Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Nine: Dumplings, the Treasured Sword, and the Technical Institute

It was quite late by the time they reached Hattori’s dumpling shop. The outdoor tables and chairs had already been cleared away, but since Victor and Angoulême were regulars, they didn’t worry about etiquette and pushed the door open to walk right in.

The elven chef was standing with his back to the door, making dumplings at the stove. He spun around, startled by the two masked figures, but the young man and woman pulled off their masks in time, sparing him from having to scream for help.

"Damn it! Are you trying to scare me to death so you can inherit my dumpling shop?"

Angoulême giggled mischievously.

Victor yawned. "Thanks for the joke, Hattori, but I have absolutely no interest in inheriting your shop. Could I get twenty cheese and potato dumplings and twenty pork and spinach, for here?"

After placing the order, the boy sat down at a table. Angoulême went to scoop up the customary sour cream for the dumplings and the white sauce Victor favored.

The elven chef’s craftsmanship resulted in thick, firm dough. Compared to the light, silky dumplings of Victor’s memories, these lacked that delicate texture, but the filling was excellent, rich in both meat and vegetables. Regardless, seeing pleated dumplings like these in a fantasy world felt incredibly heart-warming.

When the food was served, the two members of the Phantom Troupe devoured it with lightning speed. Just as they were about to pay, Hattori held up a hand.

"Greetings, Victor Corleone—the Butcher of Novigrad. There is something I would like to ask your help with."

The boy tilted his head at the elf. Given the shop's location, it wasn't surprising the chef had witnessed the massacre, but it took real courage to address him by that title to his face.

"If you really need my help, you shouldn't use that title. It’s quite rude, and aren't you afraid I might draw my sword and give you a taste of it?" Victor said, sounding annoyed.

"Because you are not... The 'Butcher of Novigrad' is a doppler. I knew of such creatures back when I lived in the Valley of Flowers. As for the 'mass murderer' propaganda spread by the Temple Guards, any smart person knows not to believe it; they rarely tell the truth anyway. Besides, I saw you chasing him with my own eyes—two identical men, two identical faces, but dressed completely differently."

So, Hattori wasn't just bold; he believed he had seen the truth, which was why he felt comfortable teasing Victor with the Butcher's name.

The boy gestured with his palm turned upward, signaling for the elf to continue.

"By Melitele’s grace, may the departed rest in peace. The point is, that crazed doppler, after copying your swordsmanship, was actually able to suppress Babu Tabad—the Zerrikanian working for the Beggar King. That is why I believe you have the ability to solve my problem..."

"Hey! Hattori, get to the point!" Angoulême interrupted impatiently.

Choked up for a moment, the chef let out a breath and straightened his expression. "...Before I opened this dumpling shop, I was a master swordsmith."

Dumplings and broadswords!?

The keywords hit home, triggering a lost memory. The "Prophet Victor" sent an urgent, high-priority notification: the elf before him wasn't just a swordsmith; he was a "Master Swordsmith"!

"A swordsmith!? Do you have any of your past work?" Even though the notification was almost certainly accurate, Victor asked the question to play along.

Lifting his chin slightly, the elven chef, Éibhear Hattori, crossed his arms over his chest and said proudly, "Come upstairs. I’ll show you the collection I’m most proud of!"

...

Shortly after, the Phantom Troupe was on their way home.

"So, we’ve decided to help Hattori?"

"Why not? The matter is simple and straightforward. A bunch of dockside thugs? With the skills of our Phantom Troupe, we’ll definitely handle it. You saw his past work—that steel sword was truly well-crafted. My 'Dragon-Slayer' finally has a path forward. Since Yuna refused to make it for me, I’ll have Hattori do it. If he dares to point a finger at me and scold me like Yuna did, I’ll use my fists to teach him exactly what 'the customer is always right' means."

Victor was in a great mood. A master swordsmith had dropped into his lap; he had to secure this, so he wouldn't have to worry about who would craft his weapons in the future.

Time passed quickly. The bloody massacre was three days ago, and Glory Lane had returned to prosperity, no longer as lifeless as before. However, walking down the street, many vendors now carried small shields or swords; business at Fergus’s blacksmith shop had clearly picked up these past few days as people sought defensive weapons.

Angoulême stretched. "Fine. I just wanted to say that you don't have many days left in Novigrad. Is it really worth spending so much time on him?"

"Definitely worth it. Hattori is a master swordsmith. The moment I stepped onto that second floor, I received an epiphany—a vision of the future. We will get along well with him. It’s a pity he has his own shop, or I would have loved for him to be our third employee."

"As long as you're sure. We'll wait for him to set a time, and we'll accompany him to the negotiations. Besides that, is there anything else you want to do?"

The Public-Spirited Citizen: "...Passiflora is the most famous brothel in Novigrad. As the saying goes, 'You don't know your body is weak until you visit the Passiflora.' But there’s also Crippled Kate’s, the Rosemary and Thyme... and of course, the streetwalkers."

The Traveler: "Don't the priests have an opinion on this? Such moral decay happening right under the nose of the Eternal Fire? Don't they get angry?"

The Public-Spirited Citizen: "Ha! On the surface, they're furious. But behind the scenes... they spend a bit of coin too, and not to 'save the wayward youth,' let me tell you."

Victor blinked, and Angoulême blinked. Neither had expected to hear such "vital intelligence" from casual passersby.

