By evening, Loc Muinne, the magical city surrounded by mountains, loomed before them. Its towering walls still hinted at the splendor it must once have possessed, and not far outside the city gates, an elite military force had established a camp and sealed off the entrance.
Their breastplates bore the emblem of a flame, while their armor was a mixture of dark crimson and black.
"The Order of the Flaming Rose... at a peace summit? I never imagined I'd run into them here."
"They came with Radovid. After losing their foothold in Temeria, they rebuilt their position at the Redanian court. Better not let them see you. Gods know how those bigots might react."
"Damn it... Radovid gathering these bastards under his banner can't mean anything good. As far as they're concerned, the only good elf is a dead elf."
"It's not only because you're an elf. You're Iorveth. You should have some idea what kind of reputation you have."
Iorveth shrugged carelessly, stopped walking, and raised a hand to halt the more than twenty Scoia'tael assault fighters behind him.
"Vic, I'll take them through the underground caverns and enter the city through the sewers. I suggest you come with us. Strictly speaking, witchers aren't exactly human. At least, that's not how these people see you."
"It's fine. I'm planning to meet Radovid. He owes me a favor from the past, and talking with him might let me dig up some information.
"There's a saying that no one understands you better than your enemy. I trust the King of Redania to understand Philippa Eilhart very, very well."
"You're really going to do that? I've heard Angoulême earned the title Golden Eagle with the blood of the Flaming Rose. Rumor says she killed more than thirty armored knights single-handedly. They might still hold a grudge."
"It wasn't thirty-something, but thanks for reminding me. Having Angoulême appear in front of them really would be a bad idea. She can go through the sewers with you. We'll find somewhere to meet once we're inside."
After agreeing on a code phrase, Victor watched the others leave and continued alone for the time being.
...
At nightfall, five fully armed knights lounged around a sentry post, some leaning against the structure and others sitting as they chatted.
Three wore their helmets with only their visors raised. Of the other two, who carried their helmets tucked beneath their arms, one was completely bald while the other had a sharply receding hairline.
After watching them for a while and confirming that he recognized none of them, the witcher straightened his clothes slightly and walked directly toward them.
"Halt! Who goes there?"
"A witcher, Victor of Kaer Trolde."
The bald knight who spoke for the group had a neatly styled mustache. He stared closely into Victor's eyes.
"Ah... may the Eternal Fire illuminate our path. You really are a witcher. What business do you have here?"
A simple, friendly smile appeared on the young man's face. He was just about to begin inventing a story when the knight with the receding hairline interrupted coldly.
"Wait! I know this man. He's Victor Corion, leader of the Phantom Troupe."
The middle-aged knight was pale, with a thin face, deep lines around his mouth, narrow brows drawn together, and a cold, vicious look in his eyes.
After hearing his revelation, the other knights immediately began looking at the witcher differently.
Victor remained perfectly calm.
"Everyone in this world plays many roles. The Troupe is just a side job of mine. Honored knight, I don't believe we've met. Is there some problem with my identity?"
"A very serious one. Where is your member Angoulême Corion?" The knight's lips curled into a cold smile. "Perhaps you've heard my name. I am Patrick de Weyze. Don't even think about deceiving me. I'll never forget either of your faces!"
Truthfully... if Iorveth hadn't reminded him earlier, Victor would have completely forgotten that he had a feud with the Order of the Flaming Rose.
Thanks to the elf's warning, however, he could now remember who the man standing before him was.
Patrick de Weyze.
During the Vizima riots, he had attempted to attack the nonhumans sheltering inside Shani's field hospital. Angoulême had led a group to block him outside, fighting beneath the banner of the Golden Eagle. After a bloody clash, Patrick's men had retreated, leaving seven or eight corpses behind. Before withdrawing, he had even thrown out a threat that he would soon return for revenge.
Unfortunately for him, that wish had never come true.
Soon afterward, Foltest turned against Grand Master Jacques de Aldersberg. The king mobilized the city guard to arrest members of the Order, and the Order of the Flaming Rose withered away completely in Temeria.
"Now tell me, where is Angoulême Corion, the criminal who murdered eight members of the Order?" Patrick demanded, one hand resting threateningly on the hilt of his sword.
Patrick had assumed he would never run into the Phantom Troupe again. After all, it was merely a two-person mercenary group.
Yet apparently the Eternal Fire was watching over him, because Victor had practically walked straight into his hands.
And if Victor was here, Angoulême couldn't be far away.
The witcher spread his hands.
"She's not here, Sir Patrick. Angoulême left. She's already gone. She's underground."
