A long-neglected hut on the edge of Thanedd Island.
"Creak—"
The rotten wooden door groaned as it was pushed open. A blast of icy wind swept in from outside, making those gathered around the experiment table shiver. Faces darkened as several people turned their heads, irritated, wanting to see who was so ill-mannered—arriving unannounced in the dead of night, without even knocking.
"Belendil Rogrides," snapped the middle-aged man with a greying goatee, dressed in a black mage's robe, "didn't your father, Duke Rogrides, ever teach you to knock before entering?"
"Close the door. Now."
The man called Belendil Rogrides smiled faintly. Unhurried, he stepped inside, muttering a few incantations as he brushed rainwater from his robe. Under the effect of magic, steam rose from the soaked fabric. Only then, under several hostile glares, did he turn back and shut the door.
"I'm just a bastard son," Belendil Rogrides said with a crooked grin. "How could Duke Rogrides himself have the honor of teaching me?"
"And I was planning to knock," he added casually. "It's just that your door didn't seem to be locked. It opened with a push…"
"Lord Agostino Austin," he continued, looking around, "how did the sorceresses of Aretuza end up arranging such a miserable place for you?"
Belendil Rogrides strolled farther in, surveying the dilapidated room. He smacked his lips in exaggerated amazement.
"Even the Honeysuckle Alchemy Workshop gets spacious rooms with fireplaces. And yet you, the Crowned Silver Eagle—Redania's strongest extraordinary organization—are stuck here."
"And you're any better?" Agostino Austin snorted coldly, cutting him off.
Berendil shrugged, readily admitting it. "Not really. At least you have rooms. I, on the other hand, was blocked in my quarters by those Aretuza harpies the moment the conference ended. They made all kinds of sarcastic remarks, trying to kick me out."
"This afternoon, they used the excuse that all arrangements for the Dol Dhu Lokke expedition were complete, and that Aretuza needed to clear rooms to restore normal teaching order. They barged in and started packing my things without asking."
"And then they escorted me off Thanedd Island."
He gestured at his robe, still stained despite being magically dried, and sighed theatrically.
"I barely managed to sneak back in tonight, just to see you."
As he spoke, Belendil Rogrides casually stepped forward. Through a gap between the male sorcerers, he caught sight of the alchemy table—and the crucible atop it, bubbling with blood-red foam.
"Belendil Rogrides, what exactly do you want?!" Agostino Austin's voice suddenly rose sharply. He moved at once, blocking Berendil's line of sight.
Berendil merely wrinkled his nose and sniffed the faint stench of rot in the air, thoughtful.
"That's necrophage oil."
It was a statement, not a question.
He raised an eyebrow with confidence, looking at Agostino Austin's darkened expression.
"So the Crowned Silver Eagle—famous for alchemy—is attempting to replicate a witcher potion formula."
"And…" he sniffed again, curling his lips in mockery, "…you failed."
Agostino Austin glared furiously. The other sorcerers in the room grimaced and summoned their staves.
Replicating the unpublished formula of a living alchemist without permission was a major taboo in the extraordinary world.
Doing it in secret was one thing—so long as it never surfaced. But once exposed and made public, it would be enough to completely ruin even a renowned alchemy master.
For the Crowned Silver Eagle, it would be catastrophic.
Not just reputationally, but materially as well.
Openly, the Brotherhood of Sorcerers would impose punishment, and all factions would refuse to purchase the Crowned Silver Eagle's potions and alchemical items. Even if some black-market trade remained, the losses would still be devastating.
"Heh, heh—relax," Berendil said, spreading his hands to show he meant no harm. "If I've said it aloud, it means I won't spread it. I can sign a contract—the harshest kind."
Agostino Austin had just begun to relax when Berendil added flippantly: "But let me guess first. Necrophage oil has become very famous lately, but the Crowned Silver Eagle has no shortage of profitable potions and artifacts. So this must be King Radovid IV's order."
The Crowned Silver Eagle was Agostino Austin's organization. Anyone with basic geographical knowledge—let alone members of the Brotherhood—could see its deep ties to Redania.
After all, Redania's coat of arms was a silver eagle crowned in gold on a red field, clutching a golden demon spirit, with a small black shield bearing a golden cross on its chest.
Compared to that, the Crowned Silver Eagle's emblem was missing only the crown, the golden demon spirit, and the black shield with the cross.
This wasn't a subtle hint—it was practically a declaration.
In truth, the Crowned Silver Eagle did originate from the Redanian royal family—founded by a direct royal descendant with magical talent.
But at the time, Redania was swept by fierce anti-witch and anti-magic sentiment. Extraordinary positions like royal magical advisors were abolished, forcing that royal to secretly establish an organization backed by the crown.
At first, it operated underground. Later, when the tide subsided, it was discovered by the Brotherhood of Sorcerers—since the Novigradian Union forbade extraordinary organizations from being too closely tied to secular power—and was compelled to gradually separate and formally join the Brotherhood.
Even so, the Crowned Silver Eagle's ties to the Redanian crown remained deep, with inevitable covert exchanges of interest.
As long as appearances were maintained, the Brotherhood could be appeased.
Similar arrangements existed across the Northern Kingdoms. As always, what mattered was that things looked acceptable on the surface.
"So what if it is?" Agostino Austin said irritably.
He pulled a tattered parchment from his robe, wrote swiftly upon it with a quill conjured from thin air, and handed it to Belendil Rogrides. Only after watching Berendil casually sign his name—and seeing the contract burn away in crimson fire—did he finally relax.
"Radovid IV really does care about his pride," Berendil smacked his lips, watching the parchment vanish as his mind connected faintly to something unseen.
