Chapter 147 147: The Road of the Warrior
Not many people truly understand the deep bond that Victor of Bell Town and I, Dandelion, forged in those years, after sharing hardship and joy together.
When we first met, and when we met again, he later admitted that twice he had wanted to draw his sword and cut me down, simply because I was far too handsome.
But the difference in our looks could not stop us from becoming friends who could speak of anything, because we shared a common interest, poetry, and we were both filled with passion and love for the world.
Love is the cure for all things.
Passion is love made visible.
Poetry is the finest expression of passion.
, from the memoir Half a Century of Poetry
...
In a room warmed by a glowing hearth, the atmosphere was cold and bleak, and the three people facing one another had no desire to speak.
Once everything had been explained, the matter was not entirely the bard's fault.
An age short on entertainment did not mean people did not need entertainment. It only meant they chose different ways to amuse themselves.
And gossip, that miraculous inborn talent, had always been the same everywhere, in every age.
More often than not, it started from one tiny, amusing little incident, and then at some point, some clever person would suddenly discover that a slight twist did not really hurt anyone, and in fact made an amusing story even more amusing.
The story grew more and more entertaining, and drifted farther and farther from what it had originally been, until in the end, when people were shown the truth, they would loudly condemn it and say, "That's fake. I'd never fall for that."
It had all begun with a poem in Vizima. Then came the flattering title, Dragonborn Bard, and from there countless clever people who found the whole thing entertaining joined forces to push it along. By the time it reached Novigrad, even a master spymaster like Dijkstra could no longer distinguish which of Victor's shining legends were real and which were not.
For example, the feat of crossing the Korath Desert alone, a miracle so rare it would still be scarcely heard of even centuries later, had somehow been written into Victor's life story as though it were perfectly natural.
And from the standpoint of geography, Temeria lay only a strait away from Skellige, much closer in a straight line than Novigrad. So when The Return of the Dragonborn echoed through White Stone Hall, some clever soul immediately realized that the islanders would certainly love the poem.
It matched their ancient traditions, combining the end of the world, the final battle, the undying dead, and all the rest. More importantly, it was tremendously entertaining.
Whether it was the poem or the poet, both had supposedly come from the mysterious far east beyond the Korath Desert. Under that grand premise, taking the Dragonborn Bard who killed drowners and adjusting his deeds slightly into a slayer of giant beasts somehow seemed even more reasonable.
A change in quantity became a change in kind, and at long last, on the Skellige Isles, at some point in time, the word bard in Dragonborn Bard became dead weight in the story. Why keep those extra two words at all? They were completely unnecessary.
People tended to believe what they wanted to believe.
And so the Dragonborn Bard made a splendid turn and became the Dragonborn who could sing poetry.
...
"...Couldn't you explain it clearly to the king and have him set the rumor straight...?" the girl said at last, breaking the silence with her suggestion.
"No. If you'd read The Most Precious Wisdom, you wouldn't have such childish ideas."
The bard shook his head as he spoke. "Do you think I never tried? Do you think I just drifted here by accident?"
"Wasn't it because you vanished without a word? At least you had the decency to leave Amber at Whoreson Junior's place, so I was able to go get her back." Just thinking about it made Angoulême angry, and her reply came out sharp.
Victor, however, caught the subtle meaning in the bard's words. "What do you mean, how you got here? Don't tell me you too...?"
The bard gave a bitter smile. "One night I was drinking at the Golden Sturgeon when a lovely Skellige lady struck up a conversation with me. When I woke up, I was already on Sukrus's ship..."
Victor could not help laughing. Captain Sukrus and his Black Pearl really had made an indelible contribution to the spread of culture.
"So you did explain yourself, but nobody wanted to believe you. Then one day you got drunk, gave up, started spouting nonsense, and personally stamped every rumor as true."
For once, Dandelion knew he was in the wrong. He turned his head aside and did not even try to defend himself.
Victor shook his head helplessly. "You really deserve to die, truly, but at the same time, you really shouldn't die."
Then he sprang up from his chair.
The girl asked, "What do we do now?"
The boy pulled a face at her. "What do we do? We handle it, that's what. If I refuse to own it now, this bastard's head is going to part ways with his neck very soon."
Then he pushed the door open and strode out first.
Still baffled by Victor's sudden departure, Angoulême turned to Dandelion. "Just because you got drunk and ran your mouth, they're going to cut off your head?"
The bard pulled a copy of Aesop's Fables from the shelf, quickly flipped to a certain page, and handed it to Angoulême.
The Most Precious Wisdom
Holvarg wanted to become a wise man, so he sought help from an old druid.
...The old druid said, "If it is truly wisdom and knowledge you seek, then place your most valuable possession in a chest, sail to Undvik, climb the mountain, and walk along the ridge. Bow once to each of the four winds, commend yourself to the gods, then throw the chest into the sea."
