On the morning of the second day after the mission ended, I set off on my way back to Toussaint.
Grape's hooves clattered over the dew-kissed flagstones, and the outline of Blackvine Winery gradually faded behind me. The air still carried the scent of wine and earth, as if yesterday's battle was merely a fleeting dream.
The edge of my silver sword had been corroded when I slew the Greater Spined Devil Tree, and my pauldrons and elbow guards were cracked, with the lining fabric hanging on the rivets, making a faint tearing sound when I moved. While I hadn't sustained any fatal injuries, a Witcher who doesn't prioritize equipment will sooner or later be taught a lesson by monsters' claws and fangs.
I arrived at the blacksmith's shop at the northern end of Toussaint's main street. The hammering had not yet begun, and the blacksmith was organizing saw blades and charcoal for the forge in front of his house. He was a short, stocky old man, his skin bronzed by the forge fire, with half of his left index finger missing and burn scars entanglement around his wrist, indicating he had once been a battlefield blacksmith.
He looked up at me, his gaze falling on the two swords on my back.
"Those two swords of yours," he said, "are very similar to swords I saw when I was young, but these two are sharper."
"Griffin School," I replied, drawing the swords and placing them on the anvil in front of him. "They've cut through a mutated Spined Devil Tree; the edges are cracked, and the scabbards are loose."
He bent down to examine them, his rough fingers tracing along the sword's spine, smacking his lips.
"To come back alive, you've already won," he stood up. "The silver sword's edge needs to be re-ground, the steel sword just needs maintenance. For the fittings, I'll use a silver-meteorite steel alloy for better corrosion resistance. Pick them up in two days."
I nodded, then unfastened my breastplate and pauldrons.
"These too, fix them all."
His palm sank as he took them. "Your armor is solidly built... This doesn't look like something an ordinary Witcher could forge himself."
"It isn't," I said flatly. "It's the work of a master."
He didn't ask further, carrying all the equipment into the house. "Two days, fifty crowns, no haggling."
"Witchers who haggle are dead," I turned and left.
When I returned to the "Lion and Rose" tavern, the light was just right; sunlight streamed down from the eaves, making the golden paint on the signboard glint. Grape was tethered by the hitching post outside, munching on a bag of fodder.
The innkeeper was wiping the counter. Seeing me enter, he greeted me with a smile, "Mister Witcher! I heard you cleared the monsters from Blackvine Manor yesterday and acquired ten bottles of Beauclair white wine. Do you have any intention of selling them?"
I nodded, taking a few bottles from my saddlebag.
"I'll keep these for provisions; if you're willing to take the rest, I won't stop you."
His eyes lit up, and he immediately picked up a bottle to examine it. "Ten-year vintage, full aroma, and an official wax seal... This kind of wine is rare. Are you willing to sell?"
"Eight bottles, two hundred crowns total, no haggling."
He paused, then nodded with a smile. "Deal. We have an important guest dining here tonight who needs a bit of a show."
I handed him the wine, and he counted out the gold crowns and passed them to me, then personally led me to sit behind the counter.
"Do you need anything else to replenish? Besides wine, we also have black bread, dried meat... all common items for travelers."
I looked at the storage shelf and chose three rolls of dried meat strips, a waterskin, and a small bag of black bread, considering them emergency supplies for the road.
"And give me a room, with hot water ready, and send up some hot soup with a main course."
"I'll give you a discount, fifteen crowns total," he said.
I paid, stuffed the items into my saddlebag, and was about to go back to rest when my peripheral vision caught sight of some newly posted parchment Delegation on the familiar notice board outside the tavern.
I walked closer, my fingertips skimming over them—
—"Lady Bessina seeks companion for a day of lake touring";
—"Missing Person: Hunting dog lost, reward ten crowns";
—"Urgent Need for Guards: Caravan preparing to depart for Sintra, passing through the Amell Mountains, a thirty-five-day journey. Experienced escorts needed for the entire route, generous remuneration."
I tore off the last one, flipped it over to confirm, certified by the Toussaint Tax Office, a legitimate merchant guild Delegation, signed by "Lord Hedwyn Vare, Caravan Leader."
As I was looking, I suddenly heard someone cough.
A middle-aged man in a linen robe, with an account book hanging from his waist, approached, his face wreathed in smiles. "Good sir Witcher, did you just take my master's Delegation?"
"You're one of Hedwyn Vare's people?"
"Indeed! I am Alaric D'Ablon, the caravan's accountant. We are scheduled to depart in two days, traveling from Toussaint through the Amell Mountains, via Eilhart, and finally arriving in Sintra. You know, traveling the southern route this season often encounters mountain bandits and monsters, and we urgently need reliable combat power."
"How many people? How many carts? What kind of goods are you transporting?"
"Twenty-five people, five wagons, a five-person auxiliary guard squad. The goods include wine, tea, Toussaint handmade textiles, and two crates of metal crafts. We expect to trade at three locations along the way."
I nodded. "Remuneration?"
"Three hundred crowns, and if there are no losses along the way, an additional one hundred crowns bonus and a Sintra Royal City pass."
"Good," I put the paper into my pocket. "Two days from now, where do we gather?"
"By the Greenwood Road outside the North Gate. We have a banner, a black lion on a black background; you'll recognize it at a glance."
I nodded and left, Alaric bowing repeatedly. "Thank you in advance, sir! If you have any needs during the journey, I can arrange them."
I walked back to Grape and stroked his mane.
"Hear that, Grape? We're going on a long journey again."
The horse didn't respond, only flicked his tail gently, as if saying—wherever you go, I'll follow.
