Chapter 121: Angolan's Life in Norchester

The autumn air was cool and pleasant. Anguaran, her long hair slightly shading her eyes, brushed back the bangs on her forehead and secured them with a small cap, tying the rest into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. She was preparing to make an extra trip to the barbershop today.

She wore the new leather armor—her first order since Fergus’s blacksmith shop opened. As anticipated, business had been slow during the first ten days, with only a few previously stocked items sold.

Strapping a steel sword to her waist, she and Victor now both wielded the newly forged “Skellige Steel Swords” by Yuna, each weighing about three pounds.

Opening the window of her room, she let Katerine perch on her shoulder before leisurely descending the stairs to fetch some raw meat from the kitchen to feed her companion.

…

Stepping through the inner chamber, she was surprised to find Victor absent from his usual spot, though the fire beneath the cauldron still burned.

Peering in, she spotted dozens of ducats settled at the bottom of the pot. It seemed the captain had only stepped away temporarily, likely to discuss matters with Yuna at the forge nearby, and would return soon.

Decorating the house cost money; alchemical tools cost money; materials cost money. Their previous savings had been exhausted, and now two more mouths had to be fed.

Since the grand opening, the boy had spent almost every day at home, alternating between counting money and sleeping, venturing out only once to attend a salon poetry reading.

She pulled a note from beneath a stack on the table—a handwritten list from the captain detailing supplies to purchase, alongside a hefty pouch of crowns and a shopping basket. Inside the basket was a box of potions: half hangover cures, half virility tonics. These had to be delivered to the consignment alchemist, along with collecting payment from yesterday’s sales.

Returning to her old trade was Anguaran’s own suggestion, drawn by the tempting profit margins. If the potions were crafted by mages or other alchemists, the middle class simply couldn’t afford them; Victor’s affordable, bulk-produced, and reasonably effective remedies perfectly met customers’ needs.

Moreover, after numerous righteous deeds—slaying demons and monsters—she no longer lacked a sense of accomplishment. Maturing in temperament, she would no longer peddle virility potions under the guise of the Phantom Troupe.

…

She opened the door to the smithy’s front chamber. Sure enough, Victor was there, engaged in a discussion with Yuna about demon metal applications.

Anguaran was not an expert in this field; she only knew that high-tier weapons generally fell into two categories: enchanted weapons and anti-magic weapons. Enchanted weapons had spells imbued to produce special effects and extra lethality, while anti-magic weapons incorporated demon metal to disrupt spellcasting and negate the effects of enchanted weapons.

Not wanting to interrupt, she patted Fergus on the shoulder as a greeting and, bearing her basket, sashayed out the door with her hawk perched and sword at her side.

…

“Radiant Alley” was a circular street divided into an outer and inner ring. The inner ring was the heart of the “Rotwood,” accessible only to the beggar king’s subjects or those who had earned his favor. Ordinary residents lived in the outer ring.

The young woman didn’t care much for such complicated matters, but the boy never ceased nagging her about the enterprise. Thankfully, Fergus and Yuna shared the burden of teaching the captain’s nightly lessons.

Lessons filled with a victim mentality: “Secrets to protecting yourself in Novigrad,” “How to deal with temple guards,” “The art of bribery,” “If a window’s open, just jump out!”

She habitually made her way to “Hatoli Dumpling Shop” and sat down, loudly calling out, “Ebhard, twenty dumplings to start—ten chicken, ten potato and spinach, no onions!”

She had discovered this dumpling shop on her third day after moving in. The owner, an elf skilled in making “Redania dumplings,” offered a variety of flavors, all quite delicious.

“Welcome, Anguaran! Your taste is impeccable,” Ebhard Hatoli replied cheerfully from behind the stove.

Yawning, she replied, “Of course, the customer is always right.”

She scooped some sour cream from the condiment area, preparing to dip her dumplings.

…

After a satisfying meal, Anguaran skirted past the “Altar of the Eternal Flame.” These stone pavilions were scattered throughout the city, their central flames burning day and night, making Novigrad truly a city that never sleeps.

Though she thought it a waste of fuel, she kept silent. The captain’s lessons sternly warned that anyone criticizing this was unsurprisingly burned at the stake.

Handing over the small box of potions to the merchant and receiving a full pouch of crowns, she proceeded to “The High Prelate’s Square” to buy the items listed on the note.

In the world’s most famous marketplace, everything was available—from exotic spices imported from distant Zerrikania to the simplest iron nails. She quickly filled her basket with the necessary goods.

“Beware! A swindler is at large!”

“Residents of Novigrad! I hereby warn you: Klaus Fettling is a liar and a fraud!

His ‘miracle hair growth formula’ is simply colored well water from the Vizima district with some clove extract.

The only effect of his potion is to make you run to the privy day and night. This is my tragic personal experience.

If this shameless liar comes to your home, do not buy from him; tell him to swallow his own medicine.”

—Walker Orlinger

Pausing before the bulletin board and reading the notice, Anguaran grinned from ear to ear. She saw a business opportunity and resolved to inform Victor that many in the city were in need of hair growth potions.

She tore off the notice, folded it carefully, and tucked it into her bosom before continuing her leisurely shopping.

Suddenly, her eyes sparkled as she spotted a note on the door of an alchemy shop: “New stock: Forktail Dragon Marrow.” This was exactly the ingredient Victor had been eager to acquire.

She paid for the Forktail Dragon marrow and placed it in her basket. Along with the “Flying Lion Monster venom gland” Victor had recently obtained while delivering a letter to Yavin, the only missing ingredient was the “Albino Vampire Banshee’s tongue.” With that, Victor could brew the initial version of the Wolf School’s “Green Grass Potion.”

Recalling Victor’s warning that the “Green Grass Trial” had a seventy percent mortality rate, she suddenly stopped in her tracks.

…

Inside the opulent hall of Novigrad’s Vivaldi Bank.

Vimi Vivaldi, a bald, gray-bearded dwarf dressed in elegant tailored clothes, had cultivated his family’s bank into the largest institution in Novigrad.

Noticing Anguaran’s entrance, he smiled broadly and approached, “Ah! My dearest and most beautiful Lady Anguaran, it is a pleasure to serve you once more.” Peering behind her, he asked, “Has Mr. Victor still not arrived? I hope to meet him soon.”

She smiled brightly, “If he heard you say that, he’d be delighted. He often speaks admiringly of your business acumen.”

The shiny bald head confirmed to Anguaran that the hair growth potion truly had a promising future.

“Same service as before?”

“Yes! Exchange all these crowns for ducats.”

The final stop of her daily itinerary was always at the bank, where she converted her remaining “crown silver eagles” into three times the amount of “unicorns.”