The unexpected answer caused a cold gleam to flash through Patrick's sinister eyes.
"You think an excuse like that will save you? If she's dead, then her blood debt falls on you!"
Victor's gaze swept across the other men from right to left before stopping on the bald knight with the handsome mustache.
"That makes neither legal nor rational sense. No kingdom has a law allowing debts of blood to be transferred like that. Is the Order really going to stand by and let Patrick assault an innocent man?"
"Ahem, ahem."
The bald knight coughed twice and was about to speak.
Patrick cut him off sharply.
"Buck, don't bother talking me out of it. I'm not going to kill him. I'm just going to beat him senseless and break a few bones, so he can understand what it feels like to lose comrades."
Hearing his colleague's declaration, the bald knight gave Victor an apologetic look, yawned, and stepped aside.
"I won't interfere, but remember, you can't kill him."
"No problem. You have my word."
Patrick put on his helmet. The other three knights lowered their visors as well, preparing to surround Victor and beat him together.
At that critical moment, a familiar voice rang out in a firm rebuke.
"What are you doing?"
The speaker was none other than Siegfried of Denesle.
Patrick froze. When his savage expression turned toward Siegfried, it immediately became calm.
"N... nothing. I simply found this witcher suspicious and wanted to question him."
He lied without the slightest hesitation, assuming Victor wouldn't dare contradict him.
He was mistaken.
"That's not what you just said. Weren't you going to break a few of my bones? What happened? You had the guts to say it and do it, but not enough to admit it afterward?"
Patrick's face flushed crimson in an instant.
Siegfried, meanwhile, recognized Victor. Then he remembered Angoulême and quickly inferred the cause of the confrontation.
The knight said only one thing.
"He's my friend. Don't trouble him again."
Then he grabbed Victor by the arm and pulled him away from the sentry post.
...
The Order of the Flaming Rose's encampment covered a broad area and happened to completely block the city gates. Its tents were arranged in orderly rows, with campfires scattered everywhere like stars.
Victor and Siegfried had not seen one another in quite some time. Now they sat beside a fire, each holding a bottle of Viziman Champion.
The knight raised his bottle.
"It's been several months. Welcome, Victor Corion. Should I be addressing you as 'my lord' now? Or do you still prefer Victor of Kaer Trolde?"
Victor raised his own bottle and clinked it against Siegfried's.
"You can keep calling me Vic, Sieg."
The Order of the Flaming Rose's new armor alternated between black and dark crimson, making Siegfried look even more imposing.
In Victor's eyes, the handsome Siegfried had only one weakness, his ridiculous bowl cut.
Then again, that only proved just how handsome the man truly was. He could even make a dorky bowl cut look good.
"I'm sorry about Foltest. If you came here searching for Geralt, Geralt of Rivia, I can tell you that he entered the city through here the night before last. But I genuinely don't believe he's the murderer."
"I agree. Guilty men hide. Geralt isn't a kingslayer."
"Unfortunately, our faith in him won't make the bounty disappear. If there's anything I can do to help, tell me. I told Geralt the same thing."
"There is something you can do. I want to speak with Radovid."
Hearing Victor's request, Siegfried chuckled.
"What a coincidence. Geralt asked me for exactly the same favor. No problem. Rest here in the camp tonight. Tomorrow morning, when I report on the defenses, I'll personally escort you inside. The king trusts me. He's mentioned you several times."
Victor smiled and nodded.
Given his friendship with Siegfried, there was no need to say thank you over something like this.
"Hmm... what's the situation inside the city? With so many mages, kings, and all their soldiers, it must be lively. I doubt Radovid is the only ruler who brought an army."
"Still as sharp as ever. The city has already been divided into several fortified camps. Everyone treats everyone else like a potential enemy and keeps their defenses pointed at their neighbors. For a peace summit, it's rather strange."
"Posting an entire knightly order across the main gate is strange too. Is His Majesty merely trying to display his military strength?"
"It's more than that. Little incidents keep happening around the city. The kings gathered in Loc Muinne apparently don't have much confidence in diplomacy."
Siegfried then explained how the city had been divided.
The entire circular city was currently partitioned into several camps.
The western side belonged to Redania, with King Radovid V attending the summit personally.
The eastern side belonged to Temeria. Its representative was Constable John Natalis, serving as regent. Two other nobles were also present, Count Maravel and Baron Kimbolt. As expected, both powerful claimants to the Temerian throne had rushed here as well.
The Nilfgaardian camp occupied the northern side. Its delegation was led by Ambassador Shilard Fitz-Oesterlen, with military attaché Renuald aep Matsen serving as his deputy.
