The corner of Lannor’s mouth twitched.

“Could you come down from the railing first?”

Margarita’s cheeks were flushed as well. “Who knows… What a pity. I’ve never tried comforting one another in the sea breeze.”

Were the witcher’s hormonal regulators malfunctioning, or had the sorceress’s hormones gone awry? Lannor was briefly at a loss for words.

“Right, the gifts. The gifts… What are these?”

Her interest interrupted, Margarita’s shoulders sagged a little. She looked at the two objects in Lannor’s hands. One was a simple yet elegant walking stick. The other was… some sort of mixture of wood and steel tubing?

Margarita had never seen firearms before, so she could not learn much from its appearance alone.

“Two Otherworld weapons. I think they should suit a Sorceress.”

Lannor gave her a teasing smile.

“Especially the sort of non-combat Sorceress who might be ambushed with a Sling.”

“Ha ha. You’re hilarious.” Margarita produced two dry laughs that failed to reach her eyes.

“Try this one first, Threaded Cane.”

Lannor handed the Walking stick to Margarita. The Sorceress accepted it in one hand, still looking somewhat absent-minded, but the moment the Walking stick settled into her palm, her wrist dipped under its weight. She had to put considerably more strength into it before she could hold the Threaded Cane one-handed.

Sorceresses might lack the physical prowess of renowned Knights or Witchers, but their bodies, reshaped by Chaos, were still stronger than those of ordinary people. Margarita, for instance, likely possessed greater arm strength and endurance than a common man in his prime.

In a world without magic, athletic competitions had to separate men and women into different divisions. Whenever the divisions were crossed, the result was usually a one-sided crushing. In this world, however, men and women did not assume victory would come easily simply because their opponent was of the opposite sex.

“This is… made entirely of steel?”

The Sorceress turned her wrist in surprise.

“This would hurt like hell if it struck someone. Even a normal Hand-and-a-Half sword doesn’t feel this solid!”

A Blade was still a thin-edged weapon. Though the Walking stick had a pointed tip, it was closer to a steel bar.

“But I don’t know any swordsmanship.”

After playing with it for a moment, Margarita’s interest began to fade. The Walking stick had only come into existence as a weapon during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, when urban life created a demand for decorative self-defense weapons. In a world of magic, however, plenty of people walked through cities with Longswords hanging from their belts.

The Walking stick held no particular advantage.

Lannor knew that, of course.

“That isn’t how you use it.”

He took the Threaded Cane back and recalled the way that Madman had wielded it during their battle. Then, beneath Margarita’s astonished gaze, a sharp click rang out as the mechanism turned, followed by a scatter of sparks.

Lannor held the Threaded Cane by its handle in reverse grip. The body of the Walking stick had transformed into a Jagged Iron Scourge composed of twenty-one sections.

The edges of those metal plates were sharp enough to set one’s teeth on edge.

If it struck a creature of flesh and blood and the wielder yanked it back, it could tear away kilograms of flesh in a single pull.

Lannor imitated the technique he had seen the Madman use. He had never wielded a flexible weapon of this sort before, but his extraordinary bodily control and powers of observation allowed him to copy the basics after seeing it only once.

The metal whip shrieked through the air. Its jagged, interlocking plates scraped across the marble railing of the terrace.

The crack of the blow left a scratch on the marble, as thick as a finger and three millimeters deep. Stone dust drifted away on the sea wind.

The Sorceress covered her mouth, staring in astonishment at the weapon’s intricate mechanism. In this world, such craftsmanship could probably only be produced by the gnomes living in the mountains. Every one of their works, without exaggeration, would be extravagantly expensive to a Sorceress, assuming one could even find it for sale.

Lannor clicked the metal whip back into the form of a Threaded Cane and handed it to Margarita.

This time, the Sorceress could not put it down.

“You could place an Illusion on it and make it look like a harmless, charming Wizard’s Staff. Even if your Sorcerer companions see through the Illusion, all they’ll find is an ordinary Walking stick that has yet to transform.”

Lannor folded his arms and offered his tactical advice.

“Trust me. Once an ordinary Sorcerer sees through the first layer of Illusion, eight-tenths of his caution will vanish. Then you can give him a proper beating with the whip.”

“No Sorcerer without protective Conjuration could survive being struck by this!” Margarita carefully tested the transformation mechanism on the Walking stick and reached her conclusion.

“No human could take a full beating from it. One strike, two at most, and the whip would tear away several kilograms of flesh and blood… This weapon wasn’t made to fight humans, was it?”

