After exchanging all the information that needed to be discussed with Victor, de Rideaux returned his equipment and allowed him to put it back on, then personally escorted him out of the palace.
Vattier rarely did such things, but just as the preliminary assessment had suggested, Viscount Corion was an interesting and intelligent man, or at the very least, he was no fool.
Talking with him was enjoyable enough that one did not mind spending a little more time in his company instead of wanting to get rid of him as quickly as possible.
As they walked along the paths of the lush palace gardens, neither of them brought up anything sensitive. Politics and war were both left untouched. Instead, they simply traded opinions on famous delicacies from the North and South.
De Rideaux did not ask about Victor's prophecies, the Professor who had died at Corion Manor, the missing Letho, or Victor's own political leanings.
Victor likewise said nothing about the ambush in the snow on Undvik, or the role Nilfgaard had played in the kingslayer affair.
In theory, they had no personal grudge against one another. They merely stood on different sides, and for the moment, their goals happened to align.
Still, just as they were approaching the palace gates, the witcher thought of something he could use to test the other man's attitude.
"Two years ago in Toussaint, Corion Manor took in a poor woman named Sasha. Times have changed since then. If possible, I'd prefer that no one bother her again."
Vattier stroked the mustache above his upper lip.
"Heh, it's rather embarrassing to admit," the intelligence chief said lightly, "but in that particular matter, I was actually the victim. Her innocent appearance completely fooled me. Gods only know how much confidential information those despicable sorceresses obtained through Cantarella.
"But you have a point. Times have changed. For your sake, as long as she doesn't deliberately appear before me again, I'll forget that humiliation ever happened."
De Rideaux agreed readily.
Sasha was not someone who could be used as leverage against Victor anyway, and when it came to matters of no real importance, he was perfectly willing to demonstrate his humanity and generosity.
When they reached the palace gate and he saw Angoulême waiting there to receive Victor, he became even more certain of his assessment.
Those mutated eyes made it immediately obvious that she was now a witcher.
And Vattier was certain that when she had returned to Toussaint last autumn, she had still been nothing more than an ordinary mercenary.
There was naturally no way Angoulême could have performed the Trial of the Grasses on herself.
That meant Victor truly was a master alchemist.
Some suspicions lacked concrete evidence, but under certain circumstances, they still deserved careful consideration.
With that thought in mind, de Rideaux put on a smile and waved farewell to the Phantom Troupe.
...
Late at night, as they walked through the streets of Vizima, Angoulême, formerly of Temeria, did not appear particularly affected by the destruction of the kingdom.
Her mood was actually fairly good.
Besides, if she was going to mourn the fall of a country, Cintra probably mattered more to her.
"Vic, who was that guy just now? He looked pretty familiar with you. Eagle Eye couldn't detect any hostility from him, but his smile still gave me chills."
After capturing Vizima, the Black Ones had imposed a partial curfew. With the possibility of being stopped and questioned, the broad streets were nearly deserted.
"That was Nilfgaard's intelligence chief, an office worker with excellent taste in clothes, a passion for massages and enjoying life, and a side job as a cold-blooded murder specialist."
Angoulême sucked in a breath.
"Damn... So he's a real bastard. Was he the one behind those royal assassinations? He sure doesn't look the part!
"So how'd the talk go? What exactly does that lunatic who dances on people's graves want us to do?"
Despite her apparently carefree attitude, Angoulême's choice of words still revealed a slight bias.
That was hardly surprising.
The King of Sieges had made her an honorary knight.
The grave-dancing lunatic had not.
"Don't ever let anyone hear you say that in public. If your bow to Emhyr isn't up to standard, the punishment starts at two hundred lashes. If they heard you mocking him behind his back like that, they'd whip your ass until it blossomed. Both cheeks, flowers everywhere!"
Angoulême stared at him with her white eyes.
"I'm certain nobody's following us. Honestly, I'm a little surprised that intelligence chief didn't send anyone after us."
And when Angoulême stared at someone with white eyes, she did not even need to roll them.
Yes, indeed.
Last winter, Corion had once again displayed his miraculous skills and specially created a limited-edition Grass Draught for the young woman.
After seven days and seven nights of agonizing suffering on her part...
The witcher world welcomed the Byakugan of Kaguya Ōtsutsuki.
At the time, Angoulême had been furious with the result.
She thought the Byakugan looked terrible, as though she had some kind of albinism.
If she'd gotten traditional witcher cat eyes like Uncle Geralt's, she would have been delighted.
If she'd gotten Sharingan like Leo and Victor, the new generation of witchers, she would also have been thrilled, because then she'd match her captain.