"It's understandable," Agostino Austin replied, his tone softer.
"From Limb and Narakort near the Pontar River in the south, to Drakenborg and Montecalvo in the east, and Mither along the northern border—ghoul swarm warnings have been reported across Redania."
"Redania needs necrophage oil."
"But refuses to buy it from Vera—" Berendil interjected,
"—or more precisely, refuses to bow its head to that witcher."
"That's necessary," Agostino Austin said solemnly. "Redania's dignity, the dignity of the royal house, must be preserved."
Which was to say: not a single copper would be paid to a witcher who had dared to torture Redanian nobles without authorization.
Though a bastard son, Belendil Rogrides was hardly ignorant of politics. He could understand Radovid IV's dilemma.
No king could accept such a situation.
If word spread that the crown sought large quantities of potions from a man who had just executed nobles with private punishment, Radovid the Bald's authority would be utterly destroyed. Noble discontent might even plunge the kingdom into chaos.
Compared to that, secretly replicating a potion—though dishonorable and certain to draw trouble from the Brotherhood later—was a far more acceptable risk.
However…
"Limb, Narakort, Montecalvo, Mither on the northern border…"
Berendil frowned, murmuring before asking curiously, "What about Tretogor? The capital is surrounded by those cities—has it not faced ghouls at all?"
"That's the strange part," Agostino Austin nodded. "The necrophages seem almost intelligent, deliberately avoiding Tretogor."
"But let's not dwell on that."
Clearly unwilling to discuss Redanian internal affairs further, Agostino Austin changed the subject.
"State your purpose, Berendil. Don't tell me you risked sneaking onto Thanedd Island in the dead of night just to make me waste a demon contract."
"The Rogrides family can afford the cost of a demon contract," Berendil replied lightly, joking it off before getting to the point.
"Lord Agostino—what do you think of the Dol Dhu Lokke expedition?"
His tone turned serious.
Agostino Austin stopped what he was doing and narrowed his eyes at the noble sorcerer.
"What I think doesn't matter. Does the Rogrides family truly care about some overhyped witcher?"
"Of course not," Berendil shook his head. "A witcher is insignificant. Under normal circumstances, someone with such potential would be eliminated immediately—but not now."
"Now, that Wolf School witcher named Allen is merely a fulcrum."
"A fulcrum?" Agostino Austin repeated thoughtfully.
"Exactly—a fulcrum," Berendil Rogrides said, giving a slight nod, then casting an unobtrusive glance at the other male sorcerers of the Crowned Silver Eagle nearby.
Agostino Austin raised an eyebrow and turned to give orders. "Carry on with your research. You are all the finest alchemical masters in Redania—how can you fail to crack a formula created by a mere witcher?"
"Yes, Chairman," the sorcerers replied, somewhat crestfallen. They took out several vials of crimson, blood-like potions and began examining and analyzing them with magic.
"…I still think the failure lies with the materials. Perhaps the necrophage oil doesn't use the ghoul's heart, tongue, and brain we're familiar with, but some other, more obscure parts…"
"But our informants traced the alchemy workshop's material purchases—only dog tallow, dandelion, and ghoul hearts and brains…"
"…Ghoul materials are inherently magical; according to the fundamental principles of potion-making, they can't be omitted. Then perhaps it's the dandelion…"
"Damn it—how did that witcher even come up with this…?"
-----------------------------------
The male sorcerers of the Crowned Silver Eagle quickly fell into heated discussion.
After glancing at them briefly, Agostino Austin turned back to Berendil Rogrides and nodded. "Come with me. Let's talk somewhere else."
Without waiting for a response, he headed straight toward the inner room.
Berendil Rogrides nodded, withdrew his gaze from the fervent debate around the alchemy table, and followed Agostino Austin.
They passed through a wooden door just as dilapidated as the one at the hut's entrance, then walked along a narrow corridor.
Agostino Austin flicked his staff.
The gray carpet on the floor—its original color long indistinguishable—billowed up in a cloud of choking dust, rising into the air and revealing a tunnel sealed with wooden planks beneath it.
"Tap, tap, tap~"
Pinching his nose in distaste, Agostino Austin stepped into the deep tunnel.
"There's one thing you actually got wrong," he said suddenly as he cast a light spell, illuminating the passage. "This house used to be the residence of a female sorceress of the Crowned Silver Eagle. It wasn't arranged by the Aretuza sorceresses—when we first arrived on Thanedd Island, we asked for it ourselves."
"At the Conclave, I merely expressed some dissatisfaction. Tissaia wouldn't be so lacking in decorum…"
So driving me out is decorous, then…
No matter how flippant Berendil Rogrides usually was, his expression stiffened for a moment. He sneered and said, "Choosing this place on purpose—was it all just to research the formula for necrophage oil?"
"That a potion formula devised by a mere witcher could actually stump the Crowned Silver Eagle's so-called 'top-tier' alchemists."
Agostino Austin stopped walking.
"Researching necrophage oil is indeed an important reason we chose this place. However…"
"You've never truly studied necrophage oil, have you?"
"An alchemist who has genuinely researched necrophage oil would never say something like 'a mere witcher's potion formula'…"
Berendil Rogrides had expected Agostino Austin to erupt in anger and scold him. Instead, after stopping, Agostino Austin merely cast him a faintly contemptuous glance—the way a sorcerer looks at an officious mortal noble.
Berendil Rogrides froze for a moment, about to speak.
Agostino Austin simply shook his head and said, "We're here, Berendil."
"Now—tell me about this 'fulcrum' of yours…"
..........
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