“That’s right. The humans of the Otherworld use it to hunt monsters while preserving their dignity.”

Lannor thought of the Madman. The man’s attire had certainly been fashionable.

“What? Does using a weapon like this trouble you?”

“Trouble me?” Margarita gave Lannor a strange look. She had finally figured out the Threaded Cane’s transformation mechanism, and the pure-steel Walking stick shifted repeatedly between its ‘metal whip’ and ‘Walking stick’ forms in her hands.

“Cannibal once carved the flesh from both my calves and I watched them eat it, my dear…”

“I know what humans can become when ruled by wicked thoughts.”

Lannor admired Margarita’s bluntness and composure. The two of them had fought their way out together from that Cannibal beach, and he found himself growing more and more fond of the woman’s temperament.

As they spoke, Margarita had already placed an Illusion on the Threaded Cane.

She transformed the handle of the Walking stick into a large golden rose edged with silver inlay. The Hunters’ original design, plain and practical, had become ornate and dazzling.

It suited the Sorceress’s lavish style perfectly.

“The other item is much simpler to use.”

Lannor took out the Hunter Pistol. After demonstrating how to load, aim, and fire it, Margarita had more or less grasped how to handle the weapon.

That was one advantage firearms held over melee weapons. It was genuinely easy to learn.

“A Crossbow Bolt fired with Black Powder? That’s a fine idea. No need to draw and set it right before a fight. You can draw it whenever you like and fire.”

Margarita examined the Hunter Pistol as she offered her verdict.

For a Sorceress, the pistol’s greatest advantage was precisely its ability to fire at a moment’s notice.

Whether bow or crossbow, leaving the string drawn for too long amounted to damaging the weapon. Anyone who wanted to use a Crossbow safely had to leave time before the battle to draw the string and set the bolt.

The Hunter Pistol had no such concern.

That could prove invaluable in the sudden emergencies Sorcerers feared most.

As for the increase in power it possessed over a Crossbow Bolt… In any case, neither bullets nor Crossbow Bolts could compare with a single fireball from a Sorceress.

“Thank you, darling. I like these gifts very much.”

Margarita pressed herself against the young man and kissed his earlobe.

She had received no shortage of gifts. Men and women alike had sent her mountains of them for the sake of her beauty, her family, her power, and her station.

Gold, silver, jewels, all dazzling enough to catch the eye.

The gifts Margarita had received throughout her life would have served as the dowry of some princess from a minor Northern kingdom.

In theory, these were only two weapons.

Crude, bloodstained, and utterly lacking in romance. What woman would like such things?

A whip that could tear chunks of flesh from a man. A firearm capable of punching through the human body. Margarita was not some lunatic who could not sleep unless she had seen blood.

But this time was different.

The man who had given her these things was different from all the others.

So Margarita’s affection for the gifts was different as well.

People gave gifts in the hope that the recipient would come to love them because she loved the gift.

For some people, however, a gift was cherished for only one reason: because he had given it to her.

“You’re setting me ablaze, darling.”

The Sorceress breathed softly against the Witcher’s ear, her breath carrying a seductive fragrance.

It came from a Charisma Unguent made with magic. Margarita used it whenever she was with him.

She was willing to take considerable pains to dress herself up for the man she cared about.

And what could a Witcher say after receiving such an explicit invitation?

“Can you open a Portal straight to the bedroom?”

“Why teleport? Carry me there. I want those apprentices who can only look on to see that you still belong to me. It isn’t as if you abandoned me for four months!”

* * *

“So you two stayed in the room until now…”

Berengar brought his hammer down with a ringing clang on the dark-red Steel Ingot before him. Then he lifted his eyes toward the clock hanging on the wall.

“Hm. Noon on the following day?”

The old Witcher was bare-chested, wearing only the thick leather apron blacksmiths used to shield themselves from sparks. Sweat, grease, and black coal dust coated his skin.

This was a large smithy beside the walls of Gors Velen.

It had been built and staffed by Aretuza Academy. Its primary business was hammering Valyrian Steel into Steel Ingot convenient for transport and settlement.

But the new steel had caused such a stir across the Continent, and gained such a reputation, that many master blacksmiths came here to purchase Valyrian Steel Ingot directly. Some hoped to advance their craft, while others wanted to make a name for themselves with a single masterpiece.

The practice had become even more fashionable after Toul Butcher, a Dwarf Forge Master who held a master’s license from the Novigrad Blacksmiths’ Guild, forged the first Valyrian Steel sword here in the style of a Mahakaman Runeblade.

