide, Red Dog was competent—familiar with the route, swift on his feet. Leading the way through the dark, fetid sewers was no easy task, and Victor resolved to tip him extra upon arrival.

At last, after winding through another turn, Red Dog led Victor up a long, vertical ladder, pushed aside an unsealed manhole cover, and once again the starlit sky unfolded overhead.

The last time Victor had paid special attention to the constellations was camping with Lambert; now Pegasus still hung high overhead, while the Maiden of Winter had vanished.

“Heh heh, mercenary, welcome to Vizima!” Red Dog, clad in black waterproof gear and masked with black cloth, spoke with a sharp voice that had yet to deepen.

Victor glanced at the fire salamander tattoo on his exposed arm, then replied in a gruff tone, “Thank you.” The boy had his own face wrapped tightly, not wishing to be linked to a criminal syndicate.

Throwing his cloak, reeking of excrement and urine, back into the sewer, then tossing Red Dog five Orens as a tip, he quickly disappeared into the cramped, twisting alleys of the Old Town.

...

Later, people spread tales as follows:

“He came from the east, passing through the Shepherd’s Gate.

He rode a splendid, mighty steed, with wisdom shining in his eyes like the morning star.

He was the first and the last; he was the one who bore the flame.”