Chapter 380 - 380: The Witcher Who Spreads Rumors

At noon, before a knightly statue in the white-stone colonnade of Beauclair Palace.

"Hey! What are you doing? Tell them to put me down! Didn't you hear me? Put me down!"

Ignoring the victim's furious yelling, Horace bowed to Captain Damien, then directed his men, four burly giants of men, to carry Victor away from the palace doors guarded by armored sentries as though they were hauling a coffin.

The coffin-bearing procession carried him all the way out of the white-stone colonnade. Only when they were nearing Lolivier Square in Hauteville, the Upper Town, did the deputy commander finally order his men to put the witcher down.

Facing Victor, who stood there with his arms folded in displeasure, Horace waved his subordinates a few steps away, lifted his head, and heaved a long sigh.

"This is my final warning, my dear Sir Corion. Please stop fearmongering and spreading completely baseless rumors!"

"You know perfectly well they aren't rumors! It's the professional judgment of a witcher, combined with the far-reaching foresight of a prophet!"

"It doesn't matter what you want to say. When Her Enlightened Ladyship doesn't want to hear another word from you and tells you to get as far away as possible, then whatever you're saying becomes a completely baseless rumor."

"Standing by and watching a disaster happen, do you realize you're committing a crime?"

"If I hadn't had them carry you away, you'd already have committed a crime yourself, and you'd probably be sitting in a cell!"

Victor was left speechless by the counterattack.

He knew Horace was right, and Damien had already shown him considerable courtesy.

After all, Her Enlightened Ladyship's exact words had been, "Throw that pigheaded idiot into a cell and let him cool his head!"

The deputy commander scratched the ends of his hair.

"I told you on the way here. That higher vampire's Ultimatum completely enraged Her Grace.

"Forget handing over the elder sister she's only just reunited with. Even if this were nothing more than extortion for money, the duchy would never bow to threats! Never!

"And whether it was me escorting you to the palace to request an audience, or Damien simply letting you walk away, you could say both of us put our careers on the line.

"I'd wager even Chamberlain Sebastian, who passed along your message, is going to catch hell this time.

"Believe me, you've done everything you can. Even if the prophecy really does come true, you've done everything you could!

"Now go. Find somewhere to eat a hot meal, then take an afternoon nap and get some rest.

"I sincerely hope this nightmare scenario of yours never comes true. But if this so-called Night of Long Fangs really does happen, please hurry over and save us. Thank you!"

Horace pressed his palms together pleadingly.

Victor shook his head with a sigh, pulled several bottles from his herbal satchel, and handed them to the deputy commander.

"Vampire Oil. Apply it to your weapons and it'll make them considerably more effective. Once the sun goes down, make absolutely sure every one of your men is fully armed.

"If I can't prevent this from happening, then survive. Hold out until I find a way to save you!"

Horace accepted the alchemical products and stared blankly as Victor walked away.

The autumn sun shone brightly over the bustling, peaceful streets of Hauteville.

The deputy commander prayed with all his heart that the witcher was simply worrying over nothing.

...

Those who see through fate must endure the torment fate brings.

, The Solitaire Mystery, Jostein Gaarder

...

Victor hurried from Hauteville to the Port District, buying two roast-meat sandwiches along the way to fill his stomach. Once he arrived, the witcher smashed the lock off the door and forced his way into The Rocking Horse.

He had come here to search for traces of Regis.

Half a month had passed since his last visit. A thin layer of dust now covered the toy shelves and the workbench where toys were repaired.

Yet in the second-floor display area, the witcher found a second set of footprints besides those of the herbalist, proving that the "Beast" had returned here and that the two higher vampires had spoken.

So they had met and talked.

Then Regis disappeared, while Dettlaff appeared during the assault on Dun Tynne Castle...

What the hell had happened between those two events?

Victor punched the wall.

No matter what had happened, perhaps from the moment Dettlaff met Syanna and realized he had been deceived, Toussaint had already been destined to suffer this calamity.

It was said that every higher vampire was unique and possessed an ability all their own.

The herbalist Regis, for example, could communicate with ravens.

Dettlaff van der Eretein, meanwhile, possessed such extraordinary force of will that he could command lesser vampires to fight.

Tonight would be the Night of Long Fangs.

Dettlaff would summon countless lesser vampires to attack from every direction, Beauclair included, using claws and fangs to make the blood of innocent civilians flow through the city streets.

Victor slumped into a reclining chair and wound up the music box, letting its gentle melody spill through the room.

He hated this.

But it seemed there was nothing he could do.

Think again.

Think harder.

Was there really no other way?