That Mahakaman Runeblade sold for three times the market price at auction.

After examining it, the Novigrad Blacksmiths’ Guild had also granted Toul the title of Grand Master of the Iron-Blood Forge.

Honor, fame, and the wealth that inevitably followed. What more could a blacksmith pursue in life?

Naturally, this had also spurred Berengar, who had been transferred out of Aretuza’s smelting chambers.

In the eyes of the old Witcher, he was the first man in the world to forge a Valyrian Steel sword.

His work had gone unrecognized only because he was a Witcher.

“Hey, don’t make me sound like some kind of Beast, all right? I’ve been rather sensitive about the concept of a ‘Beast’ these past few days.” Lannor grumbled.

The smithy was filled with dark-red Steel Ingot and blacksmiths working beneath the roaring heat, their bodies slick with sweat.

Yet the well-dressed young man had not shed a single drop.

Not only was his body temperature high, his tolerance for heat was higher still. Even the temperature of the smithy could not make him uncomfortable.

“Then I’ll put it another way. Hm…” The old Witcher considered the matter for a moment. “Incubus?”

The young man fell silent.

“…Is that a mutation characteristic of the Wolf School? An aptitude for terrible jokes?”

Berengar narrowed his eyes in amusement without answering.

His eyes were small to begin with. When he narrowed them, anyone looking directly at him could scarcely see them at all. That had been one of the reasons he had managed to work as a dock laborer for more than a decade.

“All right, back to the matter at hand. Clang.”

The old Witcher continued hammering the Steel Ingot as he spoke.

“You’re looking for the Bear School’s Plate Armor diagrams, so you want to find a Witcher from the Bear School who’s still active in the trade. The reasoning is sound. But you shouldn’t be asking me. I left the profession decades ago.”

Lannor scratched his cheek. “I thought that, given your age, you might at least know a few more people.”

Berengar shrugged. “You thought wrong. When I was working as a Witcher, I spent every day worrying about where my next meal would come from. I had no time to make friends among my colleagues.”

“Just as I figured, this fellow has no clue.”

Beside Berengar’s forge, the Dwarf Fergus stood with his arms folded and shouted in his rough voice.

“If you ask me, just make another set like the one you used to wear! That craft was good enough, I reckon! What more do you want?”

He was practically screaming. That was normal in a noisy smithy, and could fairly be called an occupational ailment among blacksmiths.

Master Toul Butcher was still forging new works here, so Fergus continued to serve him as an apprentice.

Naturally, under the persuasive tongue of this Dwarf, the apprentice who was actually learning the craft, Yuna, remained here as a general servant as well.

At that moment, the human girl did not hesitate to argue with Fergus.

“Be quiet, Fergus! A Warrior’s pursuit of superior Armor and weapons has no end! As long as a Warrior still possesses courage and blood in his veins, he’ll think the same way! That is what makes a real man!”

Yuna had long since grown accustomed to scolding Fergus in private. For now, he merely scratched his backside with an indifferent expression and muttered under his breath.

“I’m a man too, but I don’t like iron things. Making friends and playing Gwent, now that’s fun.”

Neither Yuna nor Lannor paid any attention to the ‘unique’ Dwarf.

After thinking for a moment, the human apprentice offered Lannor her sincere advice.

“I kept the complete set of diagrams when the master repaired your Armor last time. If you’re in a hurry, I’m confident I could forge it myself. But aside from using Valyrian Steel to strengthen its overall protection, I don’t think it would be better than a more advanced Witcher Plate Armor.”

“Your Plate Armor incorporates some Alchemy into the manufacturing process, which gives it unique effects. Your previous Superior Ursine Armor, for instance, made it easier for enemies to bleed without stopping. More advanced diagrams must have more advanced features. Simply adding Valyrian Steel cannot achieve that.”

Yuna’s words only strengthened Lannor’s resolve to obtain a higher-grade set of diagrams.

Berengar noticed the seriousness in Lannor’s expression. He stopped working, stroked his chin, and began to think.

“If you truly want a lead… At my age, I can’t claim there’s nothing I know.”

“Hm?”

Lannor’s expectant gaze immediately fixed itself on the old Witcher.

Berengar strained to recall what he knew.

“After the Bear School split away under Arnaghad, I heard that they settled in the Amell Range and formed agreements with the local Dwarf and Gnome communities. When they broke away from the Witcher Confraternity, they didn’t take many blacksmiths with them. Given their own abilities, they shouldn’t have been able to develop their own school Armor.”

