Chapter 202: Berengar’s Terms
The sun had set under the horizon, and dusk was starting to descend unto the land. The people in the temple area started lighting up their torches and oil lamps, illuminating the shadowy area. Three witchers came into a house in Hemp Alley. Berengar lit the oil lamp on the table, and its light kept the shadows at bay.
Like most houses of witchers, there were no ornaments hanging around Berengar’s place. Aside from a few worn-down furniture, there was only a thin, oily bed on the ground. Empty wine bottles were strewn across the floor, and a thick blanket of dust covered the floorboards. The place was even dirtier than a dog house.
Roy joked, “You’ll love Serrit and Auckes. You guys have the same taste in interior decor. I bet you’ll have a lot to talk about. You might spend the whole night drinking.”
“It’s hard making a living in Vizima. Winding down is important, and wine is essential.” Berengar unstrapped Tor’haerne and hung it on the wall. He heaved a sigh and plopped down on his sofa that was riddled with holes. “You understand, don’t you? I live in fear every day. I’d probably go mad without any wine.”
Letho had a look of understanding and agreement on his face. They went through a lot of trials and tribulations to become a witcher, but then they had to live an even more dangerous life just to make a living. The people resented and ostracized them just because they were witchers. It was not exactly an easy life. Perhaps that was one of the reasons Berengar renounced his witcher identity.
“You said you thought we were hunting you down?”
“It was just a guess. I couldn’t be sure about it.” He squinted and laughed at himself. “I got a job from a madman in Vizima, but decided not to accept it. Spent all of the deposit though. That guy would never let me off the hook that easily.”
“You thought we were debt collectors sent by that guy?”
“Yeah, but things don’t look that bad at the moment.”
“You say he’s a madman?” Roy did not recall such a person in Vizima before. “Who’s the guy?”
“Don’t talk about him.” Berengar rummaged through his sofa and whipped a bottle of beer out. He uncorked it and gulped the liquid down, then he tossed it to Letho. Letho drank without complaints. Berengar said, “I guess you’re here for a weapons request?”
Roy and Letho exchanged looks, and the young wither handed the blueprint to Berengar. Berengar skimmed through it nonchalantly at first, but eventually he started getting serious.
Roy was getting nervous as well.
‘Berengar
Age: Seventy-nine years old
Gender: Male
Status: Wolf School witcher
HP: 240
Mana: 120
Strength: 20
Dexterity: 21
Constitution: 20
Perception: 13
Will: 8
Charisma: 5
Spirit: 12
Skills:
Witcher Signs Level 6, Meditation Level 8, Wolf School Swordsmanship Level 8, Witcher Senses Level 10, Alchemy Level 10, Blacksmithing Level 10…’
In terms of stats and skills alone, Berengar was the weakest witcher Roy had ever met. “Level 10 Blacksmithing? That’s worse than Mahakam’s Great Elder’s Ancient Crafting.”
If Berengar could not help them, then Roy would have to try his luck at the Crow’s Perch in Velen and see if he could find that female blacksmith. Dwarves were off limits. They crossed Mahakam’s leader, and they would not ask them for help.
After he cast Observe on Berengar, Roy turned his attention to the silver sword that had a V-shaped crossguard and reddish-brown hilt.
“Honestly, what are you trying to do?” Roy shot him a sharp look and bared his teeth. “Are you asking us to keep that madman out for you?”
“Just for a month or so,” Berengar assured. “Just stand outside the shop, and he’ll never get near me. Not like he can find me anyway.”
“Who is that guy anyway?” Roy asked.
“Just an alchemist-cum-sorcerer. Has a few screws loose in his head.” There was fear in Berengar’s eyes. “Can’t tell you too much about him. Bound by a nondisclosure clause.”
“We’ll give you the deposit, and you can pay him back,” Letho suggested.
Berengar shook his head adamantly. “If push comes to shove, you can pay him the two hundred crowns when he shows up. I’ll deduct the money from your payment. Of course, it’d be best if we didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s not easy dealing with an alchemist. We’ll have to talk about the payment.”
***
After a lot of negotiations later, the witchers finally came to an agreement, and they were already drenched in sweat. The payment was reduced from seven hundred to six hundred, but Roy and Letho would have to contact the nearby blacksmiths and borrow their furnace, hammers, anvils, and other tools.
“You just won’t budge, huh?” Roy mocked. “You raise your prices however you want the moment you get a customer. I bet you have done this before.”
“I could say the same to you.” Berengar smiled, but it looked as fake as plastic. The brutal negotiations had exhausted him, and he looked lethargic. “I’ve never seen a young lad as stingy as you. You shouldn’t be a witcher. You should be a merchant.”
Letho was watching in silence from start to end. When the negotiations were finally over, he heaved a sigh of relief. I’m glad I don’t have to be in charge of the finances.
“By the way…” Berengar took a swig of his beer to calm down. “Where did you get these blueprints?”
“Why do you want to know? I could have taken them from the school’s archives.”
“As if,” Berengar retorted. “As far as I know, most of the Viper School’s blueprints are scattered throughout these lands.”
Letho looked surprised that he knew. “Who told you this? Kolgrim?”
Brengar shook his head and answered without hesitating, “Twenty years ago, I met a Viper School witcher near Dol Blathanna. He was searching for his school’s equipment blueprints, and his name was… let’s see… Ivar Evil-Eye.”
“What’d you say?” Roy and Letho exchanged looks of shock. Ivar Evil-Eye never returned after he left the school two decades ago, and they never thought they would find out about him in this place.
“Tell us more, Mr. Berengar. What happened next?” Roy asked, sounding a little out of breath. “Did Mr. Ivar tell you where he was going? Is he still in Aedirn?”
“I’m sorry. I only shared a drink with him in an inn. We didn’t even talk for ten minutes.” Berengar sighed. “And it’s been twenty years. I can’t remember most of the details.”
The air was fraught with gloom, filled with nothing but the sound of Berengar gulping his beer down.
“Give me some.” Letho snatched the beer from Berengar, but the witcher did not mind. He turned to the young witcher. “Want some, merchant?” Berengar asked.
“Do you have any cider?”
“Only women and kids like that kind of stuff.”
“That’s because you have no taste at all.” Roy was reminded of something, and he put on a calm and collected look as he said, “Let’s not talk about the Viper School. How’s the Wolf School doing?”
“Who knows?” Berengar bit on the lip of the bottle and kept quiet for a few moments. “I’ve cut all ties with them. I’m just a mercenary now. I have no time to care about witchers and their politics.”
“How long has it been since you left Kaer Morhen?”
“More than ten years.”
“You—”
“That’s enough, kid,” Berengar stopped him impatiently. “You should know when to stop asking. You two should get prepared now. I’ll have to work starting tomorrow.”
Roy sighed. If he could get Berengar back to Novigrad, he could truly turn the Wolf School into his ally. But he won’t be persuaded that easily.
***
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