Holvarg did as he was told, then returned to the sacred grove.
He said, "I threw the chest into the sea, but I don't feel any wiser."
The druid replied, "That is because there are no shortcuts on the road to wisdom. Neither prayer, nor offerings, nor listening to the words of wise men will grant you wisdom. That is the lesson you were meant to learn."
Holvarg flew into a rage when he heard this. He strangled the druid to death with his bare hands, then stuck the druid's head on a spear and planted it in front of his house, so everyone would know that though he might not be wise, he was no one's fool.
...
After reading the fable, Angoulême shot Dandelion a vicious glare. Then the two of them opened the door and headed for the banquet hall.
That little bit of reading delayed them on the way out, so they missed the first half of Victor's conversation with King Bran. But the silent stillness in the air proved just how gripping it had been, enough to make the islanders set down their cups and stop their shouting.
Within the lofty stone hall, King Bran's solemn voice rang out.
"Mind yourself, young man. Watch your tongue. I respect true warriors, but that does not mean I am willing to be made a fool of. You should understand that every word you speak now carries consequences."
And there, at the center of every eye in the hall, stood Victor, magnificent and imposing, power spilling from him on all sides.
"That's right. I am Victor, born east of Zerrikania, across the Korath Desert, storm-born, chosen by fate, the Immaculate One of Melitele's prophecy, monster hunter and alchemist of Bell Town, housecarl of Skyrim's Nine Holds, Dawnguard, Harbinger of the Companions, singer of legends, the Last Dragonborn, Dovahkiin, Victor Corion the Dragonslayer."
That string of titles hit Dandelion so hard his vision went black and his legs nearly gave way beneath him. It was as if he could already see the future, their three heads together mounted on spearpoints.
Angoulême, long since used to this kind of thing, naturally understood that the captain's condition had flared up again. Looking at the stunned and speechless Skelligers, all shaken by that mighty reputation, she covered her mouth and laughed in secret, full of shared pride.
...
I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn returns!
When the flowers have withered and the first snow draws near,
Beware, beware, the Dragonborn returns!
For the darkness has passed and the legend rises,
Believe it, believe it, the Dragonborn returns!
...
The next day, in Urialla Harbor, the busiest city on An Skellig, Victor picked up a conch shell. Its beautiful shape and vivid colors caught his eye, so he paid for it and tucked it into his herbal satchel.
"Sir, the time is almost here."
The one who reminded him was Vigi the Loon of Clan Tordarroch.
Brown-haired and blue-eyed, the man came from a famous smithing family on Undvik. Now he was one of Victor's followers.
Yesterday he had slipped into Clan Tuirseach's banquet and eaten and drunk to his heart's content. When the boy had finally finished reciting all those titles, Vigi, once the shock had worn off, immediately realized this was his chance to rise to fame. So long as he could defeat the Dragonborn on the spot, he would win immense glory, perhaps even earn the name Vigi the Unfearing.
So he had leaped out to issue a challenge, and Victor had accepted it as a bare-knuckle fight with no weapons.
Judging by their size alone, there had been no reason a giant like him should lose. Yet the result had been that the Dragonborn taught him a brutal lesson, dropping him to his knees with a single punch.
After failing in his challenge, Vigi was deeply moved by the boy's strength, struck into loyalty by that very punch, and from then on became a faithful supporter of Dovahkiin, rallying himself tightly around the Phantom Troupe centered on Victor.
Considering his status in Clan Tordarroch, and the fact that Victor knew perfectly well he could never have floored a man with that kind of physique in one punch without cheating, having such a follower while active on the isles was not a bad thing. So the boy took him into his service.
Beating some hot-blooded fool at a banquet should not have been a big deal. But Vigi's crushing defeat frightened off the rest of the hotheads, leaving no one willing to step forward and challenge Victor's iron fists. Because of that, Victor had to find some other way to prove he was worthy of King Bran's regard.
So after resting and recovering last night, today he was going to challenge the Path of Warriors, an ancient trial. Only by passing it could a young man be recognized as a true warrior. Usually, however, people attempted it in groups, while Victor intended to do it alone.
Folan Tuirseach, a skilled archer, had been tasked with leading the Dragonborn to the starting point of the trial. Perhaps he felt this was unfair to the boy, because along the way he voluntarily and enthusiastically explained the details of the Path of Warriors.
"The one who explains things at the start and gives directions is old Gunnar. He used to be an extraordinary warrior, until he took an arrow to the knee."
Victor lifted an eyebrow but said nothing. The man sounded completely serious, not as if he were joking.
"The Path of Warriors has two branches. One leads to the mountain peak, the other leads deep into the bowels of the earth. Finish both routes, and you'll have proven your courage."
"Two routes? Can you tell me something about the underground path? Is it a cave?"
