Chapter Twenty-Five: What You Never Forget Will Surely Echo Back

Night—Between the outskirts of Eldrand City and the Floating Harbor Forest—

After finishing Victor’s expertly prepared basil-roasted chicken, Angoulême sat beside the campfire, whispering endlessly to her falcon. Ever since Catherine arrived, Angoulême’s nonsense had noticeably decreased—perhaps thanks to Catherine’s gentle reminders, or maybe because all her silly words were now reserved for her.

Victor made no effort to hide his actions from Angoulême; after all, she couldn’t discern the difference. He set up a small pot, boiled water, and began his mysterious alchemy. Into the brew went mandrake, nostrake, allspice, blood moss, black reed petals, and a dash of dwarven spirits, followed by careful stirring.

Reflecting on his year in the world of monster hunting, his physical strength, swordsmanship, and traditional alchemy had all improved markedly—only his progress in the mysterious art of alchemy remained slow. He still excelled at blending just a handful of concoctions.

Aside from the new stamina tonic, most of his formulas—such as the virility draught, hangover cure, and the post-coital remedy he was currently preparing—were perfected long ago in the world of alchemy, along with his expertise in culinary and household concoctions.

Victor knew well why his advancement was slow. First, his mental strength could not sustain prolonged focus required for complex blends. Second, his rational upbringing stifled imagination; unless he could mentally simulate a process reproducible in reality, he struggled to create from nothing.

Neither problem was within his power to solve. He had searched for formulas to enhance mental strength since his days in Benard, but such recipes were monopolized by mages who needed them as much as he did, and the few promising ingredients were rare and prohibitively expensive.

The effects of rational education proved even more troublesome, for “belief” was a purely subjective sensation; even a hint of doubt could sabotage his success in mysterious alchemy. But his worldview was shaped in the era of the internet, where skepticism was ingrained, so all he could do was broaden his horizons and let time slowly erode these obstacles.

A faint glow shimmered as Victor kept the alchemical cauldron’s rainbow light to a minimum. He extracted a dozen candy-like pills, packed them into a small leather pouch, and tossed it to Angoulême.

She caught the pouch, puzzled, and looked at Victor.

While tidying up his cauldron, the youth explained, “You know, the leader always gives you the best. This is the best post-coital remedy.”

“Post-coital remedy?” The girl’s confusion persisted, unable to grasp Victor’s subtle way of speaking.

Victor lowered his voice, striving for seriousness. “It’s a contraceptive. Take it within three days after intercourse and it’s guaranteed to work. You might experience mild dizziness, headache, nausea, vomiting, abdominal pain, or fatigue, but it’s all minor.”

His explanation was clear, but she was still lost.

“So why give it to me?” she asked.

“Wasn’t yesterday the festival? I saw you with Cyran… ahem… so, you know…”

“Oh! Leader, you mean that? I didn’t do that with him!”

An unexpected answer left Victor bewildered. “Uh… you didn’t? Then why was he so persistent…?”

“He likes me, but I don’t do that with anyone outside the Hansa,” Angoulême declared matter-of-factly.

There it was again—the Hansa theory. Victor understood, but it still hung him up. “But I’m the only man in the company now. Does that mean…?”

Angoulême spoke with innocent candor, words that struck straight to the heart. “Leader, you’re not an option! You know about my past, so I decided long ago to only do that with members of the Hansa—and only with someone strong and handsome. You are strong enough, but sadly you’re not handsome.”

She stroked her falcon’s feathers and continued, “I’m fine, really. It’s been years, and my needs are low. Now that Catherine’s here, I’m not lonely.

But if you’re truly concerned, then hurry and recruit a strong, handsome man for the company!”

Victor smiled on the surface, rubbed his nose, and silently vowed, “You’d better get used to it. No men will join this company until you’re forty!”

“No matter what!” The girl tossed the pouch, then tucked it into her bosom. “Thank you for your concern, leader. I’ll keep it.”

…

The tent was spacious enough for two, more than comfortable.

After tidying up his alchemical gear, Victor slipped into the tent. Angoulême was still outside, fiddling with something. Only when Victor was nearly asleep did she quietly crawl inside, disrupting his drifting thoughts.

She settled in and began, as naturally as always, “Leader, did you know? Catherine misses the forest.”

Angoulême had started her bedtime conversation, and Victor’s drowsiness was under siege once more.

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm. She finds it uncomfortable here—no tall trees to perch on.

I sort of miss the forest myself, and the friends we drank and danced with. Yesterday was such fun. Leader, do you think we’ll see them again?”

Victor paused. “It’s best not to dwell on it. The more you wish for it, the more likely it becomes real.”

“Oh, I thought you’d at least want to see Toruviel again?”

“Believe me, if you ever run into them in a human settlement, stay as far away as you can. They’re bound to bring trouble—in every sense.”

“I thought we were friends?”

Under Angoulême’s persistent questioning, Victor’s sleep was thoroughly wrecked.

He turned to face her, speaking seriously. “Let me ask you—if one day they fought the Floating Harbor garrison and you were there, whose side would you take?”

“That’s simple. Theirs!” Angoulême answered without hesitation.

…

Victor hadn’t expected to be so conflicted—a problem he’d pondered over and over while brewing his potions—yet Angoulême had her answer ready. Worse still, the fool’s answer matched his own!

Curious, he asked, “Why did you decide that?”

“Because they’re closer to us.”

“But the garrison are humans, like us.”

“Race isn’t the priority. Zoltan said so, and I agree.”

“Oh… how did he explain it?”

“Back when I was searching for Ciri with Uncle Geralt, we met Zoltan for the first time. He and his dwarf companions were helping a group of human women and children escape the war. Those women depended on their protection but despised their rough manners.

I felt uneasy about it and went to complain, but overheard Zoltan chatting with Geralt. He told Uncle—”

Zoltan Chivay: “My greatest flaw is my boundless altruism,” he said. “I can’t see people in trouble without helping them.

But I’m a rational dwarf—I know I can’t help everyone. If I tried, it’d be no more than a drop in the ocean for the world and all its creatures.

In other words, wasted effort.

So, I choose to help only certain people, so my effort isn’t wasted.

I prioritize those closest to me.”

Angoulême’s imitation of Zoltan’s accent was so vivid that Victor felt he was there, listening to the dwarf’s philosophy.

Yes, discerning right from wrong at every moment is too difficult and foolish in chaotic times. Better to hold to one’s baseline, and simply help those closest.

Victor sighed, “Zoltan truly is a wise dwarf.”

“So our company will do the same?”

“Yes! The Phantom Company always stands with its friends.”

After finishing their conversation, Angoulême’s breathing gradually grew steady, and Victor reclaimed his sleep.

…

At midnight, Catherine let out a sharp cry, wings beating.

Angoulême sprang up like a cat. “Catherine says there’s danger!” She grabbed her steel sword and rushed out of the tent.

Victor followed swiftly, catching a faint stench drifting on the wind as he exited.

He sniffed… analyzed… trying to categorize this unfamiliar odor.

He pulled four vials from his herb pouch and handed them to Angoulême. “Drink these three immediately, and coat your sword with this oil. It’s a pack of fiends—listen for my cues, I may throw a bomb. Let’s hope there aren’t any fiend warriors.”

He then took out four more vials, biting open three and downing them in quick succession. With the last, he drew his silver sword and carefully poured ogre oil onto the blade.

Bathed in moonlight, Victor steadied his breath, nerves on edge. This was only his second time slaying monsters and demons—though their foes were just fiends, tonight promised to be another long, grueling battle.