Chapter 1431 - 1396: Silver Swan Tavern

Yennefer opened another room at the Silver Swan Tavern.

No other choice, Ciri was currently following Lann’s brief yet accurate description, sprinting tirelessly through the streets of Gos Velen, and burst straight into the Silver Swan Tavern.

At the tavern hall, Geralt was chatting over a meal with Dandelion.

The renowned poet of the Northern Territory was not having the best of times recently.

Previously, Geralt said that the news of Ciri being hunted was brought to him by Dandelion.

So what was going on with Dandelion?

– Could it be due to his fervent patriotic heart? Or perhaps he was seeking inspiration from professions like spies and conspirators, who dwell in the shadows.

In short, the poet has actually taken on a part-time job as a spy recently.

It’s no surprise; poets, with their widespread acquaintances, are almost a perfect fit for espionage.

Dandelion even started much later than many of his peers.

But his fame is both a blessing and a curse.

Recruiting Dandelion as a spy was none other than the well-known intelligence head of Redania, Sigismund Dikoschek.

Such a notable figure had long distanced himself from the front lines, so his appearance in front of Dandelion was undoubtedly targeted.

Although the poet seemed carefree outwardly, he knew deep down this probably had to do with Ciri.

Geralt is Ciri’s widely acknowledged legal guardian, and he was a well-known friend of the Demon Hunter, clearly defining their relationship.

Thus, this seemingly carefree yet highly loyal poet found another reason to be a spy: he wanted to leverage the Redania intelligence network to discover who was searching for this girl and what their intentions were.

So he could notify his friends in advance for preparations.

Of course, this was what he planned before.

Since he was sought out by the rabid-like Reins, nearly getting himself killed, Dandelion realized just how treacherous those in the intelligence game could be.

He intended to rely on the Redania intelligence network, while Dikoschek obviously used him as bait.

The name Reins became known to everyone during his near-death encounter; before that, it was merely recognized as an existing individual.

Realizing he was just a weak and helpless poet, completely outmatched by those dealing in intelligence, Dandelion dared not stay in places like Novigrad and Ossenford, let alone within Redania’s borders.

He fled directly to Gos Velen, seeking out his old friend, the Bear Demon Hunter, Ged, who had once supported him in the Sintra battlefield — mostly Ged supporting Dandelion.

Especially with the rumored reappearance of the Hunting Marquis.

And now, he coincidentally ran into Geralt, who returned with Triss and Belengar.

But at this moment, with Lann absent and Ged working, he could only sit here with Geralt.

"...Twice in a row!" lamented the poet, clicking his tongue as he spoke to the white-haired Demon Hunter across the table, "The turnip fields and cabbage fields of Hoffmeyer Manor were trampled twice by the army chasing the Squirrel Faction, leaving nothing behind."

"Fortunately, their Patriarch mainly planted radishes and potatoes, or they would have suffered major losses!"

The poet’s hat with a heron feather swayed expressively with his narrative.

"Old Hoffmeyer lamented to me: The roadside is filled with execution stakes and gallows, corpses lying by fields and paths, this country is practically back to the bloody Farjia rebellion times!"

"The King’s men come by day, threatening to immediately go to the gallows if anyone dares to aid the Squirrel Faction."

"Elves appear at night, challenging anyone who dares disagree! Their threats even carry a poetic tone, yet the poetic aroma is so bloody it’s nauseating."

"Two groups like two piles of fire, roasting ordinary people in between."

"In my opinion, Geralt." The poet raised his glass for a sip, "Even the Half-Elf farm fifteen miles outside the city is starting to hope the Warlocks’ gathering might change something in these terrible times!"

"But in my opinion, Dandelion." The white-haired Demon Hunter echoed, with a cold expression, "Nothing will change."

"Warlocks, individually, some may have good temperaments and character. But once a group of warlocks gathers... I can only imagine a pile of firecrackers stacked together."

"Tonight, they’ll begin the pre-meeting banquet on Sandy Island; there are already over a hundred warlocks, and counting those arriving through direct portals, there might be two hundred at the banquet."

"Imagine, over two hundred warlocks meeting up, tsk tsk tsk..."

Dandelion rolled his eyes at his old friend: "Hah, the anti-magic array at Gastang Palace isn’t just for show."

Their conversation, filled with drinks traded back and forth, was abruptly halted by the breathless appearance of Ciri after her relentless running. At that moment, the Demon Hunter wondered if he was caught in some illusion.

Immediately, Yennefer, also panting, rushed in: "Ciri!"

