For those who walk the road alone.

Chapter 461

The Oath Beyond the Cage

“I choose to trust Regis.”

Lannor and Dettlaff had kept their eyes locked from beginning to end, neither moving so much as an inch. The slightest hesitation or stiffness from either of them would have been caught at once by the other. Suspicion would follow, then distrust, and the conversation would fall apart. Fortunately, neither man betrayed anything of the sort.

Lannor repeated himself for emphasis. “I trust Regis’s abilities and his loyalty to his friends. That has nothing to do with you, Higher Vampire, Mr. Dettlaff.”

With that, Lannor rose and brushed the loose dust from his gambeson. “I believe I know what to do with you now.”

Standing nearby, Regis gave a shallow bow. The gesture felt less like a formal bow than the easy teasing one friend might offer another. Regis had never been a man to put on airs. His mild manner of speaking left a far stronger impression than his courtesies ever did.

“Oh! Your confidence in me does me the greatest honor.”

“Oh, spare me.” Lannor put on a deliberately impatient expression and waved him away. “Stop speaking as though you’re singing an aria. You haven’t the voice for it.”

Doubt still lingered on Gerd’s face, but he came over all the same. The three of them gathered outside the mine to decide what should be done with the Higher Vampire in the cage.

“We can’t kill him, and Regis can’t commit murder against one of his own kind and become a killer of his own ‘people.’” Lannor folded his arms, setting the tone for their little council. “As for reinforcing the suppression Magic Circle Arnaghad left behind, even if we ignore the cost of gathering the materials, we all know the Dwarves of Heinburg won’t want to repeat the whole affair every few decades. They won’t consider that a completed contract.”

Regis stood to one side, still gripping the strap of his shoulder bag like a country tax collector. Little concern showed on his face. By now, he had likely guessed Lannor’s position regarding Dettlaff.

Gerd smacked his lips and scratched his freshly shaven chin, his expression torn. “Fine. Once you strip away all the talk, there’s only one choice that works. Witchers do sometimes let harmless monsters go during a contract, but a Higher Vampire… tch. I have to admit, this has shaken my whole view of the world.”

Lannor gave his shoulder a consoling pat. “The world is changing, and faster by the day. Better to grow accustomed to it sooner than later.”

“You don’t have to console me. I’ll sort myself out. I told you, you’re leading. Your word decides it.” Gerd waved a hand dismissively. Whatever misgivings remained, he could live with them.

That made three in agreement.

Lannor nodded, glanced back into the mine, and said, “Then we have only one choice left: we release Dettlaff.”

Gerd and Regis both nodded.

Lannor fixed Regis with a sober look, and his tone changed. “But I won’t release him on nothing more than someone’s word. You understand that, Regis?”

Regis’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You saw through Telepathy that Dettlaff is a good man. I trust you, so I don’t question that. But you also saw that, in a fit of rage, he slaughtered an entire village.”

Lannor’s voice remained even. “The people of that village deserved what came to them, but innocents must have died with the guilty. Dettlaff acted out of fury, driven by his own sense of right and wrong. For that act, he was hacked to pieces, imprisoned, and made to suffer for more than a century. For now, I’m prepared to consider him punished and his sentence served. There’s little point disputing that.”

“The only question is whether we can ensure he won’t take revenge on those who imprisoned him.”

“The Bear School is hardly a concern. Arnaghad vanished long ago, and Haern Caduch has stood empty for years. There isn’t so much as a rat left there.”

“But what of the Dwarves of Heinburg? They hired us to settle this contract. We cannot repay them by releasing a murderous creature bent on vengeance. Neither duty nor decency would allow it.”

“Dettlaff doesn’t want revenge! He’s a good man!” Regis insisted, his brow still drawn tight.

Lannor answered with a calmness that bordered on cruelty. “Promises are empty, and everything you know of him comes from a single session of Telepathy today. Regis, the words ‘good man’ carry no binding force. I need something that does, some measure that ensures Dettlaff will never do such a thing.”

Conflict tightened Regis’s features as never before. Since meeting the mild and courteous Higher Vampire, Lannor had never seen him wear such an expression.

