The Witcher: The Alchemist Who Walked the Witcher’s Road

Late at night, in a girl's sweet-smelling room, it was time for private whispers and bedroom confidences.

"What!? How can that be! So tomorrow you're going to help that dumpling-making Hattori negotiate?"

The one who burst out so loudly was Yoana. She was in a foul mood right now, because she had never expected the boss, who had seemed so generous and open-minded, accepting her opinion and giving up on making oversized junk, to be secretly looking for another smith to replace her.

Back then, he had shown her courtesy, eagerness for talent, and the sort of sincerity that felt like true loyalty. Was all of that a lie? They had barely been in business any time at all, and he was already looking for someone else?

The feeling was like thinking you had found the man you were ready to spend your life with, only to discover he had another woman on the side.

To be more specific, it was like being on the verge of marriage and suddenly finding out your fiancé was a shameless player juggling a whole roster.

"Oh, relax!" Angoulême scooted closer to her side, took hold of her warm, broad hand, and put on the full act of a sympathetic best friend.

"The boss was afraid you'd overthink it, so he told me to talk to you tonight first. You're one of us. That's different from some outsider. Besides, Hattori has his own shop, while you're already sleeping beside me!

"And most importantly, you specialize in armor. Once the elf joins up, he can focus on swords. There's no real conflict there. If there's something you don't want to make, the captain doesn't need to force you.

"And if Éibhear ever dares refuse as fiercely as you do, Vic will absolutely make his life miserable. Don't be fooled by that cheerful smile of his. Our glorious captain is petty as hell."

"You're saying he holds grudges, and then telling me I can boldly reject his unreasonable demands? Aren't you just setting me up?" Yoana turned her head aside, her thick golden braid falling across her chest.

"Tsk, tsk." Angoulême sounded exasperated. "What I'm about to tell you next is very damaging to one's self-respect, so I'm only saying it once.

"In the captain's world, men and women are two completely different species. You definitely know that already. People under eighteen and people over eighteen are also two completely different species. I already told you that part.

"But the most important thing is this... when he's dealing with a woman who's generously endowed or one who's built a bit more modestly, he has two completely different attitudes. So you almost never need to worry about the captain getting angry with you."

Angoulême's words were tactful enough, but the gestures she used to go with them were outrageously vulgar and impossible to watch. Even someone as straightforward and uninhibited as Yoana could not take it. Furiously, she pounced on Angoulême and started tickling her.

It was a very normal phenomenon. When girls talked in private, if the conversation turned dirty, sometimes they were even more terrifying than boys.

While the two of them were laughing and wrestling around, Catherine let out a soft coo to warn them that something was happening. Hearing it, the girl stretched her neck and glanced out the window...

As expected, it was the boy heading out again for one more nighttime errand.

...

As for Éibhear Hattori, the former swordsmith, the reason he had switched careers and started selling dumplings was simple: he had been driven out by vicious competition, and a man still had to earn a living.

The person who had put the elf out of work was a colleague with powerful backing, one Mister Ernst van Hoorn, who wanted to monopolize the swordsmith trade in a small corner of the market. So he cut off Hattori's supply of materials.

Of course, they had not done it openly. After all, Novigrad encouraged an open market. But if every bit of swordsmithing material had to pass through him before anyone could get it, then the elf would not last long.

As a nonhuman, Hattori was in a weaker position. Under that kind of pressure, all he could do was shut his business down in silence. The interesting part, however, was this: Hattori could not afford to offend Ernst, a human, but the gang backing Ernst was led by the Butcher Cleaver, who was also a nonhuman. Rumor had it Ernst often played cards with the Butcher.

The turning point was that recently, some of the King of Beggars' men had started getting into the ore and raw materials trade as well. They were providing blacksmiths with another channel for supplies, which created a perfect opportunity to break Ernst's monopoly.

