Chapter 173 173: Talk by the Cauldron
Crach's daughter, Cerys, known to her close friends as Sparrowhawk, had been fortunate enough to inherit her father's courage, iron will, shrewdness, and caution, though not his imposing appearance.
Today she wore soft woolen armor with a fur collar. Metal plate pauldrons were fastened over the shoulders of a simple blue dress, whose sleeves were embroidered with decorative stitching.
A broad leather belt, much like the one her father wore, was wrapped around her waist.
In addition, a bright red tartan sash ran diagonally across her chest, the mark of Clan an Craite.
At around ten in the morning, when Cerys stepped into the New Port Tavern, the innkeeper Jonas recognized her at once, and even vaguely guessed why she had come. A princess of Clan an Craite was not likely to show up there just to drink, she was probably here for the Dovahkiin.
And the two women who entered with her were hardly ordinary figures either. Svani, the warrior priestess of an Hindar, and Angoulême of the Phantom Troupe were both well known names to the innkeeper.
Leaving her companions in the common room, Cerys nodded to the innkeeper and ordered food and drink for them, then went straight upstairs, through a corridor decorated with oak shields and embroidered tapestries, until she reached the innermost guest room.
A wooden sign hung on the door.
Victor's Alchemy Workshop.
She hesitated for a moment, then pushed the door open, and the first thing she saw was the boy standing over a great cauldron, stirring.
"…" When she had come here, she had not been in a very good mood. She had planned to seize the initiative the moment she entered, but at the sight of him, her strange anger melted away and she did not know what to say.
Victor, on the other hand, looked up, saw her, and smiled as he waved. "Good morning, Sparrowhawk. That outfit looks very good on you today."
"R… really?"
She coughed twice to cover the faint surge of pleasure, then walked over and sat on the chair beside the cauldron. On the small table sat an empty cup and a pitcher of blueberry juice. Seeing how thoughtfully everything had been arranged only made her irritation flare up again.
"So early in the morning you send Angoulême to fetch me, saying you have something to discuss with me in private. Out with it."
"…You don't seem very happy. What's wrong?"
"How could I possibly be in a good mood, knowing what you're about to say?"
Victor raised a brow. That line suddenly felt strangely familiar. Was this the rhythm of a breakup conversation? The problem was, they had never actually been together.
"You know what I'm going to say?"
"Of course. Aren't you here to persuade me not to go to Spikeroog?"
"Mm, that's a small part of it. Since you already know that much, can you avoid going to Clan Brokvar?"
"No." Sparrowhawk's answer was immediate and absolute.
Victor yawned carelessly. "Understood. Then let's move on to something more important."
He gave up so quickly that Cerys felt awkward instead. "Wait… you're just accepting it that easily? You're not going to say anything more?"
"There's no point. Even if I tried to persuade you, you wouldn't listen. I promised your father I would ask, so I asked. As for your stubbornness, I expected it from the beginning."
Hearing that, Sparrowhawk suddenly felt that all her earlier irritation had been foolish. This was the same man who, at the crucial moment last night, had clenched his fist and silently encouraged her to step forward. Of course he understood how she felt.
"Sorry. My attitude just now was bad. Last night I saw you speaking to Crach from the balcony, and I thought you'd side with him and try hard to stop me…"
"It's all right. I didn't feel offended. But honestly, Crach is your father. A father's worry is the most natural thing in the world and shouldn't be blamed. You should know that he loves you very much. Most of what we talked about was you."
At Victor's words, Cerys deflated a little. She picked up the clay pitcher, poured herself a full cup of juice, and drained most of it in one go.
Victor did not comfort her. He simply kept stirring the cauldron.
"Now let's continue with the more important matter.
To wear the crown, you must bear its weight.
Tell me, setting aside your refusal to admit defeat, have you thought about what kind of life you would give the islanders if you became ruler?"
Sparrowhawk abruptly lifted her head and fixed the alchemist with a bright, intent stare.
"Bran Tuirseach, known as the Conqueror, is generally remembered among the Skelligers as a ruler whose reign was honorable and worthy of respect.
"But from where I stand, he favored raiding over solving the long-standing problems of the Isles, things like the widening gap between rich and poor, or the hatreds between clans. On top of that, he indulged Birna too much and neglected the upbringing of his heir.
"Perhaps he kept sailing off to wage war precisely because he was powerless to solve any of that, and could only keep using foreign war to divert domestic tensions.