Regis knew Lannor was right. Ensuring that a released prisoner could not retaliate against his gaolers was more than reasonable. He even had a workable plan, one that could guarantee Dettlaff would leave Heinburg untouched in the years to come.

It was that very plan that had tied his face into knots.

“He looks as though he’s trying to swallow an entire lump of blue cheese,” Gerd muttered from the side. If Lannor had never seen Regis look like this, Gerd certainly had not.

“Doesn’t look like blue cheese to me,” the young man murmured back. “More like he’s walking a tightrope over the mouth of a bubbling volcano.”

At length, Regis seemed to reach a decision. He drew a deep breath through his teeth. “You are right, Lannor. My solution would indeed be rather like walking a tightrope over the mouth of an active volcano. Dangerous—possibly fatal—even for a creature such as me.”

“Care to explain?” Lannor asked cautiously.

Regis answered with a bitter smile. “I would take Dettlaff to meet an ancient… creature. Among our kind, that being commands absolute authority. If he gives an order, we obey it to the letter. The mere thought of disturbing his peace is enough to make my entire body tremble.”

“Something that makes even you Higher Vampires tremble? What sort of…” Gerd’s curious question died unfinished when Lannor caught him by the shoulder.

“No, Gerd. Don’t ask.”

Lannor spoke softly, but the finality in his voice smothered Gerd’s curiosity.

The young man’s knowledge of the world was not broad, but it ran deep. He had already encountered more than a few beings that dwelled beneath the world’s familiar surface. If the creature Regis spoke of was another of them, then some stones were better left unturned.

Keeping a hand on Gerd’s shoulder, Lannor turned back to Regis. “You meet this creature. Then what?”

“Then I will stand witness while Dettlaff swears before that being never to seek vengeance upon the Dwarves of Heinburg or the Witchers of the Bear School for his century of imprisonment. Rest assured, with that creature as witness, even the most reckless among us would not dare break his word.”

“In that case,” Lannor said with a nod, “I have no further objections. Let Dettlaff out.”

Chapter 462

The Body That Would Not Stay Broken

The three of them returned to the cage inside the mine.

Dettlaff sat on the ground, gazing calmly up at Lannor. The cage could not be opened from within, but its outer mechanism was simple enough. The Dwarves had needed to provide Arnaghad with a prison he could operate easily before he would agree to deal with a Higher Vampire.

Lannor explained what the three of them had decided. “If you agree to accompany Regis after your release, appear before that ancient creature, and swear the oath, we’ll open the cage.” He looked directly at Dettlaff. “Do you agree?”

Regis tightened his grip on the strap of his shoulder bag and stared tensely into the cage. A faint light kindled in his eyes. A moment later, his shoulders eased and he turned to the young man with a smile. “He agrees, Lannor.”

Lannor hesitated no further. The catch snapped open with a click, and the door that had remained shut for more than a century slowly swung outward with a long, rusted creak.

Once it was open, Gerd took the place of Regis, whose face had visibly paled, and dragged Dettlaff out. The Dwarves had spared no effort in forging the cage. Regis felt its suppression merely by standing near it.

The Witcher hauled Dettlaff toward the mine entrance, but before they had even reached it, Gerd noticed something that made him stop short. The hideous wounds covering Dettlaff’s body had already begun closing before his eyes.

The skin torn from his chest grew back first. Then his jawbone lengthened and aligned itself with a series of teeth-grating cracks. By the time Gerd dragged him out of the mine, even the shattered shoulder blade on his right side had knitted together. Blood vessels and muscles writhed and twitched over the newly formed bone. At that rate, it would not be long before his entire missing right arm had grown back.

Gerd had never witnessed regeneration so absurdly swift. His mouth fell open, and his fingers released Dettlaff’s body. Fortunately, Dettlaff had recovered enough strength to stand. He staggered once, planted his feet, and steadied himself.

“Gods above!”

Gerd kept clicking his tongue, as though no other sound could express what he had just seen.

The man who finally stood before them had black hair and black eyes, a square, stern face, and the grave bearing of someone accustomed to command. His features settled naturally into a troubled frown, but it seemed to be his usual expression rather than the anger and resentment of a man imprisoned for a hundred years.

With a rustle, Lannor pulled a set of ordinary clothes from his Alchemy Sack and tossed it over. Dettlaff caught it in one hand. By then, half of his right upper arm had already grown back.