At that point, Berengar met Lannor’s eyes.

The two Witchers reached the same conclusion at once.

The Bear School’s Armor had probably not been designed by the Bear School itself.

The diagrams had most likely come from the Dwarf and Gnome craftsmen of the Amell Range.

“In other words, the Bear School’s equipment diagrams were most likely made by Dwarf and Gnome craftsmen in the Amell Range… Interesting. What sort of bargain did the Dwarf and Gnome strike with the Bear School?”

Lannor stroked his chin, mulling it over.

“Yuna, make me a set of Superior Ursine Armor for now. It looks like I’ll have to make another long journey.”

The human apprentice, who had been posing as a general servant while secretly learning from the Dwarven Master Smith, spread her hands helplessly.

“When I said I could make it, I meant that my skill has reached the required level. I don’t have a smelting furnace or the tools needed to make Armor of my own. You’ll still have to go through Master Toul Butcher.”

“Ha, that’s no problem!” Fergus had just finished scratching his backside. He then ran the same hand through the great beard beneath his nose.

“The master’s been bewitched by Valyrian Steel these past few months! His inspiration just keeps coming. He nearly wants to live here. The smelting furnace at the shop hasn’t been lit in ages! If you place an order for Plate Armor with him, I doubt he’ll have time to make it. In the end, it’ll fall into my hands anyway, and Yuna can take over the work! Leave it to us.”

Fergus arranged everything with practiced ease. For a moment, he looked remarkably like a professional manager.

It seemed the arrangement of “Fergus taking commissions under the Dwarf’s name while Yuna supplied the craftsmanship” had nearly reached maturity.

“As long as I have something to wear, I don’t care. I’ve gone several days without proper Plate Armor, and I feel cold all over.”

Lannor spoke indifferently. His high body temperature naturally kept him from feeling cold. This “cold” was the unease that came from losing his protective strength.

Lannor had no particular sense of belonging to the Bear School, but he had already gone a long way down the path of its combat style without realizing it. By now, it had become a habit.

“By the way, how much would it cost to make a complete set of Superior Ursine Armor from scratch?”

He asked the question casually. Since acquiring the Armor, he had only ever paid for repairs.

Yuna’s professional ability was indeed impressive. She planted her hands on her hips, thought for five or six seconds, and then gave him a firm answer.

“The material cost would be eight hundred Orens, but you’ll need to pay another one hundred and twenty as the Master Smith’s labor fee. The transaction has to be recorded through the master’s smithy.”

“Wait… He’s charging one hundred and twenty Orens even if he doesn’t do the work?”

Yuna pursed her lips and looked helplessly at the Witcher, who clearly understood nothing about the trade’s customs.

“It’s only one hundred and twenty because he isn’t doing the work.”

“Master Toul Butcher is now a certified Magister Fabri. If he personally took the commission, the labor fee would start at two hundred and seventy. Anything less would count as disrupting the market!”

Lannor scratched his head. He was beginning to understand.

A smithy with an Archimagister Fabri in residence was already much like a renowned enterprise. Simply attaching its name and mark to a product allowed it to charge more than similar goods.

The name alone justified the higher price.

More importantly, no one could reasonably object.

Thinking about it that way… Lannor had no idea how long Bordon must have labored to put that set of Armor together.

Fortunately, he was no longer a penniless Witcher.

A broke witcher does not stay dangerous for long?

“Nine hundred and twenty Orens. Fine. Take the invoice to The Giancardi Bank when the time comes and settle the account there. I have a personal account with them.”

Lannor waved it off.

Yuna and Fergus agreed at once, both of them visibly excited.

Yuna was excited because she had finally been given the chance to create a Master-level piece. Fergus, meanwhile, was thrilled because he had successfully negotiated his first commission for Master-level equipment, even if the customer happened to be his friend Lannor.

The two of them left in high spirits.

They had accepted the commission under the smithy’s name, and would also be using its equipment. Either way, they had to report it to Master Toul Butcher.

Lannor and Berengar watched the tall and short figures jog toward the corner of the workshop, where the master’s domain lay.

The Dwarf gestured wildly as he described the commission he had secured. The master, however, seemed only mildly interested. He waved a hand, apparently telling them to handle it themselves.

The Masculus Artifex and the human woman discreetly slapped their palms together in celebration.

It seemed the performance and potential of Valyrian Steel had thoroughly captivated this Master’s Artifex Faber. He was now preparing to forge a battle-axe from Valyrian Steel.