The Demon Hunter knocked over his chair as he instinctively stood to approach Ciri, but hesitated upon seeing Yennefer, halting where he was. Yennefer’s actions mirrored his.

The girl who burst into the tavern stood amidst everyone’s gaze.

Dandelion, excitedly holding his glass, is dramatically pondering who the girl will choose. After all, in this situation, neither the man nor the woman seem ready to take the next step.

The Demon Hunter? Or the Female Warlock?

But at this very dramatic moment, the girl doesn’t choose anyone.

She stands right between them, and perhaps due to heavy breathing... she faints.

-----------------

In the room that Yennefer had arranged, Ciri is pretending to sleep. However, upon hearing Geralt and Yennefer leave and close the door, she swiftly sits up and prepares to put on her shoes and follow them.

But as soon as she turns over, her movement freezes.

Because upon opening her eyes, she realizes the room isn’t empty; instead, a massive figure is leisurely leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, watching her.

"How come you don’t even make a sound when you breathe!"

Ciri complains first, as if she has the upper hand in this matter.

Lann doesn’t mind her and just looks at her with interest.

"You still haven’t mastered the skill. Once your ’Torso Breath’ is inaudible even at close range, then you’ll have truly grasped the skill."

"But, judging by your body, it seems like you haven’t neglected your training; you moved pretty fast earlier. And your breathing was quite convincing when you were stirring them up."

"Stirring?" Ciri feigns innocence, yet her voice carries hidden pride, "What did I stir up?"

"Well, strictly speaking, it didn’t count as stirring; it was more like helping." Lann tapped the girl’s forehead, "Don’t pretend, you were quick-witted earlier, but do you really think you can trick people?"

"Do you really think you’re the princess from a storybook? Able to faint precisely at crucial moments?"

"Squeak~ Allow me to clarify." The door beside Lann opens, revealing a cherry-red hat adorned with a heron feather squeezing in.

"This kind of clichéd plot-driving method won’t work in performances in the city. I haven’t written like this in eight hundred years!"

The poet’s slick face shows an indignation that his profession is being underestimated.

Dandelion squeezes in through the door crack and, with offbeat eyes, looks at Ciri with emotion.

"Ah, the child grows up in the blink of an eye, almost unrecognizable."

"And you, Dandelion," Ciri retorts bluntly, "you still look the same, covered in the scent of mixed-up perfumes. Is this the combined scent from the beds of several ladies?"

The poet is quite proud of this: "Not too many, not too few. In five days here, I’ve become enamored with two misses and three madams. All poetry enthusiasts, I couldn’t refuse!"

Lann shakes his head: "I feel like if we haven’t returned in a few more days, Gerry will have to fish you off the gallows."

The poet almost sings his reply: "I completely trust Brother Xiong’s strength; his arms are strong enough to carry me two miles away!"

"I don’t doubt that, but right now..."

The young Demon Hunter, from somewhere, brings out a serving tray. It has a bottle of red wine and a silver pot, and he hands it to the girl.

"The Silver Swan Inn has a hot spring bathhouse in the basement. The guests currently enjoying themselves in there need new refreshments, so it’s up to you to deliver them, Ciri!"

As if assigning a serious mission, Lann places the tray in the girl’s hands.

Ciri sniffs and notices that the silver pot also contains wine.

She looks at Lann suspiciously: "When did you start moonlighting as a tavern waiter?"

"Not at all," Dandelion, clearly enjoying the show, chimes in from the side, "It’s just that the hot spring bathhouse has been booked at a high price today, and he has been asked to go in and help, but, alas, our hero seems a bit short of courage this time."

"My courage is always sufficient," Lann retorts at Dandelion, then turns to face Ciri. "But, right now, there are four female warlocks in the bathhouse... Do you know how they would react if I went down there?"

"To add, at least two of them are openly displaying their figures at the edge of the bath."

Sending Lann to deliver wine, then tearing off their towels in anticipation of seeing him embarrassed or overwhelmed... With the female warlocks’ mischievous nature, they’re inclined to do such things.

Triss, Margaret, and Tishaya are actually already in this tavern.

Due to the welcoming banquet tonight preceding the wizards’ conference, Airetusa has been vacated.

To free up rooms, Tishaya has moved out.

However, Lann suspects Margaret simply came out to play.

After hearing the poet’s taunting, Ciri, who initially was exchanging blunt words with him, silently walks off with the tray.

Dandelion’s expression of enjoying the spectacle suddenly freezes and then turns serious, as he faces his young Demon Hunter friend.

"I now think you’ve really gotten yourself into trouble, buddy!"

Lann purses his lips and refrains from saying anything further.