"But to be blunt, by Bell Town's standards, he wouldn't even count as a qualified ruler. Only the islanders of Skellige would accept that, and even praise him highly for it."
Her shock softened into a faint smile as she shook her head. "If you said that outside, you'd get beaten half to death."
Victor answered with open pride and easy defiance, "Once I step out this door, I deny ever having said any of that."
Cerys's eyes shone as she looked at him.
"The truth is, I don't need to tell you any of this. You already know it yourself. And even if you gain Clan Brokvar's support, all that does is make you qualified to compete. In the end, without the approval of the head of Clan an Craite, no one sits on that throne, so sulking at Crach is meaningless.
"Hjalmar is charismatic, responsible, and brave, an heir anyone can see would not rule worse than King Bran. For the realm of Skellige, he is an excellent choice.
"So my advice is this, before you go help Udalryk, talk properly with Crach. Make him see the strengths you have that Hjalmar does not, your calm and careful way of thinking, your vision for how a ruler should govern, and the future you imagine for the Isles.
"As for this trip to Spikeroog, I'll lend you Angoulême, and with Svani there as well, your safety should be more than secure. Unless you run into something like Morkvarg, one of those monsters that simply won't stay dead, it'll be hard for the three of you to truly end up in danger."
Sparrowhawk's expression dimmed all at once. "Wait… you're not coming with me?"
"You want my help?" Victor asked in confusion.
But the moment the words left his mouth, Cerys had already figured it out herself. He could not take part in this. She had to do this on her own.
If the Dragonborn stood beside her and solved the problem with her, the glory would belong to the Dovahkiin.
"Thank you for showing me the way… without you, I might have taken a long time to understand it."
"No need to thank me. Even without me, you would have figured it out eventually. It just would have taken longer."
Leaving her chair, Sparrowhawk walked over to the boy and turned his face toward her with both hands.
"You're going to help my brother kill the giant, aren't you?"
"Yes. I promised Crach that I would help my brother and sister."
She kissed him.
"Take care of Hjalmar. That's my thanks, and the advance payment."
"If you wanted to kiss me, you didn't need an excuse."
…
The next morning, Cerys, Svani, and Angoulême boarded a ship for Spikeroog, bound on a mission to save Udalryk of Clan Brokvar.
And that afternoon, Arnvald delivered the materials Victor had requested to Victor's Alchemy Workshop, along with a short note from Crach. There were only two words written on it.
Thank you.
There was no need to reply to something so brief. Victor accepted the alchemical materials, sent the steward away, and continued testing the various properties of the ingredients.
Ever since Corion's gift had allowed Victor to hear the Voice of Death, Void traits had become one of the main things he sought to collect. Unfortunately, unlike in fairy-tale worlds, the monster-slaying world held very few materials that carried such properties. It might also have been a limitation of the Voice of Death itself, but that only made the boy more eager to grow stronger and someday be able to hear other categories as well.
At the moment, his posture was peculiar, one hand holding a piece of monster tissue to listen to it, the other stirring bomb materials.
He hurried to refine Grapeshot, Dancing Star, and Devil's Puffball, weapons that had powerful lethality against living things. He was doing it because he refused to be blindly optimistic about the real situation on Undvik. He intended to prepare for the worst.
Although the primary reason Clan Tordarroch's rule had collapsed was the severe frost disaster, the fact that attacks by an ice giant, ice trolls, and sirens had been enough to completely shatter those self-proclaimed fearless warriors meant that the total number of monsters could not have been small. Depending on how things changed, this might well become a prolonged campaign.
So since Clan an Craite was paying the bill, he intended to stuff the herbal satchel as full as possible with reserve supplies, spare weapons, and enough bombs to matter.
The door opened, and Vigi came in. Ever since the Dragonborn had announced he was joining the expedition, the Phantom Troupe's loyalty to its leader had shot straight through the ceiling. Their enthusiasm was so intense that Victor was almost embarrassed by it.
"Captain, Hjalmar and the others have settled on the departure time. We leave tomorrow morning."
"So soon? How many warriors altogether? How many ships?"
"Two hundred warriors, five longships, and the finest weapons and armor!"
The rascal sounded delighted. Victor, however, frowned.
What troubled him was that reality seemed likely to differ dramatically from memory. If the scale really had not changed, it was hard to understand how two hundred seasoned warriors could possibly lose so badly that only three of them remained alive.