“You haven’t accomplished anything yet? He’s already changing the form of his work.”

Lannor folded his arms, nudged the old Witcher with his elbow, and jerked his chin toward the Archimagister Artifex.

At that, Berengar’s expression tightened.

He began muttering about how “our skills are actually about equal,” how “his endurance at the forge still isn’t as good as mine,” and how “I can drink a potion while hammering steel, but can he?”

Lannor raised an eyebrow and quietly watched Berengar’s long face, streaked with coal dust and glistening with sweat. His expression remained perfectly calm.

Go on. I’m listening.

Under Lannor’s silent pressure, the old Witcher finally let out a defeated sigh.

“All right, fine. I admit that I haven’t matched his work yet. But!”

“It isn’t because my skills are lacking. It’s because I don’t have good diagrams!”

The old Witcher drew in a breath and complained to Lannor.

“Look at the forms of the swords he makes. Mahakaman Runeblade! Xysyr sword! Tor Tiar sword! And what do I have?”

“I can only make Kovir Short sword, Velen Longsword, Nilfgaard Short sword… How am I supposed to compare with that? Forging those swords doesn’t even give my skills a challenge, let alone leave room for innovation!”

“Yes, I know how to make some high-end sword forms, such as Witcher weapons. But are those something I can display publicly? I’m not going to expose the secrets of School Gear simply for the sake of my own honor!”

That was indeed a valid reason.

Lannor understood.

Berengar’s access to resources for learning the art of smithing was certainly inferior to that of a Dwarf.

Besides, he had heard that Master Toul Butcher came from Karbon Mountain in the Mahakam Range, the great heartland of Dwarven forging.

The master probably knew every diagram the Dwarf had accumulated over countless years.

“Er… Have you ever tried…”

Lannor stopped halfway. He tapped two fingers beneath his eyes, then used the same fingers to make a sneaking gesture as he edged toward Master Toul Butcher.

The meaning was clear: watch and learn in secret.

“I remember that when he was forging the Mahakaman Runeblade, the Dwarven primordial runes were carved openly on the surface, weren’t they?”

“Do you know what those Dwarven primordial runes mean?”

Berengar stared at the young man without a word.

“Er, what do they mean?”

“‘Fuck your mother,’ ‘Go eat shit,’ ‘I’ll cut you open until you can see your intestines,’ and things of that sort.”

Lannor’s expression became peculiar.

“I don’t really understand Dwarf Primordial Rune, but from the way you describe it… Do their curses increase their attack power?”

“Have you ever considered this? If Dwarf insults could increase attack power, why would the foul-mouthed Dwarf in the cities still be driven into the non-human districts by humans?”

Berengar spread his hands without expression, then slammed the back of one hand into the palm of the other.

“Because carving insults in Primordial Rune is only a smokescreen! What truly matters is the technique! The forging technique! Fold-forging, repeated compression, secret quenching liquids… Otherwise, do you really think the Dwarves would forge steel in front of humans without hiding anything?”

Lannor drew his neck back, trying to keep away from the beads of sweat flying from Berengar’s body as the old Witcher grew agitated.

“I’m an outsider. Why are you getting angry at me?”

At last, Lannor could only walk away from the increasingly indignant Berengar.

Who knew how long the fellow had been in the workshop? Ordinary blacksmiths worked in shifts, but Berengar seemed to be exploiting the extraordinary endurance granted by his Witcher body to spend an inordinate amount of time inside. It was much the same as when he had used that ability to work as a dock laborer and earn overtime pay.

Of course, like Lannor, he had now become one of the few Witchers in the world who did not need to worry about money, thanks to his shares in Valyrian Steel.

Even so, he remained fiercely attached to his reputation as a blacksmith. He was determined to hold his ground here and forge an exceptional weapon that could be displayed openly and praised by all.

The smell clinging to him was therefore easy enough to imagine.

That oily sweat… Lannor had no intention of letting any of it spatter onto him.

* * *

Several days had passed since Lannor left the Valyrian Steel workshop.

He had remained inside the academy, waiting for Yuna to finish forging his Armor and for the intelligence network of Aretuza to deliver its report. Even so, his days at the academy had hardly been wasted.

He now spent half his time in the library of Aretuza.

Lannor was attempting to construct Bio-constructs for Ossmodula and Biscopea, so that he could use Crystal Cultivation Technique to create qualified biological organs for surgical implantation.