But Hattori was timid and did not dare negotiate with gangsters on his own, at least not until he realized that the regular customer who often came to his shop for dumplings, and seemed so easy to talk to, was actually a ruthless figure who could laugh and chat with gang enforcers.

...

At dusk, just after sunset, with a fine rain pattering down, the elven smith walked through the streets of the harbor district. It had been a long time since he had felt this safe. The Phantom Troupe was accompanying him. Both of them wore black cloth over their faces and were dressed head to toe like armed mercenaries.

After refusing yet another streetwalker who tried to tug him over, Victor asked, "What did you say this subordinate of the King of Beggars is called?"

"Tinboy. He's a new figure who's shown up recently. He's got a dozen or so men under him, and he specializes in selling high-quality iron ore."

"What do you know about his personality?"

"They say he has a bad temper, so be careful. We need him far more than he needs us."

With the harbor wind whipping hard around them, they passed through several hidden doors and by a few fire braziers. Then the Phantom Troupe, together with the smith, made three people in total as they stepped into an open area enclosed by a cluster of houses, where they faced the six men who had come to negotiate.

Tinboy's group all wore diamond-patterned kerchiefs over their faces. Their leader spoke in a coarse, gruff voice. "Hey! What's this about? Weren't you told to come alone? What are these two here for?"

The voice sounded oddly familiar. Victor raised an arm and pushed Hattori behind him. "Good evening, Tinboy. I am Mister Hattori's lawyer. Since he isn't good with words, I'll be representing him in these discussions."

Then he gestured toward Angoulême. "This is my assistant. We're both negotiation specialists."

The certainty and confidence in Victor's voice overwhelmed the other man's hotheaded bluster. Tinboy hesitated, and when he spoke again, he sounded unconsciously more polite. "Uh... if that's how it is, then fine. Here's the situation. If our boss is going to take on the Butcher over this, there has to be a price. We've already set the terms. There's no room for bargaining."

"And your price is?"

He stepped forward two paces and puffed out his chest. "We provide you with a stable supply of iron ore, and in exchange we take fifty percent of the profits."

Victor folded his arms over his chest. "Impossible. No normal business arrangement strips away half the profit on top of everything else... how about this? We'll give you twenty-five percent."

"Who the hell do you think you are, giving orders to the King of Beggars? Thirty-five percent. That's as low as we'll go." He waved his arms for emphasis.

"Twenty-five at the absolute most. But the weapons sold in the shop can be offered to you at a discount." The boy sounded casual, almost indifferent.

"Ha! You must be out of your mind. Forget it, then. Let's go!"

With that, Tinboy turned around and waved for his men to leave. Watching from the side, Hattori panicked and was just about to open his mouth and salvage the deal when Angoulême promptly slammed the scabbard of her sword into his stomach, shutting him up.

Though everyone had their mouths covered, thanks to what Ramsmeat had taught him, and thanks to how green his opponent was, Victor could easily read the lack of confidence in Tinboy's eyes.

"What a pity. I thought you wanted to break Ernst's monopoly too. There can't be that many smithies willing to buy raw materials from you, can there?"

Tinboy had not gone very far before he stopped. Then he turned around and came back with his men.

"All right, my friend, you really are one hell of a negotiator. Twenty-five percent it is. Don't forget the discount."

"Wait." Victor narrowed his eyes slightly. "Your voice really does sound familiar. I'm sure I've heard it somewhere before. Talked to you before too... You're... Tony?"

Tinboy froze. "You really know me?"

Victor grinned and pulled down his face covering. "Oh! Long time no see, Tony. Allow me to introduce myself again. Victor Corion, lawyer for Mister Éibhear Hattori."

The moment he saw that unforgettable face and those four knife scars, Tinboy, formerly Tony, was instantly dragged back to the miserable memory of that afternoon: the grand opening of a smithy so impressive that three of Novigrad's Big Four had shown up to congratulate it, and the sack of crowns he had earned by standing on his head.

It was also from that day onward that he had learned what a real big shot looked like. Real big shots did not stand in the street or in taverns shouting about killing someone or hacking them to pieces. Because when those people had that thought, their hands were already moving.