Even more absurdly, those three would then supposedly team up with a witcher, turn the entire situation around, and bring down the ice giant. No matter how he looked at it, that outcome seemed fantastical enough that it could only be chalked up to the game exaggerating things.
"Captain, what's wrong? Is something off?" Vigi asked when he noticed Victor's expression.
After Angoulême's professional training, he had learned to look at problems from more than one angle, and his captain's expression was now one of the most important clues he watched for.
Seeing the concern on his man's face, Victor patted him on the shoulder and smiled in relief.
No matter. Miraculous alchemy existed to turn the impossible into the possible.
…
Undvik lay west of Ard Skellig. It had once been prosperous and thriving, the second most popular of the Isles, especially famed for the forges of Clan Tordarroch, which produced armor of exceptional quality.
In addition, the island's ideal location, beautiful scenery, and delicious local cuisine had once drawn countless travelers to visit.
Sadly, after the terrible shift in weather came the awakening of the fearsome ice giant from its slumber. Leading monsters in a great wave of destruction, it smashed and tore apart everything in sight that still moved. Undvik had now become a paradise for beasts.
After that misfortune struck, official warnings were posted in many places, advising residents to avoid traveling there.
And yet the island had attracted a new kind of visitor, no longer families seeking rest and leisure, but bold warriors hungry for adventure, mercenaries hoping to claim the bounty on the giant's head, or simply fools curious enough to want to see the astonishing creature with their own eyes.
Though the chance to see such a monster really is very rare, we still advise anyone planning to travel to Undvik to postpone the journey until the situation improves, or instead choose one of Skellige's other charming islands for their holiday. Being disemboweled by an ice giant is unlikely to prove a pleasant experience.
From The Lonely World Guide to Undvik
…
Setting sail from Kaer Trolde Harbor, after several days at sea the Thousand Sunny, carrying Victor and Vigi, followed close behind the five longships led by Hjalmar as they approached the waters off Undvik.
Vigi pointed toward the harbor in the distance. "Captain, that's Marlin Coast. We used to go in and out through there all the time. The Old Port Tavern that Jonas used to run is right at the far end of that cluster of buildings."
Victor pointed at the sky. "You used to come and go here under a sky full of sirens like that?"
Marlin Coast had now been turned into a breeding ground for these so-called mermaids. These three-environment creatures, half woman and half fish, with wings besides, were close kin to harpies. The Phantom Troupe had lured and slaughtered quite a few of them on the Path of Warriors before, and used them to brew Dragon Shout Potion.
"Captain, don't joke around. Those monsters all appeared suddenly. This used to be a nesting ground for seagulls, but now who knows where they migrated to…"
"I'm just saying, this sky full of flying mermaids is a spectacular sight."
Noticing that Hjalmar's five ships had no intention of slowing down and were sailing straight for the place thickest with sirens, Victor assumed they had a way to deal with the monsters, so he kept following without hurry and took out potions in preparation.
Sure enough, once they were close enough, a mighty sound rose from the ships ahead.
Moooo… ooo…
A huge and powerful horn blared, the sound vibrating faintly in the ears without becoming painful.
Yet though it did little to people, every siren in the air within its range began dropping from the sky.
Vigi exclaimed in shock, "That's the legendary Hornwall Horn. As long as you sound it, every nearby siren falls to the ground. No wonder it's one of Clan an Craite's treasures."
First the sirens were blasted from the air, then finished off by bow and crossbow fire or pinned with spears. The two hundred warriors aboard the five ships worked together as one, advancing virtually without taking losses.
Victor was not surprised by the result. The simple fact that witchers were becoming rarer while most regions were still ruled by humans was proof enough that there were effective ways to deal with monsters. So if Hjalmar did not even have this much preparation, then speaking of slaying the giant would have been absurd, and they might as well have turned back immediately.
As for the horn itself, Victor remembered it as well. It was a very interesting toy. It was nowhere near as outrageous as a Dragon Shout, yet it could produce a similar effect. He had no idea what principle it worked on. Perhaps it happened to strike the exact right frequency?
He stroked his chin, and the thought rose in his mind that later he ought to borrow it from Hjalmar, play with it a while in private, and see whether he could make an imitation.
But the smoother things went, the more alert he became. He did not know exactly how this expedition had originally failed, but he did know one thing for certain, if they failed this time, there would be no world protagonist, the witcher Geralt, arriving to save the day.
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