I'm not a Witcher anymore.

Chapter 137 You understand the art of negotiation

A ripple appeared on the surface of the bathtub.

The fat man's body stiffened for a moment.

His already small eyes narrowed even more, leaving only two thin slits.

His gaze was as sinister as a venomous snake lurking in the shadows, scrutinizing its prey.

Sigismund Dijkstra.

Very few people in Novigrad know this name.

But throughout the northern kingdoms, its name was renowned.

The former intelligence chief of the Kingdom of Redania.

The creator of the most powerful, largest, and most pervasive intelligence network in the entire North.

The silence lasted for a few seconds.

Then, Dijkstra's lips curled up slightly, revealing a meaningful smile.

"Harbin, you can go down now."

His tone returned to calm, as if the sharpness he had displayed just moments before was merely an illusion.

"Yes, sir."

Habin bowed in response and was about to turn and leave when Dijestra called him back.

"Oh, and bring us some food and drinks."

Habin nodded, then turned to the side, his back to Sieg, and quietly made a few hand gestures to Dijkstra.

That's some kind of code.

Should we have someone set up an ambush?

Should we prepare weapons?

Should we prepare to "deal with" this uninvited guest?

Dijkstra shook his head.

"No need, just bring the food and drinks."

He paused, then added.

"Oh, right, have the woman bring it over."

"Yes."

Habin bowed again, then turned and left the private room.

The wooden door closed, leaving only Sieg and Dijkstra in the bathhouse booth.

Steam rose, and the candlelight flickered.

The two faced each other across the bathtub.

"Please come in."

Dijkstra broke the silence, gesturing with his chin toward the bath.

"My bathhouse is the best in the whole city. From the water temperature to the medicinal herbs, everything is carefully prepared. I guarantee that even the king has never enjoyed such a fine bathhouse."

"No, thank you."

Zieg shook his head.

"I'm not used to being completely honest with men."

Dijkstra paused for a moment, then burst into laughter.

"Ha, you think I enjoy bayonet fighting? If you don't like it, fine."

He stopped smiling, and his small eyes narrowed again, his gaze filled with scrutiny and inquiry.

"Geralt of Rivia, you know this Witcher quite well?"

Siegfried replied without changing his expression, "We're not that close, but I didn't come here to talk to you about your past with Geralt."

"Your Excellency, former Chief of Intelligence of Redania, I heard you bought two people from human traffickers. A mother and daughter, right? It cost you four hundred crowns."

Dijkstra didn't speak, but just looked at him quietly.

"I'll pay you five hundred crowns," Zieg said. "I'm taking those two men with me."

Silence fell over the private room.

Steam rose between the two, blurring their faces.

Then, Dijkstra laughed.

"ha."

He let out a sneer, a dangerous glint in his small eyes.

"Did I hear that right? First you tricked me into meeting you using the name 'Geralt of Rivia.' Now you're trying to poach my talent, thinking you can buy him from me for just 500 crowns?"

'

"And you, until now, still haven't told me who you are."

He leaned forward slightly, and the water in the pool rippled with his movement.

"Do you think I, Sigir Luven, am an easy target? Or are you just too confident in yourself?"

Sigismund hadn't finished speaking when Sieg moved.

An invisible current of air flowed and converged along her legs.

One second he was standing on the edge of the bathtub, separated from Dijkstra by the hazy steam, the candlelight casting a soft shadow on his profile.

The next second, he disappeared from Dijkstra's sight, and when the water exploded, he was already beside Dijkstra.

Close at hand.

Then, he placed one hand on Dijestra's shoulder.

Dijkstra was startled.

He didn't even see how Zieg charged at him.

too fast.

After his shoulders were pressed down, he instinctively tried to stand up.

But he couldn't do it.

Zieg's hand appeared to be resting lightly on his shoulder.

As soon as Dejestra exerted his strength, his shoulder was pressed back by a terrifyingly steady force.

The force wasn't rough, and it didn't even cause him pain, but it precisely stopped him from getting up.

Just as his back was about to lean forward, his center of gravity was forcefully pressed back into the bathtub, his legs having strength but no way to gain any leverage.

He couldn't stand up.

The hand didn't seem to be pressing down on his shoulder.

It was more like pressing down on the center of gravity of his entire body.

Dijkstra's heart sank.

He finally realized that the young man in front of him was far more dangerous than he had imagined.

However, what truly chilled Dijkstra was not the hand on his shoulder.

But it was Zieg's next move.

He extended his other hand.

A crown appeared out of thin air in his palm.

The crown gleamed brightly in the candlelight, slipped from Zieg's fingers, and fell into the bath with a soft tinkle, creating a small ripple.

Then came the second one.

The third one.

The fourth one.

The fifth one —

Countless crowns poured down from Sieg's palm.

The scene was like a shower of gold coins.

The clanging sounds echoed in the private room, crisp and dense, converging into a strange metal symphony.

The once crystal-clear pool water was transformed into a golden hue by Kron in just a few breaths.

The crowns piled up at the bottom of the pool, layer upon layer, growing higher and higher, shimmering dazzlingly in the candlelight.

Dijkstra was dumbfounded.

It wasn't that he had never seen such a scene before.

But at least in this bathroom, such a thing shouldn't happen.

As a former intelligence chief and now one of the four top gangsters, he is well aware of how many people envy his current position.

Therefore, he was always very careful to guard against all kinds of assassination methods, especially magic.

Many of the decorations in this bathhouse actually incorporate anti-magic gold.

Magic-blocking metal is a very rare and precious special metal that can suppress magical energy and dispel spell effects.

In other words, most of the magic in this bathhouse should have been weakened or even completely disabled.

An ordinary sorcerer wouldn't be able to utter a single word here.

Dijkstra spent a fortune building this bathhouse to ensure his absolute safety.

There are only a handful of sorcerers on the entire continent who can cast spells in such an environment.

But this young man in front of me conjured thousands of crowns out of thin air under the cover of the Demon-Blocking Gold.

These are all real crowns, not illusions.

What does this mean?

A figure flashed through Dijkstra's mind in an instant.

Wigfordtz.

He was an extremely rare genius in the Warlock Brotherhood for centuries, and one of the most powerful warlocks of his time.

What's even more terrifying is that Wiggerts is not only proficient in magic, but also unparalleled in close combat.

He once fought Geralt on the Isle of Thaned, not with magic, but with martial arts, and broke the white wolf's leg.

The young man before him reminded Dijkstra of Wigfortz from years ago.

It's not because they are similar.

It's because they all belong to the same type of people.

The kind of monster that cannot be measured by any common sense, even if it stands right in front of you.