The witcher covered his face with both hands.

...

If you do not prepare to struggle against fate, fate will reveal its power.

, Niccolò Machiavelli

...

That afternoon, inside a grand mansion in Hauteville, a luxurious gathering known as the Mandragora was being held for artists. Every guest was required to dress elegantly and wear a mask.

Before an imposing iron gate hidden away in a narrow alley, a witcher dressed in heavy armor and wearing a silver fox mask was trying to talk his way past the attendant at the entrance.

"Um... sir, I'm very sorry, but this is a private gathering. Please present your invitation. Without one, I cannot allow you inside."

"I was under the impression the Mandragora welcomed artists like me. I'm performing as a witcher. Look at this costume. Doesn't it seem convincing?"

The speechless attendant glanced meaningfully toward the five guards standing nearby, signaling them to prepare to throw the man out.

People trying to sneak into fashionable upper-class parties in bizarre costumes were hardly uncommon.

Noticing their movements, Victor blinked and clenched his fist, preparing to persuade them physically.

Then a familiar voice came from behind him.

"Stop this discourteous behavior. It might cost you your jobs. This gentleman is here with me."

A slender lady wearing a fitted pale-green gown and a butterfly mask dismissed the attendants following behind her, then gracefully walked up beside the witcher. She slipped his arm against her body while extending an invitation with her right hand.

Miss Butterfly was Vivienne de Tabris.

A mask could hardly prevent the witcher from recognizing her, especially when she had not changed her perfume.

And she had recognized Victor Corion beneath the silver fox mask simply from his voice.

Of course, his clothing and physique had also made it fairly obvious.

After inspecting the invitation, the attendant and guards bowed deeply in apology and allowed the pair to pass through the iron gates at their leisure.

The artists' grand gathering occupied a bright, spacious garden. Beside the fountain stood an unlimited buffet of food and drink. Some guests were reciting poetry, others were performing graceful dances, and there were even impressive acrobatic and magical acts. It resembled an enormous garden festival.

Inside the countless private rooms surrounding the garden, however, many stranger amusements were taking place, drug use, body painting, nude sketching, and energetic bedroom activities among them.

With Victor's superhuman senses, none of the suggestive sounds or distinctive scents could escape his notice.

Vivienne ignored the revelry around them and held tightly to Victor's arm.

"My dear Vic, may I ask what exactly you're doing here?"

"I'm looking for someone. Someone who might be able to stop tonight's disaster. Surely the well-informed Lady de Tabris knows I went to the palace this morning?"

"Of course I know. Her Grace was furious. She tore Sebastian apart. What in the world were you thinking? You actually expected Her Grace to let you take the elder princess to face a vampire! That's the Beast of Toussaint, an evil monster that's already killed three people!"

"Dettlaff did kill three people, that's true, but he did it under Lady Syanna's orders!" Victor replied with leisurely sarcasm. "Besides, I would protect her. With Lady Yennefer and me escorting her, there's no reason the situation couldn't be negotiated..."

His voice gradually faded.

Vivienne had tilted her head and was staring at him as though he were an idiot.

"I've served Her Grace since I was twelve, so I can tell you this very clearly. Her Grace has never forgotten her sister. Now that the elder princess has finally returned to her side, your idea has absolutely no chance of succeeding!"

Victor freed his arm from her embrace, picked up some ham and avocado from the cold buffet, along with a glass of Côte-de-Blessure, and stuffed them down in a few bites.

"Whether something has a chance of succeeding is one thing. Whether you even bother trying is another!"

The witcher was just about to leave when the lady-in-waiting spoke softly.

"Don't be like that... I believe you, Vic. Whatever you say, I believe you. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Victor turned and looked at Vivienne.

Perhaps because of the gems set around her butterfly mask, her eyes seemed to sparkle.

"I'm glad you're willing to help. I need to find Lady Orianna, the patron of this Mandragora gathering. I have something urgent to discuss with her."

After hearing the witcher's request, Vivienne took Victor's hand, pressed close to him, and casually picked up an orange before placing it in his palm.

"No problem. Be good and stay right here. Don't wander off. I'll be back very soon."

With that, she turned and gracefully walked away. She soon found several richly dressed noblewomen and struck up conversations with them before disappearing into the crowd.

The witcher had never attended a Mandragora gathering before, so naturally nobody here knew him.

Specialized work was best left to specialists.

He quietly remained where he was and waited for the lady-in-waiting.

...

A man with serious matters on his mind had little interest in revelry.

Victor politely declined several invitations from women intrigued by his impressive physique and unusual clothing and eager to try something new, then peeled the orange and ate the sweet segments one by one.

