"And… these are high-end goods, not something an ordinary tavern maid could afford." Her voice still held a laugh, but it was as sharp as a hound's.
No sooner had she spoken than she snapped her fingers softly.
"Snap!" The candelabras around the bedroom instantly lit up in unison.
The warm candlelight dispelled the darkness, illuminating Triss's current attire.
A seductive deep green lace lingerie set, highlighting her fiery red hair and snow-white skin, made her even more striking.
She was looking at Karl with a smiling expression, but her emerald eyes glinted with scrutiny.
Karl didn't answer; instead, he responded with action.
He suddenly turned, and amidst Triss's soft shriek, he scooped her up in his arms.
Then, he walked a few steps to the bed and gently tossed her onto the soft bedding.
He immediately leaned over, supporting himself on either side of her body with his hands, his face slowly approaching, his intentions clear.
Triss, however, extended a pale hand and pressed it against his chin, stopping his approach.
The smile in her eyes deepened, and her tone was cloyingly sweet: "My dear, don't be in such a hurry to change the subject."
"Tell me, how did you get several different high-end perfume scents on you? Ordinary tavern waiters can't afford these things, can they?"
Karl looked at the sorceress beneath him, full of jealousy yet still breathtakingly beautiful, and smiled helplessly.
He admitted frankly: "I went to the House of Night with Geralt for a few drinks to celebrate, that's all."
"Of course, just drinking, nothing else happened."
"The House of Night?!" Triss's expression instantly changed upon hearing the name, and anger surged.
As a sorceress, she was clearly aware of the establishment's reputation.
But when she heard Karl's latter half of the sentence, that absolutely nothing else happened.
And upon closer inspection, he was neatly dressed; apart from the smell of alcohol and mixed perfumes, there wasn't even a lipstick mark on him.
Her expression softened slightly. She let out a soft huff, her eyes still suspicious, but more filled with a playful petulance and a hint of challenge.
"Hmph, you say nothing happened, so nothing happened? I don't believe it… whether anything else happened, words alone aren't enough…"
Before she finished speaking, she suddenly exerted force, and catching Karl off guard, she pushed him aside. With a nimble roll, she ended up straddling Karl.
She looked down at Karl, her fiery red hair falling around her, her eyes sparkling with allure and a touch of slyness, full of spring-like vitality and immense temptation.
"…You'll have to prove it to me with actions."
The candlelight flickered, illuminating the intertwined figures on the bed.
The scent of roses mingled with ambiguous gasps, testifying to a long and intense night… The next morning, as dawn was just breaking, Karl was already up.
He quietly finished washing and dressing.
Looking back, Triss was still deep in sleep, her cheeks flushed with post-satisfaction, like ripe apples.
She occasionally furrowed her brow slightly, then slowly relaxed it, a faint, sweet smile always playing on her lips.
Clearly, she was very satisfied with last night's "proof."
Karl tiptoed out of his lodging and arrived at the inn where he had temporarily stayed before the Martial Arts Tournament.
At this time, Dalton and Philip had just woken up and were washing.
Dalton moved efficiently, washing, making the bed, and packing his luggage in one fluid motion, appearing capable and steady.
Philip, however, was clearly several steps behind. He had only recently become Karl's attendant.
Although Dalton was guiding him, many habits had not yet fully formed, and his movements still carried the impulsiveness of youth and a subtle, almost imperceptible anxiety.
"Knock, knock, knock!"
Hearing the knock, Dalton cautiously asked, "Who is it?"
"It's me, Karl."
Dalton immediately stepped forward to open the door and respectfully bowed: "Lord Karl!"
Karl entered the room and smiled at the two. Without unnecessary pleasantries, he went straight to the point: "Get ready, it's time for you to depart for Bardu."
He pointed to several packed boxes in the corner, containing the spoils he had won from the Martial Arts Tournament.
Such as the Temerian Lily Halberd, the Nymph's Bulwark Armor, and the magnificent warhorse "Nightwind," which would replace his current warhorse, Roach, who also needed care along the way.
"Take all these rewards back and give them to Raymond," Karl calmly instructed.
He still referred to him as Raymond, not father.
Although the pardon had confirmed their father-son relationship and legal connection.
But over a decade of estrangement and an almost non-existent emotional foundation made the title of father still unfamiliar and difficult for him to utter.
Dalton immediately bowed: "Yes, Lord Karl! We will prepare to depart immediately!"
Philip also quickly bowed, nervously echoing the sentiment.
Both immediately bent down, preparing to move the heavy boxes and equipment.
However, Karl gently raised a hand, stopping their actions.
"Wait, no need to rush with the moving. Before you depart…"
"I still need to hire a reliable Witcher to escort you and these items back to Bardu," Karl's voice was steady.
Dalton nodded, showing no surprise on his face; he also knew the value of these items.
The exquisitely crafted Nymph's Bulwark Armor, the Temerian Lily Halberd, a symbol of honor and power, and the magnificent warhorse Nightwind.
And most importantly, the pardon personally issued by King Foltest, which changed Lord Karl's destiny.
Combined, these items were invaluable, enough to tempt any bandit to take risks.
Hiring an experienced Witcher for an escort along the way was the wisest decision.
But one thing filled Dalton's heart with doubt and a touch of unease.
He hesitated repeatedly, looking at Karl's calm profile.
Finally, he mustered up the courage and cautiously asked, "Lord Karl… will you… will you not be returning to Bardu with us?"
He carefully observed Karl's reaction, and seeing that the other party was not immediately displeased, he continued: "If… if Lord Raymond sees you also returning victoriously, he… he will surely be very happy."
At this point, Dalton paused, seemingly weighing his words.
Then, with some apprehension, he softly added the title: "…Young Master."
When the words "Young Master" left his lips, Dalton's heart leaped into his throat.
He knew clearly Karl's attitude towards Lord Raymond, still addressing him by name, never having heard the word "father."
He worried that this overly familiar and possessive title would displease this young man who had already achieved esteemed status and exceptional martial prowess.
When Karl heard the title "Young Master," his lips moved slightly, as if he wanted to say something.
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