Angoulême walked with a light step. "If you don't have other plans, go to the Passiflora tomorrow. Since we're already here, it would be a shame not to go sightseeing."

"Hmm... true, it might be worth a look," Victor nodded in agreement. "Otherwise, if someone asks how gorgeous the Passiflora is after I've been to Novigrad, and I can't answer, it would be too embarrassing. It would seem like something is wrong."

Angoulême suddenly remarked, "It really is unfair, isn't it? Why does the Passiflora only have female staff to provide pleasure for men?"

"The market just hasn't been developed yet. Someday, there will be entertainment venues with male staff, so that wealthy women with needs can also come to play... no, to experience different styles of men."

The boy was just speaking idly, but the girl clearly took it to heart.

"Great idea! Vic, you really are a damn genius. I never told you before, but I've always thought so. That's it! When I open a brothel in Toussaint, I’ll open a male-staffed one so that the girls in Beauclair can all live happy, satisfied lives."

Beauclair was the capital of the Duchy of Toussaint, currently ruled by Duchess Anna Henrietta. Opening a male brothel in her country? Victor didn't think much of the plan, unless Dandelion the poet was involved, given his unfathomable, deep relationship with the Duchess.

"By the way, let me tell you one more thing. You know my herb pouch can expand as my spirit grows." Thinking of this, the boy was in high spirits, a smile playing on his lips.

Angoulême was still fantasizing about her groundbreaking brothel. "Mmh, so?"

"After the doppler incident a few days ago, my spiritual power increased significantly. Do you know how much the pouch can hold now?"

Seeing Vic’s enthusiastic look, Angoulême knew she had to play along. "How much?"

"The pouch can now carry a total volume of twelve cubic feet! That’s about the size of a room. In other words, I can prepare lots and lots of things inside to protect my teammates and strike down my enemies."

Imagining it in her head, the girl grew excited as well. After the battle in Lindenvale against the "Beautiful Girl," she had grown fond of the thrill of crushing monsters with "asymmetric equipment." A whole room’s worth of bombs and traps, carried in a pouch—it was practically a mobile armory.

...

They returned to the blacksmith shop while chatting. As soon as they stepped inside, Victor keenly sensed something was wrong. Yuna and Fergus had been talking, but when they saw him return, they immediately stopped and acted as if nothing was amiss.

Because they weren't trying to be funny, it made the scene even more ridiculous. The boy couldn't help but think of a line: "There’s a mole, abort the trade!" It fit these two amateur conspirators perfectly.

The girl clearly saw it too, but she didn't care. Any plot would only be aimed at the boss. After handing the takeout dumplings to the blacksmith and the dwarf, she ran to the back of the house to boil water for a bath. Although Victor had handled the most "fragrant" parts of the day, the image of Ruff’s messy end was too impactful. Out of pure psychological discomfort, Angoulême didn't dare go to bed without a bath.

Victor wasn't in a hurry to return to his alchemy workshop. He sat in a lounge chair in the smithy to cool off, guessing what these two employees were hiding from him.

"Ahem." After finishing his food, the dwarf finally approached.

Using a cough as an opening was cliché and awkward, but to a boy who had been dealing with old foxes and master schemers since arriving in Novigrad, it was actually quite cute.

Facing the boss’s gaze, which seemed to see right through him, Fergus spoke with some embarrassment: "It’s like this, Boss. I think... even though Ruff running away was awful, he’s still young and doesn't know any better. So, I was thinking, maybe we could try to find him? After all, everyone has been getting along quite well lately..."

So, Yuna wanted to find her fellow countryman, but because of the "Dragon-Slayer" sword incident, she had just lost her temper at Victor and now couldn't bring herself to swallow her pride, so she pushed the dwarf to be her mouthpiece.

Having figured it out, Victor smiled and patted the dwarf on the shoulder. "Sure, no problem. He disappeared so suddenly, I’m worried too. Novigrad isn't a place just anyone can survive in. Feel free to do whatever you need to find him. If you need money, you can get it reimbursed by Angoulême. I fully understand."

After saying this, he stood up from the lounge chair and bowed slightly toward Yuna. Yuna nodded back in acknowledgment.

This feeling of mutual politeness and respect was nice, Victor thought. If it were that old fox Angoulême, she would know he wouldn't actually take this kind of thing to heart.

...

Late at night, in the women’s bedroom on the third floor of the blacksmith shop.

"Hahaha, you don't need to be nervous, and there's no need to be embarrassed! You should have asked me about this worry sooner. Let me tell you, Victor comes from Belhaven. Although they have many strange customs, there is one thing I admire—as long as it doesn't cause actual harm or involve matters of principle, his tolerance for offending women is almost limitless. Not to mention, he was the one in the wrong regarding the Dragon-Slayer sword. What could you even do with that weird thing once it’s forged? It would definitely just end up as a decoration. It’s like this 'Anti-Flea Sword'; I’m actually regretting it a bit now. I should have traded it for his Prometheus; at least that would have been useful."

Hearing Angoulême’s funny take, Yuna couldn't help but laugh out loud.

Just then, Catherine, the bird on the perch by the window, suddenly cooed. The girl paused, leaned toward the window to observe, and realized it was Victor. He had left the blacksmith shop and was heading east.

Logically, if he were Batman, he should be heading out from the wine cellar in the basement. Since he wasn't Batman, why was he going out so late?

In her confusion, Angoulême noticed Victor’s right hand. He was holding a "straw hat."