At most, the villagers spared him a mildly curious second glance. Some even greeted him respectfully, calling him the "Witcher Great Master" as they passed.
Even the children who ran by him in play neither shrank away nor cried out in fear, as they often did elsewhere. No frightened whispers, no panicked clutching at their mothers' skirts—only quick glances filled with curiosity before they ran off again.
This feeling—of being treated like an ordinary person—was unfamiliar to Geralt, and unexpectedly precious.
"I like it here," he thought, a subtle smile curving his lips without his realizing it.
The gloom left behind by his argument with Yennefer, coupled with the feeling of being constantly "hunted" by her probing mind, was steadily diluted by the peaceful and accepting atmosphere of this land. For once, he felt no pressure to guard his every thought.
Just as they reached the inn, Karl El suddenly stopped a few meters away from the wooden door.
Geralt halted beside him, turning his head slightly with a hint of confusion. He looked at Karl El, silently questioning the pause.
Karl El stood with his back to the inn's door. Without turning around, he raised one hand and casually hooked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing behind him.
At the same time, his senses locked onto a subtle but highly focused spiritual fluctuation spreading outward from inside the inn. It was careful, restrained, and unmistakably deliberate.
Someone was probing.
Attempting to listen in on their conversation—and possibly their thoughts—there was no doubt it was Yennefer.
Karl El raised an eyebrow slightly, as though he had noticed nothing at all. Pretending complete ignorance of the hidden surveillance, he smiled and spoke in a deliberately louder voice.
"It looks like a certain short-tempered lady has been waiting for you for quite a while," he said lightly.
Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he changed the subject with exaggerated casualness.
"Oh, right. I've been rather idle lately, so I developed a small spell. I call it Occlumency."
Geralt blinked, momentarily distracted.
Karl El continued, his voice relaxed and unhurried. "As for its effect, it helps defend against annoying mental spell probes—things like Mind Power and Legilimency."
He turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at Geralt. "How about it? Do you want me to cast one on you right now?"
He raised his voice just a fraction more, ensuring that the source of the spiritual fluctuation could hear every word clearly.
"I believe that even the most intimate couples should respect each other's privacy," he added calmly.
"Prying into another person's inner thoughts without permission is hardly an advisable way to communicate."
On the surface, these words were clearly directed at Geralt.
In reality, every sentence traveled cleanly into the inn, striking their true target without mercy.
Inside the inn, a woman sat quietly at the counter.
She possessed a graceful figure and an exceptional demeanor, the kind that drew attention even when she remained still. Her long, slightly curly hair fell over her shoulders, black and lustrous like a raven's feather. Her most striking features were her violet eyes—sharp, intelligent, and filled with depth—and a perfectly placed beauty mark near the corner of her mouth.
Three glasses of wine sat before her, nearly untouched.
At this moment, Yennefer's violet eyes flickered, betraying a flash of astonishment mixed with wariness.
"Did he discover me?" she thought, a chill running down her spine.
She recalled that just moments ago, he had glanced—whether intentionally or not—toward the scouting raven she had disguised with magic. At the time, she had dismissed it as coincidence.
But now…
"And he pointed it out directly," she murmured under her breath. "And even mentioned Occlumency."
She scoffed softly, her lips curling with displeasure and suspicion.
"He's certainly a busybody," she muttered. "Geralt never mentioned having a Grand Duke friend like this."
Her gaze sharpened.
"The Golden Angel… slaughtering thousands of soldiers single-handedly. And now this? Is he also a sorcerer?"
Outside the inn, Geralt heard Karl El's suggestion and, without much hesitation, nodded firmly.
"No problem, Karl El," he said. "Cast the spell."
He was thoroughly fed up with the feeling of his thoughts being constantly prodded and examined, even if the one doing it was Yennefer.
Under Yennefer's Mind Power probe—now filled with curiosity and a faint trace of disbelief—Karl El's actions once again exceeded her expectations.
He did not recite any lengthy or obscure incantations. Nor did he perform complex or exaggerated casting gestures.
Instead, he simply raised his hand and lightly tapped Geralt's forehead with his index finger.
A tiny, nearly imperceptible golden light appeared for an instant. It flowed smoothly, like honey dissolving into warm water, and vanished into Geralt's glabella without a sound.
Karl El lowered his hand, as casual as if he had brushed away dust.
"All right," he said easily. "The spell is complete."
Inside the inn, Yennefer's meticulously shaped eyebrows lifted despite herself.
In her perception, an extremely subtle yet powerful energy fluctuation had flashed and disappeared in that brief moment. It was refined, controlled, and unmistakably potent.
Yet she could not understand its composition.
Nor could she sense any familiar trace of magic.
This nearly traceless method of casting, combined with the completely unknown energy attribute, left her stunned.
She had only seen comparable casting techniques used by top-tier sorceresses—most notably her teacher, Tissaia de Vries.
"No magical fluctuation?" Yennefer thought, her heart tightening. "How is that even possible?"
"Is it an unimaginably clever disguise… or is he not using magic at all?"
If Karl El truly possessed such mastery, he should have been famous within the Wizard Council long ago. Someone with this level of spell control could not simply remain unknown, only gaining recognition through martial prowess.
Her gaze sharpened as she used her Mind Power to probe Karl El's face more carefully.
It was far too young.
She simply could not reconcile that youthful appearance with spell mastery rivaling Tissaia's.
Yennefer's violet eyes narrowed, her expression settling into a complex blend of interest and caution.
This mysterious Grand Duke of La Valette was far more complicated than she had initially assumed.
Geralt lowered his hand from his forehead.
He felt no lingering warmth, no tingling sensation, none of the usual signs that followed the application of magic. His skin felt perfectly normal.
His Wolf Medallion—usually sensitive to even the faintest magical fluctuations—hung silently against his chest, without the slightest tremor.
That alone was deeply unsettling.
Frowning, Geralt fixed his amber eyes on the composed Karl El beside him.
"Karl El," he said slowly, "did you really cast the spell? I didn't feel anything at all."
He glanced down at the medallion again, half-expecting it to suddenly spring to life.
Hearing this, Karl El smiled, his expression carrying both understanding and a hint of amusement.
"You'll know once you go inside and test it," he replied. "My method of casting is different from the sorcerers you're familiar with. I don't rely on chaotic magic."
He paused, his gaze briefly sweeping over Geralt's chest.
"That medallion of yours detects specific magical fluctuations," Karl El continued calmly. "To me, it's little more than a decorative ornament."
"Besides, Geralt," he added lightly, "how many sorcerers with truly refined spell mastery do you think make a grand spectacle every time they cast?"
"Anyone with sufficient control can complete a spell without alarming your little trinket."
Geralt remained skeptical.
Karl El's words challenged decades of experience and understanding he had accumulated as a witcher. Still, after a moment, he nodded and suppressed the lingering doubt in his chest—for now.
Taking a deep breath, Geralt reached for the inn's door.
He looked as though he were preparing to charge into battle, rather than step into an ordinary tavern.
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