But no.
She alone had to be different.
Nearly all the color had drained from her irises, leaving her with eyes that looked permanently rolled back without her needing to roll them at all.
What annoyed her even more was that her captain kept muttering nonsense about how this was an epic masterpiece, how you couldn't have the Sharingan without the Byakugan, and other stupid things she couldn't understand.
Fortunately, all the other functions expected of a witcher were present and working normally.
Better yet, when combined with Eagle Eye, the Byakugan proved exceptionally compatible. Her full-circle ability to detect hostile intent had nearly doubled in range.
So Angoulême eventually had to eat her words and admit that it was actually awesome.
...
The two continued chatting as they walked through Sun Square, formerly known as John Natalis Square.
As the most prosperous part of the Trade Quarter, staying prosperous naturally required keeping up with the times.
Angoulême kicked a loose stone out of her path.
"So what did Emhyr actually tell you?"
"One piece of good news and one piece of bad news. Which do you want first?"
"Whichever one you feel like telling me first. We're going to hear both and deal with both anyway."
Angoulême shrugged confidently.
After surviving the Trial of the Grasses, the girl who had once considered herself too weak in combat now felt a powerful sense of belonging among witchers, along with a growing conviction that she was one of the heroes of the story.
Put simply, her confidence had come roaring back.
Victor stopped walking and displayed the pass de Rideaux had given him. The guards immediately stepped aside and allowed them through without even demanding a bribe.
As an aside, Nilfgaardian regulations prescribed a minimum punishment of fifty lashes for accepting bribes.
The punishment followed a progressive tax-bracket philosophy, except there was no upper limit, and the final bracket ended when the offender was whipped to death.
Leaving the Trade Quarter behind, the Phantom Troupe entered the Temple Quarter.
"Let's get the bitter part over with before the sweet.
"The emperor wants us to find Ciri. She came back earlier than expected, so our plan to sit around and wait for her to appear has failed. Now we have to go looking for her ourselves."
Angoulême raised her thick black eyebrows, making them look like two caterpillars wriggling across her forehead.
"That really is bad news. Good thing we've been mentally prepared for something like this ever since we got stuck in Toussaint.
"Obviously, I've got no problem helping Ciri. She's our sister, and Uncle Geralt's daughter.
"But I've got one little question. How many soldiers do the Black Ones have in the North right now? Thirty thousand? Fifty thousand? With that many people, why does the emperor need us?"
"Heh! They didn't explain that part, but I know the answer.
"Because the war is still raging. No one can say whether Redania or Nilfgaard will win, and both sides have to throw everything they have into achieving victory before the end of the year.
"Don't be fooled by how unstoppable the Black Ones look right now. They're actually running out of steam because their supply lines are absurdly long.
"Temeria and Aedirn have both been reduced to ruins, especially Velen. That entire region has practically become a wasteland.
"Even an emperor can't do everything!"
"I see. Makes sense. So what's the good news?"
"The good news is that Emhyr isn't relying entirely on the Phantom Troupe. We won't be fighting alone.
"A few days ago, Yennefer returned to Vizima, and she brought your uncle with her, Geralt of Rivia. He's after the same thing we are, rescuing Ciri before the Wild Hunt gets its hands on her.
"And according to de Rideaux, Geralt has completely recovered his memories.
"He's the genuine legendary White Wolf again!"
Angoulême stared at Victor with those white eyes once more.
"Now that really is good news. Best news I've heard in the last three months. I can't wait to see Uncle Geralt and show him how much I've changed.
"So where are we going next?"
"The Inn at the Crossroads in Velen. We'll ask the innkeeper for information. Apparently, a Nilfgaardian agent nearby spotted signs of Ciri."
"Hmm... And what does our resident prophet have to add? Achoo!"
The girl suddenly sneezed after inhaling some dust, then rubbed her nose.
Victor raised his right hand and theatrically began counting on his fingers as though calculating fate itself.
"Ah! We'd better hurry. If that poor bastard isn't dead already, he's about to be. The Wild Hunt that's chasing Ciri will catch him and give him a very painful death."
"...That's an extremely unfortunate future!"
Angoulême blinked her white eyes.
"In return, let me tell you about an unfortunate present!
"The house we bought outright with our own money has been burned into a pile of rubble by the war!"
"I know. I have eyes. Thank you for that brilliant insight."
Standing before the ruins, Victor rubbed his chin.
"Let's go to the Hairy Bear. Hopefully Mr. Griffarin is still in business."
"Your will, my captain!"
Angoulême smiled.
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