The Witcher World: The Path to Domination Begins in Velen

Chapter 95 Latest Intelligence on Dicoscher

Triss stood by the gangway, her red hair blowing in the wind, obscuring half her face. She waved vigorously at the three people on the dock, then turned and climbed the gangway.

Dikoscher nudged Gerald's arm. "Aren't you going to say goodbye? You'd better do it now if you have anything you want to say to Triss, you might not have the chance later. Do you want me to prepare some flowers, fireworks, and candy for you?"

"What's it to you? Why are you so concerned about my love life?" Geralt retorted irritably.

"Because I've always longed for stories of beautiful and happy lives." Dixter's expression was serious, his hands clasped in an exaggerated gesture in front of his chest.

"Imagine it: a bay, the night wind, a witcher chasing after a departing ship, shouting out a confession buried deep in his heart for years. What a beautiful scene. If Dandelion knew, he could write you a poem about unrequited love. I've even thought of a title for him: 'The Last Farewell of the White Wolf and the Red-Haired Sorcerer.'"

"Triss and I are friends, nothing more."

"Wow, that's cruel. Are the side effects of mutation really that severe? Even the most beautiful human emotions have been stripped away?"

Dixter blinked, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "Ron, I also have a past with a sorceress. Want to hear it?"

Ron turned around, stroking his chin with interest. "Oh? Then I'll have to listen carefully."

"Back in Redania, Philippa and I were really close," Dixter said, striking a nostalgic pose.

"One day, I sprayed a whole bottle of perfume on a hot day, like a prostitute on the street, and wore a tight-fitting pinstripe velvet top to make my figure look better. I went to find Philippa and told her that we had a lot in common, and you know what she said?"

"What, the bodysuit isn't working?" Ron asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, Philippa said she likes women," Dixter said, spreading his hands with a hurt expression.

Ron patted his shoulder with a feigned regret, but as he turned his face away, a smile involuntarily crept onto his lips. "Don't be sad, it must be the bodysuit's fault."

"Oh, thank you for your comforting words, you've only made me feel worse," Dixter rolled his eyes upwards.

"Speaking of which, haven't all three of us had or been romantically involved with members of the Sorcerer's Guild?"

Geralt and Yennefer, you and Keira Metz, me and Philippa Ehrhardt—are we some kind of sorceress enthusiasts' association? What a coincidence that we're all together.

"A society of female sorcerers? That's a good idea," Geralt said with a slight smile. "If the Gathering Hall finds out, we'll definitely be in trouble."

"It's a pity that the meeting place is now defunct, and the members have disappeared, including my former lover Philippa Ehrhardt. Otherwise, I would really like to ask her why she was so cruel as to send someone to assassinate me, forcing me to flee in a sorry state."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "I remember someone saying that the core of all comedy is tragedy. Is that the source of your humor?"

"Haha, what a sharp and direct insight!" Dixter laughed. "I bet this guy must be a famous artist or a stage master? Dandelion?"

"No, it was a philosopher from my hometown."

"Interesting. If you have the chance, introduce me to him, if he also fell here with you during the celestial conjunction."

"You found out about all that? So, Dixter, you didn't keep me here just to say this, did you? What's the important thing you're talking about?"

Dicoscher's smile slowly faded. "Of course, there are two important matters to discuss."

"explain"

"First, the latest intelligence, which I think you'll be interested in: Margarita, the headmistress of the Aretusa Academy and a member of the Sorcerer's Guild, heard that Triss was planning to escape to Kovir, so she led her students on horseback to Novigrad. However, when they arrived in Novigrad, they were captured before they could contact Triss, and the entire group was imprisoned in the Witch Hunter Prison in Oxenfort."

Margarita herself, along with her students, constitute the most elite group of Northern mages, not those amateurs who can only light candles. But I don't have the ability to rescue them from Cowburg. Ron, you definitely do. Whether you choose to rescue them or not is your decision.”

Ron didn't answer immediately, tapping his finger lightly on the railing. "You're right, I am indeed very interested. You don't need to tell me the value of these people. So, how much information have you obtained about the prison's location, the number of guards, and their shift schedules?"

"Currently, we only know their detention location; the rest needs further confirmation. But time is running out, and I'm not sure how long they can hold out."

"Then please continue gathering intelligence. I need complete information before taking action."

"Of course, this won't take long. Now, about the next matter..."

Dikos paused, his gaze sweeping across the two men's faces. "Ron, Geralt, how many mages do you think we saved? How many did the three of us save together?"

"I don't know, I didn't count, maybe thirty? Maybe more than that," Geralt said, leaning against the bollard.

"So?" Ron pressed.

"How many mages do you think remain in the North? How many alchemists, healers, and herbalists? Two thousand, three thousand?"

"What are you doing? Are you conducting a census?" Geralt glanced at him sideways.

"I'm just worried that the mages of Novigrad have us here, but who will go to save the mages of Limbu?"

"Where's Ban'ad? Adcalai? Guret? That idiot Radovid will kill every mage to the death, not a single one left, including Yennefer and Triss, whom you care about, Geralt."

Dicoscher looked directly at Ron. "Ron, we are actually the same kind of people. To realize our ideals, mages, alchemists, and doctors are all indispensable. They understand formulas, healing, and the most precious knowledge."

But now these people are being eliminated in droves, or they are fleeing south and becoming Nilfgaard's allies. Emhyr won't refuse a warlock who comes to his door, and neither you nor I can accept that.

"You want to kill Radovide?" Ron asked directly.

Geralt's gaze shifted to Dixter, his pupils contracting slightly.

Dixter's lips curled into a smile, followed by undisguised frankness. "I told you we're the same kind of people, even our thoughts are so similar. So, Geralt, do you want to join in?"

"So you're not that concerned about those mages after all," Geralt said coldly. "Is this your purpose?"

"I care, but not out of sentimentality," Dixter shook his head.

"There's a more serious problem behind this massive persecution. The ruler of Redania is a madman. I served Radovid's father, Vizmir, and was his intelligence chief for over twenty years. Together, we transformed Redania into the most powerful nation in the north. Do you know what makes a nation powerful?"

"Commerce, population, technology, regulations, and sufficient upward mobility ensure the flow and vitality of all social strata. These backbones create robust flesh and blood, and the final outward manifestation is a powerful army," Ron replied calmly.

Dixter was stunned, staring at Ron for a long time, a complex expression flashing in his eyes.

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