The slums—every city has a place like this. Narrow, packed tight, filthy and foul, where all the city's rot settles, where the sorrow behind prosperity is distilled into something you can smell.
Victor Corion had never come here. He knew this place existed, but he would never come on his own. There were too many tragedies here—every moment offering some sight or sound that made his stomach turn. And no matter how capable he was, he couldn't possibly manage it all…
Night fell. He carefully stepped around a few puddles of unknown liquid, ignored the shouting and cursing around him, and reviewed everything he knew about the School of the Viper. That giant, if there were no surprises, was Letho—one of the Vipers' handful of true heavy hitters.
Victor remembered what he looked like: a brutally imposing bald head, features so deep-set they were almost exaggerated, a body thick and hard like granite. Back when Victor played the games, Letho and the White Wolf seemed to have known each other early on. When they met, there was that hazy, cryptic exchange—talking like men who had been both enemies and allies, bound by a complicated past.
And later, in that huge set-piece battle at Kaer Morhen, Letho could even fight alongside you as an ally. The exact reasons and steps were lost to time; Victor's memory was fuzzy and that was simply how it went. The plot of one hulking man wasn't worth burning too much mental storage on.
Still, Letho was a good man—a hard man, but a man worth calling a friend. That impression from a past life was why Victor chose to trust them now and came here to meet them directly—despite the fact that their timely appearance reeked of something strange.
Looking back at the whole thing, thanks to Auckes' big mouth, the sequence behind their flashy entrance was easy to trace.
A month ago, he spotted Victor in the Vizima cemetery—something that, in witcher terms, could be dismissed as coincidence.
Then, "the School of the Wolf" living up to its reputation for bombs, seeing a Dancing Star that impressed him greatly—though in truth it was the effect of Victor's unbelievable alchemy.
And then, a month later, today: three witchers from the School of the Viper gathering in Vizima, arriving just in time to help deal with the bruxa…
It wasn't accurate to say they had "saved" him from the monster, because Victor had been confident he could withdraw safely—and casually acknowledging a life-debt came with nasty consequences.
Witchers were paid professionals. "Help with a monster" and "saving your life" were worlds apart in price. Help with a monster could be settled with coin. A life saved could mean being asked to pay with the Law of Surprise.
On top of that, the fact they got there in time clearly meant they had been paying attention to him—watching him to some degree. What could a Wolf School apprentice possibly have that would make full witchers from another school interested?
No matter how he turned it over, there was only one answer…
And then Victor saw Auckes: that bright grin, the way he waved his right hand. He was obviously waiting specifically for the apprentice.
"Ah! I won!" Auckes called out, voice as light and gleeful as ever. "I knew you'd come tonight!"
Victor joined up with him and followed his lead. "What's this? You were betting on when I'd show up?"
Auckes said cheerfully, "Yeah. Serrit said you're the cautious type—that helping you out of nowhere like that wouldn't necessarily earn your goodwill. More likely you'd be wary of us. Maybe you'd still come eventually, but you'd think for a day or two first… or you'd bring a bunch of fully armed 'friends' to back you up."
Victor felt his face warm a little, because he knew Serrit wasn't wrong. If it weren't for that meta-knowledge—those spoilers from another world that made Victor choose to trust these three—he really would have weighed the meeting carefully, and he really might have had people nearby as backup.
"Well, I couldn't accept that," Auckes continued, undeterred. "You can't always assume the worst about people, can you? I think you're great. You're still an apprentice, but you're already working like an old farmer, harvesting monsters one contract at a time—drowners, echinops, you handled them beautifully. If I hadn't confirmed your pupils haven't mutated yet, I'd have thought you were already a full witcher."
Victor said nothing. Another person moved by his "resolve." In a medieval world, lofty virtue could be turned into something tangible—people would use it to justify everything you did.
"So we bet," Auckes went on. "Twenty orens. I said you'd come tonight, and you'd come alone. And you didn't disappoint…"
Victor still didn't respond. Auckes didn't actually need answers—he just wanted to keep his mouth moving.
They wound through alleys and narrow streets. Victor stopped when they reached a cluster of campfires by the shore of Lake Vizima. Once again, he saw that granite-heavy back.
Auckes tilted his head toward the fire, signaling Victor to go ahead, then turned and stayed where he was to keep watch.
From his time living at Kaer Morhen, Victor trusted a witcher's sharp senses. He was sure the man's back already knew he was here. Even so, Victor didn't approach from behind. He deliberately looped a small half-circle and came in from the front of the fire—part respect, part giving himself time to observe before the conversation began.
Serrit, the other man eating roasted fish by the flames, kept his cold expression as Victor approached. He stood, nodded once to Victor, and then silently walked away, leaving the space for the giant and the apprentice.
The big man sat by the fire like a hibernating bear. When he raised his head to look at Victor, it felt like a tiger waking.
"Sit. Looks like Auckes won."
Victor accepted the invitation easily and sat cross-legged, unbuckling his sword and setting it down on his right. "Yes. Auckes won."
The giant leaned forward and extended a broad hand. "Letho. Of Gulet. Witcher of the School of the Viper."
So it really is you, Letho… long time no see.
Victor reached out and shook his hand. "Victor Corion. From Bell Town, east of Zerrikania. Witcher apprentice of the School of the Wolf."
Letho gave a low chuckle. "A good start. An honest start. Now we take turns asking questions, and we answer what's weighing on us. You go first."
He poked at the fire, then pulled up a skewer of roasted fish and offered it to Victor.
Victor took it. He organized what he knew—and what he wanted to say—then spoke in a calm, steady voice.
"First, thank you. Thank you for arriving in time and helping deal with the bruxa." With his very first sentence, Victor set the value of their appearance tonight: not a life-debt, but a real favor.
Letho's harsh, deep-set face didn't shift, steady as stone.
"My question is this: I hid my school in Vizima. How did you find out? And the fact you arrived in time means you were keeping an eye on me. Why?"
The wind brushed over the campfire. Sparks snapped.
"The reason we arrived in time," Letho said, "and helped you deal with the bruxa, is because…" That phrasing meant he accepted Victor's pricing of their "flashy entrance." By witcher rules, hunting a monster was paid work and didn't have to count as saving a life—but Victor still owed them for the help.
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