Chapter 77

Chapter 77: Three Scenarios

Leaving the blacksmith shop, Lan's disappointment didn't last long.

The idea of modifying his armguard had only come up because he'd been heavily suppressed by archers and crossbowmen recently. Even the simple design had been hastily drafted by Mentos.

The blueprint definitely had issues, but how serious they were would depend on the master blacksmith's opinion. But right now, the master wasn't even in Gors Velen, so the whole idea was a non-starter.

Fortunately, Lan hadn't rushed out of Aretuza just to modify his armguard.

The bulging alchemy pouch was strapped to Popeye's back, with Lan leading the way and Arya responsible for leading the horse.

The witcher once again arrived at the entrance of Gors Velen's top-ranked inn.

A sturdy silver heron sign swayed at the door.

After stabling the horse, Lan pushed the door open. Amid the lively sounds of drinking, melodious singing, and the rich aroma of food and drink, Lan casually flicked two orens onto the counter. The pleasant 'ding' of the coins echoed in the bartender's ears.

"Welcome back, Master Witcher. This time, you've brought a squire?" Perhaps because he'd been paid upfront, the bartender's tone was respectful from the start.

"You know, the life of a witcher can sometimes attract romantics." Lan shrugged, pretending to be helpless, and continued the conversation casually.

"One room again, and the extra oren is for upgrading the meals. Make them hearty. And then..." The witcher leaned in closer to the bartender.

"Buddy, give it to me straight. Is this top-notch inn quiet enough at night?"

The bartender's eyes shifted strangely between the young Arya and the witcher, as if he'd figured something out. Then, with a mysterious smile, he raised an eyebrow at Lan. He didn't immediately assure Lan but instead changed the subject.

"You get what you pay for, Master Witcher." The bartender pocketed the two orens.

"Every bit of income the Silver Heron earns is partially used to pay a special salary."

"The recipients of this salary are seven warriors from the Skellige Isles. Each of them has earned their keep on pirate ships, each is proficient with swords and hand axes, and each has taken at least three heads."

"Now, they each wear a set of fine armor. At night, three guard the staircases between each floor, and four patrol continuously."

"Once, a drunken mage tried to force his way into a lady's room at night, so it got a bit noisy. But after that night, the lady checked out, one warrior took half a month to recover, the Silver Heron continued business as usual, and the mage was never seen again."

With the coins safely in his pocket, the bartender resumed his previous posture.

"Hmm, I just hope the nights here are as quiet as they were during my last stay."

The witcher turned and headed upstairs with his young squire in tow.

Arya, with the bulging alchemy pouch slung over her shoulder, had to bend under the weight of the numerous potions and glassware, struggling to keep up.

"M-My lord, why did you say things that could easily be misunderstood?" Arya panted lightly as she asked in a low voice.

"I'd bet that bartender now looks at you like you're a 'pedophile."

In this era, it was common knowledge that women could engage in sexual activity as early as thirteen or fourteen, around the time of their menarche. But at around ten years old, even by the standards of this era, it was still too early.

Lan answered casually without stopping his steps. "Not 'like.' He already thinks I'm a 'pedophile."

"But the interesting part is this, Arya. When you give people a slightly hidden but easily understandable answer, most will become fixated on it and lose the desire to dig deeper." A gloved finger wagged in front of the little girl as he lectured her.

"Now, I'm just a guest with unique tastes. Uncommon, but not something to interfere with. The inn's attention to me ends there."

"But at the same time, the inn's security system, which costs at least 20 orens a month, will pay extra attention to our room. Because this guest paid extra for his unique tastes."

By the time they checked into the inn, it was already night. The wooden stairs glowed faintly under the candlelight.

As Lan led Arya upstairs, he nodded to a burly Skellige warrior wearing a horned helmet. Apparently, that was one of the seven warriors.

"So..." Arya frowned silently until they reached the next floor and the warrior was out of sight. Then she whispered.

"What are you planning to do tonight? If you want strong security, why not stay at Aretuza? Lady Margarita seems to..."

"Don't oversimplify large organizations, Arya." Lan cut her off before she could finish.

"Witchers possess alchemical knowledge that even sorceresses find intriguing. Once I realized that, I understood that while I could live my daily life at Aretuza, I could never do what I'm about to do there."

"Neither Margarita nor Tissaia can represent the entirety of Aretuza's will—only most of it. Come in—"

The door to the room opened, and Lan led the little girl inside, casually taking the alchemy pouch off her shoulder.

Amid the 'clinking' of glass bottles, Lan began arranging the planned potions and equipment in an orderly fashion. He moved around the room, shifting tables and chairs, lifting carpets.

Arya, standing in the room, was bewildered as she was shuffled around by his actions.

"Later, you'll go downstairs alone, casually eating the complimentary meal for our room—'cough', this carpet is dusty! And then return here just before midnight."

Lan continued his busywork while giving instructions to the confused little girl.

"When you return, you might see one of three scenarios."

"First, I'll be sitting in the room as if nothing happened, though the room might be a bit messy."

"Second, my complexion will be as bad as the night I rescued you from the slavers—like a corpse. And I'll be unconscious. In that case, you'll need to feed me this."

Among the three types of potions, each with at least three bottles, Lan held up the last milky-white one and showed it to Arya behind him.

"And the worst-case scenario, the third one... You'll see me unconscious, with my chest exposed."

"At that point, you'll need to feed me whatever's left of the first two potions until I regain consciousness or my chest heals. Then give me the milky-white potion."

Arya nodded blankly at first, overwhelmed by the flood of information, then suddenly shook her head, her expression panicked.

"But why me?"