Some time later, Vivienne returned to his side, took his hand, and led him deeper inside.

They crossed half the courtyard and climbed a staircase to the second floor.

Several masked guards stood before the staircase leading from the second floor to the third.

They were fully armed, but when they saw Vivienne's butterfly mask, not one of them stepped forward to block her path.

Just like that, Lady de Tabris led the witcher to the third floor and pushed open a magnificent, heavy wooden door.

Inside stood an elegant and stately woman with blue eyes and red hair, leaning against a window as she looked down upon the bustling celebration below.

The woman wore no mask.

Her short hair was simply tied back with a silk cord.

Hearing the two enter, she turned sideways to look at them. Several glowing floating lanterns happened to drift past the window at that moment, and beneath their flickering light her beauty was breathtaking.

Orianna wore a black lace gown with a dark crimson shawl. Around her snow-white neck hung a pearl necklace decorated with three emeralds, each nearly the size of a fist.

Standing face-to-face with the woman, Victor noticed that the School of the Wolf medallion beneath his clothes remained perfectly still.

Yet perhaps because he already knew what she was, his sharpened instincts seemed able to detect some intangible pressure emanating from her.

"Well, what a surprise. Our adorable little Vivienne brings me a man for my inspection for the first time, and he's actually a witcher.

"Could this be the famous Dovahkiin, Viscount Victor Corion? I've heard their kind are exceptionally talented in bed. How was he when you tried him?"

"Oh, my dear Lady Orianna, you've misunderstood. Victor and I don't share that sort of relationship. Ours is something purer, something more spiritual."

Lady de Tabris's tone was perfectly calm and composed.

Her reply would have been flawless if her butterfly mask had managed to hide the blush spreading across her cheeks.

Walking over to the wine cabinet, Orianna took three glasses from the shelf and chuckled softly.

"Spiritual, is it? Then perhaps you wouldn't mind if I tried the physical side first? I'd like to know just how good he really is!"

"No!"

Vivienne rejected the suggestion instantly.

"Sorry!" Victor interrupted their playful banter. "But I have something extremely important that I need to discuss with Lady Orianna, alone."

The witcher placed particular emphasis on the final word.

"Refusing even to spare the time for a single glass of wine before trying to discuss serious matters is terribly rude."

Orianna raised an index finger and gently wagged it.

"Darling, how about a '65 Est Est? Smooth and sweet with just a trace of tartness, like the taste of first love."

Victor's voice was low.

"I'm sorry, Lady Orianna. This really is urgent. There are only two hours left until sunset.

"And Vivienne, if possible, please return to the palace immediately. Stay somewhere safe tonight and don't come outside."

The witcher's words completely shattered the friendly atmosphere.

The lady-in-waiting met his gaze for a moment, then turned toward her hostess and lifted her skirt in a graceful curtsy.

"Orianna, I'm sorry, but I'm feeling a little unwell today. I need to return to the palace and rest."

Orianna slowly ran the tip of her tongue over her upper lip and gave a mysterious smile before placing one of the wine glasses back onto the shelf.

"That's quite all right. In any case, I'm still very happy you came today. Hopefully next time you'll be able to enjoy yourself."

After Vivienne left, Orianna carried the remaining two glasses to the center of the room and handed one to Victor.

"I hope you truly have a good reason for this. Otherwise, I shall be very displeased. You just drove away a hostess's guest right in front of her!"

"The reason is simple. Orianna, member of one of the duchy's oldest families, and at the same time, a higher vampire.

"I need your help finding Dettlaff van der Eretein!"

A flash of blood-red passed through her blue pupils.

The hostess narrowed her eyes.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, you insolent witcher."

"Regis disappeared from The Rocking Horse. Watch my lips carefully. The name I said was Emiel. Regis. The man who usually pretends to be an herbalist.

"And that toy shop, as one of Beauclair's higher vampires, you certainly know who it belongs to!"

The crimson within Orianna's pupils grew deeper.

She raised her glass and swallowed the Est Est. Her slender throat moved as the wine went down, its deep red color almost indistinguishable from blood.

"So Regis told you what I am?"

"No. I know because I'm a prophet.

"And I know much more than that. So much that I don't even know where to begin... enough that I had no choice but to seek you out in such an offensively direct manner."

Orianna pulled out a silk handkerchief and wiped the corner of her mouth, then extended one finger and gently pressed it against the witcher's chest.

"Viscount Corion, whether any of this is true or not, you are an exceedingly irritating man. Very, very irritating.

"Now you have five minutes to talk.

"What exactly do you need me to do?"

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