Chapter Ninety: Your Memory Will Deceive You

After seeing Doctor Shani out, Victor wore a courteous smile. As for that cheek kiss, he would not dwell on it; it was nothing more than two noble souls brushing together in purity. Yet that innocence was shattered the moment he saw Angouleme’s lewd grin, and the boy’s whole mood soured.

Yes, lewd was the word. Even if it was rather rude to describe a girl that way, Victor stood by it, because no other term could better capture the wild girl’s smile, all of it thick with the unmistakable air of a roving old hand at the roadside, waving people on to get aboard.

“May I ask what has made you smile so disgustingly? So indecently?” Victor asked with some irritation.

“Vic! Talking to a young lady like that is terribly rude. What do you mean, disgusting? Is that something you say to a little angel? Is that how you describe a little angel?” She answered with an aggravating expression, a sausage in hand, poking at the soup bowl in challenge.

Leaning against the cupboard, Victor folded his arms. “Do you still remember you’re a young lady? And if I’m not mistaken, little angel is usually used to describe a guardian of love.”

“I am your and Shani’s guardian angel!” The sausage, having lost all sense of shame, was bitten off with a loud crunch.

Rubbing his brow, Victor knew Angouleme had misunderstood. He did not deny that he admired Shani, but he had no thoughts beyond friendship.

Because of the lingering impressions left by his previous life’s game, he had never once considered competing with the White Wolf in matters of women. In the past, when he had played the game from Geralt’s perspective and courted women, trying to pursue them now as Victor would feel oddly awkward, as if he were stealing his own girlfriend.

He took out a coin, flicked it into the air, and caught it as it fell.

Besides, under the radiance of reason, he was neither lacking nor desperate. His looks were ordinary, and that hardly mattered; Foltest was beloved by all.

The boy wanted to preserve the beautiful memories of his former life in his heart, so he would not consider becoming the third wheel and stealing another’s love by force. Yet those tangled thoughts could not be explained to Angouleme.

Seeing Victor silent, Angouleme thought she had hit upon his secret and grew even more smug. “Hurry up and thank me! Last night, your little angel helped you get rid of a rival in love!”

At those words, the witcher apprentice froze. A rival in love? Was she talking about Geralt?

He returned to the table, his expression serious. “What happened? What rival in love? Geralt?”

Angouleme’s triumphant expression stalled, and she frowned. “Why bring that old man into this? He left so long ago…”

Only then did Victor remember that Geralt was, in most people’s eyes, a figure of the past. Only he knew that the White Wolf still had another half of his legendary tale to play out. But if it wasn’t Geralt, then who was it?

“Sorry, I misspoke just now. So, who is this rival in love you say you helped me get rid of?”

Angouleme regained her confident look. “A guy named Taler. I’ve never met him. I just chatted with Shani before bed, and she said this man has been pursuing her lately, inviting her out several times.

So of course I did my best to slander him and sell you up, Captain. I heard Taler is bald and wears a monocle. Just thinking about it makes me feel the man must be terribly sinister.”

The name struck a faint chord of familiarity. Searching his memory, the boy recalled “Taler, the King’s Eye” from a conversation with Lansmit, and “Taler, head of the intelligence bureau” from a conversation with the Knight of the Rose. A man bearing those two labels was clearly no fitting match for the young lady.

Thus Angouleme’s slanderous efforts were, on the whole, worth encouraging—so long as she was not allowed to draw even more mistaken conclusions.

After thinking it over, Victor placed a hand on Angouleme’s shoulder. His blue eyes fixed on her brown ones. He rarely spoke to her in this way; the last time had been in Floating Harbor, when they had been hunted to the edge of life and death. That should be enough to show how serious he was.

“Stop forcing her and me into the same picture. It only makes us both awkward. She’s close to me because we share similar interests, and because we both like roaming about with herb satchels on our backs. But that does not mean she likes me. The person she loves is Geralt—your old man.”

Having said that, he let go of the girl’s shoulder, only to find Angouleme staring back in disbelief.

“Re... really? The person she likes is the old man?”

“It’s true. I have a reliable source.”

“But... even if that’s so... the old man is already dead.”

Victor realized the subject was impossible to disentangle. Even if he spoiled the future and told her Geralt would return, she would not believe him. She had seen with her own eyes the moment Geralt was stabbed to death.

“Mm... she still carries his shadow in her heart, so it’s too early to talk about going steady or anything like that.” The boy decided to bluff his way through for now.

Only then did Angouleme touch the bridge of her nose. “What a shame. I really like Shani.”

“Still, about that Taler, if you end up talking with Shani, keep an eye on it. He’s not a good man. I’ve heard a few things from Lansmit.”

“Got it.” The girl replied listlessly.

Victor no longer paid her any mind. He armed and dressed himself in silence, deciding to head into the forest that morning to find that sly elf, Aelwyn, and discuss the reward for the vampire woman, as well as the supposedly hidden underground ruins that were, in truth, empty of anything at all.

...

Crossing the lake by boat, the morning air was fresh, and a few water birds skimmed the surface, lifting the spirits.

As for Princess Adda’s banquet, after last night’s sparring, Victor had come to terms with it. A lute performance, of all things—how hard could it be to play a lively tune? One rousing melody and it would be plenty joyful, with no lyrics needed. They could all have a grand time.

So long as he kept the right balance, neither too ostentatious nor too low-key, the quiet life of Victor Corleone would not be disturbed. If he could manage that for a month in the past, he could certainly manage it now.

When the boat reached shore, the boy stepped straight into the forest and, under the guidance of the elven escort, soon arrived at the new camp of the Squirrel guerrillas.

Yet on the way to find Aelwyn, he saw many wounded fighters being bandaged along the path, some blades still stained with blood. The looks they cast at him were far less friendly than before.

It seemed Siegfried or Jacques had not been loafing about after all. Last night, they must have dealt the Squirrels a brutal blow. Of course, even with victory, the knights could not emerge entirely unscathed. One could only say the ledger of hatred had gained another entry.

Just as he reached the front of the main tent, “Ah! My friend, I am so glad to see you safe and sound.” The commander of the strike force had already come out to greet him.

Looking at the black-haired elf with phoenix-like eyes, Victor sighed. “That sentence would be more fitting coming from me. I’m not the one shooting knights with a bow, nor the one being hunted down in a midnight raid by the knights.”

Aelwyn smiled it off indifferently and spread his hands. “As you can see, I am well. For the sake of friendship, let us skip this topic, shall we?”

Victor shook his head. “There’s been some progress on your commission. Can we speak alone?”

Pulling back the tent flap, Aelwyn said, “Come inside!”