His progress had been rapid.

During his battle with Rom, the Vacuous Spider, he had encountered Belisarius Cawl, Archmagos of the Adeptus Mechanicus. The Primaris Space Marine who served as the owner of that memory perspective had recalled the surgical knowledge in meticulous detail.

Combined with the fragmented surgical knowledge Lannor had acquired earlier through Deep Memory Dive, he now possessed the complete knowledge of four procedures following 【Larraman’s Organ】.

If the unique modifications of the Primaris Space Marine were included, that made seven procedures in total.

The immense quantity of knowledge was being rapidly digested and understood by Lannor’s mind and natural talent.

Mentos had told him that it would not be long before he could unlock the authority of the Biological Intelligence Core to the middle-school stage.

When that happened, the Biological Intelligence Core from the Commonwealth of Man would be able to unleash vastly greater computational power, assisting him in both daily life and further development.

Ossmodula and Biscopea were the two procedures that most directly increased the combat ability of a basic Space Marine.

The procedures that followed focused on battlefield survivability, adaptability, and functionality. Their contribution to straightforward physical combat power was comparatively limited.

These two procedures were also the stages that produced the greatest changes in the recipient’s physique.

Lannor’s ribs would extend and grow, becoming an overlapping, interlocking structure resembling shutters or the shell of a lobster.

His entire skeleton would gradually enlarge as well, eventually expanding his body enough to accommodate all the later Astartes Implants.

Biscopea had to be implanted after Ossmodula. If overgrown, strengthened muscles were attached to ordinary bones, the strain would most likely crush the weaker skeleton whenever the muscles tensed.

Inside the library, beneath the bright light conjured by magic, Lannor held a quill and occasionally drew a line across a sheet of parchment.

On the dark yellow parchment, the forms of two biological organs were slowly taking shape.

The primary calculations and deductions, of course, were being performed inside Lannor’s mind by Mentos.

An endless stream of data poured across Lannor’s retinas like a waterfall. Alongside it, strange models of various biological organs were being constructed one after another.

The occasional strokes he made on the parchment merely marked the points at which he had fully understood a critical connection.

Once the images of the two organs had been completely drawn, it would mean that he had fully absorbed the knowledge within them.

Gene-Seed Integration Analysis

Modules: Ossmodula / Biscopea

Biochemical Dependency:

Ossmodula: Provides Structural Adaptation Environment

Biscopea: Muscle Growth Amplification

Growth Disparity:

Muscular Development Rate: Exceeds Skeletal Reinforcement

Risk Assessment:

Premature Biscopea Implantation: Structural Failure Likely

Priority Adjustment:

Primary Focus: Skeletal Reinforcement, Ossmodula Phase

Prerequisite Condition:

Bone Strength: Sufficient to Withstand Enhanced Musculature

Time Estimate:

Process Duration: ≥ Several Months

The quill in Lannor’s hand paused slightly.

“In other words, Ossmodula must be implanted at least several months before Biscopea. The two procedures definitely can’t be performed at the same time… Tsk!”

The Witcher pursed his lips. He had wanted to complete the procedures that offered the greatest increase in combat power as quickly as possible, one after another. But now it seemed…

The irritated click of his tongue drew the apprentices’ eyes toward him.

Some glanced over in secret. Others stared openly. A few pretended to act naturally as they lifted the skirts of their high-slit dresses, presenting their fair, rounded thighs directly to the Witcher.

Aretuza had always been liberal in its ways. That tendency had become even more obvious after Tissaia’s departure and Margarita’s appointment as rector.

These apprentices were openly making trouble for their rector.

Lannor, however, had long since learned to ignore such irritating trivialities.

He rolled the used quill into the middle of the parchment and headed toward the library’s exit.

The library of Aretuza was enormous. As he passed one of the desks on his way to the door, he tapped its side.

The apprentice who had been studying there rose naturally and followed him, ignoring the hostile looks of the other apprentices.

Only after they had left the quiet library did Lannor speak aloud.

“Felicia, apply for permission to use the Scrying glass. The report should go directly to the rector, and the communication target is Tissaia de Vries Grand Sorcerer.”

“And how is your research progressing?”

Lannor’s conversations with the apprentice now resembled those between a professor and a student.

Felicia had accepted that role long ago.

Both of them belonged to the Crystal Cultivation Project, an academic group established under the leadership of Tissaia Grand Sorcerer that brought together Sorcerers and Alchemists from across the world.

After Tissaia left Aretuza, they were the only members of the research group who remained at the academy.

