Chapter 265: A Bargain for a Soul

Countless black butterflies gathered behind the man and formed a pair of enormous wings. The wings beat twice in swift succession, lifting him into the air. His toes brushed the windowsill, then he stepped down lightly, one pace at a time, on invisible stairs in the air, descending into the bedchamber until his full form stood revealed before the Witcher.

He was neither tall nor broad, and there was nothing remarkable about his features at all, save for those utterly black eyes, without so much as a speck of white in them.

His clothes were ordinary too.

A worn yellow jerkin on his upper body, blue fitted trousers beneath, and two satchels slung across his chest in a cross, one hanging at each side of his waist, both swollen and bulging with God knew what. On his feet were old black deerskin boots, the toes slightly misshapen, with a ring of yellow mud caked round the edges.

Judging by appearance alone, he looked no different from a peddler on the road, dusty, unkempt, the sort who disappeared into a crowd like a drop into the sea, utterly unremarkable.

Yet the instant his gaze swept across Roy’s skin, the latter felt a sharp pain like steel needles driving into him. At the same time, it was as if every layer of clothing had been stripped from his body, and no secret in his heart could remain hidden.

The Witcher bit the tip of his tongue. The faint metallic tang of blood dragged him back to himself. At once he hunched like a cat with its fur bristling, spine bowed, limbs taut, toes digging into the floor, his temples pounding.

...

“A splendid afternoon, fit for old friends to meet again after a long parting.” Gaunter O’Dimm stood with his arms folded, leaning idly against the window as he greeted him.

His voice carried a peculiar cadence and rhythm, sonorous and measured, like a man reciting some ancient verse, full of force.

But Roy distinctly caught the fleeting gleam of shrewdness and worldly cunning on the man’s face, like a seasoned merchant on the verge of offering a bargain.

“Who exactly are you, sir? Do we know one another?” Roy put on a face of utter ignorance, though the wariness in his heart only deepened, and without thinking he took a step back.

There was curiosity in his eyes too, and that curiosity was no act. He could glean next to nothing useful from the man with Scry.

This mysterious figure was shrouded from head to toe in abyssal mist.

Gaunter O’Dimm

Age:? (Insufficient Perception)

Gender:?

Identity: Master Mirror, Glass Merchant (A wandering trader who roams the world selling mirrors)

? (More information required to unlock hidden identity)

Attributes:?

Skills:?

...

“My friend, you may call me O’Dimm, Gaunter O’Dimm, or Master Mirror. Relax, I mean no harm. I only wish for a friendly exchange.”

The man spread his hands, the smile on his face growing warmer. “As for your finding me unfamiliar, that should not be. Let me refresh your memory. We met at the Aldersberg herb shop, the White Orchard tavern, and not long ago at The Cockatrice Inn. All in all, I have lent your journey more than a little ‘incidental help.’”

Roy frowned and searched his memory for a moment, then his scalp prickled numb.

So the ill omen he had felt back in White Orchard had not been groundless after all. Though Gaunter O’Dimm had not appeared in person then, he had been watching from the shadows the whole time.

What chilled Roy even more was that he had sensed nothing at all from beginning to end. His Perception had failed as if it were broken, and a small but vital part of his memories had seemingly been sealed by some unseen force, blurred into uncertainty.

For a very long time, he had been kept in the dark.

“Master Mirror, why have you been following me? What do you want?”

“No, no, ‘following’ sounds terribly unfriendly.” The man spoke in a low, gentle tone. “Let us call it observation. As a meticulous businessman, I must choose my customers with care.”