—
Now that he had already planted a seed of benevolence in Syanna — one he hoped would bear fruit when the time came — Gustave told Rosemary to subtly hint that Syanna should stay in the maids' cabin, the one his attendants rarely used since they lived with him.
Thankfully, the exiled Toussaintois princess quickly picked up on the hint, allowing Gustave to sigh in relief. Living with her day after day had been exhausting — he constantly needed to maintain the act of being a simple toddler. Now that they were apart, he could finally return to his quiet hobby of researching Runic Magic.
However, even though they now lived in separate cabins, he still needed to invite her to the gun deck whenever they went to eat. The depression Syanna felt from Anna Henrietta's betrayal ran deep — the eleven-year-old girl still needed time to come to terms with it. He and his maids still had to tend to her daily needs, lest she starve herself by remaining withdrawn for too long.
Just like now — when Gustave entered Syanna's cabin with the help of his maids, he saw her sitting quietly by the stern window, gazing out over the port in lonely silence.
Taking a deep breath to shift his demeanor, Gustave climbed down from Rosemary's arms and skipped toward Syanna with playful, bouncy steps.
"Black-haired sister! Black-haired sister! Let's go eat, eat! Lunch today is venison from the nearby forest! Uncle Odo's men went hunting!"
Taking the wooden crutch leaning against the wall, Gustave offered it to Syanna, whose leg was still broken from the brutal treatment of the four knights.
"Here, black-haired sister! Your leg helper! Let's go before the food gets cold!"
With Syanna in tow — her free hand held by him as he tugged her along like an overactive child — Gustave skipped toward the mess hall with cheerful steps and a touch of exaggerated enthusiasm, hoping to warm up to Syanna and deepen the bond of indebtedness he could one day cash in.
When they arrived at the gun deck, however, he paused upon seeing a Witcher speaking with Odo and one of Caldwell's men.
It seemed Caldwell's luck was remarkably good to have found a Witcher so soon after arriving at the Red Port. Still, Gustave wasn't particularly concerned that the Witcher would uncover any lingering traces of their activities.
What did concern him — or rather, what drew his attention — was the Witcher's appearance: a griffin medallion hanging from his neck, a topknot hairstyle, a short beard, and red threads veining the whites of his eyes. Cataloging the details and comparing them with the [Knowledge] he possessed, Gustave was certain the man before him was Coën.
"Yes, it was purely an accident," Coën said flatly.
"Are you sure, Witcher? Perhaps there's something you might have missed," Reynard pressed.
Idly tossing the coin pouch he'd just received, Coën replied to the commander, "If you're that insistent on digging deeper, hire a sorcerer. Maybe they can help you uncover your so-called explosion ghost."
"Hey, freak! Watch your tongue!" one of the guards snapped. "Don't insult the Count's intelligence! If he says there's an explosion ghost, then there is an explosion ghost!"
Tucking away the coin pouch, Coën turned toward the guard, deciding to spill the truth now that the money was already in his hand. After enduring endless insults throughout the investigation, he figured he at least deserved the satisfaction of putting these fools in their place.
"Well, if you really want to believe in your explosion ghost, then maybe ask the sorcerer your Count's been working with," Coën said evenly. "Because as far as I know, the only thing that can cause an explosion this clean — leaving no trace — is magic. And sorcerers have magic. So, perhaps you should start by asking the one who supplied your Count with those lovely gems."
Caldwell's right-hand man went pale as a sheet. Reynard's frown deepened — he knew that every noble sworn to the three princes had been explicitly warned against any contact with mages or sorcerers, lest they be branded as conspirators plotting to destabilize the Twin Realms.
Now, upon hearing that Caldwell might have been colluding with a sorcerer during these already troubled times in Lyria and Rivia, Reynard's expression hardened even further. A grim thought crossed his mind — perhaps not only the Caldwell family, but other noble houses within the entourage were entangled in the same web of treachery.
"I'll take my leave, then," Coën said as he adjusted his sword belt. "And… good luck on your journey, Commander."
"You as well, Witcher. May your Path be prosperous."
As Coën departed, Reynard turned his cold gaze toward Caldwell's trembling aide. The man's face was drenched in sweat; he could feel the commander's silent judgment weighing on him like an axe above his neck.
Reynard knew full well that the Caldwell family was already skating on the edge of treason — not even Prince Villem himself could save them now.
"D-don't believe that freak's nonsense! He's bluffing!" the man stammered desperately.