“You needn’t worry that I’ll seek revenge upon the Dwarves.”

It was the first time any of the three had heard Dettlaff speak with his own vocal cords. His voice suited his appearance, a calm, resonant baritone.

He pulled on the clothes and looked at Lannor. “I know I killed many people. The punishment was deserved. But the rage I felt then… all I can say is that I could not control it.”

Lannor leaned against the mine entrance with his arms folded, watching him without expression. “I never said you were wrong to kill. In your place, I would have killed too. But there ought to be limits.”

“I only hope a century in that cage taught you something. For a creature like you, is it truly so difficult to punish the guilty without dragging everyone else into it?”

Dettlaff fell silent for a moment. “…The man who cut me to pieces never tried to reason with me like this. He was cold as ice from beginning to end.”

Lannor waved the remark aside. “If we were like Arnaghad, you wouldn’t be standing outside that cage.”

“In any case, you’ll keep your word and go with Regis to swear the oath, yes?”

Dettlaff nodded without hesitation. “I will. Thank you, Regis. I owe you a great debt.”

“It was nothing. I’m glad I could help you.” Regis returned his smile with easy warmth.

That settled the matter. Lannor took the lead and prepared to leave the mountain hollow. The power drawn from the mountains would return to its natural course as the Ritual objects rotted and weathered away. Meanwhile, the corpses of the Vampiric Creatures Regis had killed were already beginning to reek of raw Monster Blood.

Gerd delayed them for some time all the same. He harvested each of the Vampiric Creature corpses in turn, then chose the fiercest-looking head as a trophy, something he could use to demand a higher fee on a future contract.

* * *

That night, the two Witchers and two Higher Vampires were forced to camp beneath the open sky in the Amell Range.

Regis intended to take Dettlaff before a certain Ancient Creature to swear his oath, but there was no need to rush away at once. The Barber-Surgeon found Lannor’s company unusually interesting. He had met men who held fast to their principles, but never one who had fashioned those principles into anything quite like Lannor’s.

Now and then, he caught glimpses of the strange values and sense of morality buried in Lannor’s mind. Discovering each new piece felt like turning another page in a mystery novel, and Regis was in no hurry to part company.

Lannor sensed some of that curiosity, but he had never minded letting others see how he thought. He remained at ease throughout.

Regis was tending to Dettlaff, who by then looked no different from an ordinary man. From the perspective of a Higher Vampire, however, he remained desperately weak.

Drinking blood would not help. Even putting his abstinence aside, blood was little more than fine wine to a higher vampire. It satisfied the craving and brought pleasure, but its medicinal and nutritional value was meagre at best.

Then there was Gerd.

Lannor could knowingly sit beside a Higher Vampire and behave as though nothing were amiss, but Lannor was not an ordinary Witcher. He knew with certainty that one day he would be capable of defeating creatures like Higher Vampires, and that day was not far away.

Gerd was only an ordinary Witcher. His apparent indifference during the day had owed more to the urgency of the situation than genuine ease. He had simply had too many other things demanding his attention.

Now, however…

“Hey, Lannor!” Gerd suddenly called across the campfire, sneaking a glance at the two Vampires as he spoke. “Why don’t you use that Vambrace of yours and go ahead to hunt us a deer or boar? I’ve had my fill of Dwarf salt meat. I want some proper meat for a change. What do you think, Regis?”

“Forgive me, what did you say?” The Vampire looked up from beside the fire. He had been examining Dettlaff’s regeneration.

“I said meat!” Gerd stressed the word. “I’m trying to persuade Lannor to hunt us some proper meat. Would you like some too, Regis? What about our new friend here?”

“I would.”

“And blood. Would you like some fresh blood?”

“Blood?” Regis swallowed. “No, thank you. I’ll pass on the blood. If you have a taste for it yourself, please don’t restrain yourself on my account.”

A bleak and awkward silence settled around the fire.

“I understand what you mean, Gerd,” Regis said slowly. “Allow me to put your doubts to rest. I am a Vampire, but I do not drink blood. I explained this to Lannor when we first met, and I can explain it to you as well.”

