Chapter Seventeen: Simple and Unadorned

A month ago, had anyone told the young man he would remain in Vugen for an extended period, Victor would have loudly rebuked them for uttering nonsense. Yet, with the week spent in unconsciousness, he found himself having stayed for a full month, nourishing his body for three entire weeks.

He continued to sleep at Angoulême's house. Upon receiving the first payment for goods, he had considered moving out, but abandoned the idea after the girl’s vehement scolding.

During his recuperation, he resumed his habit of morning runs. Each day, after breakfast, he would jog around the mountain town of Vugen, drink a large jug of milk upon finishing, then spar with Angoulême—a perfect regimen for recovery.

Though the girl had never received formal training in swordsmanship, her feral intuition and combat experience were remarkable. It was no wonder she could traverse a thousand miles in search of her daughter alongside Geralt, and survive fierce battles with mercenaries. Victor drew much from their bouts—truthfully, he simply couldn’t best her.

As for her past, Victor had learned the tale by the third day of their acquaintance, coaxed out over several bottles of wine, though she never intended to conceal it. In brief: an illegitimate daughter of Cintran nobility, fostered by a farming family, later sent to a temple when Nilfgaard invaded. Yet the temple was merely a children’s technical academy, and, being older, she was less profitable.

After suffering abuse, she rallied at fifteen, setting fire to the academy with her companions, slaying the madam, and turning to banditry, forming the Hansa. At seventeen, captured by Nilfgaardians and facing execution, she was rescued from the gallows by Geralt—an encounter that changed her fate.

It was, indeed, a story that left one feeling heavy-hearted.

To her, family, belonging, and safety were synonymous with the Hansa—now, of course, known as the Phantom Brigade.

Upon hearing her story, Victor felt a twinge of regret. Her first venture with this cherished brigade was the sale of aphrodisiacs—a somewhat ignoble beginning.

Yet Angoulême seemed unfazed. Every day, after sparring, she would happily deliver goods to the herbal shop under the banner of the Phantom Brigade. She never missed an opportunity to introduce herself as Angoulême Corleon of the Phantom Brigade, as if afraid no one would notice.

Afternoons were reserved for reading. Brigade members must possess knowledge, Victor declared, invoking his authority as leader to institute this new rule: comply or leave the brigade. The wild girl had no choice but to acquiesce.

Evenings were for drinking. In Vugen, sixty percent of the population was non-human, with dwarves making up more than half. With Zoltan’s endorsement, Angoulême’s presence as a half-year resident, and Victor’s lavish generosity, he quickly became a favorite in the taverns.

Despite this, he never drank to excess. By nine each night, he returned home, mixed his wares, drank a cup of hot milk, performed half an hour of stretches, and slept a full six hours.

The life of a wealthy purveyor of aphrodisiacs was, in its own way, humble and unadorned.

A month passed—time flew by as swiftly as an arrow.

…

Late April, night, Angoulême’s living room.

"Is this really for me?" The girl’s round brown eyes widened, her brows twitching with excitement. Before her lay a brand-new set of leather armor reinforced with iron plates, and a Mahakam steel sword.

Without hesitation, she picked up the sword to examine it. Razor-sharp, over three feet long, and weighing less than two pounds. The twelve-inch hilt was wrapped with strips of lizard skin, the scabbard plain and unadorned, yet the mouth and guard were fashioned from black steel—an exquisite piece of craftsmanship.

"This sword looks formidable!" Angoulême turned to Victor, her face radiant with joy.

"Hmph! Blades," Zoltan interjected, "are meant for killing, not for admiring. Don’t judge by first impressions. The key is, your sword is a classic refined alloy, containing graphite and borax…"

Angoulême shot Zoltan a glare and made a face. "You hush! Of course my leader would get me the best—no need for your commentary!" She hugged Victor, bent to kiss Zoltan’s cheek, then gleefully carried her sword and armor to her room to continue packing.

Tomorrow, the Phantom Brigade would leave the city and journey onward to Vizima, the capital of Temeria. Victor, true to his nature, ensured they were equipped with the finest gear Vugen’s southern and northern markets could offer.

Compared to Angoulême, Victor not only had a Mahakam steel sword and custom leather armor, but also something extra—a silver-plated sword.

This sword’s creation was inspired by a conversation with Lambert before his departure.

…

"This… this Wolf School medallion? Is it really for me?"

"Yes. Vesemir asked me to give it to you, saying that if you can't be a mage, you’d want to be a Witcher. You have a strong desire for your own supernatural power; the old man still knows people well."

"But I haven’t undergone the mutation yet…"

"He says you can have it. Anyway… there aren’t many of us left. You know, our whole order is fading away. Even so, are you willing to accept it?"

"A medallion that detects magical forces and monsters—I’ve wanted one for ages."

"Just remember, don’t rely on it completely. It’s not infallible. Some hidden magics or advanced monsters—like vampires—the medallion won’t detect them.

Hey! What are you doing? Don’t hug me—I’m not interested in men!"

"You know, I’m grateful you’ve been with me this far, for everything along the way. Though you’re an old bastard, you’re also a good friend. Sorry I can’t do more for you yet."

"No need for thanks. You can show your gratitude with a bag full of crowns—I know you have them."

"That simple? Then I believe these two bags of crowns are worth a hug!"

"Stay alive. When I’m done, shall I find you in Vizima?"

"No need. Let’s meet at Kaer Morhen."

…

The next day, at the wharf outside Vugen, Victor let Angoulême board first and stood by the dock to say farewell to Zoltan. Their journey to Vizima would begin with a boat ride to Flotsam, the gateway to the Pontar Valley.

Just before boarding, the dwarven warrior said he had something to tell Victor, keeping him back for a private word. Though Zoltan had yet to speak, Victor could already guess what was on his mind.

Zoltan waved to Angoulême, who had climbed aboard, his words muffled by his thick beard, "I don’t much care for you… since the third day you woke up."

Hearing this, Victor raised an eyebrow, about to respond, but Zoltan pressed on without pause.

"The reason is simple. Your thoughts are too deep; I can never tell what you’re thinking. I don’t trust you.

Being shrewd can protect Angoulême, but it could also, unknowingly, get her killed. Even if you seem to treat her well now…

I know why she’s chosen you; that’s her call. I can't stop her from following you, but I can tell you my concerns."

He turned to Victor. "So, leader of the Phantom Brigade, brother of Ciri, Victor Corleon from Bell Town—what do you have to say to me?"

There was, at heart, a lack of trust in Zoltan’s gaze, Victor reflected.

Vesemir had trusted Ciri completely, fortified by half a year of acquaintance. Lambert and Eskel had both been vouched for by Vesemir and Ciri, plus a whole winter spent together.

But that was not the case with Zoltan. Two strangers, connected only by the Wolf School medallion. The medallion could win him help with illness or business, but it wasn’t enough to ease Zoltan’s worries about Victor taking Angoulême away.

Victor had made a mistake, letting his initial goodwill and familiarity with Zoltan show too much, never hiding his sharpness. To Zoltan, it made him seem too calculating, not like a youth.

Yet Victor felt no guilt at Zoltan’s confrontation; after all, time would prove his worth.

The young man glanced up at Angoulême, who was perched atop the mast like a nimble monkey, scanning the horizon. "Zoltan, do you believe in fate?" His voice was calm and far-reaching. "I don’t believe in fate, but fate beckoned to me, bringing a miracle."

Victor lowered his gaze to Zoltan. "I can’t explain in detail, but to me, Angoulême is important. She is my starting point in interacting with the world—proof that I can change it.

I will do my utmost to protect her."