At dusk, I returned to my tavern room, spread out my alchemy supplies on the table, poured the Swallow, Thunderbolt, and other potions I had made into small glass vials for later use, and then calibrated a few bombs, placing them in the leather pouch on my belt.
The wind outside the window grew stronger; Toussaint nights were cool and peaceful. But I knew that once we embarked on the road to Sintra, that peace would be gone.
Two days passed in a flash. At dawn, my horse's hooves once again trod the familiar flagstones, and I returned to the blacksmith's shop on North Street.
The morning sun had not yet risen high, but the blacksmith's forge fire was already burning, the flames twisting in the smoke like a snake's tongue. The familiar sound of hammering came from inside the house, accompanied by the clang of leather boots on the ground, incessant and rhythmic.
"Witcher," the blacksmith saw me, grinned, revealing a mouthful of black teeth. "Your equipment is repaired."
He wrapped the two swords and armor in a coarse cloth and handed them to me. The metallic luster shone through the gaps in the cloth, sharper and cleaner than when I had brought them in.
I untied the cloth, my gaze falling on the silver sword. The edge had been re-forged, silver patterns inlaid in the blood groove, and the runic carvings re-etched; the entire sword was as sharp as new. The breastplate, shoulder pads, and bracers had also been re-riveted, with tighter seams, and the outer layer of tanned leather had been treated, giving off a faint smell of grease mixed with the scent of forge ash.
"I added meteorite steel," the blacksmith said, patting the sword blade. "It's stronger than the mixed material you had before. Cutting down werewolves is no problem, and you could even chip into a troll if you encountered one."
"I'm very satisfied," I nodded, re-strapping the swords to my back and donning the armor piece by piece. That familiar weight settled back on my shoulders, like a shadow I had reclaimed.
I paid the final crowns and bid farewell to the blacksmith. Turning to mount my horse, Grape snorted.
"Time to go."
We slowly made our way through Beauclair towards the North Gate. At this hour, Toussaint was not yet fully awake; citizens were still asleep, only the bakers and street sweepers had begun their work. The morning sun painted the streets golden, and the sound of hooves echoed in the empty intersections, like distant chimes of departure.
Exiting the North Gate, I followed the Green Forest path, and soon, in the distance, I saw a black lion banner on a black background standing by the roadside, fluttering gently in the wind.
The caravan was there.
There were five wagons in total; two freight wagons were already covered with canvas tarpaulins, bearing the "Vare Merchant Guild" emblem branded onto their sides. The remaining three carried wooden crates, cloth, and sealed wine bottles respectively. The mud stains around the wheels and the tautness of the ropes showed that their preparations were quite meticulous.
The group was gathered at a makeshift campsite, a bonfire still emitting white smoke nearby. A dozen guards and merchants were gathered around the fire, organizing their equipment or eating. Seeing my arrival, they all paused their actions.
"Mister Witcher!" The accountant, Alaric, hurried over, a route map still in his hand. "Excellent, we were worried you wouldn't come."
"If I accept a contract, I will always come," I said calmly.
He nodded, then turned to introduce the members of the escort team to me.
"This is our caravan manager—Glick, a veteran from the North, who fought in border wars."
I looked at the man, an old warrior around fifty, burly, wearing worn but sturdy chainmail, with a short-handled warhammer at his waist. His gray hair was tied in a short braid, and there was an old scar on his face.
"Witcher," Glick clenched his fist, his voice rough. "I don't care if you're as powerful as the legends say; as long as you don't desert us in battle, we'll work well together."
"I'm not a knight, and I don't need ceremony. I handle monsters; you handle humans."
He grinned and nodded. "Understood."
Alaric then pointed to a few guards. "These three are our guards, named Ham, Connie, and Anastasia, respectively."
The three nodded in acknowledgment. Ham was a burly, balding strongman, carrying a hunting spear on his shoulder, with calm eyes. Connie was a younger, red-haired youth, with new equipment but a good sword-wielding posture. Anastasia was a female warrior from Aedirn, with short hair, yellow leather armor, and two daggers at her waist; it was clear she was more alert than the other two.
I nodded in response.
"The other ten are wagon drivers, assistants, and accounting helpers," Alaric added. "They don't participate in combat; you'll largely be responsible for protecting them."
I scanned the group. Although most held short swords or clubs, judging by their stances and attire, they were more suited for "self-preservation on the road" rather than "frontline combat" roles.
"When do we plan to depart?" I asked.
"When the sun reaches the treetops," Alaric said. "Glick prefers to cross the first section of the mountain pass before noon, so we can camp on the high ridge at night."
I looked to the east, where the orange-gold light was slowly climbing the edge of the hills.
"I'm ready," I said. "Let me do a quick patrol first."
I led Grape around the caravan, checking the wagon wheel fastenings, the horses' hooves, the tightness of the ropes, and the sealing of the goods. Then I walked to the last wagon and crouched down to examine the mud on the ground.
"Someone approached last night," I said, pointing to two footprints on the ground. "Rough sole pattern, center of gravity leaning inward, possibly a hunter or wanderer. The observation time should have been two hours before dawn."
Glick approached, looked down, and frowned. "What do you think?"
"If it's an ordinary person, they just passed through. If it's a scout, this route might be discovered by tonight."
He nodded. "We need to speed up and take the long way around the south slope to avoid the dense forest path."
"Agreed," I replied.
The sun finally rose above the treetops, the team began to gather, and the wagons slowly started with creaking sounds. I swung onto my horse, and Morning Dew stepped forward, my silver sword swaying slightly on my back, like a silent promise.
Glick led the way, I was in the middle, and the three guards protected the flanks. The caravan's journey was heading into the unknown.
I knew this escort mission would not be peaceful.