So Tony had traded petty crime for the true underworld and decisively joined the King of Beggars' organization. Making use of his professional knowledge of forging materials, he had begun importing iron sand from Temeria and opening up a new source of income.

And now the big shot who had shown him that dark road stood right in front of him. His throat tightened, and his legs felt a little weak. But a man in the trade could not afford to lose face, and the brothers behind him had not been there that day, so they still respected him greatly.

"Y-yes. Long time no see. I'm Tinboy now."

Seeing right through him, Victor smiled, then pulled his mask back up over his face. "Tinboy, is it? That's a fine name. Since we're all such old acquaintances, I'm sure you'd be willing to do me a favor and knock the price down a little more. Fifteen percent, how does that sound?"

In truth, both sides were bluffing under borrowed prestige, but Victor's previous encounter with him had been so terrifying that the boy's hand in this psychological game was far stronger than Tony's.

"It's an honor to see you again, Mister Victor... I... I also think fifteen percent is a very suitable number." After only a slight hesitation, he accepted the new price.

"Done."

The boy reached out and dragged the elven smith, who had been hiding behind him and now felt like he was dreaming after hearing that number, to the front and made him shake hands with Tinboy.

"Then the deal is struck. As for the finer details, you two can work them out yourselves."

After shaking Hattori's hand, Tinboy turned to Victor and said seriously, "There won't be any problem with steady supply on my end, but Ernst probably won't let this go. He has the Butcher Cleaver behind him. Your swordshop might need bodyguards."

"So you're offering that service?" Victor asked.

"No. I'm out of the fighting business now. I was never really cut out for that. Just a warning. Be careful, sir. Those vicious dwarves are not joking around."

"I'll speak to Umutai. He'll do me this courtesy." Victor reached out and patted Tinboy on the arm. "Seeing you turn over a new leaf and do honest business now makes me feel very gratified."

...

And just like that, the uneventful negotiation came to an end. Even after they returned to the dumpling shop, the elven smith still felt as though none of it had quite sunk in.

Noticing that Hattori was spacing out, Victor said, "Éibhear, don't worry about that Ernst fellow. I'll go talk to Umutai tomorrow and ask him to do me a favor.

"For now, let's talk about my order. I need you to forge me a magnificent sword that can cut down everything under heaven and above it. I haven't decided whether it should be called Dragonslayer or Destruction Blade yet, so I need your professional opinion."

Hearing that, the smith awkwardly scratched the back of his head. "Actually... sorry. I didn't expect things to go this smoothly, so while I'm very willing to make your sword, there's still one tiny technical problem!"

At the elf's attempt to wriggle out of things, Victor narrowed his eyes, though he did not get angry. He had already forgotten the details, but he at least remembered the general impression that this elven master was an absolute disaster, the type who would drag things out through several ridiculous stages.

Since Hattori would count as half one of their own from now on, the bored Angoulême immediately fell back on her usual shameless familiarity and slipped into the kitchen to start boiling dumplings over the stove.

"All right. Can you tell me what this technical problem is?"

"When the smithy closed, Ernst bought up all my forging tools. And now he has no intention of selling them back. So I was thinking maybe we could quietly go borrow them..."

The boy pressed a hand to his forehead. "Enough, Éibhear. By borrowing, you really mean stealing, don't you?

"Don't be so stingy. This is easy to settle. I'm sure Umutai will give me this courtesy. By tomorrow evening at the latest, Ernst will personally deliver your forging tools to you."

...

In the kitchen, Angoulême had finished boiling the dumplings and was carrying them over while eating, just in time to hear Hattori explaining something to Victor.

"...No... with the length and weight you're describing, that sword would be impossible to use. One swing and it would drag the wielder right off his feet. Unless you have rock troll blood in you, and the dominant kind at that, or unless you're wearing over two thousand pounds of absurdly heavy armor..."

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