Thinking over what Victor had said, Lambert had to admit Sabrina really had been a ferocious sorceress. A normal witcher had to stay polite even with some local baron, but she'd been someone who could go toe-to-toe with a king.
"But," he spotted the hole in the argument. "Even if the kings don't trust mages anymore, what does that have to do with us?"
Uh…
Victor got stuck. He realized it was hard to explain to Lambert just how tangled the chain reactions were. Truth be told, if he hadn't already seen how the story went later on, he wouldn't have thought it was a big deal either.
Who would believe this was the warning sign of a future, thunderous, continent-wide witch hunt? If he tried to talk about it now—before the authority of mages fully collapsed—nobody would take him seriously.
"Fine… forget what I just said. Different angle." Victor cleared his throat and pressed on. "Anyway, to improve the Trial of the Grasses, I've been investigating well-known alchemists at the grand market. I found that there's a master alchemist in Vizima named Kalkstein worth paying attention to… He might give me some ideas."
Lambert waved a hand, signaling for him to keep going. He wanted to see what else Victor could come up with—and how good his explanations really were.
"As for the potions, I have a unique secret process that lets me mass-produce quickly, so selling them now builds wealth that saves me even more time later. And researching talismans ties into how mages do enchantments. That's it!"
After delivering that, the boy gave Lambert the same dismissive little wave, as if to say: explanation over—you idiot, you simply don't grasp the depth of Master Victor's long game.
"All right. Sounds like you're still working in the right direction," Lambert conceded. "Improving the Trial of the Grasses and all that—whatever, I don't understand it anyway. That's between you and Vesemir. The two of you are always acting mysterious.
"So what can I do for you? Or are you planning to live here long-term? I'm getting ready to leave this place…"
"Because you're running out of money, right? Ban Ard isn't cheap!" Victor stabbed straight at the truth, clean and fast. As long as Lambert never fixed his idea of finances, he'd always be broke.
"Hey! Show your mentor proper respect, apprentice!" Lambert crowed, delighted as if he'd found Victor's weak spot. If Victor intended to become a witcher, then Lambert had clearly been promoted to "master."
Victor had expected this. He stayed calm. "I'm Vesemir's apprentice. That makes us peers. At most I'll call you 'senior.' And you know you're supposed to buy your juniors dinner."
"Tch. I'll treat you to a grand feast—the fine flavor of my steel sword! You can savor it with your whole body." The witcher made a show of unstrapping his steel sword and laying it across his legs.
"Uh… anyway, I'm heading to Vizima. Are you willing to come with me?" Victor decisively changed the subject. This old bastard really would take revenge during sword practice—better not poke him any further.
Once it turned serious, Lambert sobered up too. "If you want to reach the capital of Temeria, taking the waterways is fastest. Head south to Vergen first and catch a boat… then follow the Pontar downstream, pass Flotsam, reach La Valette Castle, and turn into the Ismena River—you'll get straight to Vizima on the lakeshore."
Without hesitation, Victor said, "We leave tomorrow."
…
"Are you sure you won't stay?" Bras asked at the gates of Ban Ard, coming specially to see them off—saying goodbye to his abruptly cut-short virility-tonic enterprise, and making one last attempt to keep Victor here. "What we're doing is righteous work, and it's booming!"
He was on the verge of tears—because he hadn't even had time to get used to living well. Ten days of good living, and it was already over… Not enough to break into full sobs, but enough to sting. And even if they hadn't known each other long, a friendship built on profit could still feel unshakable.
Dorregaray might have put on a friendly face, but Lambert still had no love for mages as a whole—let alone this mercantile one with deep lines around his mouth, who looked more like a slick trader than a gentleman.
So Lambert nudged his horse forward a few steps, making it clear he didn't want to be part of Victor's farewell.
"Honored Mr. Bras, forgive me—I can't stay," Victor said with perfect courtesy, the kind of polished words people used for parting. "This journey is one I must take. Our time together was short, but pleasant. I'm grateful for the help you've given me."
Bras dipped into a small bow. "Very well. But no matter what—whenever you return to Ban Ard, Raffard's Decoction will always welcome you."
Victor left Ban Ard, but he didn't let Bras's send-off be for nothing. He handed over a full sixty vials of virility tonic—limited stock—enough to keep Bras living well for another ten days. The price was only a bag of coin and a trade of horses.
Yes—Faithful was handed over to Bras in exchange for Bras's mare.
It was a rushed decision, but Victor made it quickly and firmly, because of something Lambert had said offhand before they left:
"Faithful's actually pretty decent. Not fast, but you look steady in the saddle—like it's comfortable…"
Victor realized, with sudden horror, that his old bit of mean-spirited humor had come back around to smack him in a strangely poetic way. He immediately decided to give Faithful to Bras and take the mare instead—he'd even rather take less money than keep riding that reminder.
…
Geographically speaking, between Kaedwen and the southern kingdom of Aedirn lay a natural dividing barrier: the so-called Lormark range. And so, when King Henselt set his ambitions on Upper Aedirn, Vergen—the mountain city built at the pass—became an obstacle he simply couldn't ignore.
If Vergen fell, Upper Aedirn would be lost. Its strategic importance was much like the Khyber Pass, Thermopylae, or the Brenner Pass.
That was why the Second Battle of Upper Aedirn, which had ended last year, was also called the Battle for Vergen.
The winding military road began at Ard Carraigh and ran straight to the Pontar's banks, where it faced Vergen across the river—built specifically to carry armies.
A few days after leaving Ban Ard, riding along that road with hooves clattering rhythmically, Lambert asked casually, "Why'd you suddenly want to swap horses? I thought Faithful was going to stay with you. Usually if you name a horse, it means you're attached, doesn't it?"
"He's old," Victor replied naturally, turning his head a little. "I believe growing old in a safe town is what he'd want." After a few days, he almost believed his own excuse.
"And this one?" Lambert nodded at the mare. "Still calling her Faithful? Like Geralt—every horse is named Roach."
"No. She's a girl, so she can't be Faithful. I'm not naming her for now. Once you name a mount, you get attached.
"By the way—do you know what the Second Battle of Upper Aedirn really changed?" In the evening breeze, Victor suddenly felt the urge to show off a little.
"What did it change?"
"First—this road under our feet. After the ceasefire, it became a gift to traveling merchants, and it indirectly boosted cross-border trade and the flow of goods."
Lambert thought about it. "That makes sense."
"Second—how it shattered order. During the war, Henselt's 'glorious' knights and 'brave' soldiers ravaged everything north of the Pontar until it was practically stripped bare.
"Put those two factors together—do you know what that means?"
Victor wasn't actually expecting an answer. It was a rhetorical setup, the standard way to show off.
But Lambert replied without hesitation, firm and sure: "It means bandits will rise, and the roads will turn dangerous."
Victor froze, genuinely stunned. He'd assumed only he could connect the dots. He hadn't expected Lambert—who looked so rough and careless—to land on the exact same conclusion.
"You… how did you know?" Victor stared at Lambert like he'd grown a second head. This old bastard was surprisingly sharp today.
Lambert looked at Victor with royal disdain, then pointed ahead. "Because I can see it, idiot. Use your eyes—look over there."
Up ahead, a wagon had been overturned. Three—no, four—armed brigands circled it, their vicious faces just visible in the distance.