"That's right. But the corridor leading into the cave is flooded. No mainlander has ever managed to swim through it, not unless he's trained from childhood by diving for pearls."
"I see. That sounds genuinely difficult. Angoulême would definitely drown. What else?"
The team member who had been shot by friendly fire on the sidelines went dark in the face. She nearly kicked the captain in the ankle, but then remembered the lessons she had received earlier and decided to give Vic some face.
"There's another surprise deeper in the cave. If you get clever and come up for air halfway through, you'll have to deal with harpies," Folan added.
The boy nodded. "Then tell me about the mountain route."
"That one goes upward to the summit of Mount Aardeklove. Climb to the top, to Yngvar's Fang, and bring back the bright red sash from there. That will prove you completed the path."
"Doesn't sound that hard."
"You've clearly never been on our mountains. Yngvar's Fang is not so easy to reach. Sirens harass you along the way, and the walkways are twisted and broken. One mistake and you'll fall to your death."
Victor rubbed his nose and did not explain that a few days ago he had left several titles out of his introduction. He was, after all, also the parkour king of Kaer Morhen, champion of extreme endurance, three-time winner of the Vizima road race, champion of the Novigrad Produce Cup obstacle course, and holder of many other little-known achievements.
...
The starting point of the Path of Warriors was unusually lively today, for the obvious reason, the return of the Dragonborn.
As they walked, it was easy to hear the villagers whispering among themselves.
"Look! That's Dovahkiin?"
"He feels like a kid. He doesn't even have a beard, and he's going to challenge the Path of Warriors?"
"And he's doing it alone!"
"Gods above, is this outlander trying to get himself killed?"
Old Gunnar, the man who had taken an arrow to the knee, rarely came out in person, but today he did, personally leading Victor into the tent and giving him a brief explanation of the Path of Warriors. It was more or less the same as what Folan had already said.
Then old Gunnar stepped out and left the space to Victor and his companions, Dandelion, Angoulême, and Vigi. The man really did have thick skin. He stayed behind without leaving, already acting as if he belonged with them.
Victor smiled and did not chase him away. Instead, right in front of the three of them, he took out several bottles from his herbal satchel and downed them in quick gulps.
Tawny Owl: Virility Unleashed, it filled the body with strength, left one bursting with energy, restored faster, and stretched endurance for longer.
Blizzard, enhanced formula, better taste, lower side effects, boosting reaction speed ten percent more than the previous generation, and no longer causing dizziness or drowsiness after the effect wore off.
Next-generation Thunderbolt, revised formula, greater explosive power, lower toxicity, and a full twenty percent increase in instant output compared to the old Thunderbolt, delivering an unprecedented ultimate experience to one's opponent.
After the refinement he had gone through in Novigrad, these were second-generation potions born from his sharpened mind. Last night he had originally planned to drink them all and leave Clan Tuirseach's warriors with an unforgettable memory, but unfortunately he had failed to hold back, flattened Vigi with one punch, and scared everyone else away from challenging him.
Stretching his limbs, the boy went through his warm-up. Angoulême, brimming with confidence in her captain, grinned from ear to ear, while Dandelion, on the other hand, looked so grave he no longer resembled his usual cheerful self at all.
"Hey, friend, why so gloomy? What's troubling you?" Victor asked.
Dandelion punched one of the tent poles and hung his head. "...You... you were too impulsive yesterday. Even if most of those titles you gave can't really be verified, just getting through the Path of Warriors is already so difficult that I can't imagine what kind of trials you'll have to endure afterward before they'll be satisfied.
"And all of this is for my sake. I... I'm sorry. When I started spreading your fame, I only hoped you would be able to walk farther on the road of poetry. I never imagined..."
At this point the bard actually lowered his head and choked up.
Victor shrugged, stepped forward, and embraced Dandelion, patting him on the back. "Friend, don't be like that. I was angry with you once, and I even wanted to draw my sword and cut you down, but I know your intentions were good.
"The situation now is one I brought on myself. Since those words came out of my own mouth, I was prepared from the moment I said them to make them real."
When he let go of the bard, the boy squeezed his eyes meaningfully toward the corner where the outsider Vigi still stood. "Don't be ashamed that my true identity has been exposed. What is, is. What isn't, isn't. Hold your head high. You're a friend of Dovahkiin. I expect you to write many more poems praising me."
Victor's easygoing attitude made Dandelion laugh out loud. As one of the few people who knew the boy's real background best, and a diehard companion who had bathed with him at the Thighs of Desire, he naturally knew exactly what kind of damn Dragonborn Victor really was.
But now that the other party had made up his mind to help patch this whole mess together, there was no reason for him to lose heart. At worst, they would all get their heads chopped off together.
So the bard thumped his chest and declared, "Go on without worry! I'll turn your heroic bearing into an epic, so that everyone will know Dovahkiin has returned to Skellige!"
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