Lannor was a formal researcher. After overcoming the difficulty of growing internal organs, he could even be regarded as one of the project’s academic leaders.

And she… was still little more than a general assistant.

Being treated like an apprentice and ordered about was perfectly natural.

Besides, it was not without its advantages.

After recording Lannor’s list of tasks, Felicia pulled the questions she had accumulated over that period from her small shoulder bag.

As a researcher in the project, Lannor had already begun assigning Felicia reading lists.

If the lecturers of Aretuza prepared such personalized reading lists, the apprentices would have to pay an additional consultation fee.

Felicia’s question seemed simple enough to Lannor.

Mentos was a human learning device from the Stellar Age. With its assistance, Lannor’s ability to learn had reached the level of an Interstellar Human.

Magic was indeed wondrous, but no one in this world had yet heard of anyone using magic to make themselves more intelligent.

In the end, a Sorcerer’s intellect still came down to talent.

Felicia had talent. That was why Tissaia had allowed an apprentice to join the group. But compared with someone like Lannor, she was still far behind.

After receiving a free lesson, the Sorceress Apprentice cheerfully went off to handle her errands.

When she had taken out the questions that had occurred to her while reading, Lannor had noticed a pair of small scissors for cutting hair, a Shaving Razor, and similar tools inside her little satchel.

The sight had struck him as oddly incongruous.

Only moments earlier, he had been discussing the differentiation and regeneration of human cells with Felicia, along with the precise control of biological tissue growth.

Even in a modern world, those subjects would have belonged to the highest reaches of the field.

Yet the apprentice who discussed them used a Shaving Razor and scissors at other times, earning money by cutting people’s hair with such “old-fashioned” methods.

Though he had lived here for quite some time, the Magical World could still surprise Lannor in the smallest and most unexpected ways.

* * *

It would be some time before Felicia’s application was approved, and Lannor happened to receive a notice during the wait.

The Armor he had commissioned was finished. However, the person delivering it was not from Toul Butcher Master Blacksmith’s workshop, but from The Giancardi Bank.

Lannor found that somewhat strange, but still made his way down toward the lower levels of Aretuza.

The magnificent Aretuza had broad, brightly lit corridors. There was none of the damp gloom one expected from a medieval castle, even though the academy had been built out at sea.

The female apprentices he encountered no longer bowed to Lannor as they had when Margarita was with him.

Instead, their gazes were hot enough to make a man uneasy.

Aretuza forbade its apprentices from leaving the grounds and entering Gors Velen.

The girls had been cooped up for too long.

That was why the student Margarita had once been searching for had been so easily lured away by Cannibal.

In the end, most of the apprentices did not dare do anything to Lannor. They merely shoved one another, laughed, and wandered off together.

The upper levels of the academy were lavish because that was where Garstang stood, the seat of power where Sorcerers held their assemblies.

The lower levels were lavish as well, since they contained Loxia Palace, where distinguished guests and Royal Envoys were received.

The middle levels were somewhat simpler by comparison, though still finer than ordinary castles on the Continent. That was where the students’ dormitories and classrooms were located.

When Lannor entered one of the reception rooms in Loxia Palace, the Dwarven Banker Selton Giancardi was already seated inside, his red beard covering most of his face.

“Ah-ha! Lannor, my friend!”

At the sight of the Witcher, the Dwarf sprang to his feet as though a spring had been fitted beneath him and greeted him enthusiastically.

Because of the usual stereotypes surrounding Dwarves, Lannor could not quite tell whether this was merely commercial courtesy or part of the Dwarves’ distinctive habit of treating everyone like an old acquaintance.

“Selton. Good to see you.”

Lannor shook the Dwarf’s hand.

“But why are you here? Shouldn’t this Armor have been delivered by…”

“Haha, the Armor is right here! The craftsmanship and design are excellent!”

Selton slapped the chest beside him and tried to push it toward Lannor.

The weight of the Armor inside, combined with the carpet beneath it, kept the chest from moving.

The Dwarven Banker did not seem embarrassed in the least. He simply continued with a broad grin.

“You must have a fine relationship with Toul Butcher Master Blacksmith. They finished the Armor and then came to the bank to settle the account, which is a rare thing. Naturally, we exchanged a few words. Then, snap, snap…”

Selton patted the chest containing the Armor.

“I told them you were one of my major customers, so the matter might as well be handed over to me. And here I am, delivering it to you.”

“Thank you.”

