Chapter 166

Under the lamplight, the little girl sat astride the Witcher’s shoulders, brandishing a wooden sword in her hand.

“The valiant Princess Knight, the Lion Cub of Cintra, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, has come by royal command to smite bandits.”

“Huff...” She had rattled it off too quickly and could not help sticking out her little pink tongue to catch her breath.

“Hyah, hyah, my noble steed, charge forward.” She raised the wooden sword and shouted in her milky little voice, “Halt. Turn left. Circle behind the bandit and strike by surprise.”

“My lady knight...” A flicker of helplessness passed through the Witcher’s eyes. He lowered himself and said meekly, “The horse is tired. Allow me to rest a while.”

“No. Disobey me and I’ll bite your ear off.” Saying this, the girl leaned toward his ear as if to do it, breathed warm air against it, then burst into bright giggles again. Laughing as well, the Witcher carried her over to the “bandit.”

This “bandit” wore a spotless white maid’s dress and held a sword the way one might hold a broom. Her round little face was full of terror, and streaked with all manner of black ink marks. It was hard to say what inhuman torment she had suffered before this. Her pretty face had been covered with black circles, triangles, moustaches, and doodles of tortoises, rabbits, and other small creatures.

Facing her, the “knight” had two or three stray ink marks on her own plump little face as well.

The “knight” successfully circled around behind the “bandit.” The latter seemed cowed by her aura, limbs rigid, standing there foolishly without dodging or resisting.

“Ha.”

“Hoh.”

With loud cries, the “knight” smacked the “bandit” twice across the back with the wooden sword. The “bandit’s” wrist trembled, the wooden sword slipped from her hand, and she dropped neatly to her knees, trembling like a quail.

“I surrender. Noble and invincible Princess Knight, I surrender.”

“Haha, defeated foe, now you know my might.”

Ciri, pleased with herself, patted her “horse” on the head three times. He understood at once, put his arms around her waist, and lowered her carefully to the floor.

“I declare the thirty-second bandit suppression concluded. Rise, Coral. And remember, same as always, keep this secret for me.”

“Of course, Princess Ciri. Do not forget, Coral is your most loyal servant.”

Once the declaration was made, Ciri lifted her fair little face toward the Witcher. After all that romping, shining beads of sweat had spread across her cheeks, still covered with fine baby-soft down, and along her white hair.

The Witcher, seeing this, naturally pulled out a towel he had prepared beforehand, crouched down, and gently wiped the sweat from her face, cleaning away the sticky ink smudges.

As he wiped, she tilted her head to the side, her half-curved eyes full of laughter. From time to time she gave little humming noises of contentment, like a cat enjoying being stroked.

The maid wiped the black smears from her own face while stealing glances at the scene before her, deeply moved despite herself.