Finally, the southern side had been reserved for King Henselt of Kaedwen, who would presumably bring a sizable army with him as well.
Prince Stennis of Aedirn, meanwhile, was preparing for his coronation in Vengerberg. He had sent only a diplomatic delegation, which was staying inside the Redanian camp.
His diplomatic leanings could hardly have been clearer.
After hearing the explanation, the witcher finally had a basic understanding of the situation.
Rubbing his chin, he gave Siegfried a mischievous smile.
"So, tell me about your King Radovid. Ever since Toussaint, do you still have such high hopes for him?"
Siegfried raised an eyebrow.
"His Majesty is an ambitious leader. He has given the Order a vision, laid out concrete expectations, and most importantly... he pays generously. I have little reason to be disappointed."
"Understandable. I have a feeling this summit won't end with mere negotiations. We're going to witness who reaches the summit and who falls from it."
"Haha! Anyone who enters the city and feels that murderous atmosphere could reach the same conclusion easily enough. Still, you've got impressive instincts, considering you haven't even been inside yet."
Victor sniffed.
That somehow sounded suspiciously like a dirty joke, but he had no evidence.
Since Siegfried was stationed at the city gate and likely had access to plenty of information, Victor changed the subject.
"Tell me, brave knight of the Rose, have you heard anything about Saskia, the Saint of Aedirn, and the sorceress Philippa Eilhart attending the Loc Muinne summit?"
"No. I've only heard that the war in the Pontar Valley ended with Saskia the Dragonslayer victorious. But she and the sorceress came to the summit too?"
Siegfried shook his head.
"I can't give you a definite answer. But if they're entering and leaving the city, they certainly didn't use the gates, or I would know. My King Radovid misses Lady Philippa terribly. He specifically ordered the Order of the Flaming Rose to find her at all costs."
Victor snickered.
Oh, Radovid V certainly missed Philippa.
He wanted her dead very, very badly.
Their loving little feud was only just beginning.
One of Siegfried's subordinates brought over ingredients, and he set an iron pot above the fire to begin cooking soup.
Dinner was pumpkin and pork soup.
"By the way, where's Angoulême? Why isn't she traveling with you?"
Victor blew upward, tossing the hair on his forehead.
"Because I remembered the Golden Eagle has bad blood with the Flaming Rose, so I sent her into the city through the sewers. Don't make that shocked face. I know the tunnels are full of the three great delicacies of sewer life, rotfiends, drowners, and ghouls. But she's also got more than twenty highly skilled fighters escorting her. She's perfectly safe.
"It's that vindictive fellow from earlier, Mr. Patrick de Weyze..."
Siegfried's practiced cooking motions paused.
The implication behind Victor's unfinished sentence could not have been clearer.
After everything they had experienced during the Vizima riots, both men already understood one another's character quite well.
Siegfried cracked an egg into the soup and stirred it into thin ribbons, his tone perfectly calm.
"If you're going to do it, do it cleanly. I know nothing."
Siegfried of Denesle believed in the Eternal Fire and followed the rules of his Order. He was an idealist, but by no means a fool detached from reality.
He was polite and open-minded, and unlike many of his brothers in the Order of the Flaming Rose, he had never been stained by prejudice.
Nor had he forgotten Grand Master Jacques de Aldersberg's final request, that Siegfried should help Victor Corion whenever it lay within his power.
He still did not know the reason behind that request.
But faith did not always need a reason.
Patrick was radical, corrupt, and fallen. Some of the things he had done in private inspired nothing but disgust.
Compared with Victor and Angoulême, who repeatedly found themselves straddling the divide between humans and nonhumans yet always retained their humanity, deciding whom to support was remarkably easy.
Receiving the answer he had expected, Victor chuckled and inclined himself slightly toward Siegfried.
"Thank you."
...
After enjoying dinner, the two spent the evening chatting pleasantly about everything that had happened since they last met.
Victor would spend the night in the Order of the Flaming Rose's camp.
...
Late that night, torrential rain suddenly crashed down.
Thunder rolled, lightning split the sky, the wind howled, and the world seemed to change color.
Inside the quiet tent, dim light flickered.
At the center of a cauldron, a dark green medicinal liquid slowly swirled.
The alchemist carefully ladled the potion into test tubes, one spoonful at a time.
Victor had not brewed a potion this seriously in a very long time.
He was unwilling to spill even a single drop.
Without the Wheel of Truth, it was merely a fine-grade alchemical product.
Yet Victor knew that, from a certain perspective, this single vial was more epic than an epic item, more legendary than a legendary one.
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