Witcher: The Half Elf

Due to the bustling construction of the new Vizima City, the old Vizima City was experiencing a surge in activity. Crowds of workers, farmers, travelers, and merchants formed lines to enter the city, contributing to a remarkable flow of goods entering and exiting daily.

To prevent disturbances in the royal capital, King Foltest had dispatched a force of 500 soldiers to station in the woods a few kilometers outside Vizima City. Their duties included assisting the Mayor and maintaining law and order within Vizima. Wayne speculated that, beyond these official duties, the king might have stationed troops in proximity to quell potential discontent among the nobility.

Despite facing criticism regarding his private life, King Foltest, among the northern monarchs in the future, stood out as one of the relatively wise rulers. Wayne acknowledged that the swift conquest of the north by the Nilfgaard Kingdom was facilitated, to some extent, by the actions of certain less competent leaders.

Revardon's caravan queued near the city gate for almost half an hour, undergoing inspection and supervision by a contingent of soldiers before finally entering the city. With the caravan's arrival, Wayne considered his escort mission concluded. He approached Levardon on horseback, exchanged thanks with the plump businessman, graciously accepted the reward, and bid farewell to the southern entrepreneur.

However, on the occasion of parting, Levardon said very enthusiastically:

"Mr. Wayne, before my new house is built, I will be residing in the Kingfisher Hotel. I hold great admiration for the skills of a witcher like yourself. In the future, I am confident that we can find opportunities to collaborate. I hope we can stay in touch and build a fruitful relationship."

"If you have a confirmed address, kindly send someone to inform me. I have a commission in the near future that I would like to entrust to you."

"Rest assured, the reward will be quite generous, so please do not hesitate to accept."

Wayne, upon learning about Revardon's upcoming commission, expressed his willingness to accept. He shook hands with the hefty businessman, wearing a friendly business smile, and assured him,

"You can trust in my character and strength, Mr. Levardon. As long as your commission aligns with the principles of our witchers, I will not refuse. Moreover, my visit to Vizima is not solely for commissions. There might be other matters in the future where we can cooperate. Perhaps."

Levardon, intrigued by Wayne's words, showed surprise and interest. Witchers were known for their transient nature, and he wondered what other forms of cooperation they could engage in commissions. Nevertheless, Revardon maintained his amiable demeanor, nodded, and said,

"Very well, Mr. Wayne. I also look forward to our future collaboration."

After parting ways with Levardon's caravan, Wayne rejoined Geralt and Jaskier.

Jaskier, growing impatient, circled on a borrowed donkey, winking at passing women, playing his lute, and showcasing his singing voice. Geralt, leaning against a tree with a straw in his mouth, observed the passers-by. Approaching Geralt, Wayne handed him a small purse containing fifty Oren and inquired, "Now that we're in Vizima, Geralt, what are your plans?"

The white wolf spat out the grassroot, casually stashing the money bag in his pocket. He shrugged and spoke in his hoarse voice, "We're Witchers, what else can we do? Let's find a place to live first and then check the city hall or nearby taverns for potential commissions. Also, locate the blacksmith shop and the brothel. These two places are crucial for us witchers."

Jaskier, upon hearing this, joined in, "Haha, brothel, yes, brothel. Believe me, Geralt, even though it's my first time in Vizima, I can guarantee that the girls here will soon fall in love with me and the great poet Dandelion. When the time comes, if you say you are my friend, maybe you will be given a discount."

While Wayne anticipated their lighthearted approach, he couldn't help but sigh at their lackadaisical attitude. After some thought, he suggested, "Geralt, you and Jaskier can check for commissions in the city. I'll handle some matters in the slum area. Let's meet at the city hall gate in the evening."

Geralt glanced at Wayne thoughtfully, nodded, patted him on the shoulder, and left with Jaskier. With a substantial amount of money on hand, Geralt was in no hurry to find commissions and could afford to enjoy some leisure and equip himself. Witchers of this era rarely entertained far-reaching plans; most lived for the present, indulging in a life of eating, drinking, and occasional companionship with women.

Once separated from the duo, Wayne found himself alone again after a long while, experiencing a mix of loneliness and freedom.

Following the faint recollections in his mind, Wayne swiftly located the slum where he spent his childhood. The area consisted of low wooden houses, uneven and rundown, with puddle-filled and excrement-laden roads. Residents, adorned in tattered clothing, wore thin expressions as they moved about. Shops were scarce, limited to vendors peddling small carts of daily necessities. Occasional shouts and curses emerged from obscure corners, adding a semblance of life to the destitution.

Deep within this impoverished neighborhood stood a two-story single-family building perpetually illuminated by numerous oil lamps. The slightly ajar door hinted at a relatively clean interior. Men of modest means frequented the premises, their comings and goings accompanied by the audible panting and cursing of women within. This was the business establishment for the impoverished prostitutes Wayne remembered.

Several scantily clad women with somber expressions showcased their figures outside the house. Even when harassed by passing inebriates and rough men, they only garnered a few curses. Nearby, a handful of brawny men with tattoos and short knives and sticks fastened to their waists leaned against dilapidated wooden structures, chatting while casting menacing gazes at passersby. These individuals were members of local gangs, responsible for safeguarding the prostitutes—ensuring their safety, warding off exploitation from impoverished individuals, and collecting exorbitant protection fees to sustain gang life.

About ten meters away from the brothels stood a two-story tavern, weathered but with a slightly cleaner appearance. A signboard named it the Fox Tavern. Amidst the grime and squalor of the slums, only this tavern boasted a semblance of cleanliness. Steaming chimneys and the intermittent sounds of boisterous laughter and muffled curses emanated from within.

Upon spotting the tavern's name, Wayne's eyes sparked with recognition. In his hazy memories, Wayne spent a period of his childhood working as a clerk there, assisting the tavern owner with tasks such as washing dishes and serving drinks.

In addition to providing food and shelter, the job also offered a meager weekly salary of more than a dozen copper coins—a noteworthy aspect of Wayne's childhood memories. This place seemed like an ideal choice if he aimed to glean information about his past.

Contemplating this, Wayne treaded carefully, sidestepping the muddy puddles on the ground. He gently pushed aside the makeshift blanket at the tavern door, a feeble barrier against the cold wind, and entered the Fox Tavern.

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