Lannor thanked Selton politely. A gap opened in the Dwarf’s great red beard, revealing his smile.

The Witcher lifted the chest with one hand and drew it to his side. The strength required made the Dwarf let out a soft, “Wow.”

The lock sprang open with a click. Lannor took one brief look inside and knew that it was a proper set of Superior Ursine Armor.

He had worn one for a long time and faced countless enemies in it.

He closed the chest and set it aside.

“This Armor is as high-quality as ever,” Lannor said, then asked in puzzlement, “but this was a minor transaction worth less than a thousand Orens. How did it make its way into your hands?”

Selton Giancardi was the manager of The Giancardi Bank in Gors Velen. If this had been nothing more than a small account settlement, he might never have heard about it.

“Oh, I’m not the manager anymore.”

The red-bearded Dwarf delivered the astonishing news with a cheerful grin.

“Ah, don’t misunderstand. It was my decision. The family will send someone to take over in a few days. To be honest…”

“Compared with managing a city bank, I value the Valyrian Steel business more!”

Selton looked at the astonished Lannor with blazing eyes and absolute confidence.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that, Lannor. You know a man’s energy is limited. If I want to make a name for myself in the Valyrian Steel business, I won’t have enough attention left for banking. And if I want to become an excellent Banker, I won’t be able to look after our steel business properly. One always has to choose, right?”

Having said this, the Dwarf proudly jabbed a thumb against his chest.

“And now I’ve made my choice without hesitation, as decisively as some great hero! Damn, it feels good! Hahaha!”

“Wow…” Lannor opened his mouth, unsure what else to say. “You certainly made the decision quickly.”

“Haha, so don’t just stand there. Come on! Shake my hand. Our partnership is going to grow even closer from now on! I’ll become Valyrian Steel’s managing director, a professional manager, and the intermediary between the guild and the banks.”

The excited and overly familiar Dwarf seized Lannor’s hand and shook it vigorously twice before finally letting go.

It was Selton who eventually brought the conversation back on course, allowing Lannor to recover his thoughts.

“As for why I personally delivered this Armor, it’s because I heard about your predicament from that apprentice of Master Toul Butcher.”

“You’re a key figure in our guild. Solving problems for the principal employer is part of a professional manager’s professional conduct!”

Selton rubbed his hands together, as though he had already entered his working role.

“You want to obtain a set of Mastercrafted Plate Armor diagrams, and those diagrams were designed by the Dwarves and Gnomes of the Amell Range. That’s more or less the situation, right?”

“Not a set…” Lannor instinctively began to correct the imprecise wording, but stopped himself before he could finish. “Well, that isn’t wrong either.”

“Ha! You should have come to me about this from the beginning!” Selton slapped his thigh enthusiastically.

“When it comes to simple forging and diagrams, the House of Giancardi may not be particularly skilled. But when it comes to Dwarf and Gnome clans, who else would you come to if not us?”

Selton’s manner was warm and natural. He possessed the Dwarf habit of treating strangers like old friends, along with an even more pronounced optimism.

It was an appealing combination, enough for Lannor to develop a favorable impression of him after only a short conversation. There were always people like that in the world, people who passed their own happiness and enthusiasm to others without even trying. Without them, the world would be a far duller place.

“Not to boast!”

Selton thumped his chest, opening with the customary prelude to a Dwarf’s boasting.

“Our House of Selton maintains excellent relations with all the Dwarf and Gnome clans. No, I should say this instead: among the Dwarf Banking Clans, we are the one with the best connections to every clan!”

The most famous Dwarven Banks were Giancardi, Vivaldi, and Gianfardi. Their financial enterprises stretched across the entire civilized world, and even the division between the north and south of humanity had little effect on them.

Lannor, however, knew little about any of that. Before the Valyrian Steel business, the Dwarves he had dealt with had been limited mostly to blacksmiths.

“You mean you know the Dwarven Clan in the Amell Range?”

Lannor was pleasantly surprised. The Amell Range was enormous. He did not even know where the Bear School’s castle was, let alone where the natives living in those mountains could be found.

“Of course! Of course!”

Selton repeated himself, lending extra weight to his assurance.

“It’s a branch of Clan Civa, and they live alongside some Gnome clans. Because they live at high altitudes where the air is cold, they are unmatched when it comes to working with leather and fur. The feel of fur treated by them… Tsk, tsk. Even the most particular Sorceress would find it impossible to resist!”

“I’ll wager that the diagrams you’re looking for include leather or fur components.”

Selton looked utterly certain.