The silence grew heavy as lead. Gerd lacked Lannor’s near-instinctive ability to control a conversation, the talent born of his Gene Seed. Still, he tried to salvage the exchange. Unfortunately, in unskilled hands, efforts of that sort only tended to make matters worse.

“You must’ve misunderstood me,” he said with studied ease. “I didn’t mean…”

“I do not drink blood,” Regis interrupted. “I haven’t for many years. I gave it up long ago.”

“What do you mean, ‘gave it up’?”

“Precisely what I said.”

“I honestly don’t understand…”

“Please forgive me. It is a private matter.”

“But…”

“Gerd.” Lannor had watched from the side long enough. At last, he covered his face with one hand and spoke. “Regis is telling you to shut up. He’s merely being polite about it! For mercy’s sake, change the damned subject, will you?”

Chapter 463

A Funeral for the Living

“Let’s talk about something else.”

Lannor tossed another piece of firewood into the flames. “Dettlaff, did you summon all the Vampiric Creatures in these mountains?”

The black-haired Vampire nodded quietly. “Yes. It is an ability of mine. I admit that I deserved punishment, but being cut to pieces and then imprisoned for a century seemed punishment enough. So I began working toward my freedom.”

“Fortunately, time was on my side. Over the course of a hundred years, Arnaghad’s arrangements gradually deteriorated. The Ritual implements channeling the mountains’ power endured strain day and night, so they decayed faster than they would have under ordinary conditions. That allowed my power to seep beyond the cage. Had you not come, I believe that within three years I would have gathered enough Vampiric Creatures to destroy my prison and leave on my own.”

“Please do not misunderstand me. That does nothing to diminish my gratitude toward you.”

“What puzzles me is… none of you seem ever to have returned to maintain my prison.”

Dettlaff spoke of his century-long confinement with such composure that even Gerd could not help but respect it. By now, he had grown somewhat accustomed to the two Higher Vampires beside him. He gave a cold laugh.

“Maintain your prison? Ha! That place held you for a hundred years. Any duty to maintain it would’ve had to pass through several generations. But no one in the Bear School ever cared to shoulder a responsibility that brought them nothing. You think Arnaghad could say a few words and his apprentices would take them to heart, then dutifully return whenever the time came? Don’t make me laugh. You speak as though bonds between masters and apprentices meant anything to a pack of icicles.”

“For all we know, the only record that your prison ever existed was buried in some mouldy pile of papers left by our School.”

Without emotional bonds or the restraint of institutions, there could be no real organization. Without organization, no one could carry out work that was both complex and meant to endure across generations.

From every angle, the dissolution of the Bear School made perfect sense.

“Good. Now that we’ve settled the matter of the Vampiric Creatures gathered in the mountains, we can consider the Dwarf contract complete.” The fire cast restless shadows across Lannor’s face as he brought the discussion to a close. “Tomorrow morning, Regis, Dettlaff, you’ll need to help us leave some convincing evidence near the cage, enough to prove we killed the target. You Higher Vampires should know better than anyone what such a scene ought to look like.”

“Then I’ll bring Lens Civa here for a look while the two of you leave to swear the oath. Once that’s done, the matter is finished.”

Lannor clapped his hands, ending the conversation.

He and Gerd lay down to sleep, while Dettlaff seemed intent on savouring the first night of his regained freedom. He sat motionless beneath the stars, staring into the vast darkness overhead, with Regis keeping him company.

* * *

The next day.

“So… you truly killed that thing!”

Lens Civa stood in the mountain hollow with some forty squat iron lumps gathered around him. Every one of them wore gleaming, heavy Armor and carried either a great axe, Warhammer, or Crossbow. Yet even with that force at his back, the Dwarf elder kept clutching his beard, which was woven into three braids, and sucking air through his teeth as he examined the prison Arnaghad had built.

“Gods above!”

The elder was usually so cold and composed that he could have held a pleasant conversation with the traditional Bear School. Now, however, the same words slipped from him whenever he passed the corpse of another Vampiric Creature.

There were more than thirty of them, each at least twice the height of a Dwarf. Any one of them possessed enough strength to tear straight through Dwarf Armor with a single swipe. They moved like the wind, and could turn invisible or vanish from one place and appear in another.