Seeing that Reynard was about to order the execution or imprisonment of Caldwell's right-hand man and all his subordinates, Gustave began to panic as well — for Caldwell was one of his frenemy pawns, far too valuable to discard.
Caldwell had become a contact hub for those who sought to manipulate him, attracting countless curious vultures eager for information about his abnormal intelligence.
And because Gustave already knew Caldwell, it was far easier to trace the tangled web of connections that gathered around him — allowing Gustave to pinpoint anyone showing undue interest in his affairs.
He was certain they were all linked somehow, just like Stregobor, who was already in contact with Caldwell.
If this pawn were crippled or destroyed, Gustave's convenient link to that network would be severed, leaving him blind to the movements of his enemies. Thus, recalling the old wisdom — keep your friends close, and your enemies closer — Gustave resolved to save them.
"Yes, Uncle Odo! The Witcher is just bluffing!"
But just after he said that, Gustave's heart skipped a beat when, through his [Knowledge], he noticed that the Witcher who had just stepped out of the ship suddenly stopped walking. Quickly [Recalling] his memories from his previous life as a toddler, he adjusted his heartbeat to mimic that of a normal child.
Coën, already on the main deck and preparing to disembark, overheard the conversation — the last voice belonging to a toddler who supposedly knew nothing of the adult world.
Yet when he focused on the sound of the child's heartbeat, he found it far too steady — calm, measured, almost calculating.
Not the erratic rhythm a toddler should have. He turned slightly, intending to look back, but stopped himself as the heartbeat suddenly shifted again — returning to the irregular, emotion-driven beat of a normal child.
Shaking his head, Coën dismissed the thought. Must be the fatigue, he told himself. The long journey he'd taken to search for the lost headquarters of the Viper School before this contract had worn him thin.
Pushing the thought aside, Coën continued toward the stables to find a horse. His true mission — the one entrusted to him by his mentor, Keldar — was far more important. His next stop was Kaer Morhen, the Wolf School's fortress, where he was to deliver his mentor's research and warnings.
Keldar, after wandering the Ethereal Plane, had discovered that the realms within the dimensions were drawing closer — and that in perhaps four to nine hundred years, they would collide once more. One of those realms, he believed, belonged to dragons capable of manipulating and controlling time itself.
Because of this, Keldar had urged Coën to warn the remaining Witcher schools: if they wished to preserve the legacy of the Order, they had to begin preparing — generation by generation — to face the coming of the time-bending dragons and their armies of fire-breathing lizards.
For the oaths that had long been broken. For the Order of Witchers that had long since faded into history. For the guardian mission that had already lost all meaning.
Just… for old time's sake.
'Huff… That was close. Man, Witcher senses are insane! One irregular behavior, and they spot it instantly!'
"Ah, young prince? Y-you…"
Upon hearing the so-called wise youngest prince — who was, in truth, nothing more than a bumbling, naïve toddler — defending both his master and himself, the man's first reaction was one of contempt at the boy's foolishness. But he quickly masked it, replacing it with a fawning smile so he could cling to the little prince's defense.
"I-I mean, yes! Y-yes, yes! Prince Gustave is right! That Witcher is bluffing! There's no way Master Caldwell has any contact with sorcerers in these troubled times! My master is an obedient and honorable man!"
Even though Gustave wanted to save them for convenience's sake, he had no intention of making their lives too easy because of it. Tilting his head with an innocent look, he corrected Caldwell's right-hand man:
"Really? But Caldbell is still a bad guy. But bad guy and sorcebel are different. Bad guy is just a bad guy. Sorcebel hurt people in Lyria and Rivia. So no, Caldbell is not with sorcebel."
Cursing furiously inside, Caldwell's right-hand man gritted his teeth — humiliated for having made a fool of himself after thinking the young prince was on their side. But quickly composing himself, he decided to follow along for now to save both his skin and his master.
"I-I mean, yes. Even if my master is bad, he's not that bad — not to the point of having any connection with sorcerers, especially Ban Ard, in these troubled times."
Reynard regarded Caldwell's right-hand man coldly, then shifted his gaze to the intelligent yet still naïve Prince Gustave. A sigh escaped him — it seemed they still had a long way to go before the young prince learned the balance between benevolence and cunning.
With no choice but to let Caldwell's men go for now, he resolved to report everything to Queen Meve and await further orders. And if those orders conflicted with the prince's wishes, so be it — he would still carry them out, even if it meant putting those two-faced, untrustworthy men behind bars.
—
A/N: Short chapter. Have something to do.