More than thirty.

If Lens Civa and the warriors with him had met those creatures alive, there would not have been a whole bone left among them. He scarcely dared imagine the carnage if Heinburg’s full garrison of several hundred had faced the same horde.

With creatures like these, every addition to their number made them vastly more difficult to fight.

For the first time, Lens Civa found a measure of respect taking root for the two young Bear Cubs.

“The creature’s body is in the lowest mine. Down there…” Lannor pointed from the slope, but the Dwarf elder interrupted before he could finish.

“There stands an iron cage that could only have been forged from the finest materials by the finest hands. Beyond doubt, every part of it is the best. That is why it could hold a Higher Vampire.” Memory roughened Lens Civa’s voice. “My father forged that cage… magnificent work.”

The squat warriors behind the Dwarf elder seemed moved by his words. As one, they gave a low cry. “Hoo-hah!”

Lannor said nothing more. Lens Civa waved a hand. “Right. Let’s go down and see it.”

The group descended along the circular path until they reached the mine entrance. There, Regis’s corpse lay peacefully to one side, a broad stain of blood soaking the clothes over his chest.

“Is that the Sorcerer from your company?” the Dwarf elder asked, craning his neck to look up at Lannor.

“It is.” Lannor’s face settled into grief and remembrance, and he put the diplomatic talents of the Emperor’s Children to excellent use. Anyone who saw him could feel the sorrow and regret carved into his features, strong enough to stir the same ache in their own chest. “He sacrificed himself. Without him, we could never have completed a task this impossibly difficult.”

“I… I’m sorry.”

Even the cold-hearted Lens Civa seemed ashamed before the Witcher’s grief. After all, he had issued the contract.

“Heinburg will provide compensation! We never treat our friends poorly!”

The Dwarf elder insisted on inspecting the mine himself. He had been inside for only a short while when a thunderous scream erupted from the darkness.

Lens Civa came leaping out as though someone had stamped on his toes, bellowing all the while. His three braided strands of beard bounced and tangled wildly across his chest. The squat warriors rushed forward to surround him, only to be cursed back into place once their elder had caught his breath.

Inside the mine lay the scene Regis and Dettlaff had assembled from the dismembered remains of more than a dozen Vampiric Creatures.

It was so bloody and ghastly that Gerd had no desire to look at it twice, while even Lannor’s mouth had twitched at the sight. In any case, it was more than convincing enough to pass for the remains of a dead Higher Vampire.

The Dwarves were hardly experts. As long as the spectacle looked right, that was enough.

Gerd stood off to one side, struggling to smother his laughter, breath snorting through his nose. To keep him from giving the game away, Lannor dragged him over to Regis’s corpse and made a show of preparing to bury their fallen companion.

This caught the attention of the Dwarf elder, who was still clutching his chest and waiting for his heartbeat to settle. Perhaps out of guilt, Lens Civa called over two squat warriors from the Guard Detachment and ordered them to help dig a grave. It appeared he intended to bury Regis on the spot.

“Lads, dig it broad and deep. This honourable gentleman died for Heinburg’s safety. We’ll see that he rests comfortably.”

Regis froze.

His eyes opened in astonishment, only to find Lannor’s face blocking him from the Dwarves’ view. In the space of a heartbeat, the two exchanged an entire conversation with their eyes.

Gerd could not quite follow it, but he managed a rough interpretation.

Lannor: Can a Higher Vampire be buried?

Regis: I can be buried, yes, but this was not part of our plan…

Lannor: Forget the objections. Let them bury you for now.

In the end, Lannor had to plant his foot, backed by nearly three hundred kilograms of body weight, upon Gerd’s toes and grind down to keep the man from bursting into laughter.

Thus, Regis was successfully laid to rest after his heroic “sacrifice,” followed by a brief memorial service conducted on the spot by the Dwarf elder.

Chapter 464

The Road Beyond the Grave

At the entrance to the mine, Lens Civa personally conducted a simple, thoroughly Dwarf-like farewell for the “fallen” Regis.

They dispensed with every elaborate Ritual and preserved only the essential part: each Dwarf poured a small mouthful of liquor from his flask onto the earth covering Regis.

“I seem to recall Regis doesn’t drink much?”

In the back row, the two Witchers stood with lowered heads, wearing suitably grave expressions of mourning. Gerd tilted his head toward Lannor and whispered the question from the corner of his mouth.

Lannor’s lips twitched. Without otherwise moving, he murmured, “It should… probably be fine? They’re pouring it into the earth. He doesn’t even need to breathe down there, so the liquor shouldn’t get into his mouth.”

“Hmm… let’s hope not.”

The memorial ended quickly. The Dwarf elder ordered his guards to load the Vampiric Creatures, along with the remains scattered through the mine, onto their wagons. He needed to display the monster corpses to the Dwarf inhabitants of Heinburg, proof that the danger had passed and they could return to their lives and work without fear.

“Heinburg thanks you for what you have done, Witchers.”

Back in the hall where they had first met, Lens Civa addressed them solemnly. Lannor and Gerd responded according to custom, bowing slightly to the Dwarf elder to acknowledge his gratitude.

“I know spoken thanks are cheap and dull. We Dwarves do not mistreat those who come to our aid, least of all when they have suffered a loss on our behalf.”

The Dwarf elder reached beside his black iron throne, cast as a single solid piece, and lifted a small cloth bag. From it, he drew a stack of cut parchment and held it up for the two Witchers.

“This is the payment we agreed upon, gentlemen.”

“In addition to the body parts already delivered to you, there are two Longswords, one steel and one silver, as well as the remaining Armor component diagrams.”

Lens Civa unfolded the parchments one by one and turned each toward the two Witchers. “These are the Master Armor diagrams. Their set effect is as follows: after a Witcher casts the Quen Sign, if the Sign is shattered, there is a fifty percent chance that another Quen Sign will form without consuming any energy.”

“Couldn’t ask for an effect better suited to your Bear School. Hard, stubborn, and built to take a beating.”

A Witcher’s Quen Sign was effectively another life. The Bear School’s Master set offered a fifty percent chance of granting yet another “life” from nothing after the first had been spent. It was difficult to overstate the strength of such an effect.

Lens Civa selected several more diagrams from the stack. “In addition to the traditional set, I made the custom alterations you requested. A new Vambrace structure and revised parameters for the Armor plates.”

Those had been made specifically for Lannor.

“And this diagram is in honour of your esteemed Sorcerer companion’s sacrifice. My apologies. I had intended to fire the forge myself and make a pair of fine swords for you, but it seems you have other business and won’t be staying long. Giving you the diagram will have to suffice.”

The Dwarf elder pulled the bottom sheet from the stack.

It was the diagram of a sword.

“Harvall. Every precaution required during the forging process is recorded here in detail. Once successfully forged, this weapon has a chance to set an enemy alight.”

It was the diagram for a steel sword, and Harvall was a highly regarded weapon on the market. Even among certain renowned and powerful Knight Orders, few could afford such a blade.

Managed properly, the diagram could become both the heirloom and signature product of a prestigious smithy. It was of little direct use to Lannor or Gerd, however. Neither knew how to forge a sword, nor did either intend to open a smithy.

Then Lannor remembered that Berengar had been fretting over his lack of advanced diagrams for anything beyond Witcher equipment. This steel sword diagram would be perfect for his certification.

The old Witcher had been displeased with his uncertified rank as a blacksmith for quite some time. The old bastard was no longer short of money, so now he had started chasing recognition instead.

Gerd’s grin spread from ear to ear, but Lannor maintained his stricken, mournful expression as he stepped forward to accept their payment. If he was going to perform, he would perform properly. Anything less would have grated on him.

Once the payment had changed hands, the Dwarf elder courteously invited the two Witchers to remain in Heinburg for another two days. Neither had any intention of staying. By noon, they had packed their belongings and left the Dwarf settlement in the Amell Range.

After confirming that no Dwarf patrols were nearby, they broke into a run and hurried back to the mountain hollow. They arrived just in time to see Regis climbing out of the earth while Dettlaff brushed the mud from him.

The ground had been dry before the funeral. The Dwarves’ liquor had turned it to mire.

Regis pulled several pungent herbs from his shoulder bag, crushed them, and rubbed the paste over himself in an attempt to conceal the smell of alcohol.

“I must confess, I never imagined a Dwarf funeral would take such a form.”

He spoke at his usual measured pace. The reek of drink clinging to him made a sharp contrast with his rational, learned tone.

Regis spread his arms and turned toward the two Witchers descending the slope, resignation plain on his face. Lannor and Gerd understood their duty at once. They hurried over with solicitous questions and joined Dettlaff in cleaning him.

After a great deal of work, the sharp scent of crushed coriander seeds finally managed to overpower the alcohol.

“We still need to restore the hero’s grave,” Lannor pointed out with due seriousness once they had finished. “Some Dwarf might come back one day to pay his respects!”

Beside him, even Regis could not keep the corner of his mouth from twitching.

Speechless or not, all four of them worked efficiently. The hero’s grave was soon filled and restored.

The two Witchers and two Higher Vampires descended the mountain together. By nightfall, their inhuman endurance had carried them to Theodula Pass, a route crossing the Amell Mountains.

There, they would part ways.

Regis shook hands with Lannor, then Gerd. He and Dettlaff would continue onward and cross the highest summit in the Amell Range, Mount Gorgon. Beyond it lay Toussaint, the land of fine wine and the Kingdom of Knights. The “Ancient Creature” they had spoken of dwelled somewhere within its borders.

Regis would stand witness as Dettlaff swore before the Ancient Creature that he would seek neither vengeance nor retribution.

“I can already foresee it…” Regis said wistfully after releasing Lannor’s hand. “In years to come, I shall remember this journey fondly. Interesting experiences, interesting friends… Ah, I can already feel a lyrical mood coming over me.”

“You make it sound as though the lot of us, all capable of living for centuries, will start dropping dead one by one tomorrow.” Lannor remained easy and untroubled. “It’s a foul world, but I think we might yet find that ‘good deeds bring good rewards,’ don’t you? We’ll meet again, my friends. You know where to find me.”

With the Witchers watching, the two Higher Vampires dissolved into twin clouds of black smoke and swept swiftly away across the moonlit snow.

Chapter 465

The Silent Witness at Aretuza

“What a pity.”

Gerd and Lannor had retrieved the horses they had left in care at the foot of the Amell Range. Now Gerd sat in the saddle, muttering to himself.

“We ought to visit Toussaint too. It’s spring, and there’s no end of fun to be had there!”

“I have business to attend to, but you’re welcome to follow Regis and enjoy yourself.” Lannor tilted his head toward Gerd from Pope’s back, a wicked grin tugging at his mouth. “Provided you aren’t still coveting this suit of high-grade Plate Armor and are willing to keep saving money to forge your own. You already have diagrams for the school’s entire equipment line, from the basic set to the Master set, don’t you?”

“In any case, don’t expect me to strip off this old gear and hand it to you now. I’m not wandering the roads without Plate Armor. These days, going without that sense of security is no different from walking about naked.”

As expected, the moment the Armor came up, Gerd’s desire to visit Toussaint vanished like smoke. He began muttering that “Toussaint wasn’t anything special” and that “its wine tasted like fruit juice anyway,” all while following Lannor northward once more.

* * *

The farther north they travelled, the more bright sunlight became a luxury.

The climate of the Northern Kingdoms reminded Lannor of northern Europe in his home world. Cold, damp, cloudy, and forever threatening rain. The land possessed a certain bleak magnificence, but the lack of sunlight was a real problem.

In his home world, northern Europe had enjoyed wealth and a comfortable pace of life, yet rates of mental illness had remained stubbornly high. The climate had played no small part. Too little sunlight first took its toll on the body, then the mind followed.

Once the damp settled in, it lingered for months. Clothes seemed to grow heavier of their own accord, clinging wetly to the skin until every touch became an irritation. Live like that long enough and sound mental health would have been the stranger outcome.

He wondered whether the southern Empire enjoyed the same clear skies and warm sun as southern Europe in his home world.

Lannor and Gerd followed the coastline toward Gors Velen. Rain had plagued the narrow coastal strip for days. An immense bank of storm clouds stretched across Temeria and Cidaris, smothering the shores of both kingdoms.

The two Witchers pressed on in the saddle beneath rain that came and went without warning. After enough hours of it, even the desire to stop and rest had been washed out of them. Clouds swallowed the sun, and far along the horizon, trees swayed like phantoms while the wind moaned through their branches.

“This damned wind.”

The intermittent rain had tormented Gerd past the point of proper cursing. Lannor, however, remained unruffled.

This was simply Velen as it had always been. Downpours, drizzle, leaden skies, ancient trees looming like spectres, and the occasional howl of a Beast from beside the road. Somewhere along the way, he had grown accustomed to it.

“Stop complaining, Gerd. We’re here.”

Their horses’ hooves flung dirty water across their cloaks. Through the dim murk ahead, the outline of a city emerged upon the horizon.

“Go into the city without me. I recommend the Silver Heron. They don’t skimp on the clams in their chowder.”

Lannor pulled on Pope’s reins. The Warhorse obediently halted and began pawing at the mud.

Gerd wiped rainwater from his eyelids and stared at the young man in confusion. “You aren’t coming in with me? And I’m certain that inn you recommended won’t be cheap.”

“It is expensive, but worth every coin. There are hot springs beneath the place too!”

Lannor answered the question about the inn first, then continued, “I have my own way into the city. You understand. Once you gain a little fame, you have to start being careful.”

“Very well, Mr. Famous.” Gerd shrugged. “I’ll go ahead, but don’t expect me to stay at that inn of yours. I might eat and drink there during the day, nothing more. Paying for a room would break my heart.”

With that settled, Gerd dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and galloped away along the muddy road.

Lannor returned to the fisherman’s cottage where he had landed after leaving Aretuza. He tethered Pope in the Stables, then pushed the enchanted little boat into the sea without bothering to ask permission.

Magic fixed the boat upon its course. All the Witcher had to do was grunt and pull at the oars.

Far out across the water, Aretuza rose through the rain. Beneath the shadowed sky, its usual splendour had vanished. It looked instead like some grim old castle from a dark fairy tale.

The enchanted boat performed its task flawlessly, carrying Lannor to the rocky Pedestal beneath the academy castle.

A faint candle burned inside the little base Margarita had built for herself. Soaked through, Lannor climbed from the boat and made his way up the stairs.

The place was exactly as Margarita had described. Though it was an open seaside room, magic kept every trace of dampness at bay.

Lannor sat at the table in the small secret refuge. In the chair opposite him rested the Doll he had brought back from Yharnam. She remained exactly as he had left her, body turned sideways and leaning against the backrest.

Perhaps he ought to install a few glass display cases here, he thought, somewhere to keep the strange treasures he brought back from other worlds.

“Very well, Miss Doll.”

Lannor rose, leaned across the table, and straightened the Doll in her chair. She had been fashioned with such uncanny realism that it was difficult not to mistake her for a living woman.

“You’ll have to endure a little more inconvenience. I need to decide how best to store an object like you.”

The Doll’s lifeless eyes stared silently at him. After long enough beneath that gaze, a chill began crawling between his shoulders.

Lannor rubbed his eyes and even opened his Insight. Yet no matter how he examined her, the Doll remained nothing more than an exquisitely crafted, lifeless object.

“Perhaps the weather is getting to me too. Awooo.”

He stripped off the Composite Armor, made heavy by the water that had seeped into it, and pulled another special ration from his Alchemy Sack to stuff into his mouth.

When he had left Aretuza, the Alchemy Sack had held at least five hundred special rations. Over the course of the journey, he had nearly eaten them all as snacks.

His Secondary Heart, unlike that of an ordinary Space Marine, granted him extraordinary vitality and a ferocious metabolism. His teeth had now caught up with the rest of his enhancements as well. The rations that had once been hard enough to make his teeth ache now felt little tougher than stubborn cartilage.

“The weather has soured your mood?”

Once Lannor had removed his Armor, a pair of pale, finely shaped hands slid around his neck from behind. Warm breath brushed the nape of his neck, intimate and teasing.

“Would you like me to improve it?”

Only two people knew of this little refuge, and only one of them was currently at the academy.

“Wouldn’t that be rather improper?” the young man asked coyly. As he spoke, he quietly turned the chair holding the Doll to face away.

A soft laugh sounded behind him.

Then, without any physical hand touching